PRINCE OF POETS,
NEVER BEFORE IN ANY LANGUAGE TRULY TRANSLATED,
WITH A COMMENT ON SOME OF HIS
WITH INTRODUCTION AND NOTES,
REV. RICHARD HOOPER, M.A.
VICAR OF UPTON AND ASTON UPTHORPE, BERKS.
JOHN RUSSELL SMITH.
Third Edition, 1888.
Neptune (in pity of the Greeks’ hard plight)
Like Calchas, both th’ Ajaces doth excite,
And others, to repel the charging foe.
Idomenëus bravely doth bestow
His kingly forces, and doth sacrifice
Othryonëus to the Destinies,
With divers others. Fair Deiphobus,
And his prophetic brother Helenus,
Are wounded. But the great Priamides,*
Gath’ring his forces, heartens their address
Against the enemy; and then the field
A mighty death on either side doth yield.
The Greeks, with Troy’s bold pow’r dismay’d,
Are cheer’d by Neptune’s secret aid.
ove helping Hector, and his host,
He let them then their own strengths try,
With ceaseless toils and grievances;
Look’d down, and view’d the far-off land
Of the renown’d milk-nourish’d men,
Long-liv’d, most just, and innocent,
Nor turn’d he any more to Troy
Because he thought not any one,
When his care left th’ indiff’rent field,
But this security in Jove
Who sat aloft on th’ utmost top
And view’d the light. His chosen seat
That Priam’s city, th’ Achive ships,
To his full view; who from the sea
He took much ruth to see the Greeks
And, mightily incens’d with Jove,
That shook as he flew off, so hard
The woods, and all the great hills near,
Of his immortal moving feet.
Before he far-off Ægas reach’d,
With his dread entry. In the depth
His bright and glorious palace, built
And there arriv’d, he put in coach
All golden-maned, and pac’d with wings;
He cloth’d himself. The golden scourge,
He took, and mounted to his seat;
To drive his chariot through the waves.
The whales exulted under him,
For joy did open; and, his horse
The under axletree of brass
And thus these deathless coursers brought
’Twixt th’ Imber cliff’s and Tenedos,
Into the deep sea’s gulfy breast,
His forward steeds, took them from coach,
In reach before them; their brass hoves
Not to be broken, nor dissolv’d,
A fit attendance on their king;
Which, like to tempests or wild flames,
High sounding, and resounding, shouts;
To make the Greek fleet now their prise,
But Neptune, circler of the earth,
The Grecian hands. In strength of voice
Calchas’ resemblance, and, of all,
Who of themselves were free enough:
Sustain the common good of Greece,
The memory of fortitude,
Elsewhere the desp’rate hands of Troy
The brave Greeks have withstood their worst;
Being thus transcended by their pow’r,
My careful spirits, lest we feel
Where Hector, raging like a flame,
And boasts himself the best God’s son.
And fire so, more than human
In your deeds, and, with such thoughts cheer’d,
And such resistance; these great minds
Strengthen your bodies, and force check
Though ne’er so spirit-like, and though Jove
His sacred actions.” Thus he touched,
The breasts of both; fill’d both their spirits,
With pow’r responsive; when, hawk-like,
That fiercely stooping from a rock,
Cuts through a field, and sets a fowl
Hard, and gets ground still; Neptune so
Beyond themselves rais’d. Of both which,
The masking Deity, and said:
Our pow’rs to fight, and save our fleet.
Of th’ augur Calchas. By his pace,
Without all question, ’twas a God;
And in my tender breast I feel
To execute affairs of fight;
To all high motion, and my feet
This Telamonius thus receiv’d:
Burn with desire to toss my lance;
Bare on bright fire, to use his speed;
That to encounter Hector’s self,
While these thus talk’d, as overjoy’d
(Which God had stirr’d up in their spirits)
The Greeks that were behind at fleet,
And joints, being ev’n dissolv’d with toil;
Play’d by the Trojans past their wall)
Sweat tears from under their sad lids,
Never supposing they could ’scape.
With ease stirr’d up the able troops,
With Teucer, and Peneleüs,
All éxpert in the deeds of arms:
“What change is this? In your brave fight,
Our fleet’s whole safety; and, if you
Now shines the day when Greece to Troy
O grief! So great a miracle,
As now I see, I never thought
The Trojans brave us at our ships,
Like faint and fearful deer in woods,
With ev’ry sound, and yet ’scape not,
Of lynces, wolves, and lëopards,
Nor durst these Trojans at first siege,
Expect your strength, or stand one shock
Yet now, far from their walls, they dare
All by our Gen’ral’s cowardice,
Who, still at odds with him, for that
And suffer slaughter in their ships.
(Beyond all question) in our king,
And he, for his particular wreak,
We must not cease t’ assist ourselves.
And quickly too. Apt to forgive
Yet you, quite void of their good minds,
For ill in others, though ye be
As old as I am, I would scorn,
Or leaves the fight as you do now.
And you, though slothful too, maintain
Out, out, I hate ye from my heart.
In this ye add an ill that’s worse
But as I know to all your hearts
So thither let just shame strike too;
A mighty fight swarms at your fleet,
Hath burst the long bar and the gates.”
And round about th’ Ajaces did
Their station firm; whom Mars himself,
Could not disparage, nor Jove’s Maid
For now the best were chosen out,
Of Hector and his men so full,
Shields thicken’d with opposéd shields,
Helms stuck to helms, and man to man
Plum’d casques were hang’d in either’s plumes,
Their lances stood, thrust out so thick
All bent their firm breasts to the point,
Of both. Troy all in heaps strook first,
And as a round piece of a rock,
Is from his top torn, when a show’r,
Hath broke the natural bond it held
And, jumping, it flies down the woods,
And on, uncheck’d, it headlong leaps,
And then, though never so impell’d,
So Hector hereto throated threats,
And reach the Grecian ships and tents,
But when he fell into the strengths
And that they fought upon the square,
And so the adverse sons of Greece
Whose both ends hurt, that they repell’d
His threats, by all means, to retreats;
Only t’ encourage those behind;
The Greeks can never bear me long,
This lance, be sure, will be their spoil;
High thund’ring Juno’s husband, stirs
With this all strengths and minds he mov’d;
Old Priam’s son, amongst them all
He bore before him his round shield,
At all parts cover’d with his shield;
Charg’d with a glitt’ring dart, that took
Yet pierc’d it not, but in the top
Deiphobus thrust forth his targe,
Of strong Meriones’s lance,
The great heroë scorning much
With lance and conquest, forth he went
Left at his tent. The rest fought on,
Was most unmeasur’d. Teucer first
And slew a goodly man at arms,
The son of Mentor, rich in horse;
Before the sons of Greece sieg’d Troy;
Medesicaste, one that sprung
But when the Greek ships, double-oar’d,
To Ilion he return’d, and prov’d
Amongst the Trojans; he was lodg’d
His natural sons no more than him;
The son of Telamon attain’d,
As when an ash on some hill’s top
The steel hews down, and he presents
So fell he, and his fair arms groan’d,
And in he ran; and Hector in,
At Teucer, who, beholding it,
On Actor’s son, Amphimachus,
Flew Hector, at his sounding fall,
The tempting helmet from his head;
Reach’d Hector at his rushing in,
About his body; it was hid
The boss yet of his targe it took,
And he turn’d safe from both the trunks;
From off the field. Amphimachus
And Stichius, to th’ Achaian strength.
Still most with most hot services)
And as from sharply-bitten hounds,
A new-slain goat, and through the woods
Aloft, lift up into the air;
Bore both th’ Ajaces Imbrius,
Yet, not content, Oïliades,
His much-belov’d Amphimachus,
Which, swinging round, bowl-like he toss’d
And full at Hector’s feet it fell.
Being nephew to the God of waves,
And to the ships and tents he march’d,
The Grecians to the Trojan bane.
Idomenëus met with him,
Whose ham late hurt, his men brought off;
To his physicians for his cure,
To Troy’s repulse, he left his tent.
Prince Thoas, that in Pleuron rul’d,
Th’ Ætolian pow’rs, and like a God
Neptune encounter’d, and but thus
“Idomenëus, prince of Crete!
Those threats in thee, with which the rest
“O Thoas,” he replied, “no one
In any question of reproof,
And why is my intelligence false?
And, (fear disanimating none)
Nor can our harms accuse our sloth,
The great God only works our ill,
That, far from home, in hostile fields,
Some Greeks should perish. But do thou,
Has prov’d a soldier, and was wont,
To chide it, and exhort to pains,
And set on all men.” He replied,
Whoever this day doth abstain
May never turn his face from Troy,
And scorn of dogs! Come then, take arms,
Join both our forces. Though but two,
The work of many single hands
That virtue co-augmented thrives
But we have singly match’d the great.”
With all his conflicts, visited
The king turn’d to his tent; rich arms
Two darts in hand, and forth he flew.
Much like a fi’ry meteor,
Opes heav’n, and hurls about the air
Abodes that ever run before
So, in his swift pace, show’d his arms.
By his good friend Meriones
Thus spake the pow’r of Idomen:
Thou son of Molus, my most lov’d,
Is’t for some wound? The jav’lin’s head,
Desir’st thou ease of? Bring’st thou news?
Thy presence hither? Be assur’d,
To this hot conflict. Of myself
For any tent’s love, to deserve
He answer’d: Only for a dart,
(Were any left him at his tent)
On proud Deiphobus’s shield.
“Take one and twenty, if thou like,
They stand there shining by the walls.
From those false Trojans I have slain.
Of one that loves his tent, or fights
But since I love fight, therefore doth
Besides those darts, helms, targets boss’d,
“So I,” said Merion, “at my tent,
I many Trojan spoils retain,
To serve me for my present use;
Not that I lack a fortitude
For ever in the foremost fights,
I fight, when any fight doth stir.
Be hid to others, but thou know’st,
“I know,” replied the king, “how much
What need’st thou therefore utter this?
The worthiest men for ambushes,
(For ambushes are services
Since there the fearful and the firm
The fearful alt’ring still his hue,
Nor is his spirit capable
But riseth, changeth still his place,
On his bent haunches; half his height
For fear to be seen, yet must see;
Off’ring to leap out of his breast,
The coldness of it makes him gnash,
Where men of valour neither fear,
From lodging th’ ambush till it rise,
Wish to be quickly in their midst)
Who should reprove? For if, far off,
Thou should’st be wounded, I am sure
Should not be drawn out of thy back,
But meet thy belly, or thy breast,
When thou art furthest, till the first,
But on; like children let not us
Lest some hear, and past measure chide,
Go, choose a better dart, and make
This said, Mars-swift Meriones,
Took from his tent, and overtook,
Idomenëus. And such two,
And Terror, his belovéd son,
And is of such strength that in war
When, out of Thrace, they both take arms
Or ’gainst the great-soul’d Phlegians,
But give the grace to others still;
March’d these two managers of men,
And first spake Merion: “On which part,
Serves thy mind to invade the fight?
The Trojans, in our battle’s aid,
For all parts I suppose employ’d?”
Thus answer’d: “In our navy’s midst
The two Ajaces; Teucer too,
Of all the Grecians, and, though small,
And these (though huge he be of strength)
Of Hector’s self, that Priamist,
It shall be called a deed of height
For knocks still) to outlabour them,
Enflame our fleet. If Jove himself
Amongst our navy, that affair
Great Ajax Telamonius
That yields to death, and whose life takes
That can be cut with any iron,
Not to Æacides himself
Though clear he must give place for pace
Since then, the battle (being our place
By his high valour, let our aid
That charge the left wing, and to that
Where quickly feel we this hot foe,
This order’d, swift Meriones went,
Till both arriv’d where one enjoin’d.
The Trojans saw the Cretan king,
And his attendant, in bright arms
Both cheering the sinister troops,
And so the skirmish at their sterns
That, as from hollow bustling winds
When dust doth chiefly clog the ways
The wanton tempest ravisheth,
So came together both the foes,
And work with quick steel either’s death.
Set up her bristles in the field
Which thick fell foul on either’s face.
In new-scour’d curets, radiant casques,
Th’ assailer’s eyes up. He sustain’d
To see that labour, or in soul
Thus these two disagreeing Gods,
Afflicted these heroic men with
Jove honouring Æacides
Their want without him) would bestow,
On Hector, and the Trojan pow’r;
And honour of his mother-queen,
He would not let proud Ilion see
And therefore from the hoary deep
Great Neptune in the Grecian aid;
Extremely at his brother Jove.
And one soil bred, but Jupiter
And had more knowledge; for which cause,
Of his wet kingdom, but with care
The Grecian host, and like a man
So these Gods made men’s valours great,
As harmful as their hearts were good;
On both sides as their limbs could bear,
Past breach, or loosing, that their knees
Then, though a half-grey man he were,
The Greeks to blows, and flew upon
For he, in sight of all the host,
That from Cabesus, with the fame
His new-come forces, and requir’d,
Cassandra, fair’st of Priam’s race;
A mighty labour, to expell,
The sons of Greece. The king did vow,
His goodliest daughter. He (in trust
And at him threw the Cretan king
This great assumer, whom it strook
His brazen curets helping nought,
Then did the conqueror exclaim,
“Othryonëus, I will praise,
Thy living virtues, if thou wilt
Thou mad’st to Priam, for the wife
And where he should have kept his word,
To give thee for thy princely wife
Of our great Gen’ral’s female race,
We all will wait upon to Troy,
Thou wilt but raze this well-built town.
That in our ships we may conclude
I’ll be no jot worse than my word.”
And dragg’d him through the fervent fight;
The victor to inflict revenge.
His horse, that on his shoulders breath’d;
His coachman led them to his lord;
To strike the king, but he strook first,
At his throat’s height, through th’ other side,
And down he bustled like an oak,
Hewn down for shipwood, and so lay.
The spirit of his charioteer,
The victor to impair his spoil,
His horse and chariot; and so
Antilochus, that for his fear
About his belly’s midst, and down
The richly builded chariot,
The horse Antilochus took off;
Deiphobus drew passing near,
A shining jav’lin: which he saw,
His body in his all-round shield,
It overflew; yet, seizing there,
From him that wing’d it, his strong hand
On prince Hypsenor; it did pierce
The veins it passeth; his shrunk knees
And then did lov’d Deiphobus
“Now Asius lies not unreveng’d,
The joy I wish it, though it be
Of mighty Pluto, since this hand
This glory in him griev’d the Greeks,
Of martial Antilochus,
He left not yet his friend, but ran
And to him came two lovely friends,
Mecisteus, son of Echius,
Alastor, bearing him to fleet,
Idomenëus sunk not yet,
His mind much less deficient,
To hide more Trojans in dim night,
Of his lov’d countrymen. And then
Work for his valour, off’ring fate
A great heroë, and had grace
Of Æsyetes, son-in-law
Of her dear parents’ love, and took
Of all their daughters, and as much
(For beauty answer’d with her mind,
All the fair beauty of young dames
And therefore, being the worthiest dame,
Of ample Troy. Him Neptune stoop’d
Of Idomen, his sparkling eyes
Of his illustrious lineaments
That back nor forward he could stir,
Stood like a pillar, or high tree,
When straight the royal Cretan’s dart
It brake the curets, that were proof
Yet now they cleft and rung; the lance
His heart with panting made it shake;
The greatness of it, and the king,
Of glory in Deiphobus,
“Deiphobus, now may we think
That three for one have sent to Dis.
Thy vaunts for him thou slew’st were vain.
What issue Jove hath. Jove begot
Minos begot Deucalion;
Me Idomen, now Creta’s king,
To bring thyself, thy father, friends,
Deiphobus at two ways stood,
With some retreat, to be his aid,
At last, the first seem’d best to him,
Anchises’ son to friend, who stood
Where still he serv’d; which made him still
That, being amongst his best their peer,
His wrong’d deserts. Deiphobus
“Æneas, prince of Troïans,
Of glory in thee, thou must now
And one that to thy tend’rest youth
Alcathous, whom Creta’s king
His right most challenging thy hand.
This much excited his good mind,
Against the Cretan, who child-like
But stood him firm. As when in hills
Alone, and hearing hunters come,
Up-thrusts his bristles, whets his tusks,
And in his brave prepar’d repulse
So stood the famous--lance,
That resolute Æneas brought.
He call’d with good right to his aid
And Nestor’s honourable son:
“And add your aids to me alone.
Though firm I stand, and show it not.
And one that bears youth in his flow’r,
Comes on with aim direct at me.
To bear my mind, he should yield fame,
This said, all held, in many souls,
Clapp’d shields and shoulders, and stood close.
With more presumption than the king,
Divine Agenor, Helen’s love,
And all their forces following them;
The whole flocks follow to their drink,
Nor was Æneas’ joy less mov’d
His honour’d person; and all these
But two of them, past all the rest,
The blood of either; Idomen,
Æneas first bestow’d his lance,
And that, thrown from an idle hand,
But Idomen’s, discharg’d at him,
Which Œnomaus’ entrails found,
His sharp pile to his fall; his palms
Idomenëus straight stepp’d in,
But could not spoil his goodly arms,
And now the long toil of the fight
And made them less apt to avoid
Or, when himself advanc’d again,
And therefore in stiff fights of stand
When, coming softly from the slain,
To his bright jav’lin at the king,
But then he lost his envy too.
Ascalaphus, the son of Mars;
The violent head, and down he fell.
Wide-throated Mars his son was fall’n,
Sat canopied with golden clouds;
Both him and all the other Gods
Which now, about Ascalaphus,
Deiphobus had forc’d from him,
Mars-swift Meriones, and strook,
The right arm of Deiphobus,
The sharp-topp’d helmet; the press’d earth
When, vulture-like, Meriones
From out the low part of his arm
Back to his friends. Deiphobus,
Fall’n from his wound, was carefully
By his kind brother by both sides,
His horse and chariot that were still
And bore him now to Ilion.
And set a mighty fight on foot.
Just in the throat with his keen lance;
His upright carriage; and his shield,
Fell to the earth; where ruinous death
Antilochus, discov’ring well
Let fly, and cut the hollow vein,
Along his back part, quite in twain;
Upwards, and, with extended hands,
Antilochus rush’d nimbly in,
Of his fair arms: in which affair
Let fly their lances, thundering
But could not get his flesh. The God
Of Nestor’s son and kept him safe;
But still amongst the thickest foes
Observing ever when he might,
And watching Asius’ son, in prease
Close coming on, a dart at him,
In which the sharp head of the lance
Not pleas’d to yield his pupil’s life;
Stuck like a truncheon burn’d with fire;
He, seeing no better end of all,
But him Meriones pursu’d;
To th’ other’s life. It wounded him
And navel, where, to wretched men
Must undergo, wounds chiefly vex.
Pursu’d, and Adamas so striv’d
As doth a bullock puff and storm,
The upland herdsmen strive to cast;
Of his stern foe, Asiades
But no long time; for when the lance
His tortur’d soul. Then Troy’s turn came;
The temples of Deipyrus
So huge a blow, it strook all light
And cleft his helmet; which a Greek,
It fell so full beneath his feet.
That sight, and, threat’ning, shook a lance
A bow half drew at him; at once
The shaft Atrides’ curets strook;
Atrides’ dart of Helenus
And, through the hand, stuck in the bow.
From forth the nailéd prisoner
And fairly, with a little wool,
The wounded hand, within a scarf
Had ready for him. Yet the wound
Pisander, to revenge his hurt,
A bloody fate suggested him
O Menelaus, that he might,
Be done to death. Both coming on,
Pisander strook Atrides’ shield,
Not running through; yet he rejoic’d
Atrides, drawing his fair sword,
Pisander, from beneath his shield,
Two-edg’d, with right sharp steel, and long,
Well-polish’d; and to blows they go.
Atrides’ horse-hair’d-feather’d helm;
Above th’ extreme part of his nose,
That all the bones crash’d under it,
Before his feet in bloody dust;
His dying body, which the foot
Open’d, and stood upon his breast,
This insultation us’d the while:
Thus ye false Trojans, to whom war
Nor want ye more impieties,
Me, ye bold dogs, that your chief friends
Nor fear you hospitable Jove,
But build upon’t, he will unbuild
For ravishing my goods, and wife,
And without cause; nay, when that fair
Had us’d you so most lovingly.
Cast fire into our fleet, and kill
Go to, one day you will be curb’d,
Rude war, by war. O father Jove,
In wisdom of all Gods and men,
And still thou gratifiest these men,
Though never they be cloy’d with sins,
As good men should, with this vile war.
Satiety of sleep and love,
Of music, dancing, can find place;
Past all these pleasures, ev’n past these.
Before their war joys. Never war
This said, the bloody arms were off,
He mixing in first fight again.
Kind king Pylæmen’s son gave charge;
His lovéd father followéd,
His country’s sight again. He strook
Full in the midst; his jav’lin’s steel
The target through; nor had himself
But took him to his strength, and cast
Lest any his dear sides should dart.
Sent after him a brazen lance,
Through his right hip, and all along
Beneath the bone; it settled him,
Amongst the hands of his best friends;
Stretch’d on the earth, which his black blood
His corse the Paphlagonians
Repos’d in his rich chariot,
The king his father following,
And no wreak sought for his slain son.
Incenséd Paris spent a lance,
To many Paphlagonians; and
There was a certain augur’s son,
And yet was honest; he was born,
Who, though he knew his harmful fate,
His father, Polyidus, oft
Would either seize him at his house,
Or else among the Grecian ships
Together he desir’d to shun;
And ling’ring death in it, he left,
The lance betwixt his ear and cheek
Of both those bitter fortunes out.
Thus fought they, like the spirit of fire;
How in the fleet’s left wing the Greeks
Almost to victory; the God
Help’d with his own strength, and the Greeks
Yet Hector made the first place good,
(The thick rank of the Greek shields broke)
Where on the gray sea’s shore were drawn
Protesilaus’ ships, and those
Of men and horse where sharpest set.
Long-rob’d Iaons, Locrians,
The Phthian and Epeian troops did
The god-like Hector rushing in;
To his repulse, though choicest men
Amongst whom was Menestheus’ chief,
Stichius and Bias, huge in strength.
By Meges’ and Phylides’ cares,
Before the Phthians Medon march’d,
And these, with the Bœotian pow’rs,
Oïleus by his brother’s side
For any moment of that time.
Black oxen draw a well-join’d plough,
His thrifty labour, all heads couch’d
The fallow with their horns, till out
The stretch’d yokes crack, and yet at last
So toughly stood these to their task,
But Ajax Telamonius
That, when sweat ran about his knees,
Help bear his mighty sev’n-fold shield;
The Locrians left, and would not make
Because they wore no bright steel casques,
Bound shields, nor darts of solid ash,
And jacks well-quilted with soft wool,
In their fit place, as confident
And reach’d their foes so thick with shafts,
The Trojan orders first; and then,
Good work with their close fights before.
The Locrians hid still; and their foes
With shows of those far-striking shafts,
And then, assur’dly, from the ships,
Had miserably fled to Troy,
Thus spake to Hector: “Hector, still
Good counsel upon you. But say
In counsels wouldst thou pass us too?
To some God gives the pow’r of war,
To some the art of instruments,
And that far-seeing God grants some,
Which no man can keep to himself,
Doth profit many, that preserves
And that, who hath, he best can prize.
Only my censure what’s our best.
Doth burn about thee; yet our men,
Suppose their valours crown’d, and cease.
And so a few with many fight,
Retire then, leave speech to the rout,
That, here, in counsels of most weight,
If having likelihood to believe
We shall charge through; or with this grace,
For, I must needs affirm, I fear,
(Since war is such a God of change)
And since th’ insatiate man of war
We tempt his safety, no hour more
This sound stuff Hector lik’d, approv’d,
And said: “Polydamas make good
One prince to pass it; I myself
Those friends in skirmish, and return
Command that your advice obeys)
With day-bright arms, white plume, white scarf,
He parted from them, like a hill,
And to the Trojan peers and chiefs
The counsel of Polydamas.
To haste to Panthus’ gentle son,
Who, through the forefights making way,
King Helenus, Asiades,
Of whom, some were not to be found
Some only hurt, and gone from field.
He found within the fight’s left wing
By all means moving men to blows;
Hector’s forbearance, his friends’ miss
But thus in wonted terms he chid:
Impostor, woman’s man! where are,
Deiphobus, King Helenus,
Shakes to his lowest groundwork. Now
Thy head past rescue.” He replied:
When I am guiltless? Other times,
Than these, for she that brought thee forth,
Without some portion of thy spirit,
But since thou first brought’st in thy force,
I and my friends have ceaseless fought,
But all those friends thou seek’st are slain;
Who parted wounded in his hand,
Jove yet averted death from them.
As thy great heart affects, all we
That thou endurest; and I hope,
Though least, I’ll fight it to his best;
This calmed hot Hector’s spleen; and both
Of war most fierce, and that was where
About renowm’d Polydamas,
Palmus, Ascanius, Moras that
And from Ascania’s wealthy fields
Arriv’d at Troy, that with their aid
Some kindness they receiv’d from thence.
Phalces and tall Orthæus stood,
And then the doubt that in advice
To fight or fly, Jove took away,
And as the floods of troubled air
That after thunder sweeps the fields,
Encount’ring with abhorréd roars,
Boil into foam, and endlessly
So rank’d and guarded th’ Ilians march’d;
More upon more, in shining steel;
And Hector, like man-killing Mars,
His huge round target before him,
With hides well-couch’d with store of brass;
His bright helm, on which danc’d his plume;
(All hid within his world-like shield)
For entry, that in his despite
Which when he saw, and kept more off,
And thus provok’d him: “O good man,
Come nearer. Not art’s want in war
But Jove’s direct scourge; his arm’d hand
Yet thou hop’st, of thyself, our spoil.
To hold our own, as you to spoil;
Stand good against our ransack’d fleet,
Our hands shall take in, and her tow’rs
And I must tell thee, time draws on,
To Jove and all the Gods to make
More swift than falcons, that their hoofs
Thy body, hid, to Ilion.”
Confirm’d as soon as spoke. Jove’s bird,
The right hand of their host; whose wings
From forth the glad breasts of the Greeks.
“Vain-spoken man, and glorious,
As surely were the son of Jove,
Adorn’d like Pallas, and the God
As this day shall bring harmful light
If thou dar’st stand this lance, the earth
Thy bosom turn up, and the dogs,
Be satiate with thy fat and flesh.”
His first troops follow’d, and the last
Greece answer’d all, nor could her spirits
And to so infinite a height
They reach’d the splendours stuck about
24: Pac’d with wings—with wings on their feet, paces.
53: i.e. Jove’s son.
138: Upon the square—in squares.
“Tush, man, abodements must not now affright us.”
The verb is common.
148: Virtuous—in the classical sense of “valourous.”
200: The second folio has “this” for “thus.”
225: Aland—on land.
235: Taint.—Thus Shakespeare,—
“Unspeak mine own detraction; here abjure
The taints and blames I laid upon myself.”
292: Hector’s self.—The second folio has “Hector’s life.”
295: Firebrands.—Chapman pronounced fire here as a dissyllable, and prints fier-brands.
333: “The empire of Jove exceeded Neptune’s (saith Plut. upon this place) because he was more ancient, and excellent in knowledge and wisdom; and upon this verse, viz. ἀλλὰ Ζεὺς πρότερος, &c. sets down this his most worthy to be noted opinion: viz. I think also that the blessedness of eternal life, which God enjoys is this: that by any past time He forgets not notions presently apprehended; for otherwise, the knowledge and understanding of things taken away, immortality should not be life, but time, &c. (Plut. de Iside et Osiride.)” —Chapman. Iliad XIII.355.
477: Envy.—The word seems here to mean aim. Chapman perhaps used it as “envoyé,” something hurled or thrust (see Cotgrave). Or he might have meant simply wish, desire (French “envie”).
510: Offend—(Latin) strike.
551: His nose.—The second folio has “the nose.”
611: Skall—scale. So printed doubtless for the rhyme’s sake.
615: Iaons.—“By Iaons (for Ionians) he intends the Athenians.” —Chapman.
“Madam, and you, my sister, will you go
To give your censures in this weighty business?”
“And, over all, with brazen scales was arm’d
Like plated coat of steel, so couched near,
That nought might pierce.”
738: Glorious—(Latin) boasting.
748: Unreach’d—that cannot be reached.
* Chapman published a Translation of the “Georgics of Hesiod,” 4to. London 1618, which is now very rare. Warton was not aware of the existence of this volume, and supposed the present lines to be the sole published specimen of Chapman’s Hesiod. (See Hist. Engl. Poet III. 360, ed. 1840.) The version possesses much merit. It will be found in the fifth volume of this edition of Chapman’s Translations.
† “Metri causâ usurpatur ὄπιθεν.” —Chapman.
THE END OF THE THIRTEENTH BOOK.
196 much fir’d to put his hand
text has hand. with superfluous full stop
444 So stood the famous-for-his-lance
text has famous-for his-lance
text has 536
[This error is carried over from the second edition.]
718 through thicken’d, like a wall,
text has wall.
738 what hast thou said?
text has has
Atrides, to behold the skirmish, brings
Old Nestor, and the other wounded kings.
Juno (receiving of the Cyprian dame
Her Ceston,* whence her sweet enticements came)
Descends to Somnus, and gets him to bind
The pow’rs of Jove with sleep, to free her mind.
Neptune assists the Greeks, and of the foe
Slaughter inflicts a mighty overthrow.
Ajax so sore strikes Hector with a stone,
It makes him spit blood, and his sense sets gone.
In Ξ with sleep, and bed, heav’n’s Queen
Ev’n Jove himself makes overseen.†
ot wine, nor feasts,
To this high clamour, who requir’d
His care in part, about the cause;
“The cry increases. I must needs
Which way the flood of war doth drive.
Till fair-hair’d Hecamed hath giv’n
To cleanse the quitture from thy wound.”
Of warlike Thrasymed, his son,
He took, snatch’d up a mighty lance,
Cause of that clamour. Instantly
The Grecians wholly put in rout,
Close at the Greeks’ backs, their wall raz’d.
And, as when with unwieldy waves
That both ways murmur, and no way
But pants and swells confusedly,
Till on it air casts one firm wind,
So stood old Nestor in debate,
In his discourse, if first to take
Or to the multitude in fight.
To visit Agamemnon first.
Their steel in one another’s blood,
Swords, huge stones, double-headed darts,
And now the Jove-kept kings, whose wounds
Old Nestor, Diomed, Ithacus,
Bent for the fight which was far off,
On heaps at first, till all their sterns
Which, though not great, it yet suffic’d
Were something straited; for whose scope,
They drew them through the spacious shore,
Till all the bosom of the strand
Ev’n till they took up all the space
These kings, like Nestor, in desire
Became so violent, came along,
To see, though not of pow’r to fight,
Distemp’ring them; and, meeting now
Cried out: “O Nestor our renown!
The harmful fight abandonéd?
The threat’ning vow he made, I fear,
And fir’d our fleet, he never more
Nor is it long, I see, before
O Gods! I now see all the Greeks
Against my honour; no mean left
He answer’d: “ an evident truth,
With all the thunder in his hands,
The wall we thought invincible,
Is scal’d, raz’d, enter’d; and our pow’rs
A most inevitable fight;
That for your life you cannot put
The Greeks and Trojans, and as close
Consult we then, if that will serve.
It fits not wounded men to fight.”
“If such a wall as cost the Greeks
And such a dike be pass’d, and raz’d,
We all esteem’d invincible,
The world from both our fleet and us;
That here Jove vows our shames and deaths.
His hand from ours when he help’d us,
That, like the blessèd Gods, he holds
Supports their arms, and pinions ours.
To strive with him. Our ships drawn up,
And keep at anchor till calm night,
May calm their storms, and in that time
Ulysses frown’d on him, and said:
Would thou hadst led some barb’rous host,
Whom Jove made soldiers from our youth,
From any charge it undertakes,
The honour’d hand of war might close.
For which our many mis’ries felt
Peace, let some other Greek give ear,
As no man’s palate should profane;
His own right weigh’d, and being a prince,
Rule of so many Greeks as thou.
Let others toil in fight and cries,
Upon their very noise, and groans,
Thus we should fit the wish of Troy,
The victory, we give it clear;
A slaughter to the utmost man,
A stroke, the fleet gone, but at that,
“O Ithacus,” replied the king,
My heart in sunder. At no hand,
Do I command this. Would to God,
To give a better counsel would,
My voice should gladly go with his.”
“The man not far is, nor shall ask
That willingly would speak his thoughts,
Fit ear, and suffer no impair,
Being youngest of you; since my sire,
May make my speech to diadems
Lies in his sepulchre at Thebes.
Portheus three famous sons begot,
And Pleuron kept, with state of kings,
Agrius, Melas, and the third
My father’s father, that excell’d
The other two. But these kept home,
With wand’ring and advent’rous spirits,
And th’ other Gods set down their wills,
Where he begun the world, and dwelt.
One of Adrastus’ female race,
For he had great demesnes, good land,
He planted many orchard-grounds
Great store of sheep. Besides all this,
And pass’d all Argives, for his spear.
Are such as you may well endure,
And kings not poor nor virtueless)
Nor scorn my words, which oft, though true,
However, they are these in short:
And yield to strong necessity,
May set those men on that, of late,
Been too indulgent, and left blows;
Not come within the reach of darts,
Which rev’rend Nestor’s speech implied,
This counsel gladly all observ’d,
Nor Neptune this advantage lost,
And like an aged man appear’d
He seiz’d, and said: “Atrides, this
With stern Achilles’ wreakful spirit,
His ship, and both in fight and death
Since not in his breast glows one spark
But be that his own bane. Let God
How vile a thing he is. For know,
Thee ever over, but perhaps
Receive that justice. Nay, ’tis sure,
Your fleet soon freed, and for fights here
This said, he made known who he was,
As if ten thousand men had join’d
His throat flew through the host; and so
Cheer’d up the Greek hearts, that they wish
Saturnia from Olympus’ top
And her great husband’s brother too,
The glorious spirits of the Greeks;
So, on the fountful Ida’s top,
With her contentment, since she fear’d
And check the Sea-god’s practices.
How to prevent, which thus seem’d best:
And visit the Idalian hill,
She might enamour with her looks,
Ev’n to his wisdom, in the kind
So took she chamber, which her son,
With firm doors made, being joinèd close,
That no God could command but Jove;
The shining gates, and then upon
Ambrosia, that first made it clear,
An od’rous, rich, and sacred oil,
That ever, when it was but touch’d,
Her body being cleans’d with this,
And comb’d, her comb dipp’d in the oil,
And, thus her deathless head adorn’d,
On her white shoulders, wrought by Her
Who wove it full of antique works,
And this with goodly clasps of gold
Then with a girdle, whose rich sphere
She girt her small waist. In her ears,
Pearls, great and orient. On her head,
Cast beams out like the sun. At last,
Fair shoes. And thus entire attir’d,
Call’d the fair Paphian Queen apart
“Lov’d daughter! Should I ask a grace,
Or wouldst thou cross me, being incens’d,
The Greeks’ part, thy hand helping Troy?”
No diff’rence in a diff’rent cause.
What most contents thee. My mind stands
To grant it as thine own to ask;
A favour fit and in my pow’r.”
Thus said: “Then give me those two pow’rs,
Thou vanquishest, Love and Desire;
Of all the many-feeding earth,
Of all the Gods, Oceanus,
Our Mother, I am going to greet.
And brought me up, receiving me
From Phæa, when Jove under earth
Cast Saturn. These I go to see,
Jars grown betwixt them, having long
Which jars, could I so reconcile,
I could place love, and so renew
I should their best lov’d be esteem’d,
She answer’d: “’Tis not fit, nor just,
Whom Jove in his embraces holds.”
And from her od’rous bosom took,
Were all enticements to delight,
Kind conference, fair speech, whose pow’r
This she resigning to her hands,
“Receive this bridle, thus fair-wrought,
Where all things to be done are done;
In thy desire return with it.”
And put it ’twixt her breasts. Love’s Queen,
To Jove’s court flew. Saturnia,
Pieria and Emathia,
Soon reach’d, and to the snowy mounts,
Approaching, pass’d their tops untouch’d.
Pass’d all the broad sea, and arriv’d
Of godlike Thoas, where she met
Death’s brother, Sleep; whose hand she took,
Prince of the Gods too, if before
Give helpful ear, and through all times
Lay slumber on Jove’s fi’ry eyes,
With his embraces; for which grace
Incorruptible, all of gold,
By Mulciber, to which he forg’d
Of thy soft feet, when wine and feasts
Sweet Sleep replied: “Saturnia,
Besides Jove, but I would becalm;
That fathers all the Deities,
But Jove we dare not come more near,
Now you command me as you did,
Alcides, having sack’d the town
Took sail from thence; when by your charge
A pleasing slumber, calming him,
In all his cruelties, to sea,
In Cous, far from all his friends.
The supreme Godhead, that he cast
And me, above them all, he sought,
Hurl’d from the sparkling firmament,
(Whom, flying, I besought for aid)
And not preserv’d me; but his wrath
For fear t’ offend her, and so ceas’d,
And now another such escape,
She answer’d: “What hath thy deep rest
As though Jove’s love to Ilion
As ’twas to Hercules his son,
For their displeasure as for his?
Thy fear with giving thee the dame,
One of the fair young Graces born,
This started Somnus into joy,
By those inviolable springs, that
With one hand touch the nourishing earth,
The marble sea, that all the Gods,
Which circle Saturn, may to us
What thou hast vow’d; That with all truth,
The dame I grant I ever lov’d,
She swore, as he enjoin’d, in all,
By naming all th’ infernal Gods,
The oath thus taken, both took way,
To Ida from the town, and isle,
At Lecton first they left the sea,
The fountful nurse of savages,
Beneath their feet; there Somnus stay’d,
And yet, that he might see to Jove,
That all th’ Idalian mountain bred,
A fir it was, that shot past air,
There sate he hid in his dark arms,
Of that continual prating bird,
Chalcis, but men Cymmindis name.
Up to the top of Gargarus,
To Jupiter, who saw, and lov’d,
Being curious in her tempting view,
(The pleasure of it being stol’n)
And, gazing on her still, he said:
This haste in thee from our high cant,
That void of horse and chariot,
Thou lackiest here?” Her studied fraud
Leaves state and labours to do good;
All kindness to the Sire of Gods,
That nurst and kept me curiously
Long time at discord) my desire
And therefore go I now to see
For whose far-seat I spar’d my horse
And left them at the foot of it;
Of travail with me, and must draw
Whose far-intended reach, respect,
Thy graces, made me not attempt,
The cloud-compelling God her guile
“Juno, thou shalt have after leave,
Convert we our kind thoughts to love,
Circle with victory my pow’rs,
Woman, or Goddess, did his fires
As now with thee. Not when it lov’d
Ixion’s wife had, that brought forth
My amorous pow’rs, that Perseus bore
Nor when the dame, that Phenix got,
Who the divine-soul’d Rhadamanth
Nor Semele, that bore to me
The sprightly Bacchus; nor the dame
Alcmena, that bore Hercules;
Queen Ceres, with the golden hair;
My entrails to such depth as now
The cunning Dame seem’d much incens’d,
Insufferable Saturn’s son?
Desir’st thou this? How fits it us?
Of any God thy will were pleas’d,
To witness thy incontinence?
I would not show my face in heav’n,
But, if love be so dear to thee,
Which Vulcan purposely contriv’d
There sleep at pleasure.” He replied:
Of either God or man observe,
I’ll cast about us that the sun,
Shall never find us.” This resolv’d,
He took his wife. Beneath them both
With fresh-sprung herbs, so soft and thick
Their heav’nly bodies; with his leaves,
Th’ Elysian mountain; saffron flow’rs
The sacred bed; and there they slept.
A golden vapour out of air,
In which they wrapt them close, and slept,
Mean space flew Somnus to the ships,
“Now cheerfully assist the Greeks,
At least a little, while Jove sleeps;
I pour’d dark sleep, Saturnia’s love
This news made Neptune more secure
And through the first lights thus he stirr’d
“Yet, Grecians, shall we put our ships,
Of Priam’s Hector by our sloth?
With pride according; all because,
Alas, as we were nought but him!
On his assistance, if we would
And mutually maintain repulse.
To what I order. We that bear
Whose heads sustain the brightest helms,
With longest lances, let us on.
Nor think I but great Hector’s spirits
Though they be never so inspir’d.
That on our shoulders worst shields bear,
That fight with better.” This propos’d,
The kings, ev’n those that suffer’d wounds,
And Agamemnon, helpt t’ instruct
To good gave good arms, worse to worse,
Thus, arm’d with order, forth they flew;
A long sword in his sinewy hand,
It lighten’d still, there was no law
Must quake before them. These thus mann’d,
His host brought up. The blue-hair’d God
A grievous fight; when to the ships
Brake loose, and rag’d. But when they join’d,
To such a height, as not the sea,
Her raging billows, bellows so
Nor such a rustling keeps a fire,
Through woods that grow against a hill;
Of almost-bursting winds resound
As did the clamour of these hosts,
Of all which noble Hector first
His jav’lin, since so right on him
Nor miss’d it, but the bawdricks both
To hang his shield and sword, it strook;
Hector, disdaining that his lance
Trode to his strength; but, going off,
One of the many props for ships,
Strook his broad breast above his shield,
And shook him piecemeal; when the stone
Earth, like a whirlwind, gath’ring dust
For fervour of his unspent strength,
And as when Jove’s bolt by the roots
His sulphur casting with the blow
And on the fall’n plant none dare look
(Jove’s thunder being no laughing game)
And so with tost-up heels he fell,
His round shield follow’d, then his helm,
The Greeks then shouted, and ran in,
And therefore pour’d on darts in storms,
But none could hurt the people’s Guide,
Sarpedon, prince of Lycia,
Divine Agenor, Venus’ son,
Rush’d to his rescue, and the rest.
Of Hector’s safety. All their shields,
Rais’d him from earth, and (giving him,
From off the labour carried him,
And bore him mourning towards Troy.
Of gulfy Xanthus, that was got
There took they him from chariot,
His temples with the stream. He breath’d,
And on his knees stay’d spitting blood.
And back again his body fell.
Yet with his spirit. When the Greeks
Then thought they of their work, then charg’d
And then, far first, Oïliades
He darted Satnius Enops’ son,
As she was keeping Enops’ flocks
And strook him in his belly’s rim,
A mighty skirmish with his fall.
Prothenor Areilycides, with
On his right shoulder, strook it through,
For which he insolently bragg’d,
From great-soul’d Panthus’ son, I think,
But some Greek’s bosom it shall take,
This brag the Grecians stomach’d much;
Who stood most near Prothenor’s fall,
Which Panthus’ son, declining, ’scap’d,
Archilochus, Antenor’s son,
To that stern end; ’twixt neck and head
And ran in at the upper joint
Cut both the nerves; and such a load
As that small part he seiz’d outweigh’d
His heels up, so that head and face
When all the low parts sprung in air;
Panthœdes’ brave: “Now, Panthus’ son,
Consider, and disclose a truth,
Ev’n with Prothenor. I conceive,
That either he was base himself,
Antenor’s brother, or his son,
One of his race, past question,
This spake he, knowing it well enough.
And then slew Acamas, to save
Bœotius, dragging him to spoil;
“O Greeks, ev’n born to bear our darts,
Not always under tears and toils
But sometimes you drop under death.
Our dead, intranc’d with my weak lance,
Reveng’d my brother. ’Tis the wish
His brother, slain in Mars’s field,
This stirr’d fresh envy in the Greeks,
Who hurl’d his lance at Acamas;
The force he gave it, for it found
Ilionëus, whose dear sire,
Was lov’d of Hermes, and enrich’d,
His mother this now slaughtered man.
His eye-lid, by his eye’s dear roots,
The eye pierc’d through. Nor could the nerve
His strong-wing’d lance, but neck and all
Peneleus then unsheath’d his sword,
His luckless head; which down he threw,
And still the lance fix’d in his eye;
Contented him, but up again
With this stern brave: “Ilians, relate
To his kind parents, that their roofs
For so the house of Promachus,
Must with his wife’s eyes overflow,
Her dear lord, though we tell his death,
We bring from ruin’d Troy our fleet,
This said, and seen, pale fear possess’d
And ev’ry man cast round his eye
That he might fly him. Let not then
O Muses, you that dwell in heav’n,
With Trojan spoil, when Neptune thus
First Ajax Telamonius
Great Hyrtius Gyrtiades.
Phalces and Mermer, to their spoil.
To Morys and Hippotion.
Prothoon and Periphetes.
Duke Hyperenor, wounding him
Betwixt the short ribs and the bones,
Have pertinence; the jav’lin’s head
His forc’d soul breaking through the wound;
Then Ajax, great Oïleus’ son,
For when Saturnius suffer’d flight,
Not one with swiftness of his feet
* The Cestus, or magic girdle of Venus.
1: “This first verse (after the first four syllables) is to be read as one of our tens.” —Chapman.
7: Quitture—discharge, issue.
13: “Forefeels—feels beforehand. There is no more expressive description of that swelling of waves that portends a coming storm than is contained in this single word.”—Cooke Taylor.
64: These two lines are in inverted commas in both folios.
75: Let others—i.e. to let others, &c.
104: Qualitied.—I do not remember to have met with this word elsewhere. Todd quotes “Hales’ Lett. from the Synod of Dort, (1618) p. 36.”
141: Ferrary—the art of working in iron. A word coined, probably, by Chapman.
210: The second folio, followed in its error by Dr. Taylor has “draw’st up.”
253: Lackiest—to lackey, to attend on foot.
271: This line wants a foot; unless we read Acrisius’s, which would destroy the rhythm.
THE END OF THE FOURTEENTH BOOK.
3 “For, methink, still,” said he,
text unchanged; expected “methinks”
43 He answer’d: “’Tis an evident truth
apostrope in “’Tis” missing
[I have reversed the order of the two linenotes so they agree with the order of the body text (“prince of men” before “censure”).]
81 note Bk. XIII. 655
text has 653
95 the horseman Oeneus,
expected “Oeneüs” (three syllables)
286 note XIII. 350
text has 348
Jove waking, and beholding Troy in flight,
Chides Juno, and sends Iris to the fight
To charge the Sea-god to forsake the field,
And Phœbus to invade it, with his shield
Recov’ring Hector’s bruis’d and craséd* pow’rs.
To field he goes, and makes new conquerors,
The Trojans giving now the Grecians chace
Ev’n to their fleet. Then Ajax turns his face,
And feeds, with many Trojan lives, his ire;
Who then brought brands to set the fleet on fire.
Jove sees in Ο his oversight,
Chides Juno, Neptune calls from fight.
he Trojans, beat past pale and dike,
All got to chariot, fear-driv’n all,
Then Jove on Ida’s top awak’d,
Stood up, and look’d upon the war;
Since he had seen it; th’ Ilians now
King Neptune, with his long sword, chief;
Laid flat in field, and with a crown
So stopp’d up that he scarce could breathe,
And he still spitting blood. Indeed,
By one that was the weakest Greek.
With eyes of pity; on his wife
To whom he said: “O thou in ill
All arts and comments that exceed’st!
Hector from fight, but, with his men,
I fear, as formerly, so now,
Their first fruits sown, and therefore could
Forgett’st thou, when I hang’d thee up,
Two anvils, golden manacles
And let thee mercilessly hang
Ev’n to earth’s vapours; all the Gods
To mutinies about thee, yet,
None durst dissolve thee, for these hands,
Thy friend, had headlong thrown him off
Till he had tumbled out his breath,
Nor was my angry spirit calm’d
On which, inducing northern flaws,
And toss’d him to the Coan shore, that
My wrath’s importance, when thou seest,
My pow’rs can make thy policies;
I freed my son, and set him safe
These I remember to thy thoughts,
And know how badly bed-sports thrive,
This frighted the offending queen,
Her kind unkindness: “Witness Earth,
Thou Flood whose silent gliding waves
(Which is the great’st and gravest oath,
Thy sacred head, those secret joys
By which I never rashly swore!
Not by my counsel did this wrong
But, pitying th’ oppresséd Greeks,
Reliev’d their hard conditión,
By his free mind. Which since I see
To thy high pleasure, I will now
But where thy tempest-raising feet,
Jove laugh’d to hear her so submiss,
If still thus thou and I were one,
Neptune would still in word and fact
If then thy tongue and heart agree,
To call the excellent-in-bows,
That both may visit both the hosts;
And that is Iris, let her haste,
T’ assist the Greeks, and to his court
Let Phœbus, on the Trojan part,
Great Hector’s spirits, make his thoughts
And all his anguish, setting on
To make good his late grace in fight,
The Grecian glories, till they fall,
Of vex’d Achilles. Which extreme
Thee with thy wish, for then the eyes
(Made witness of the gen’ral ill,
Will make his own particular
Abate his wrath, that, though himself
Will seem reflected, yet his friend
To help his country in his arms;
For his full presence with his death,
For I will first renown his life
Divine Sarpedon, and his death
Ending his ends. Then, at once,
Of fierce Achilles, and, with that,
And then last, till in wrathful flames
Minerva’s counsel shall become
Which no God shall neglect before
Of slaughter for his slaughter’d friend;
Under his anger; that these facts
My vow’s performance, made of late,
Confirm’d to Thetis, when her arms
That to her city-razing son
This heard, his charge she seem’d t’ intend,
But, as the mind of such a man
And either knowing not his way,
His purpos’d journey, is distract,
Resolves now not to go, now goes,
So rev’rend Juno headlong flew,
For, being amongst th’ immortal Gods
All rising, welcoming with cups
She all their courtships overpass’d
Save that which fair-cheek’d Themis show’d,
For first she ran and met with her,
She brought to heav’n? She thought, for truth,
Her spirits strangely since she went.”
“That truth may eas’ly be suppos’d;
His old severity and pride,
And like the banquet’s arbiter
Though well you hear amongst them all,
Nor are all here, or anywhere,
Entirely pleas’d with what he does,
Thus took she place, displeasedly;
Bewraying privy spleens at Jove;
She laugh’d, but merely from her lips,
Her still-bent forehead was not clear’d;
Brought forth in spite, being lately school’d:
That envy Jove! Or that by act,
Any resistance to his will!
Nor moves, but says he knows his strength,
His greatness past all other Gods,
And ev’ry other godlike pow’r,
For which great eminence all you Gods,
Sustain with patience. Here is Mars,
And yet he bears them like himself.
Whom he himself yet justifies,
Just surname of their best belov’d,
By Jove’s high grace to Troy, is slain.”
As Juno knew he would, at this,
His brawny thighs, cried out, and said:
In these high temples, bear with me,
Of such a son. I’ll to the fleet,
The fate of being shot to hell, by
And lie all grim’d amongst the dead
Revenge shall honour.” Then he charg’d
His horse and chariot. He got arms,
And then a wrath more great and grave
Against the Gods than Juno caus’d,
More for the peace of heav’n than Mars;
Rapt up her helmet, lance, and shield,
With her egression to his stay,
“Furious and foolish, th’ art undone!
Heard’st thou not Juno being arriv’d
Or wouldst thou he himself should rise,
The dreadful pow’r she urg’d in him,
Know, thou most impudent and mad,
Mischief to thee, but to us all.
Left both the hosts, and turn’d his hands
Guilty and guiltless both to wrack
And therefore, as thou lov’st thyself,
Another, far exceeding him
Or is, or will be shortly, slain.
Jove in much trouble, to free all
This threat ev’n nail’d him to his throne;
Call’d bright Apollo from his fane,
Of internunciess from the Gods,
Of Jupiter, to this effect:
That both, with utmost speed, should stoop
To know his further pleasure there.
When you arrive, and are in reach
His pleasure heard, perform it all,
Thus mov’d she back, and us’d her throne.
And Ida all-enchas’d with springs
Where far-discerning Jupiter,
The brows of Gargarus, and wrapt
About his bosom. Coming near,
His angry count’nance, since so soon
That his lov’d wife enjoin’d; but first
He thus commanded: “Iris, go
Our pleasure truly, and at large.
Of human war, and either greet
Or the divine sea make his seat.
Let better counsels be his guides,
And tempt my charge, though he be strong,
And elder born. Nor let him dare,
Whom all Gods else prefer in fear.”
From Ida’s top to Ilion; and
Or gelid hail, that from the clouds
So fell the windy-footed dame,
The wat’ry God, to whom she said:
I came from Ægis-bearing Jove,
And visit heav’n, or th’ ample seas.
Or disobedience, thou deniest,
In opposite fight, to field himself;
His hands eschewing, since his pow’r
His birth before thee; and affirms,
To vaunt equality with him,
He answer’d: “O unworthy thing!
His tongue too proudly, that ourself,
Of state and freedom, he would force.
To Saturn, Rhea brought us forth,
And Pluto, God of under-grounds.
Dispos’d betwixt us; ev’ry one
Pluto the black lot, Jupiter
Of broad heav’n, all the sky and clouds,
And high Olympus common are,
Why then should I be aw’d by him?
With his third portion, and not think,
With terrors of his stronger hands,
The most ignoble of us all.
His daughters and his sons, begot
Holds more convenience. They must hear
“Shall I,” said Iris, “bear from thee,
Or wilt thou change it? Changing minds,
And well thou know’st, these greatest born,
He answer’d: “Iris, thy reply
O ’tis a most praiseworthy thing,
Besides their messages, such things,
But this much grieves my heart and soul,
All-ways his equal, and so fix’d
He should to me, as under him,
Yet now, though still incens’d, I yield,
And I enforce it with a threat:
Of me, Minerva, Mercury,
And Vulcan, he will either spare
Her turrets to the lowest stone,
The Greeks as victors absolute,
His pride and my contempt shall live
This said, he left the Greeks, and rush’d
Much miss’d of all th’ heroic host.
Apollo’s service he employ’d,
To Hector; now th’ earth-shaking God
Shrunk from the horrors I denounc’d;
The under-seated Deities,
Had heard of me in such a fight
But both for them and me ’tis best,
That had not pass’d us without sweat.
My adder-fring’d affrighting shield,
That fear may shake the Greeks to flight.
O Phœbus, far-off shooting God,
Of famous Hector be recur’d,
His amplest pow’rs, that all the Greeks
Ev’n to their ships, and Hellespont;
All words and facts again for Greece,
To breathe them from their instant toils.”
Like air’s swift pigeon-killer, stoop’d
And found great Hector sitting up,
Not wheezing with a stopp’d-up spirit,
With fresh and comfortable veins,
But round about him all his friends,
And this was with the mind of Jove,
Apollo came; who, as he saw
Ask’d, like a cheerful visitant:
Great Hector, sitt’st thou so apart?
Invade thy fortitude?” He spake,
“O thou, the best of Deities!
By thy so serious benefit,
And to my face, if I were ill?
Must needs take note of, doth not Fame
That, as my hand at th’ Achive fleet
Of men whom valiant Ajax led,
All pow’r of more hurt from my breast?
And once to-day I thought to see
“Be strong,” said he, “for such a spirit
From airy Ida, as shall run
Apollo with the golden sword,
Him, who betwixt death and thy life,
Ere this day oft hath held his shield.
In wonted vigour, let thy knights
The Grecian fleet, myself will lead,
Were all his nerves with matchless strength;
Against their foes, when to his eyes
Then, as a goodly-headed hart,
A rout of country huntsmen chase,
The beast yet or the shady woods,
Keep safe, or our unwieldy fates
Bar them the poor beast’s pulling down;
Calls out a lion, hugely-man’d,
Turns headlong in unturning flight
So hitherto the chasing Greeks
But, after Hector was beheld
The boldest courage, then their heels
And then spake Andræmonides,
Of all th’ Ætolians, skill’d in darts,
And one of whom few of the Greeks
For rhetoric, when they fought with words;
Thus spake he to his Grecian friends:
Discern no little miracle;
And all-recover’d, when all thought
The hands of Ajax. But some God
Him that but now dissolv’d the knees
And now I fear will weaken more;
Of Him that thunders, can his pow’rs
Thus still triumphant. Hear me then:
Let’s draw up to our fleet, and we,
Stand firm, and try if these that raise
May be resisted. I believe,
Will fear himself to be too bold,
They eas’ly heard him, and obey’d;
They call’d t’ encounter Hector’s charge,
Back to the fleet. And these were they,
The fierce forefight: Th’ Ajaces both,
The Mars-like Meges, Merion,
The Trojan chiefs their men in heaps;
March’d Hector, and in front of him
About his bright aspéct a cloud,
Jove’s huge and each-where-shaggy shield,
Offending men, the God-smith gave
The Trojan forces. The Greeks stood.
The air on both sides as they join’d.
Some falling short, but other some
As long as Phœbus held but out
The darts flew raging either way,
But when the Greeks had seen his face,
The bristled targe, knew by his voice,
Their nerves and minds. And then look how
Or wealthy flock of sheep, being close,
In some black midnight, suddenly,
A brace of horrid bears rush in,
The poor affrighted flocks or herds;
The heartless Grecians, so the Sun
To headlong flight, and that day rais’d,
Arcesilaus then he slew,
Bœotia’s brazen-coated men;
Of mighty-soul’d Menestheüs.
Medon and Jasus; Medon was
Of swift Oïliades, and dwelt,
In Phylace; the other led
Was Spelus, Bucolus’s son.
Beneath Polydamas’s hand.
Just at the joining of the hosts.
Clonius. Bold Deïochus
It strook his shoulder’s upper part,
Quite through his breast, as from the fight
While these stood spoiling of the slain,
Beyond the dike and th’ undik’d pales;
Till all had pass’d the utmost wall;
Then Hector cried out: “Take no spoil,
From whose assault, for spoil or flight,
He meets his death; nor in the fire
His brother’s or his sister’s hands
His loathéd body; but, without,
His manless limbs.” This said, the scourge
Through ev’ry order; and, with him,
All threat’ningly, out-thund’ring shouts
Before them march’d Apollo still,
Without all labour, with his feet
He fill’d it to the top, and made
As broad and long as with a lance,
A man could measure. Into this
As num’rous; Phœbus still,
Still shaking Jove’s unvalu’d shield,
And then, as he had chok’d their dike,
And look how eas’ly any boy,
Makes with a little sand a toy,
But as he rais’d it childishly,
Both with his hands and feet he pulls,
So slight, O Phœbus, thy hands made
And their late stand, so well-resolv’d,
Thus stood they driv’n up at their fleet;
Exhorted, passing humbly pray’d,
With hands held up to heav’n, for help.
Grave Nestor, for his counsels call’d
Fell on his aged knees, and pray’d,
Stretch’d out his hands for aid to theirs,
“O father Jove, if ever man,
Fat thighs of oxen or of sheep,
In fruitful Argos, and obtain’d
For promise of his humble pray’rs,
Thou merely heav’nly, and clear up
And cruel day; do not destroy
He pray’d, and heav’n’s great Counsellor
His former grace good, and so heard
The Trojans took Jove’s sign for them,
In much more violence on the Greeks,
And as a huge wave of a sea,
Breaks over both sides of a ship,
For that’s it makes the wave so proud;
The Trojans overgat the wall,
Fought close at fleet, which now the Greeks
Then from their chariots they with
Kept still aboard for naval fights,
In hooks and pikes. Achilles’ friend,
That stood without their fleet, afford
Was never absent from the tent
Late-hurt Eurypylus, but sate,
To spend the sharp time of his wound,
In med’cines, and in kind discourse.
The Trojans past the wall, the Greeks
Then cried he out, cast down his hands,
Then, “O Eurypylus,” he cried,
Must bear my absence, now a work
Calls hence, and I must haste to call
Who knows, but, God assisting me,
The motion of a friend is strong.”
The rest yet stood their enemies
(Though Troy fought there with fewer men)
Those fewer from their navy’s charge,
Lack’d force to spoil their fleet or tents.
(Dispos’d by such a hand as learn’d
The perfect practice of his art)
The naval timber then in frame,
Can hew no further than may serve,
Fore-purpos’d by the skilful wright;
With such a line or law applied,
At other ships fought other men;
His quarrel firm at Ajax’ ship.
About one vessel all their toil;
The ship with fire, nor force the man,
The other from so near his ship,
But now did Ajax, with a dart,
Caletor, son of Clytius,
To burn the vessel; as he fell,
When Hector saw his sister’s son
He call’d to all his friends, and pray’d
Forsake his nephew, but maintain
And save it from the spoil of Greece.
At Ajax, in his nephew’s wreak;
On Lycophron Mastorides,
Of Ajax, born in Cythera;
Being fled to his protectión,
Amongst the god-like Cytherans.
Quite through his head, above his ear,
His fautour then astern his ship,
And to the earth his body fell.
On Ajax, who to Teucer call’d
Our lovéd consort, whom we brought
So like our father, Hector’s hand
Where then are all thy death-borne shafts,
Apollo gave thee?” Teucer straight
Stood near him, and dispatch’d a shaft,
It strook Pisenor’s goodly son,
Of the renowm’d Polydamus,
As he was labouring his horse,
Of Hector and his Trojan friends,
Made greatest tumult; but his strife,
Wrought not what sight or wishes help’d;
The hollow of his neck the shaft
And down he fell; his horses back,
The empty chariot. Panthus’ son
Their loose career, disposing them
Astynous, with special charge,
And in his sight. So he again,
At Hector then another shaft,
Which, had it hit him, sure had hurt,
And, had it slain him, it had driv’n
But Jove’s mind was not sleeping now,
And Teucer’s infamy; himself
His well-wrought string dissevering,
His shaft flew quite another way,
At all which Teucer stood amaz’d,
“O prodigy! Without all doubt,
The counsels of our fight; he brake
This morning, and was newly made,
A hundred arrows; and, beside,
The bow Apollo gave.” He said:
More on thy archery, since God,
Desir’d by Grecians, slights it so.
A good large lance, and on thy neck
With which come fight thyself with some,
That without labour at the least,
Troy may not brag it took our ships.
This said, he hasted to his tent,
And then his double double shield
Upon his honour’d head he plac’d
And then his strong and well-pil’d lance
Return’d; and boldly took his place,
When Hector saw his arrows broke,
“O friends, be yet more comforted;
Break the great Grecian archer’s shafts.
That Jove’s pow’r is direct with men;
Upon the sudden, as in those
And those not put in state at all.
Strength from the Greeks, and gives it us;
With join’d hands this approachéd fleet.
His fame or fate with wounds or death,
Who for his country suffers death,
His wife in honour shall survive,
In endless summers, and their roofs
And all this, though, with all their freight,
His friends thus cheer’d; on th’ other part,
“O Greeks,” said he, “what shame is this,
His fame and safety, than to live,
Now either save your fleet, or die;
That you can live and they destroy’d.
How Hector heartens up his men,
Now ready to inflame our fleet?
That you may take your ease and see,
No counsel can serve us but this:
And bear up close. better much,
To one day’s certain life or death,
So base as this, beat to our ships
Thus rous’d he up their spirits and strengths.
When Hector the Phocensian duke
Fierce Schedius, Perimedes’ son:
With slaughter of Laodamas,
And was Antenor’s famous son.
Otus, surnam’d Cyllenius,
Being chief of the Epeians’ bands.
He let fly at his feller’s life;
The well-aim’d lance; Apollo’s will
Should fall amongst the foremost fights;
Of Crasmus; Meges won his arms.
Bestow’d his lance; he was the son
And Lampus of Laomedon,
He strook Phylides’ shield quite through,
And hollow’d fitly, sav’d his life.
Who from Epirus brought them home,
Of famous Seléés doth run;
Being guest with him, those well-prov’d arms,
And now they sav’d his son from death.
A spear well-pil’d, that strook his casque
His purple feather, newly made,
While these thus striv’d for victory,
Atrides came to Meges’ aid,
Let loose a jav’lin at his foe,
His lusty head, ev’n past his breast;
While these made in to spoil his arms,
All his allies to quick revenge;
Strong Menalippus, that was son
With some reproof. Before these wars,
Clov’n-footed oxen, but did since
Excell’d amongst the Ilians,
And in his court kept as his son.
“Thus, Menalippus, shall our blood
Nor moves it thy lov’d heart, thus urg’d,
Seest thou not how they seek his spoil?
Our fight must stand at length, but close;
We close the latest eye of them,
Tear up, and sack the citizens
He led; he follow’d, like a God.
As well as Hector, cheer his men,
“Good friends, bring but yourselves to feel
For what ye suffer, and be men.
For which who strives in shame’s fit fear,
Comes oft’ner off. Then stick engag’d;
Save neither life, nor get renown,
This short speech fir’d them in his aid,
And turn’d them all before the fleet
To whose assault Jove stirr’d their foes,
Jove’s instrument, who thus set on
“Antilochus, in all our host,
More young than thou, more swift of foot,
O would thou wouldst then, for thou canst,
That thus comes skipping out before
Make stick, for my sake, ’twixt both hosts,
He said no sooner, and retir’d,
The foremost fighters, yet his eye
For doubt of odds; out flew his lance;
While he was darting; yet his dart
For Menalippus, that rare son
As bravely he put forth to fight,
And at the nipple of his breast,
And then, much like an eager hound,
Hurt by the hunter, that had left
The great-in-war Antilochus,
On thy torn bosom for thy spoil.
Hid to great Hector; who all haste
Antilochus, although in war
But as some wild beast, having done
The herdsman, or the herdsman’s dog)
The gather’d multitude makes in;
But after him, with horrid cries,
Show’rs of tear-thirsty lances pour’d;
With all his friends, he turn’d it then.
Like raw-flesh-nourish’d lions, rush’d,
Their pow’rs to perfect Jove’s high will;
And quench’d the Grecians’; one renown’d,
For Hector’s glory still he stood,
To make him cast the fleet such fire,
Heard Thetis’ foul petitión,
The splendour of the burning ships
From him yet the repulse was then
The honour of it giv’n the Greeks;
With such addition of his spirit,
To burn the fleet, that of itself
But now he far’d like Mars himself,
As, through the deep shades of a wood,
Held up to all eyes by a hill;
Stood as when th’ ocean is enrag’d,
With fervour, and resembled flames,
And from his temples his bright helm
For Jove, from forth the sphere of stars,
And all the blaze of both the hosts
And all this was, since after this
This lightning flew before his death,
(A small time thence, and now prepar’d)
Of great Pelides. In mean time,
Thought all things under it; and he,
Of greatest strength and bravest arm’d,
Or nowhere; off’ring to break through,
Although his will were past all theirs,
Conjoin’d so firm, that as a rock,
And standing near the hoary sea,
Of high-voic’d winds and billows huge,
So stood the Greeks great Hector’s charge,
He, girt in fire borne for the fleet,
And fell upon it like a wave,
Out from the clouds, grows, as it stoops,
And cuff a ship, when all her sides
Strong gales still raging in her sails,
Death being but little from their lives;
And plied the Greeks, who knew not what
And as the baneful king of beasts,
Fed in the meadows of a fen,
In number infinite; ’mongst whom
To fight with lions, for the price
He here and there jumps, first and last,
Chas’d and assaulted; and, at length,
And all the rest spers’d through the fen;
So Hector, in a flight from heav’n
Turn’d all their backs; yet only one
Brave Mycenæus Periphes,
Who of the heav’n’s-Queen-lovéd king,
The grace to greet in ambassy
Was far superior to his sire
Of all the virtues, and all those
As all Mycena could not match;
Still making greater his renown,
For his unhappy hasty foot,
Stuck in th’ extreme ring of his shield,
And down he upwards fell, his fall
A huge sound with his head and helm;
Ran in, and in his worthy breast
And slew about him all his friends,
They griev’d, and of his god-like foe
And now amongst the nearest ships,
The Greeks were driv’n; beneath whose sides,
And into them they pour’d themselves,
Up to their tents, and there they stood;
Their guards more outward, but, betwixt
Cheer’d still each other; when th’ old man,
Was call’d the Pillar, ev’ry man
“O friends, be men, and in your minds
Know you have friends besides yourselves,
As well those that are dead to you,
All sharing still their good, or bad,
That are not present (and the more
Their miss of you, as yours of them)
And this forc’d flight you have sustain’d,
Supplies of good words thus supplied
And so at last Minerva clear’d,
Before their eyes; a mighty light
As well about their ships, as where
Then saw they Hector great in arms,
As well all those that then abstain’d,
And all their own fight at the fleet.
Ajax to keep down like the rest;
Stalk’d here and there, and in his hand
Twelve cubits long, and full of
In horse, made to the martial race,
He chooseth four, and brings them forth,
Swarms of admiring citizens,
And, in their full career, he leaps
Enforc’d on any, nor fails he,
So Ajax with his bead-hook leap’d
As actively commanding all,
As men in them, most terribly
To save their navy and their tents.
To stand on exhortations now
And look how Jove’s great queen of birds,
Knows floods that nourish wild-wing’d fowls,
Beholds where cranes, swans, cormorants,
Darkens the river with her wings,
So Hector flew amongst the Greeks,
In chief, against one opposite ship;
Still backing him and all his men.
A bitter conflict at the fleet.
A weary breath, nor ever would,
And this was it that fir’d them both:
No hope but what the field would yield,
The Trojans all hope entertain’d,
Both ships and lives of all the Greeks.
Bred like strenuity in both.
His pow’rs against the first near ship.
Protesilaus to those wars,
With many Greek and Trojan lives,
One slew another desp’rately,
Was pitch’d on both parts. Not a shaft,
Was us’d through all. One fight fell out,
Sharp axes, twybills, two-hand swords,
Were then the weapons; fair short swords,
Had use in like sort; of which last,
Drop with dissolv’d arms from their hands,
From off their shoulders as they fought,
And thus the black blood flow’d on earth,
When Hector once had seiz’d the ship,
Fast on the stern, and held it there,
“Bring fire, and all together shout.
From such a day as makes amends,
By whose blest light we take those ships,
Took sea, and brought us worlds of woe,
To such a laziness and fear;
Our ling’ring banes, and charge thus home,
And so they rul’d the men I led.
My natural spirit, now by Jove
This more inflam’d them; in so much
Kept up; he was so drown’d in darts;
The hatches to a seat beneath,
It was impossible to scape;
And hurl’d out lances thick as hail,
To fire the ship; with whom he found
That on his soldiers thus he cried:
Expect ye more walls at your backs?
No citizens to take ye in,
We are, I tell you, in Troy’s fields;
And foes before; far, far from Greece.
There is no mercy in the wars;
Thus rag’d he, and pour’d out his darts.
Come near the vessel arm’d with fire,
All that pleas’d Hector made him mad,
Of which twelve men, his most resolv’d,
62: Though.—Dr. Taylor “through;” a typographical error.
138: Chief Majesty—Juno.
156: Deny—say nay, refuse.
“I clearly do deny
To yield my wife, but all her wealth I’ll render willingly.”
198: Queen of regiment—Juno.
199: Race—rase, destroy.
245: Thus instantly, &c.—Chapman here curtails the original.
277: Dr. Taylor “foresight;” a typographical error.
296: Heartless.—So Shakespeare,
“What, art thou drawn among these heartless hinds?”
308: His head—i.e. its head.
515: Young Atrides—Menelaus.
521: Make.—The second folio, and Dr. Taylor, “may stick.”
553: Wood.—The second folio, followed by Dr. Taylor, has “hill,” but it had been corrected to “wood” in the list of errata in the first folio.
638: Foody fall—alighted to feed.
656: Twybills—two-edged bills, or axes. A kind of halberd.
678: Fight I alone?—Dr. Taylor has followed the error of the second folio, and printed “O friends, fight alone!”
683: Healths—safety (Latin).
687: The sense is, “All that pleased Hector, and would earn his thanks, made him (Ajax) mad; of which twelve men, his (Hector’s) most resolved, lay dead, before his (Ajax’s) stern.”
THE END OF THE FIFTEENTH BOOK.
Arg. Jove sees in Ο his oversight,
[In Hooper’s text, most capital Greek letters are indistinguishable from Roman. I used Greek Ο (omicron), but for metre it has to be read as “O” (one syllable).]
16 load all thy limbs with bands.
final . (full stop) missing
68 Ending his ends. Then, at once,
[Line printed as shown. One later editor proposed the emendation “evils” (two syllables) for “ends” (one syllable).]
76 embrac’d my knees,
text has keees
175 this Jupiter, and I,
text has I. with full stop for comma
277 note [forefight] Dr. Taylor “foresight;” a typographical error.
[Taylor seems to have had trouble with long ſ (s). Compare notes to XVI.179 (feeing:seeing), XVII.112 and XXI.303 (both fort:sort).]
326 As num’rous; Phœbus still,
[Full line printed as shown. There seems to be something wrong with the metre; Taylor has the same text, while the first edition gains a syllable by printing “numerous”.]
465 And bear up close. ’Tis better much
text has ’Tir
THE END OF THE FIFTEENTH BOOK.
[Line added for consistency; as with Book VIII, there was no room on the page to print the line.]
Achilles, at Patroclus’ suit, doth yield
His arms and Myrmidons; which brought to field,
The Trojans fly. Patroclus hath the grace
Of great Sarpedon’s death, sprung of the race
Of Jupiter, he having slain the horse
Of Thetis’ son, fierce Pedasus. The force
Of Hector doth revenge the much-rued end
Of most renown’d Sarpedon on the friend
Of Thetides, first by Euphorbus harm’d,
And by Apollo’s personal pow’r disarm’d.
In Πῖ Patroclus bears the chance
Of death, impos’d by Hector’s lance.
hus fighting for this well-built ship;
Stood by his friend, preparing words
With pow’r of uncontainéd tears;
In black streams from a lofty rock,
Achilles, ruthful for his tears,
So like a girl, who, though she sees
Her childish humours, hangs on her,
Still viewing her with tear-drown’d eyes,
To nothing liker I can shape
What causeth them? Hath any ill
Befall’n my Myrmidons? Or news
Told only thee, lest I should grieve,
On thy kind spirit? Actor’s son,
Thy father, lives, and Peleus, mine,
Amongst his Myrmidons; whose deaths,
Or is it what the Greeks sustain,
On whom, for their injustice’ sake,
Speak, man, let both know either’s heart.”
“O Peleus’ son, thou strongest Greek
Still be not angry, our sad state
Our greatest Greeks lie at their ships
King Agamemnon, Diomed,
But these much-med’cine-knowing men,
Thou yet unmed’cinable still,
Heav’n bless my bosom from such wrath
Born in thine age, enjoy thine aid,
Thou leav’st to such unworthy death?
Great Peleus never did beget,
Thou from the blue sea, and her rocks,
What so declines thee? If thy mind
Belated by thy mother-queen
And therefore thou forsak’st thy friends,
With those brave relics of our host,
That I may bring to field more light
To which end grace me with thine arms,
Of thy resemblance, all the pow’r
And our so-tiréd friends will breathe;
Will eas’ly drive their wearied off.”
For his sure death; of all whose speech
The last part thus: “O worthy friend,
I shun the fight for oracles,
Hath told from Jove? I take no care,
But this fit anger stings me still,
Should from his equal take his right,
This, still his wrong, is still my grief.
That all men gave, and whom I won
That, for her, overturn’d a town.
And used me like a fugitive,
That is no city libertine,
But bear we this as out of date;
Feed anger in our noblest parts;
As well as our great king of men,
Never to cast off my disdain
Their miss of me knock’d at my fleet,
I was reveng’d, and had my wish
And so of this repeat enough.
And my fight-thirsty Myrmidons
Whole clouds of Trojans circle us
The Greeks shut in a little shore,
Skipping upon them; all because
The radiance of my helmet there,
Thrust back, and all these ditches fill’d
If Agamemnon had been kind;
As thus far they had put at ease,
And may; for the repulsive hand
His raging darts there, that their death
Nor from that head of enmity,
The voice of great Atrides now.
Breaks all the air about both hosts,
Bred by his loud encouragements,
And fight the poor Achaians down.
Betwixt the fire-plague and our fleet.
War’s tide as headlong on their throats.
Our sweet home-turning. But observe
To each least point, that thy rul’d hand
And get such glory from the Greeks,
My most sweet wench, and gifts to boot,
On these so headstrong citizens,
With which grace if the God of sounds
Retire, and be not tempted on
Rain slaughtered carcasses on earth)
As far as Ilion, lest the Gods,
To thy encounter, for the Sun
In what thou suffer’st, will be wrong’d,
Assume an action of such weight
His friend’s prescription. Do not then
Than I may strengthen. Let the rest,
Perform the rest. O would to Jove,
That not a man hous’d underneath
Nor any one of all the Greeks,
Soever all together make,
But only we two, ’scaping death,
Of ev’ry stone stuck in the walls
Thus spake they only ’twixt themselves.
Could Ajax stand, being so oppress’d
The Trojans pour’d on; with whose darts,
His pow’rs were cloy’d, and his bright helm
His plume, and all head-ornaments,
His arm yet labour’d up his shield,
They could not stir him from his stand,
With short respirings, and with sweat,
His reeking limbs; no least time giv’n
Ill strengthen’d ill; when one was up,
Now, Muses, you that dwell in heav’n,
That first enforc’d the Grecian fleet,
First Hector, with his huge broad sword,
The head of Ajax’ ashen lance;
And that he shook a headless spear,
His wary spirits told him straight
And trembling under his conceit,
Who, as he poll’d off his dart’s heads,
That all the counsels of their war,
And give the Trojans victory;
And left his darts. And then the ship
Of kindling fire; which instantly
In unextinguishable flames,
And then Achilles beat his thighs,
Make way with horse. I see at fleet,
Arm, arm, lest all our fleet it fire,
Arm quickly, I’ll bring up the troops.”
Patroclus, in Achilles’ arms,
And richly amell’d, all haste made.
His huge-plum’d helm, and two such spears,
But the most fam’d Achilles’ spear,
He only left of all his arms;
Of any Greek to shake but his;
Shook that huge weapon, that was giv’n
Cut from the top of Pelion,
His steeds Automedon straight join’d;
Next Peleus’ son, Patroclus lov’d;
He found in faith at ev’ry fight,
Automedon did therefore guide
Xanthius and Balius swift as wind,
Of Zephyr, and the Harpy born,
Close to the wavy oceán,
Automedon join’d these before,
He fasten’d famous Pedasus,
Made by Achilles, when he took
He brought, and, though of mortal race,
To follow his immortal horse.
Himself had seen his Myrmidons,
Of dreadful war. And when ye see,
A den of wolves, about whose hearts
New come from currie of a stag,
And when from some black-water fount
There having plentifully lapp’d,
The top and clearest of the spring,
The clotter’d gore, look dreadfully,
Their bellies gaunt all taken up,
Then say, that such, in strength and look,
Now order’d for the dreadful fight;
Their princes and their chiefs did show,
His friend, and all, about himself;
Th’ embattelling of horse and foot.
Twice-five-and-twenty sail he brought,
Of able men was ev’ry sail.
Of all those forces; trusty men,
But he of pow’r beyond them all.
That ever wore discolour’d arms;
That fell from heav’n, and good to drink
His name unwearied Sperchius,
Fair Polydora, Peleus’ seed,
And she to that celestial Flood
A woman mixing with a God.
Of father to Menesthius,
And giving her a mighty dow’r;
Of Perieres. The next man,
Was strong Eudorus, brought to life
Bright Polymela, Phylas’ seed,
With Argus-killing Mercury;
As she was singing in the quire
In clam’rous hunting, and doth bear
Stole to her bed in that chaste room,
And gave her that swift-warlike son,
As she was dancing; but as soon,
Of labouring women eas’d her throes,
Strong Echecæus, Actor’s heir,
Her second favour, feeing her
And after brought her to his house,
Old Phylas, Polymela’s son
And found as careful bringing up,
He had descended. The third chief
Pisandrus, who in skill of darts
Of all the Myrmidons, except
The fourth charge, aged Phœnix had.
Son of Laerces, and much fam’d.
In fit place by the mighty son
This stern remembrance he gave all:
“Lest any of you should forget
In this place, and, through all the time,
Attempting me with bitter words,
For my hot humour, from the fight,
‘Thou cruel son of Peleüs,
Did only nourish with her gall,
Our hands against our wills from fight.
But take our ships, and sail for home,
And feed thy fury.’ These high words
The threats that, in your mutinous troops,
To be detain’d so from the field.
In sweat of those great works ye wish’d;
A gen’rous heart, go fight, and fright
This set their minds and strengths on fire,
Being us’d in time; but, being their king’s,
And closer rush’d in all the troops.
The mason lays his stones more thick,
Of wind and weather, and ev’n then,
He thickens them the more for that,
His honest mind to make sure work;
This work was brought to, these men’s minds,
Were rais’d, and all their bodies join’d;
With his so timely-thought-on speech,
And thicken’d so their targets boss’d,
That shields propp’d shields,
Patroclus and Automedon
Two bodies with one mind inform’d;
Betook him to his private tent,
Most rich and curiously, and giv’n
In his own ship, top-fill’d with vests,
And tapestries all gold’n-fring’d,
He took a most unvalu’d bowl,
Nor he but to the Deities,
But Jove himself was serv’d with that;
With sulphur, then with fluences
Then wash’d his hands, and drew himself
Which (standing midst the place enclos’d
And looking up to heav’n and Jove,
Upon the place of sacrifice,
“Great Dodonæus, president
Divine Pelasgicus, that
Th’ austere prophetic Selli dwell,
Go bare, and never cleanse their feet;
Grace to my vows, and hurt to Greece,
I still stay in the gather’d fleet,
Amongst my many Myrmidons,
O grant his valour my renown,
That Hector’s self may know my friend
And not then only show his hands,
When my kind presence seconds him.
No further let him trust his fight,
Clamour and danger from our fleet,
To him and all his companies,
He pray’d, and heav’n’s great Counsellor
To one part of his orisons,
He let him free the fleet of foes,
Achilles left that utter part
And turn’d into his inner tent,
Stood forth, and with his mind beheld
That follow’d his great-minded friend,
With gallant spirit upon the foe.
Their dwellings in the broad high-way,
(Their cottages being near their nests)
With ever vexing them, and breed
A common ill to many men,
(That would his journey’s end apply,
Come near and vex them, upon him
For on they fly as he were such,
So far’d it with the fervent mind
Who pour’d themselves out of their fleet
That needs would stir them, thrust so near,
Of many others, that had else
Nor would have touch’d. Patroclus then
And thus exhorted: “Now, my friends,
Your late-urg’d virtue, and renown
That, he being strong’st of all the Greeks,
All others likewise in our strengths,
And Agamemnon now may see
As his place high, dishonouring him
Thus made he sparkle their fresh fire,
Fill’d full her hollow sides with sounds,
Th’ amazed Trojans; and their eyes
When great Menœtius’ son they saw,
All troops stood troubled, with conceit
His anger cast off at the ships;
For some authority to lead
Patroclus greeted with a lance
Made strongest tumult, near the ship
And strook Pyræchmen; who before
Led from Amydon, near whose walls
Through his right shoulder flew the dart,
In his pow’r from his pow’rless arm,
His men all flying, their leader fled.
The whole guard plac’d about the ship,
The Pæons left her, and full cry
Then spread the Greeks about their ships;
And, as from top of some steep hill
And lets a great sky out from heav’n,
All prominent foreheads, forests, tow’rs,
So clear’d these Greeks this Trojan cloud,
Obtain’d a little time to breathe,
To their inclusions; nor did Troy,
Lose any ground, but from this ship
Then ev’ry man a man subdu’d.
Strook Areilycus; his dart
Quite through, and sunk him to the earth.
Accomplish’d Thoas, in whose breast,
Above his shield, and freed his soul.
That bold Amphiclus bent at him,
His thigh’s extreme part, where of man
The nerves torn with his lance’s pile,
Antilochus Atymnius seiz’d,
His first three guts, and loos’d his life.
Maris, Atymnius’ brother, flew;
The brother to Antilochus;
The muscles of his arm cut out,
Night clos’d his eyes, his lifeless corse
And so by two kind brothers’ hands,
Both being divine Sarpedon’s friends,
Of Amisodarus, that kept
Abhorr’d Chimæra; and such bane
Ajax Oïliades did take
Invading him stay’d by the press;
With his short sword that cut his neck;
And cold Death with a violent fate
Peneleüs, and Lycon cast
Both miss’d, and both together then
The blade and hilt went, laying on
Peneleus’ sword caught Lycon’s neck,
His head hung by the very skin.
Pursuing flying Acamas,
To horse and chariot overtook,
On his right shoulder, that he left
The dusty earth; life left his limbs,
Idomenæus his stern dart
As, like to Acamas, he fled;
Beneath his brain, betwixt his neck,
Shaking his teeth out, through his mouth,
So through his nostrils and his mouth,
He breath’d his spirit. Thus had death
A chief of Troy. For, as to kids,
The wolf, steals in, and, when he sees
The dams are spers’d about the hills,
With ease, because his prey is weak;
Discerning well how shrieking flight
Their biding virtues quite forgot.
That Ajax bore to Hector still,
Within his bosom with a dart;
Well-cover’d in a well-lin’d shield,
The arrows and the jav’lins reach’d,
And ominous singings; and
Of Conquest in her aid of him,
Took safest course for him and his,
And as, when Jove intends a storm,
From steep Olympus, a black cloud,
From men on earth; so from the hearts
All comfort lately found from Jove,
Nor made they any fair retreat.
Would needs retire him, and he left
Forc’d by the steepness of the dike,
And kept them that would fain have gone.
A number of the Trojan kings,
Their chariots in their foreteams broke.
While steel was hot, and cheer’d his friends;
Who, when they once began to fly,
And chok’d themselves with drifts of dust.
Beneath the clouds; with flight and noise
Their home intendments; and, where rout
Patroclus most exhorts and threats;
Numbers beneath their axle-trees;
Made th’ after chariots jot and jump,
Th’ immortal horse Patroclus rode,
And wish’d the depth and danger more;
As great a spirit had to reach,
But his fleet horse had too much law,
And as in Autumn the black earth
That Jove in gluts of rain pours down,
Of judgment in authoriz’d men,
With violent office, wrested laws,
Exile all justice; for whose fault,
And many valleys cut away
From neighbour mountains, till the sea
And judg’d men’s labours then are vain,
So now the foul defaults of some
So like those torrents roar’d they back
And so like tempests blew the horse
Those hot assailants, all their works
Patroclus, when he had dispers’d
Call’d back his forces to the fleet,
As they desir’d, too near the town;
And their steep rampire, his hand steep’d
Then Pronous was first that fell
Which strook his bare breast, near his shield.
Old Enops’ son, did make himself;
In his fair seat, ev’n with th’ approach
All manly courage, insomuch
Fell flowing down, and his right jaw
Strook through his teeth, and there it stuck,
Dead Thestor to his chariot.
An angler from some prominent rock
A mighty fish out of the sea;
The Trojan gaping from his seat,
Which when Patroclus drew, he fell;
Then rush’d he on Erylaus;
Which strake his head so in the midst,
Two ways it fell, cleft through his casque.
Ipheas, bold Amphoterus,
And Polymelus, by his sire
He heap’d upon the much-fed earth.
Divine Sarpedon, saw these friends
“O shame! Why fly ye?” then he cried,
On, keep your way, myself will meet
To make me understand his name
And hath so many able knees
Down jump’d he from his chariot;
And as, on some far-looking rock,
Fly on each other, strike and truss,
Tug both with crooked beaks and seres,
So fiercely fought these angry kings,
Jove, turning eyes to this stern fight,
And much mov’d for the Lycian prince,
Fate, by this day and man, should cut
Two minds distract me; if I should
And set him safe in Lycia;
“Austere Saturnius,” she replied,
A mortal, long since mark’d by fate,
Do, but by no God be approv’d.
Sons of Immortals, will live free,
These gates of Ilion; ev’ry God
Or storm extremely. Give him then
In brave fight by Patroclus’ sword,
And grieves thee for his danger’d life;
Let Death and Somnus bear him hence,
Receive him from his brothers’ hands,
And column rais’d to him. This is
She said, and her speech rul’d his pow’r;
For sad ostent of his near death,
In drops of blood heav’n swet for him,
And now, as this high combat grew
Sarpedon’s death had this state more;
And charioteer, brave Thrasymed;
Patroclus wounded with his lance,
And then another act of name
His first lance missing, he let fly
Of violent death to Pedasus;
By his so honourable hand,
His ruin startled th’ other steeds,
Strappled his fellows; whose misrule
By cutting the intangling gears,
The brave slain beast; when both the rest
And then the royal combatants
When Lycia’s Gen’ral miss’d again,
Above his shoulder empty way.
Patroclus let his spear perform,
Of his brave foe, where life’s strings close
Impressing a recureless wound;
And let him fall; when like an oak,
New fell’d by arts-men on the hills,
Before his horse and chariot.
Upon a goodly yellow bull,
And, under his unconquer’d jaws,
So sigh’d Sarpedon underneath
Call’d Glaucus to him, his dear friend,
Much duty owe to fight and arms;
Thy heart in much hand to approve
How active all thy forces are,
First call our Lycian captains up,
And all exhort to stand, like friends,
And spend thyself thy steel for me;
Of all thy life, to thy last hour,
In woe and infamy for me,
Spoil’d of mine arms, and thy renown
Stand firm then, and confirm thy men.”
Concluded all sight to his eyes,
Patroclus, though his guard was strong,
Climb’d his high bosom with his foot,
And with it drew the film and strings
And last, together with the pile,
His horse, spoil’d both of guide and king,
And apt to flight, the Myrmidons
Glaucus, to hear his friend ask aid,
Though well he knew his wound uncur’d,
Not to have good in any pow’r,
And (laying his hand upon his wound,
And was by Teucer’s hand set on
In keeping hurt from other men)
The God of med’cines, for his cure:
“That art perhaps in Lycia
Or here in Troy; but any where,
O give a hurt and woeful man,
This arm sustains a cruel wound,
Afflict this shoulder, and this hand,
A flux of blood still issuing;
With any enemy in fight,
Support my lance; and here lies dead
Sarpedon, worthy son to Jove,
From all aid in this deadly need;
O King of all aid to men hurt;
Of this arm’s anguish, give it strength,
I may excite my men to blows,
Of further violence.” He pray’d,
Allay’d his anguish, and his wound
That vex’d it so, infus’d fresh pow’rs
And all his spirits flow’d with joy
In such quick bounty, to his pray’rs.
He cast about his greedy eye;
To all his captains all the stings,
For good Sarpedon. And from them,
T’ Agenor, Hector, Venus’ son,
And (only naming Hector) said:
Your poor auxiliary friends, that
Their friendless souls out far from home.
With justice, and his virtues all,
The like guard for his person here;
Beneath the great Patroclus’ lance.
Good friends, stand near him. O disdain
With Grecian fury; and his arms,
These Myrmidons are come enrag’d,
Of Greeks Troy’s darts have made at fleet.”
Grief strook their pow’rs past patience,
To hear news of Sarpedon’s death;
To other cities, yet to theirs
And led a mighty people there,
Himself was best. This made them run
The first man Hector, to whose heart
Patroclus stirr’d the Grecian spirits;
“Now, brothers, be it dear to you,
As ever heretofore ye did,
The man lies slain that first did scale,
That crown’d our wall, the Lycian prince.
Force to his corse, and spoil his arms,
Of many great ones, that for him
To this work these were prompt enough;
Those phalanxes that most had rate
The Trojans and the Lycian pow’rs;
These ran together for the corse,
Their armours thund’ring with the claps
And Jove, about th’ impetuous broil,
As long as for his lovéd son,
The first of Troy the first Greeks foil’d;
Amongst the Myrmidons, was slain,
Divine Epigeus, that before
In fair Budeïus; but because
On his own sister’s valiant son,
He came for pardon, and obtain’d;
He came to Troy, and so to this.
The princely carcass; when a stone
Sent out of able Hector’s hand;
And strook him dead. Patroclus, griev’d
Before the foremost thrust himself.
A flock of stares or caddesses;
Amongst the Trojans and their friends;
As well as griev’d, for him so slain,
As good as Hector’s he let fly,
Of Sthenelaus, thrust his head
The nerves in sunder with his fall;
Ev’n Hector’s self, and all as far
(Provok’d for games, or in the wars
A light long dart. The first that turn’d,
The targeteers of Lycia,
Sent Bathyclæus, Chalcon’s son;
And shin’d for wealth and happiness
His bosom’s midst the jav’lin strook,
The Greeks griev’d, and the Trojans joy’d,
About whom stood the Grecians firm.
On Troy’s side by Meriones;
Laogonus, Onetor’s son,
Created in th’ Idæan hill.
The dart stuck fast, and loos’d his soul;
Invading him. Anchises’ son
At bold Meriones; and hop’d
On him with bold Laogonus,
He lay so close. But he discern’d,
So low, that over him it flew,
With which Mars made it quench his thirst;
No better body, and yet thrown
It turn’d from earth, and look’d awry.
Much angry at the vain event,
He scap’d but hardly, nor had cause
Another time, though well he knew
By whose agility he scap’d;
With any least touch, instantly
He answer’d: “Though thy strength be good,
The strength of others with thy jests;
But when my lance shall touch at thee,
Death will share with it thy life’s pow’rs;
No more than mine what his right claims.”
Rebuk’d Meriones, and said:
Nor thy strength is approv’d with words,
The body, nor make th’ enemy yield,
We must enforce the binding earth,
If you will war, fight. Will you speak?
Are th’ ends of wars and words. Talk here,
He said, and led; and, nothing less
(His speech being season’d with such right)
And then, as in a sounding vale,
Wood-fellers make a far-heard noise,
And laying on, on blocks and trees;
And beat like noises into air,
But, past their noise, so full of blood,
Divine Sarpedon, that a man
That could but know him, and might fail,
Ev’n to the low plants of his feet,
All thrusting near it ev’ry way,
That in a sheep-cote, when new milk
And buzz about the top-full pails.
Of Jove averted from the fight;
And diversely upon the death
If Hector there, to wreak his son,
His life, and force away his arms,
He then concluded that the flight
Achilles’ good friend more renown,
He should drive Hector and his host;
The mind of Hector that he mounts
Up with him, tempting all to her;
Knew evidently that the beam
Was then in sinking on their side,
Then not the noble Lycians stay’d,
Amongst the corses’ common heap;
About and on him, while Jove’s hand
And now they spoil’d Sarpedon’s arms,
Was sent by Menœtiades.
“Haste, honour’d Phœbus, let no more
To my Sarpedon; but his corse
And jav’lins purg’d; then carry him,
With whose waves wash, and then embalm
With our ambrosia; which perform’d,
And then to those swift mates and twins,
His princely person, that with speed
To wealthy Lycia; where his friends
And tomb it in some monument,
Then flew Apollo to the fight,
At all parts putting into act
Drew all the darts, wash’d, balm’d the corse;
By Sleep and Death, those feather’d twins,
Patroclus then Automedon
Large reins, and all way to the chace;
The strict commission of his friend;
A black death from him. But Jove’s mind
The mind of man; who both affrights,
From any hardiest hand with ease;
Though he himself commands him fight,
In Menœtiades’s mind. How much
Patroclus, that Jove gives thee now,
Of all these great and famous men
Of which Adrestus first he slew,
Epistora, and Perimus,
Swift Menalippus, Molius;
By him, and all else put in rout;
Had stoop’d beneath his glorious hand,
If Phœbus had not kept the tow’r,
Sustaining ill thoughts ’gainst the prince.
Of Troy’s steep wall he bravely leap’d;
Objecting his all-dazzling shield,
But fourthly, when, like one of heav’n,
Apollo threaten’d him, and said:
Forward, Patroclus, to expugn
Nor under great Achilles’ pow’rs,
Lies Troy’s grave ruin.” When he spake,
Leap’d far back, and his anger shunn’d.
Within the Scæan port, in doubt
Amongst the rout, and turn their heads,
Apollo, seeing his suspense,
Of Hector’s uncle, Asius;
Who near the deep Sangarius
Being brother to the Trojan queen.
And ask’d of Hector, why his spirit
Affirming ’twas unfit for him,
As much above his, as they mov’d
He should, with shame to him, be gone;
Against Patroclus, to approve,
Would give the glory of his death
So left he him, and to the light
Mix’d with the multitude, and stirr’d
Then Hector bade Cebriones put on;
All other Greeks within his reach,
To front Patroclus. He at him;
A jav’lin held, his right a stone,
As his large hand had pow’r to gripe,
As he could lie to; nor stood long,
That made against him, but full on
Discharg’d, and drave it ’twixt the brows
Nor could the thick bone there prepar’d
But out it drave his broken eyes,
And he div’d after; which conceit
Of old Menœtius, who thus play’d
“O heav’ns! For truth, this Trojan was
With what exceeding ease he dives,
Within the fishy seas! This man
For twenty men, though ’twere a storm,
And gather oysters for them all,
And there are many such in Troy.”
His own grave death; and then made in,
With such a lion’s force and fate,
Stalls of fat oxen, gets at length
His soul out of that rav’nous breast,
And so his life’s bliss proves his bane;
Wert thou, Patroclus, in pursuit
To whose defence now Hector leap’d.
These masters of the cry in war
Of two fierce kings of beasts, oppos’d
Slain on the forehead of a hill,
And to the currie never came
Nor these two entertain’d less mind
About the body, close to which
Hector the head laid hand upon,
Be forc’d from him; Patroclus then
And he pinch’d with as sure a nail.
While all the rest made eager fight,
And as the east and south winds strive,
Bow to their greatness, barky elms,
Ev’n with the earth, in whose thick arms
And toss by turns, all, either way,
Boughs murmur, and their bodies crack,
The sylvans falter, and the storms
So rag’d the fight, and all from Flight
While some still stuck, still new-wing’d shafts
Huge stones sent after that did shake
Who now, in dust’s soft forehead stretch’d,
As long as Phœbus turn’d his wheels
So long the touch of either’s darts
But, when his wain drew near the west,
The abler soldiers, and so swept
From off the body, out of which
And from his shoulders stripp’d his arms;
Patroclus turn’d his striving thoughts,
Thrice, like the God of war, he charg’d,
And thrice-nine those three charges slew;
O then, Patroclus, show’d thy last;
Against that onset; yet the prince
He kept the press so, and, besides,
With such felt darkness. At his back,
And ’twixt his neck and shoulders laid
A blow so weighty, that his eyes
And from his head his three-plum’d helm
That rung beneath his horses’ hooves,
Was crush’d together with the fall;
All spatter’d with black blood and dust;
It was a capital offence
Defile a triple-feather’d helm,
And youthful temples of their prince
Yet now Jove gave it Hector’s hands,
Besides whose lost and filéd helm
Well-bound with iron, in his hand
Fell from his shoulders to his feet,
His curets left him, like the rest.
By great Apollo. Then his mind
The vig’rous knittings of his joints
A Dardan, one of Panthus’ sons,
All Trojans of his place with darts,
In noble horsemanship, and one
One after other, twenty men,
The art of war; nay when he first
A horse and chariot of his
(His name Euphorbus) comes behind,
Forlorn Patroclus, who yet liv’d,
His jav’lin) took him to his strength;
Of thee, Patroclus, though disarm’d,
By Phœbus’ and Euphorbus’ wound)
He now too late shunn’d, and retir’d.
And knew he yielded with a wound,
Came close up to him, and both sides
He fell, and his most weighty fall
For which all Greece extremely mourn’d.
About a little fount begins,
Of some fell boar resolv’d to drink;
A lion comes alike dispos’d,
Both proud, and both will first be serv’d;
Advantage of his sov’reign strength,
Resign his thirst up with his blood;
When he had forc’d so much brave life,
And thus his great divorcer brav’d:
Gave thee th’ eversion of our Troy,
Of Trojan ladies, their free lives
But (too much prizer of thy self)
For these have my horse stretch’d their hoofs
And I (far best of Troy in arms)
Ev’n to the last beam of my life,
And here, in place of us and ours,
Poor wretch; nor shall thy mighty friend
That gave thy parting much deep charge,
‘Martial Patroclus, turn not face,
The curets from great Hector’s breast,
Thou hew’st in pieces.’ If thus vain
As vain was thy heart to believe
He, languishing, replied: “This proves,
That when two Gods have giv’n thy hands
(They conqu’ring, and they spoiling me
It being a work of ease for them)
To oversee their evident deeds,
When, if the pow’rs of twenty such
My lance had strew’d earth with them all.
A third place in my death; whom, first,
Effected by Latona’s son;
Euphorbus. And this one thing more
Thou shalt not long survive thyself;
And violent fate; Achilles’ lance
Thus death join’d to his words his end;
And to the house that hath no lights
For his sad fate, to leave him young,
He dead, yet Hector ask’d him why,
He so forespake him, when none knew
Prevent his death, and on his lance
Thus setting on his side his foot,
His brazen lance, and upwards cast
When quickly, while the dart was hot,
Divine guide of Achilles’ steeds,
To seize him too; but his so swift
Their gift to Peleus from the Gods,
10: Solicited—vexed, made anxious (Latin).
50: Libertine.—One admitted to the freedom of the city (Latin).
57: Repeat— repetition, repeated tale.
74: Ajourn—or as we now spell it, “adjourn.”
80: “Jupiter called the God of sounds, for the chief sound his thunder.” —Chapman.
97: The second folio and Dr. Taylor read “those darts.”
143: “A simile most lively expressive.” —Chapman.
160: Discoloured—divers-coloured, variegated.
179: Feeing.—Dr. Taylor has incorrectly printed “seeing.”
220: Thrumbs—tufts. Properly the tufted part beyond the tie at the end of the warp in weaving. Hence any collection of tufts or tassels. The word is common.
246: Utter.—Dr. Taylor has unnecessarily printed “outer.”
288: Cheer the sight.—Thus the first folio; the second and Dr. Taylor have “clear the sight.”
291: Inclusions—shut in as they were by the enemy.
303: Maris.—Dr. Taylor, following the error of the second folio, prints “Mars.”
314: Seel.—To seel, especially applied to closing the eyes of hawks, or doves, by passing a thread through the lids; hence to close the eyes in any way. Nares has many excellent examples.
437: Ruin—fall (Latin).
464: Nosthrils.—The original and etymological spelling of nostril is nosethril, and the word is generally in that form in old writers. Nose and thirl (Anglo-Sax.) a perforation.
541: Caddesses—daws. Caddow in Halliwell. “In some places it is called a Caddesse or Choff.” —Randle Holme Academie of Arm. Bk. II. cap. XI. p. 248.
619: That with speed.—The second folio and Taylor, “and with speed.”
644: His all-dazzling.—The second folio has, “objecting all his dazzling shield,” and so Dr. Taylor.
661: He that gave them day—Apollo.
681: As well.—The second folio has “all well.”
792: Forespake—predict, foreshow, specially foretell coming death.
“My mother was half a witch; never anything that she forespake, but came to pass.”
That my bad tongue, by their bad usage made so,
Forespeaks their cattle, doth bewitch their corn.”
* Expungers.—The second folio has “expugners;” and so Taylor.
† In private.—These words are wanting in the second folio, and Taylor.
THE END OF THE SIXTEENTH BOOK.
230 Divine Pelasgicus, that dwell’st
text has dwell’est
A dreadful fight about Patroclus’ corse;
Euphorbus slain by Menelaus’ force;
Hector in th’ armour of Æacides;
Antilochus relating the decease
Of slain Patroclus to fair Thetis’ son;
The body from the striving Trojans won:
Th’ Ajaces making good the after field;
Make all the subject that this book doth yield.
In Rho the vent’rous hosts maintain
A slaught’rous conflict for the slain.*
or could his slaughter rest conceal’d
Who flew amongst the foremost fights,
Circled the body, as much griev’d,
To keep it theirs, as any dam
Not proving what the pain of birth
Nor to pursue his first attaint
But, seeing Menelaus chief
Assay’d him thus: “Atrides, cease,
With his embru’d spoil to the man,
And famous succours, in fair fight,
And therefore suffer me to wear
Amongst the Trojans, lest thy life
“O Jupiter,” said he, incens’d,
To boast so past thy pow’r to do.
Nor spotted lëopard, nor boar,
In pouring fury from his strength,
As Panthus’ fighting progeny.
That joy’d so little time his youth,
My force in arms, and call’d me worst
And stood my worst, might teach ye all
I think he came not safely home,
Nor less right of thy insolence
And will obtain me, if thou stay’st.
A fool sees nought before ’tis done,
This mov’d not him but to the worse,
That his slain brother shot in him,
To whom he answer’d: “Thou shalt pay,
By that slain brother, all the wounds
With one made in thy heart by me.
A heavy widow, when her joys
And hurt’st our parents with his grief;
Forespeaking so thy death, that now
To Panthus, and the snowy hand
Those arms, and that proud head of thine.
Shall ask no long time to perform.
But their performance; Strength, and Fight,
This said, he strook his all-round shield;
That turn’d head in it. Then the king
First praying to the King of Gods;
(The force much driving back his foe)
And ran his neck through. Then fell pride,
His locks, that like the Graces were,
In gold and silver ribands wrapp’d,
And when alone in some choice place,
The young plant of an olive tree,
With plenty of delicious springs,
And all his fresh and lovely head,
That dance and flourish with the winds,
But when a whirlwind, got aloft,
Tears from his head his tender curls,
His fix’d root from his hollow mines;
Of Sparta’s king; and so the plant,
He slain, the king stripp’d off his arms;
All fearing him, had clearly pass’d,
Had not, in envy of his acts,
The Mars-like Hector; to whose pow’rs
Of those fair arms, and took the shape
Of all the Cicones that near
Like him, he thus puts forth his voice:
In headstrong pursuit of those horse,
To take the draught of chariots,
The great grandchild of Æacus
Whom an immortal mother bore.
The young Atrides, in defence
Hath slain Euphorbus.” Thus the God
And Hector, heartily perplex’d,
Still shedding rivers from his wound;
Of brave Atrides with his spoil;
Like one of Vulcan’s quenchless flames.
That ever usher’d him, and sigh’d,
Should leave these goodly arms, and him,
I fear I should offend the Greeks;
Alone with Hector and his men,
Some sleight or other they may use,
Their wills of one, and all Troy comes
But why, dear mind, dost thou thus talk?
Against the Gods, as sure they do
Straight one or other plague ensues.
The grudge of any Greek that sees
Still fighting with a spirit from heav’n.
Brave Ajax, he and I would stand,
’Tis best I seek him, and then see
This corse’s freedom through all these.
The body, and my mind be still.
In this discourse, the troops of Troy
Made such a lion-like retreat,
The royal savage, and come on,
To clear their hornéd stall, and then
(With all his high disdain) falls off;
The golden-hair’d Atrides fled,
Upon his left hand him he wish’d,
About encouraging his men,
Apollo had infus’d. The king
And said: “Come, friend, let us two haste,
Of Hector free Patroclus’ corse.”
And then was Hector haling off
To spoil the shoulders of the dead,
His arms he having pris’d before;
To bar all further spoil. With that
’Twas best to satisfy his spleen;
With his mere sight, and Hector fled.
To make his citizens admire,
Then Ajax gathered to the corse,
There setting down as sure a foot,
Of his lov’d whelps, a lion doth;
To give him onset, their more force
Drowns all their clamours in his roars,
And lets his rough brows down so low,
So Ajax look’d, and stood, and stay’d
When Glaucus Hippolochides
The spirit of Hector, thus he chid:
In fight a Paris, why should fame
Being such a fugitive? Now mark,
Thy city only with her own.
To that proof wholly. Not a man
Shall strike one stroke more for thy town;
Should he eternally fight here,
How wilt thou, worthless that thou art,
From our poor soldiers, when their prince,
To thee, and most deservedly,
And left’st to all the lust of Greece?
(In life) so huge a good to Troy,
(In death) not kept by thee from dogs!
We’ll take our shoulders from your walls,
As all will, were our faces turn’d.
In all you Trojans, as becomes
Their country’s standard, you would see,
With like exposure of their lives,
Of such a dear confederacy
As now ye might reprise the arms
By forfeit of your rights to him,
And force Patroclus to your Troy.
In his love, that of all the Greeks
And leads the best near-fighting men;
Redeem Sarpedon’s arms; nay him,
This body drawn to Ilion
A greater ransom if you pleas’d;
’Tis his breast bars this right to us;
To mix great Hector with his men.
You choose foes underneath your strengths,
Hector look’d passing sour at this,
So under, talk above me so?
Thy wisdom was superior
Of gleby Lycia; but now
To that discretion thy words show,
For Ajax’ greatness. Nor fear I
Nor force of chariots, but I
In right of all war than all we.
Our victory and us his shield,
At his free pleasure, and with fear
Upon the strongest. Men must fight
Not their vain glories. But come on,
To these of mine, and then be judge,
If then I spend the day in shifts,
To thy detractive speeches then,
Holds any that in pride of strength
Whom, for the carriage of this prince,
I make not stoop in his defence.
How much it fits ye to make good
For ransom of Jove’s son, our friend.
Till I indue Achilles’ arms.”
And call’d back those that bore the arms,
In convoy of them towards Troy.
Remov’d from where it rainéd tears,
Then put he on th’ eternal arms,
Gave Peleus; Peleus, being old,
To his Achilles, that, like him,
When He, whose empire is in clouds,
War in divine Achilles’ arms,
“Poor wretch, thy thoughts are far from death,
His ambush for thee. Thou putt’st on
Whom others fear; hast slain his friend,
Torn rudely off his heav’nly arms,
And valiant. Equal measure then,
Yet since the justice is so strict,
In thy denied return from fight,
Those arms, in glory of thy acts;
Of excellence that neighbours death,
To this His sable brows did bow;
To those great arms, to fill which up
Austere and terrible, his joints
With strength and fortitude; and thus
High Clamour brought him. He so shin’d,
But he resembled ev’ry way
Then ev’ry way he scour’d the field,
Glaucus, and Medon, Desinor,
Phorcis, and Mesthles, Chromius,
To all these, and their populous troops,
“Hear us, innumerable friends,
We have not call’d you from our towns,
With number of so many men
Did ever joy us) but to fight;
With all their children, manfully
In whose cares we draw all our towns
With gifts, guards, victual, all things fit;
With all like rights; and therefore now
Or live, or perish; this of war
In which most resolute design,
Patroclus, laid dead to his hand,
Of Ajax’ slaughter, the half-spoil
To his free use, and to ourself
And so the glory shall be shar’d,
Then he shall shine in.” This drew all
Before the body. Ev’ry man
And forc’d from Ajax. Silly fools,
By raising rampires to his friend
And yet his humour was to roar,
To startle Sparta’s king, to whom
O Menelaus! Now no hope
Of all our labours. Not so much
(For that’s sure gone, the fowls of Troy
That piece-meal) as I fear my head,
Hector a cloud brings will hide all.
Grievous and heavy, comes. O call
He hasted, and us’d all his voice,
“O princes, chief lights of the Greeks,
Eat with our General and me,
Jove gives both grace and dignity
Good minds for only good itself,
Of him that rules discern him not.
Through all this smoke of burning fight,
And call assistance to our need.
And freely follow each his next.
Of great Æacides be forc’d
His voice was first heard and obey’d
Idomenëus and his mate,
Were seconds to Oïleus’ son;
Can lay upon his voice the names,
In setting up this fight on end?
And as into the sea’s vast mouth,
Their billows and the sea resound,
Rebellows in her angry shocks
With such sounds gave the Trojans charge,
One mind fill’d all Greeks, good brass shields
And on their bright helms Jove pour’d down
To hide Patroclus; whom alive,
Of that grandchild of Æacus,
Nor dead would see him dealt to dogs,
His fellows to his worthy guard.
The black-ey’d Grecians from the corse;
That came at death. Awhile they hung
The Greeks quite gone. But all that while,
Of all his forces, that cut back
Brave Ajax (that for form and fact,
The Grecian fame, next Thetis’ son)
And as a sort of dogs and youths
About a mountain; so fled these
That stood in conflict for the corse,
Betwixt them and the prise at Troy;
Lethus’ Pelasgus’ famous son,
That he would stand to bore the corse
Where all the nervy fibres meet
That make the motion of those parts;
The thong or bawdric of his shield,
All thanks from Hector and his friends;
An ill that no man could avert;
A lance that strook quite through his helm,
Down fell Letheides, and with him
Far from Larissa’s soil he fell;
To his industrious spirits to quit
By his kind parents. But his wreak
And threw at Ajax; but his dart,
At Schedius, son of Iphitus,
Of all the strong Phocensians,
In Panopëus. The fell dart
Pierc’d through his shoulder’s upper part,
When after his another flew,
To martial Phorcis’ startled soul,
Of Phænops’ seed. The jav’lin strook
The bowels from the belly’s midst.
Give back a little, Hector’s self
And then the Greeks bestow’d their shouts,
Drew off, and spoil’d Hippothous
And then ascended Ilion
Discov’ring th’ impotence of Troy,
And by the proper force of Greece,
Æneas in similitude
Of grave Epytes) king at arms,
To old Anchises, being wise,
But, like this man, the far-seen God
And ask’d him how he would maintain
In spite of Gods, as he presum’d;
All his presumptions, and all theirs
Believing in their proper strengths,
With such unfrighted multitudes?
Besides their self conceits, sustain’d
Than theirs of Greece; and yet all that
Æneas knew the God, and said:
That those of Greece should beat them so,
Not want of man’s aid nor the Gods’;
A Deity stood ev’n now and vouch’d,
And so bade Hector and the rest,
Turn head, and not in that quick ease
This said, before them all he flew,
Against the Greeks flew. Venus’ son
Son of Arisbas, and had place
Whose fall he friendly pitiéd,
A lance that Apisaon strook,
The dusty centre, it did stick
That forms the liver. Second man
In name for arms amongst the troop
Asteropæus being the first;
That Lycomedes was; like whom,
Of his slain friend; but wrought it not,
That bulwark made of Grecian shields,
Combin’d about the body slain.
The greatest labour, ev’ry way
And no man fly the corse a foot,
Of any foremost daring spirit,
And use the closest fight they could.
Of mighty Ajax; which observ’d,
The Trojans and their friends fell thick.
(Though far the fewer suffer’d fate)
To shun confusion, and the toil
So set they all the field on fire;
The sun and moon had been put out,
About the person of the prince.
Fought underneath a lightsome heav’n;
And such expansure of his beams
That not a vapour durst appear
No, not upon the highest hill.
Shunn’d danger, cast their darts aloof,
The other plied it, and the war
The cruel steel afflicting all;
Unhurt within their iron roofs.
Antilochus and Thrasymed,
With notice of Patroclus’ death.
In foremost tumult, and might well,
In no more comfortable sort
They fought apart; for so their sire,
Enjoining fight more from the fleet.
The whole day long, continually
The knees, calves, feet, hands, faces, smear’d,
About the good Achilles’ friend.
A currier gives amongst his men,
With oil till it be drunk withall;
Their oil and liquor lib’rally,
That out they make a vapour breathe,
A number of them set on work,
That all ways all parts of the hide
So here and there did both parts hale
And wrought it all ways with their sweat;
To make it reach to Ilion,
A cruel tumult they stirr’d up, and
(That horrid hurrier of men) or
Minerva, never so incens’d,
So baneful a contentión
Of men and horse about the slain.
Had no instruction, so far off,
Of Troy, that conflict was maintain’d;
By great Achilles, since he charg’d,
Upon the ports, he would retire,
For his assaults without himself,
He knew it was to be subdu’d.
The mind of mighty Jove therein,
But of that great ill to his friend
By careful Thetis. By degrees
The foes cleft one to other still,
His death with death infected both.
Either to other: “’Twere a shame,
And let the Trojans bear to Troy
Which, let the black earth gasp, and drink
Before we suffer. ’Tis an act
And then would those of Troy resolve,
Will fell us altogether here.
Thus either side his fellows’ strength
And thus through all th’ unfruitful air,
Up to the golden firmament;
In these immortal heav’n-bred horse
Whom (once remov’d from forth the fight)
Of good Patroclus’ death, whose hands
And bitterly they wept for him.
With any manage make them stir,
Oft use his fairest speech, as oft
They neither to the Hellespont
But still as any tombstone lays
On some good man or woman’s grave
So unremovéd stood these steeds,
And warm tears gushing from their eyes,
Of their kind manager; their manes,
Of endless youth allotted them,
Ruth fully ruffled and defil’d.
And, pitying them, spake to his mind:
“Why gave we you t’ a mortal king,
And incapacity of age
Was it to haste the miseries
Of all the miserablest things
No one more wretched is than man.
Hector must fail to make you prise.
And glories vainly in those arms?
Besides you, are too much for him.
My care of you shall fill with strength,
Automedon, and bear him off.
The grace of slaughter, till at fleet
Till Phœbus drink the western sea,
Her sable mantle ’twixt their points.”
Excessive spirit; and through the Greeks
The whirring chariot, shaking
Amongst their tresses. And with them,
Amongst the Trojans, making way
As through a jangling flock of geese
Giv’n way with shrikes by ev’ry goose,
With such state fled he through the press,
But made no slaughter; nor he could,
Upon the sacred chariot.
Direct his jav’lin, and command
At length he came where he beheld
That was the good Laercius’,
Who close came to his chariot side,
That hath so robb’d thee of thy soul,
Amongst these forefights, being alone;
And Hector glorying in his arms?”
“Alcimedon, what man is he,
So able as thyself to keep,
These deathless horse; himself being gone,
Of their high manage? Therefore take
And ease me of the double charge,
He took the scourge and reins in hand,
Which Hector seeing, instantly,
He told him, he discern’d the horse,
Address’d to fight with coward guides,
A rich prise of them, if his mind
For those two could not stand their charge.
Dry solid hides upon their necks,
And forth they went, associate
Aretus and bold Chromius;
To prise the goodly-crested horse,
The souls of both their guardians.
They could not work out their return
Without the lib’ral cost of blood;
To father Jove, and then was fill’d
When (counselling Alcimedon to
The horse from him, but let them breathe
He saw th’ advance that Hector made,
Propos’d to it, but both their lives
Or his life theirs) he call’d to friend
Th’ Ajaces, and the Spartan king,
A sure guard with the corse, and then
Our threaten’d safeties. I discern
Prepar’d against us. But herein,
Lies in the free knees of the Gods.
The sequel to the care of Jove
All this spake good Automedon;
He threw, and strook Aretus’ shield,
Through all the steel, and, by his belt,
It pierc’d, and all his trembling limbs
Then Hector at Automedon
Whose flight he saw, and falling flat,
And made it stick beyond in earth,
Mars buried all his violence.
Had chang’d the conflict, had not haste
Both serving close their fellows’ call,
There drew the end. Priamides,
(In doubt of what such aid might work)
Aretus to Automedon,
“A little this revives my life
Though by this nothing countervail’d.”
Of inward grief, he took the spoil;
Up to his chariot, hands and feet
That lion-like he look’d, new turn’d
And now another bitter fight
Tear-thirsty, and of toil enough;
Descending from the cope of stars,
To animate the Greeks; for now,
His mind from what he held of late.
Jove bends at mortals, when of war
Or make it a presage of cold,
That men are of their labours eas’d,
So Pallas in a purple cloud
Amongst the Grecians, stirr’d up all;
She breath’d in Atreus’ younger sun,
Of aged Phœnix’ shape, and spake
“O Menelaus, much defame,
Will touch at thee, if this true friend
Dogs tear beneath the Trojan walls;
Toil through the host, and ev’ry man
He answer’d: “O thou long-since born,
The honour’d foster-father’s name
I would Minerva would but give
These busy darts off; I would then
My income in their bloods, in aid
His death afflicts me, much. But yet,
With Jove, and such a fi’ry strength
His steel is killing, killing still.”
Minerva joy’d to hear, since she
In his remembrance. For which grace
Strength on his shoulders, and did fill
With swiftness, breathing in his breast
Which loves to bite so, and doth bear
That still though beaten from a man
With such a courage Pallas fill’d
And then he hasted to the slain,
And took one Podes, that was heir to
A rich man and a strenuous,
Much honour, and by Hector too,
And him the yellow-headed king
In off’ring flight, his iron pile
And up Atrides drew his corse.
The spirit of Hector, Phænops like,
Whom Hector us’d, of all his guests,
And in Abydus stood his house;
“Hector! What man of all the Greeks
Of meeting thy strength any more,
By Menelaus, who, before
A passing easy soldier,
Impos’d by him) he draws him off,
From all the Trojans? This friend is
This hid him in a cloud of grief,
And then Jove took his snake-fring’d shield,
With sulphury clouds, from whence he let
And thunder’d till the mountain shook;
He usher’d victory to Troy,
Being wounded in his shoulder’s height;
Strook lightly, glancing to his mouth,
Thrown from Polydamas. Leitus
(Being hurt by Hector in his hand)
His hand in wishéd fight with Troy
Idomenëus sent a dart
And following Leitus) that strook
And brake at top. The Ilians
When Hector at Deucalides
As in his chariot he stood;
For, as it fell, Cœranus drave
And took the Trojan lance himself;
Of stern Meriones, and first
Which well he left to govern horse,
With driving ’twixt him and his death,
Which kept a mighty victory
From his great sov’reign. The fierce dart
His ear, betwixt his jaw and it,
And strook his teeth out; from his hands
Which now Meriones receiv’d
And bade his sov’reign scourge away,
No hope of victory for them.
Nor from the mighty-minded son
For all his clouds, high Jove himself,
They saw him in the victory,
For Troy. For which sight Ajax said:
That sees, not Jove’s hand in the grace
Not any dart they touch but takes,
Valiant or coward; what he wants
Wants his direction to strike sure;
But come, let us be sure of this,
That lies in us; which two-fold is,
And so to fetch him off as we
To fetch ourselves off; that our friends
In joy of our secure retreat,
Being kept as sure from further wrong.
And looking this way, grieve for us,
Our pass from this man-slaughterer,
That are too hot for men to touch,
Before our fleet will be enforc’d
Which to prevent by all fit means,
Of good Patroclus, to his friend,
By some he loves; for, I believe,
Hath yet inform’d him. But alas!
Both men and horse are hid in mists
O father Jupiter, do thou
Of this felt darkness; grace this day
And give the eyes thou giv’st, their use;
And work thy will with us, since needs
This spake he weeping, and his tears
Dispers’d the darkness instantly,
From whence it fell; the sun shin’d out,
And then spake Ajax, whose heard pray’r
“Brave Menelaus, look about;
Nestor’s Antilochus alive,
To tell Achilles that his friend,
He said, nor Menelaus stuck
As loth to do it, but he went.
A lion goes, when overlaid
Not eas’ly losing a fat ox,
His teeth yet wat’ring, oft he comes,
The adverse darts so thick are pour’d
And burning firebrands which, for all
And, grumbling, goes his way betimes;
Atrides, much against his mind,
Lest, he gone from his guard, the rest
The person to the spoil of Greece.
Th’ Ajaces and Meriones; whom much
And thus exhort: “Ajaces both,
Now let some true friend call to mind
Of poor Patroclus; let him think,
His heart was living, though now dead.”
And parted, casting round his eye.
An eagle is, whom men affirm
Of all air’s region of fowls,
Sees yet within her leavy form
A light-foot hare, which straight she stoops,
So dead thou strook’st thy charge, O king,
Thou look’dst, and swiftly found’st thy man
And heart’ning his plied men to blows
To whom thou saidst: “Thou god-lov’d man,
Which I wish never were to hear.
What a destruction God hath laid
And what a conquest he gives Troy;
Patroclus, lies exanimate,
The Greeks would rescue and bear home;
To his great friend, to prove if he
To fetch the naked person off,
His priséd arms.” Antilochus
This heavy news, and stood surpris’d
His fair eyes standing full of tears;
Stuck in his bosom; yet all this
Of what Atrides gave in charge,
He gave Laodocus his arms
Of his swift horse) and then his knees
In his sad message, which his eyes
Nor would thy gen’rous heart assist
O Menelaus, in mean time,
Thou sent’st them god-like Thrasymede,
Back to Patroclus; where arriv’d,
To both th’ Ajaces: “I have sent
To swift Achilles, who, I fear,
Though mad with Hector; without arms
Let us then think of some best mean,
The body, and get off ourselves
And fate of Trojans.” “Bravely spoke
“O glorious son of Atreüs.
And thou, Meriones; we two, of one
Will back ye soundly, and on us
That Hector’s rage breathes after you,
This said, they took into their arms
That might be, made to those of Troy;
Out shriek’d the Trojans when they saw
And rush’d on. As at any boar,
A kennel of the sharpest set
Before their youthful huntsmen haste,
Pursue, as if they were assur’d
But when the savage, in his strength
Turns head amongst them, back they fly,
So troop-meal Troy pursu’d awhile,
But when th’ Ajaces turn’d on them,
Drunk from their faces all their bloods,
The forechace, nor the after-fight.
The person towards home. But thus,
Out to a passing bloody length;
A fire, invading city roofs,
And made a wondrous mighty flame,
A house long building, all the while
Lumb’ring amongst it; so the Greeks,
More and more foes drew, at their heels
Of horse and foot. Yet as when mules,
A beam or mast, through foul deep way,
Lie to their labour, tug and sweat,
Urg’d by their drivers to all haste;
Still both th’ Ajaces at their backs,
Though after it grew still the more.
Thrusts back a torrent, that hath kept
Till at his oaken breast it beats,
That sends it over all the vale,
Nor can with all the confluence
In no less firm and brave repulse,
Of all the Trojans; yet all held
Their chiefs being Hector, and the son
Put all the youth of Greece besides
Forgetting all their fortitudes,
A number of their rich arms lost,
About, and in the dike; and yet,
* This Argument is thus printed in the first folio. The second, which Dr. Taylor follows, has
“In Rho, the virtuous hosts maintain
A slaught’rous conflict for the
6: “This Euphorbus was he that, in Ovid, Pythagoras saith he was in the wars of Troy.” —Chapman.
20: Surcuidrie—often spelt “surquedry,” overweening pride, self-sufficiency; from “sur” and the old word “cuider” to ween, deem, presume (Cotgrave). Examples are numerous, from Chaucer to Donne. Chaucer defines it in his Persones Tale. “Presumption is when a man undertaketh an emprise that him ought not to do, or elles that he may not do; and this is called surquidrie.”
38: Assay’d.—The second folio and Dr. Taylor “assailed.”
44: Dr. Taylor “as when.”
54: Fair Eye of eyes—Apollo.
64: The young Atrides—i.e. the younger, Menelaus.
70: “Note the manly and wise discourse of Menelaus with himself seeing Hector advancing towards him.” —Chapman.
79: Grudge—anger, ill-will.
84: Dr. Taylor from the second folio, erroneously, “the body of my mind.”
112: Fort.—So both folios; Dr. Taylor has wrongly changed it to sort, and favoured us with a note.
177: “That frail blaze of excellence that neighbours death.—Chapman has here made an unauthorised addition to the original; but it is a superstition almost universal that any remarkable exhibition of pre-eminence, success, or happiness, is an omen of speedy death.” —Cooke Taylor. Compare Judges XVI. 28.
210: Now no hope.—Both folios and Dr. Taylor have “ne’er more hope,” but in the list of errata to the first folio it is thus corrected.
236: Bright.—The second folio, followed by Dr. Taylor, erroneously omits this word.
369: Affects.—The second folio and Taylor, “effects.”
380: Desire—regret (Latin, desiderium).
382: Yoky sphere—the wooden collar to which the harness was attached.
387: Human.—The second folio and Taylor, “humans.”
403: Shrikes—shrieks, shrill notes.
425: Brast—brass’d, covered with brass. The original is πολὺς δ’ ἐπελήλατο χαλχός. It must not be confounded with the old word “brast,” burst, broken. Iliad XVII.493.
442: “In the Greek always this phrase is used, not in the hands, but ἐν γούνασι , in the knees of the Gods lies our help, &c.” —Chapman. Iliad XVII.514.
458: This little vent.—Second folio and Taylor, “his.”
482: Income—communication, or infusion, of courage from the Gods. The word in this sense Todd says was a favourite in Cromwell’s time; but, perhaps, Chapman here merely uses it for entrance, coming in.
512: This dreadful.—The second folio, followed by Taylor, has “his dreadful.”
545: Ure—use. Skinner thinks it a contraction of usura. It is frequent in Chaucer. Todd gives examples from Hooker and L’Estrange.
551: Looking.—The second folio erroneously prints “look,” which Dr. Taylor has repeated.
572: A grazier’s.—The second folio and Taylor, “the.”
634: Troop-meal—in troops, troop by troop. So piece-meal. To meal was to mingle, mix together; from the French mêler. Shakespeare says,
“Were he mealed
With that which he corrects, then he were tyrannous.”
Cotgrave, “Mesler: to mingle, mix, mell.” “Melling” and “medled” are frequent in Shakespeare and Spenser. Mêlée, in fact, is almost naturalised with us. The reader would do well to consult Dr. Jamieson’s excellent “Dictionary of the Scottish Language,” in voce “mell.”
640: Engrost—engrossed, made thick, large.
643: Lumb’ring—not usual in the sense of “noise.” Dr. Taylor (from Richardson’s Dict.) quotes Cowper,
“The post-boy’s horse right glad to miss
The lumb’ring of the wheels.”
* The second folio, “space.”
† The second folio, which is followed in Dr. Taylor’s edition, erroneously omits the words, “which because * * * in Homer.”
THE END OF THE SEVENTEENTH BOOK.
Arg. note A slaught’rous conflict for the same.”
Final punctuation missing or invisible
64 of Menœtiades
text has Menætiades
70 note “Note the manly and wise discourse of Menelaus with himself seeing Hector advancing towards him.” —Chapman.
[Judging by Chapman’s expressed opinions about Menelaus elsewhere, he is probably being satirical.]
107 darts, dogs, doth all depise,
127 such as prop your cause
text has such a prop
[Corrected from 1st edition; it is a long and convoluted sentence either way.]/p>
235 note Bk. XIII. 719
405 alone being carried
expected “carriéd” (three syllables)
442 note ἐν γούνασι κεῖται
text has κεὶται
561 with fit transparences;
expected “transparencies” for rhyme
Comm. 335 Λαοῖσιν δώῃ
text has δῴη
Achilles mourns, told of Patroclus’ end;
When Thetis doth from forth the sea ascend
And comfort him, advising to abstain
From any fight till her request could gain
Fit arms of Vulcan. Juno yet commands
To show himself. And at the dike he stands
In sight of th’ enemy, who with his sight
Flies; and a number perish in the flight.
Patroclus’ person (safe brought from the wars)
His soldiers wash. Vulcan the arms prepares.
Sigma continues the alarms,
And fashions the renowméd arms.
hey fought still like the rage of fire.
Came to Æacides, whose mind
For that which, as he fear’d, was fall’n.
With upright sail-yards, utt’ring this
“Ah me! Why see the Greeks themselves
And routed headlong to their fleet?
Effect to what my sad soul fears,
The strongest Myrmidon next me,
The sun’s fair light, must part with it.
Is he on whom that fate is wrought.
What I commanded; that, the fleet
Not meeting Hector, instantly
As thus his troubled mind discours’d,
And told with tears the sad news thus:
Which would to heav’n I might not tell!
And for his naked corse (his arms
And worn by Hector) the debate
This said, grief darken’d all his pow’rs.
The black mould from the forcéd earth,
Smear’d all his lovely face; his weeds,
All fil’d and mangled; and himself
Lay, as laid out for funeral,
His gracious curls. His ecstasy
That all the ladies won by him
Afflicted strangely for his plight,
And fell about him, beat their breasts,
Dissolv’d with sorrow. And with them
Fell by him, holding his fair hands,
His person violence; his heart,
Beat, swell’d, and sigh’d as it would burst.
That Thetis, sitting in the deeps
Heard, and lamented. To her plaints the
Flock’d all, how many those dark gulfs
There Glauce, and Cymodoce,
Nesæa, and Cymothoe,
Thalia, Thoa, Panope,
Actæa, and Limnoria,
Fam’d for the beauty of her eyes,
Iæra, Proto, Clymene,
Pherusa, Doris, and with these
Chaste Galatea so renowm’d,
With Doto and Orythia,
Apseudes likewise visited,
Her kind attendance, and with her
Nemertes, Mæra, followéd,
With Ianira, and the rest
That in the deep seas make abode;
Their dewy bosoms; and to all,
Her cause of mourning: “Sisters, hear,
Whose cries now call’d ye. Hapless I
The best of all the sons of men;
In best soils, grew and flourishéd;
Employment for his youth and strength,
To fight at Ilion; from whence
Pass all my deity to retire.
The glorious court of Peleüs,
Never hereafter. All the life
Must waste in sorrows. And this son
Being now afflicted with some grief
Whose knowledge and recure I seek.”
Which all left with her; swimming forth,
Cleft with their bosoms, curl’d, and gave
They all ascended, two and two,
Till where the fleet of Myrmidons,
There stay’d they at Achilles’ ship;
Her fair hand on her sun’s curl’d head,
What grief drew from his eyes those tears?
“Till this hour thy uplifted hands
The Greeks, all thrust up at their sterns,
And in them seen how much they miss
He said, “’Tis true, Olympius
But what joy have I of it all,
Loss of my whole self in my friend?
He spoil’d of those profanéd arms,
From heav’n’s high Pow’rs, solemnizing
As th’ only present of them all,
Being lovely, radiant, marvellous.
With these fair Deities of the sea,
And Peleus had a mortal wife;
So much wrong to thy grievéd mind,
And never suff’ring my return
Nor do I wish it; nor to live
But only that the crying blood,
Mangled by Hector, may be still’d;
She, weeping, said: “That hour is near,
Which, in thy wish serv’d of thy foe,
“And instantly it shall succeed,”
Allow’d not to my will a pow’r
Of his late slaughter, my true friend.
Whose wrong therein my eyes had light
Yet now I neither light myself,
That either this friend or the rest
Slaughter’d by Hector) I can help,
To our dear country, but breathe here
And only live a load to earth
Of all the Grecians equal it.
Is my superior; what I have,
Disgraceth all. How then too soon
My fate-curst life? Her instrument
Being that black fiend Contention;
To Gods and men; and Anger too,
In men most wise, being much more sweet
To men of pow’r to satiate
And like a pliant fume it spreads
It stole stern passage thorough mine,
That is our Gen’ral. But the fact
Must vanish with it, though both griev’d;
Our soothéd humours. Need now takes
And when the loser of my friend
Let death take all. Send him, ye Gods,
Not Hercules himself shunn’d death,
Of Jupiter; ev’n him Fate stoop’d,
And if such fate expect my life,
Meantime I wish a good renowm,
Of Ilion and Dardania may,
Of their friends’ lives, with both their hands
From their so curiously-kept cheeks,
To execute my sighs on Troy,
But gather’d strength, and gives my charge
They well may know ’twas I lay still,
Presented all their happiness.
(Which your much love perhaps may wish)
All vows are kept, all pray’rs heard; now,
The silver-footed Dame replied:
To keep destruction from thy friends;
And worn by Hector, that should keep
Though their fruition be but short,
Whose cruel glory they are yet.
To tread the massacres of war,
From Mulciber with fit new arms;
The sun next rise, shall enter here
Thus to her Sisters of the Sea
The doors and deeps of Nereüs;
Must visit Vulcan for new arms
And bade inform her father so,
This said, they underwent the sea,
In mean space, to the Hellespont
In shameful rout; nor could they yet,
Secure the dead of new assaults,
With such impression. Thrice the feet
And thrice th’ Ajaces thump’d him off.
He wreak’d his wrath upon the troops,
Made horrid turnings, crying out
And would not quit him quite for death.
Is not by upland herdsman driv’n,
With more contention, than his strength
And had perhaps his much-prais’d will,
Swift Iris, had not stoop’d in haste,
To Peleus’ son, to bid him arm;
By Juno, kept from all the Cods;
“Rise, thou most terrible of men,
Of thy belov’d; in whose behalf,
Before the fleet, the either host
These to retain, those to obtain.
Is Hector prompt, he’s apt to drag
Will make his shoulders; his head forc’d,
No more lie idle, set the foe
Of thy friend’s value than let dogs
Where thy name will be grav’n.” He ask’d,
Thy presence hither?” She replied:
Not high Jove knowing, nor one God
Snowy Olympus.” He again:
The work of slaughter, when mine arms
How will my Goddess-mother grieve,
Till she brought arms from Mulciber!
To her and duty, who is he,
The fitting my breast with his arms;
Amongst the first in use of his,
Slain near Patroclus builds to him?”
And wish thou only wouldst but show
Of these hot Ilians, that, afraid
The Greeks may gain some little breath.”
And straight Minerva honour’d him,
His mighty shoulders, and his head
That cast beams round about his brows.
A city in an isle, from thence
Being in the day, but, when the even
Thick show the fires, and up they cast
Seeing their distress, perhaps may set
So (to show such aid) from his head
And forth the wall he stept and stood,
By his great mother, mix’d in fight,
Which Pallas far-off echoéd,
Shrill tumult to a topless height.
With emulous affectión,
With siege of such a foe as kills
Makes sound his trumpet; so the voice
Won emulously th’ ears of all.
The minds of all were startled so
The fair-man’d horses, that they flew
Presaging in their augurous hearts
A little after; and their guides
Took from the horrid radiance
Which Pallas set on fire with grace.
And thrice (in heat of all the charge)
Twelve men, of greatest strength in Troy,
Their chariots and their darts, to death
And then the Grecians spritefully
And hears’d it, hearing it to fleet;
Marching about it. His great friend
To see his truly-lov’d return’d,
Whom with such horse and chariot
Now wounded with unpitying steel,
Never again to be restor’d,
He follow’d mourning bitterly.
Juno commanded to go down;
Sunk to the ocean, over earth
And then the Greeks and Trojans both
The Trojans all to council call’d,
With any supper, nor would sit;
To see, so long from heavy fight,
Polydamus began to speak,
Things future by things past, and was
In one night both. He thus advis’d:
In this so great and sudden change,
What change is best for us t’ oppose.
Make now the town our strength, not here
Our wall being far off, and our foe,
Till this foe came, I well was pleas’d
My fit hope of the fleet’s surprise
’Tis stronglier guarded, and, their strength
Our own proportionate amends.
That this indiff’rency of fight
And these bounds we prefix to them,
Th’ uncurb’d mind of Æacides.
Aims at our city and our wives;
(Being back’d with less than walls) his pow’r
And over-run, as over-seen
Let Troy be freely our retreat;
’Twixt this and that be taken up
May safe come off, it being a time
To spend at random; that being sure.
To his assaults, each man will wish,
And then feel what he hears not now.
Were free ev’n now of those complaints,
If ye remove not! If ye yield,
So late and long, we shall have strength
And (where we here have no more force,
And which must rise out of our nerves)
What wants in us; and in the morn,
We all will stand out to our foe.
To come from fleet and give us charge,
His rage shall satiate with the toil
Vain entry seeking underneath
And he be glad to turn to fleet,
For of his entry here at home,
Or ever feed him with sack’d Troy?
At this speech Hector bent his brows,
Your grace with me, Polydamas,
To Troy’s old prison. Have we not
And is not Troy yet charg’d enough,
Upon her citizens, to keep
But still we must impose within?
As well as purses may be plagu’d?
Traffick’d with divers-languag’d men,
Of rich Troy to it, brass and gold
Is now from ev’ry house exhaust;
Are sold out into Phrygia
And have been ever since Jove’s wrath.
Gives me the mean to quit our want
The Greeks in sea-bords and our seas,
His offer’d bounty by our flight.
This counsel to no common ear,
If any will, I’ll cheek his will.
Let all observe. Take suppers all,
If any Trojan have some spoil,
Make him dispose it publicly;
The better for him, than the Greeks.
Let all arm for a fierce assault.
And will enforce our greater toil,
On my back he shall find no wings,
To stand his worst, and give or take.
And the desirous swordsman’s life
This counsel gat applause of all,
Minerva robb’d them of their brains,
The great man gave, and leave the good
All took their suppers; but the Greeks
About Patroclus’ mournful rites,
In all the forms of heaviness.
And his man-slaught’ring hands impos’d
Sighs blew up sighs; and lion-like,
That in his absence being robb’d
Returns to his so desolate den,
Beholding his unlook’d-for wants,
Hunts the sly hunter, many a vale
So mourn’d Pelides his late loss,
Which, for their dumb sounds, now gave words
“O Gods,” said he, “how vain a vow
Of sad Menœtius, when his son
That high tow’r’d Opus he should see,
With spoil and honour, ev’n with me!
Wish’d passages to all his vows;
To bloody one earth here in Troy;
In my return hath Peleüs
I last must undergo the ground,
O my Patroclus, for thy corse,
The arms of Hector and his head
Twelve youths, the most renown’d of Troy,
Before thy heap of funeral,
In mean time, by our crooked sterns
And round about thy honour’d corse,
And Ilion, with the ample breasts
And labours purchas’d from the rich
And cities strong and populous
Shall kneel, and neither day nor night
From solemn watches, their toil’d eyes
This passion past, he gave command
To put a tripod to the fire,
From off the person. They obey’d,
Fresh water in it, kindled wood,
The belly of the tripod girt,
Up to the water. Then they wash’d,
With wealthy oil of nine years old;
In largeness of a fine white sheet,
When all watch’d all night with their lord,
Then Jove ask’d Juno: “If at length
Achilles being won to arms?
The natural mother of the Greeks,
Their quarrel?” She, incens’d, ask’d: “Why
For doing good to those she lov’d?
Kind offices, though thrall to death,
Half such deep counsels as disclos’d
She, reigning queen of Goddesses,
Of one stock with himself, besides
And must her wrath, and ill to Troy,
From time to time ’twixt him and her?”
And now the silver-footed Queen
To that incorruptible house,
Of fi’ry Vulcan, beautiful
Which yet the lame God built himself.
About his bellows, and in haste
To set for stools about the sides
To whose feet little wheels of gold
And enter his rich dining room,
And back again go out alone,
And thus much he had done of them,
For which he now was making studs.
Employment of his skilful hand,
Whom first fair well-hair’d Charis saw,
Of famous Vulcan, who the hand
“Why, fair-train’d, lov’d, and honour’d dame,
By your kind presence? You, I think,
Come near, that I may banquet you,
She led her in, and in a chair
Of Vulcan’s hand) she made her sit,
Apposing to her crystal feet;
For Thetis was arriv’d, she said,
Of some grace that his art might grant.
“Is mighty, and most reverend,
When grief consum’d me, being cast
In my proud mother, who, because
Would have me made away; and then,
Had Thetis and Eurynome
Not rescu’d me; Eurynome
A number of well-arted things,
Whistles, and carquenets. My forge
About which, murmuring with foam,
Was ever beating; my abode
But Thetis and Eurynome,
They were my loving guardians.
And our particular roof, thus grac’d
It fits me always to repay,
To her thoughts, as my life to me.
Some dainty guest-rites to our friend,
From fire, and lay up all my tools.”
Th’ unwieldy monster, halted down,
He took his bellows from the fire,
Lock’d safe up in a silver chest.
His face all over, neck and hands,
Put on his coat, his sceptre took,
Handmaids of gold attending him,
Living young damsels, fill’d with minds
In all immortal ministry,
And mov’d with voluntary pow’rs;
Their fi’ry sov’reign, who (not apt
Of fair-hair’d Thetis, took her hand,
“For what affair, O fair-train’d queen,
Is our court honour’d with thy state,
Perform’d this kindness? Speak thy thoughts,
Than my mind gives me charge to grant.
Or that it have not only pow’r
She thus: “O Vulcan, is there one,
That in her never-quiet mind
So much affliction as to me;
Of all the sea-nymphs, to a man;
Of his frail bed; and all against
And he worn to his root with age?
Ariseth to me; Jupiter,
The excellent’st of men, to me;
On my part well hath answeréd
As in a fruitful soil a tree,
His body to a naked height,
A thousand branches; yet to him
That never I shall see him more
And all that short life he hath spent
For first he won a worthy dame,
Of all the Grecians, yet this dame
For which in much disdain he mourn’d,
And yet for this wrong he receiv’d
The Greeks, being shut up at their ships,
A head out of their batter’d sterns;
By all their grave men hath been made,
For his reflection; yet he still
Their whole host in this gen’ral plague.
His arms, being sent by him to field,
In conduct of him. All the day,
Of Scæa, and, most certainly,
Of all Troy’s honours in her dust,
Much mischief more) the envied life
Had not with partial hands enforc’d,
To Hector, who hath pris’d his arms.
T’ embrace thy knees for new defence
His life, prefix’d so short a date,
A shield then for him, and a helm,
As may renown thy workmanship,
I sue for at thy famous hands.”
“Let these wants breed thy thoughts no care.
To hide him from his heavy death,
As well as with renownéd arms
Which thy hands shall convey to him;
See, and desire again to see,
This said, he left her there, and forth
Appos’d them to the fire again,
Through twenty holes made to his hearth
That fir’d his coals, sometimes with soft,
As he will’d, and his work requir’d.
Tin, silver, precious gold, and brass;
A mighty anvil; his right hand
His left his tongs. And first he forg’d
Adorn’d with twenty sev’ral hues;
A ring, three-fold and radiant,
A silver handle; five-fold were
About the whole circumference,
(Directed with a knowing mind)
For in it he presented Earth;
In it the never-wearied Sun,
And all those Stars with which the brows
Orion, all the Pleiades,
The close-beam’d Hyades, the Bear,
That turns about heav’n’s axle-tree,
Upon Orion, and, of all
His golden forehead never bows
Two cities in the spacious shield
Of divers-languag’d men. The one
Observing at them solemn feasts,
With torches usher’d through the streets,
Excited by them; youths and maids
To whom the merry pipe and harp
The matrons standing in their doors
A solemn court of law was kept,
The case in question was a fine,
The friend of him that follow’d it,
Which th’ other pleaded he had paid.
And openly affirm’d he had
Both put it to arbitrement.
For both parts, and th’ assistants too
The heralds made the people peace.
The voiceful heralds’ sceptres, sat
On polish’d stones, and gave by turns
Two talents’ gold were cast, for him
The other city other wars
Two armies glittering in arms,
Besieg’d it; and a parlè had
Two ways they stood resolv’d; to see
Or that the citizens should heap
And give them half. They neither lik’d,
Left all their old men, wives, and boys,
And stole out to their enemy’s town.
And Mars himself, conducted them;
Must needs have golden furniture,
They were presented Deities.
Of meaner metal. When they came,
For which they went, within a vale
Us’d to give all their cattle drink,
And sent two scouts out to descry,
Were setting out. They straight came forth,
Their passage always; both which pip’d,
Nor dream’d of ambuscadoes there.
Slew all their white-fleec’d sheep, and neat,
When those in siege before the town
Behind, amongst their flocks and herds
They then start up, took horse, and soon
Fought with them on the river’s shore,
With well-pil’d darts. Amongst them all
Amongst them Tumult was enrag’d,
Had her red-finger; some they took
Some hurt yet living, some quite slain,
By both the feet, stripp’d off and took
Of blood upon them that their steels
They far’d as men alive indeed
To these the fi’ry Artizan
Large and thrice plough’d, the soil being soft,
And many men at plough he made,
And turn’d up stitches orderly;
A fellow ever gave their hands
Which emptied, for another stitch,
And long till th’ utmost bound be reach’d
The soil turn’d up behind the plough,
Though forg’d of nothing else but gold,
As if it had been plough’d indeed,
There grew by this a field of corn,
And let thick handfuls fall to earth,
Bands, and made sheaves. Three binders stood,
From boys that gather’d quickly up,
Amongst these at a furrow’s end,
Said no word, but his sceptre show’d.
His harvest-bailiffs underneath
And having kill’d a mighty ox,
Which women for their harvest folks
And many white wheat-cakes bestow’d,
He set near this a vine of gold,
Of bunches black with being ripe;
A silver rail ran all along,
An azure moat, and to this guard,
Of tin, one only path to all,
In time of vintage. Youths and maids,
Of manly Hymen, baskets bore,
Center’d the circles of that youth,
The wanton’s pleasure to their minds,
A herd of oxen then he carv’d,
Of gold and tin, for colour mix’d,
Rush’d to their pastures at a flood,
Exceeding swift, and full of reeds;
Four herdsmen follow’d; after whom,
Of all the herd, upon a bull,
Two horrid lions rampt, and seiz’d,
Both men and dogs came; yet they tore
Of black blood, and the entrails ate.
To set their dogs on; none durst pinch,
In both the faces of their kings,
Then in a passing pleasant vale,
Upon a goodly pasture ground,
Built stables, cottages, and cotes,
From wind and weather. Next to these,
All full of turnings, that was like
For fair-hair’d Ariadne made,
And in it youths and virgins danc’d,
And glewéd in another’s palms.
The virgins wore: the youths wov’n coats,
Like that of oil. Fresh garlands too,
The youths gilt swords wore at their thighs,
Sometimes all wound close in a ring,
As any wheel a turner makes,
While he is set; and out again,
Not one left fast, or breaking hands.
Delighted with their nimble sport;
Mids all, a song, and turning sung
All this he circled in the shield,
In all his rage, the Ocean,
This shield thus done, he forg’d for him,
The blaze of fire. A helmet then
Forc’d passage) he compos’d, whose hue
And in the crest a plume of gold,
All done, he all to Thetis brought,
She took them all, and like t’ the hawk,
From Vulcan to her mighty son,
Stoop’d from the steep Olympian hill,
55: Pass all my deity to retire—surpass all my divine powers to bring back.
59: Not usually—more than usually.
109: Loser—destroyer, the one who has caused the loss of my friend.
120: They well.—The second folio incorrectly, “that well may know.”
144: Sterv’d.—Although used by Chapman perhaps only for rhyme’s sake (like perse, Bk. XI. 395, an old English word) this is the real and etymological spelling. To sterve is to die; and the sense of starve, with cold or hunger, originated in the 17th Century.
146: Two of a name—Ajaces.
221: Stronglier.—The second folio and Dr. Taylor have “stronger.”
339: Fere—companion, lover.
352: Had I.—The second folio and Taylor, “I had.”
355: Reciprocal—i.e. father to her as well as Thetis.
357: Carquenets—necklaces. Spelt “carcanet,” “carkanet,” “carknett,” &c.
402: Suppliance— supplication.
404: Reflection—to turn him from his purpose.
414: Prefixed—previously-fixed, fore-doomed.
436: Presented.—The second folio, and Taylor, “represented.”
449: Thus the first folio “spritely,” i.e. “spiritly.” The second and Dr. Taylor have “spriteful,” i.e. “spiritful,” “spirited,” a word frequently used by Chapman.
461: Talents’ gold.—The second folio and Taylor, “talents of gold.”
477: The second folio erroneously omits “out.”
491: Fared.—The second folio and Taylor, “feared.”
492: New-ear’d—newly ploughed. It might have been thought that such a common word (occurring in the Bible, see Isai. XXX. 24, 1 Sam. VIII. 12.) would have been understood by Dr. Taylor, witness however his note: “Covered with corn just ripened into ears. The epithet is very picturesque and expressive(!)”
519: The second folio has strangely omitted this line. Dr. Taylor of course printing from that copy has also omitted it, yet it surely ought to have caught his eye, both from the sense and rhyme.
524: At a flood.—“At” is omitted in the second folio and Dr. Taylor’s edition.
540: Glewed—joined; i.e. with hands clasped.
THE END OF THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK.
61 the green waves, as they swom,
492 note “. . . The epithet is very picturesque and expressive(!)”
[Quotation marks printed as shown; the exclamation mark is Hooper’s, not Taylor’s.]
549 the sport’s conclusión
text has sports
Comm. 184 θυμοραϊστέων ... Οἳ δ’ ὡς οὖν
text has θυμοραϊστεων ... Οἱ without accents
Thetis presenting armour to her son,
He calls a court, with full reflection*
Of all his wrath; takes of the king of men
Free-offer’d gifts. All take their breakfast then;
He only fasting, arms, and brings abroad
The Grecian host, and (hearing the abode†
Of his near death by Xanthus prophesied)
The horse, for his so bold presage, doth chide.
Ταῦ gives the anger period,
And great Achilles comes abroad.
he morn arose, and from the ocean,
Gave light to all, as well to Gods,
Thetis stoop’d home, and found the prostrate
About his friend, still pouring out
A number more being heavy consorts
Amongst them all Thetis appear’d
Made these short words: “Though we must grieve,
It was no man that prostrated,
Thy dearest friend; it was a God
Whose will is law. The Gods’ decrees,
Do thou embrace this fabric of
Ne’er forg’d the like; and such as yet,
Thus, setting down, the precious metal
That all the room rung with the weight
Cold tremblings took the Myrmidons;
T’ oppose their eyes; Achilles yet,
Stern Anger enter’d. From his eyes,
A radiance terrifying men
At length he took into his hands
And, much pleas’d to behold the art
He brake forth into this applause:
Show an immortal finger’s touch;
With arms again. Now I will arm;
My friend forgotten, I much fear,
His brass-inflicted wounds are fil’d;
All apt to putrefactiòn.”
Of those offences, she would care,
Of flies, that usually taint
From his friend’s person. Though a year,
His slaughter’d body, it should still
A better state than worse, since time
And so bade call a council, to
Where, to the king, that was the pastor
He should depose all anger, and
Fit for his arms. All this his pow’rs
She, with her fair hand, still’d into
Red nectar and ambrosia;
The corse from putrefactión.
And summon’d all th’ heroic Greeks,
The time in exercise with him,
Vict’lers, and all. All, when they saw
Swarm’d to the council, having long
To all these came two halting kings,
Tydides and wise Ithacus,
Their wounds still painful; and both these
The last come was the king of men,
Of Coon Antenorides. All set,
Was Thetis’ son, who rose and said:
Conferr’d most profit to us both,
Consum’d us so, and for a wench,
In laying Lyrnessus’ ruin’d walls
I would to heav’n, as first she set
Diana’s hand had tumbled off,
For then th’ immeasurable earth
In death’s convulsions, by our friends,
To such distemper. To our foe,
Our jar brought profit; but the Greeks
To thought of what it prejudic’d them.
Fit grief for what wrath rul’d in them,
With that necessity of love,
Which I with free affects obey.
Still to be burning, having stuff;
Being fram’d with voluntary pow’rs,
As give it reins. Give you then charge,
The Greeks may follow me to field,
Will bear out Trojans at our ships.
Amongst their chief encouragers,
And bring his heart down to his knees
The Greeks rejoic’d to hear the heart
So qualified. And then the king
For his late hurt) to get good ear,
“Princes of Greece, your states shall suffer
If, being far off, ye stand and hear;
At greater distance, to disturb
By uproar, in their too much care
Must lose some words; for hard it is,
(Though hearers’ ears be ne’er so sharp)
And in assemblies of such thrust,
Fit pow’r to hear, or leave to speak?
Lose fittest words, and the most vocal
My main end then, to satisfy
My words shall prosecute; to him
Shall bear direction. Yet I wish,
Would give fit ear; my speech shall need
Oft have our peers of Greece much blam’d
Due to Achilles; of which act,
And Jove himself, and black Erinnys
Betwixt us and our actions done,
Are authors. What could I do then?
Of our debate, that Fury stole
And more; all things are done by strife;
, that hurts all, perfects all,
Not on the earth, they bear her still
The harmful hurts them. Nor was I
Jove, best of men and Gods, hath been;
Beyond her fetters, no, she made
For when Alcmena was to vent
In well-wall’d Thebes, thus Jove triumph’d:
The words my joys urg’d: In this day,
To labouring women, shall produce
A man that all his neighbour kings
And vaunt that more than manly race
My eminent blood.’ Saturnia
And urg’d confirmance of his vaunt
In this sort urg’d: ‘Thou wilt not hold
Or, if thou wilt, confirm it with
That whosoever falls this day
Of those men’s stocks that from thy blood
Shall all his neighbour towns command.’
Took that great oath, which his great ill
Down from Olympus’ top she stoop’d,
In Argos where the famous wife
He fetch’d from Jove by Perseus, dwelt.
With issue, yet she brought it forth;
Delay’d from light, Saturnia
Of his great mother. Up to heav’n
In glory, her deceit to Jove.
‘Now th’ Argives have an emperor;
Is born to Persean Sthenelus,
Noble and worthy of the rule
Close to the heart of Jupiter;
This anger by Saturnia,
Held down her head, and over her
’That never to the cope of stars
Being so infortunate to all.’
He cast her from the fi’ry heav’n;
Her fork’d sting in th’ affairs of men.
Since his dear issue Hercules
The unjust toils of Eurystheus.
Since under Hector’s violence
Fell so unfitly by my spleen;
In my griev’d thoughts: my weakness yet
The state my mind held) now recur’d,
With my offence. And therefore rouse
With all thy forces; all the gifts,
Last day by royal Ithacus,
And, if it like thee, strike no stroke,
Thy mind stands to thy friend’s revenge,
Thy tents and coffers with such gifts,
How much I wish, thee satisfied.”
Renown’d Atrides, at thy will
Or keep thy gifts; ’tis all in thee.
Is for repairing our main field
My fair show made brooks no retreat,
Our deed’s expectance. Yet undone
Must see Achilles in first fight
As well as counsel it in court;
May choose his man to imitate
Ulysses answer’d: “Do not yet,
Take fasting men to field. Suppose,
It brings against them with full men,
Can amply answer, yet refrain
The conflict wearing out our men
Wherein, though most Jove stood for Troy,
To bear that most. But ’twas to bear,
Let wine and bread then add to it;
The soul and body, in a man,
All day men cannot fight and fast,
With minds to fight, for, that suppos’d,
Thirst, hunger, in th’ oppresséd joints,
They take away a marcher’s knees.
Their minds share with them in their strength;
One stirs not, till you call off all.
And let Atrides tender here,
The gifts he promis’d. Let him swear
To that oath, that he never touch’d
The lady he enforc’d. Besides,
As chastely satisfied; not touch’d,
With future vantages. And last,
All these rites at a solemn feast
That so you take no mangled law
And thus the honours you receive,
Of your friend’s quarrel, well will quit
And thou, Atrides, in the taste
Hereafter may on others hold
Nor will it aught impair a king,
To any subject soundly wrong’d.”
“O Laertiades, to hear
In which is all decorum kept,
That might be thought on to conclude
As fits example, and us two.
Not your impulsion; and that mind
That I will not forswear to God.
Though never so inflam’d for fight,
To stay, till from my tents these gifts
At all parts finish’d before all.
Divine Ulysses, and command
Youths of most honour, to present,
The gifts we late vow’d, and the dames.
Talthybius shall provide a boar,
With thankful sacrifice to Jove,
Achilles answer’d: “These affairs
Great king of men, some other time,
Yield fit cessation from the war,
But now, to all our shames besides,
(And Jove to friend) lie unfetch’d off.
Though, I must still say, my command
And all together feast at night.
When stomachs first have made it way
And other sorrows late sustain’d,
Heavy upon them, for right’s sake.
From off my stomach, meat nor drink,
My friend being dead, who digg’d with wounds,
Lies in the entry of my tent,
Of his associates. Meat and drink
To comfort me; but blood, and death,
The great in counsels yet made good
“O Peleus’ son, of all the Greeks
Better and mightier than myself
I yield thy worth; in wisdom, yet,
My right above thee, since above
Let then thy mind rest in thy words.
And all satiety of fight,
And little corn upon a floor,
And join all battles, once begins
In which he weighs the lives of men.
To mourning with the belly; death
In healthful men that mourn for friends.
And fall at, ev’ry day, you see,
What hour is it that any breathes?
Than speed holds fit for our revenge.
Who dead is, must be buriéd.
That one day’s moan should serve one man.
And life last with what strengthens life.
From death in fight the more should eat,
Their fellows that have stuck in field,
Let none expect reply to this,
Or fall with some offence to him
Whoever in dislike holds back.
Allow’d for all; set on a charge,
This said, he chose, for noblest youths
The sons of Nestor, and with them
Phylides, Thoas, Lycomed,
And Menalippus, following
Of Agamemnon. He but spake,
Had join’d effect. The fitness well
The presents, added to the dame
Were twenty caldrons, tripods sev’n,
Sev’n ladies excellently seen
The eighth Briseis who had pow’r
Twelve talents of the finest gold,
And carried first; and after him,
The other presents, tender’d all
Up rose the king. Talthybiús,
Like to a God, call’d to the rites.
Atrides with his knife took say
And lifting up his sacred hands,
Grave silence strook the complete court;
Up to the broad heav’n, thus he spake:
First, highest, and thou best of Gods;
Thou Sun; ye Furies under earth
Whom impious perjury distains;
In bed, or any other act
Of my light vows, hath wrong’d the dame;
As are inflicted by the Gods,
Of whomsoever perjur’d men,
In least degree dishonour me.”
Of the submitted sacrifice,
Which straight into the hoary sea
The sea-born nation. Then stood up
Of fair-hair’d Thetis, strength’ning thus
“O father Jupiter, from thee
Of all man’s ill; for now I see
At no hand forc’d away my prise,
With any set ill in himself,
Incens’d with Greece, made that the mean
Which now amend we as we may,
To what wise Ithacus advis’d;
For instant conflict.” Thus he rais’d
To sev’ral ships. The Myrmidons
T’ Achilles’ fleet, and in his tents
Of seat and all rites to the dames;
With others of Æacides. When,
Briseis all in ghastly wounds
She fell about him, shrieking out,
Her hair, breasts, radiant cheeks, and, drown’d
His cruel destiny. At length
Her violent passion, and thus spake
“O good Patroclus, to my life
I, wretched dame, departing hence,
Left thee alive, when thou hadst cheer’d
And now return’d I find thee dead;
Ever increasing with my steps.
And dearest mother gave my life
I saw before our city gates
Three of my worthy brothers’ lives,
Felt all in that black day of death.
Had slain all these, and ras’d the town
(All cause of never-ending griefs
On thy endeavour to convert
Affirming, he that hurt should heal,
Brave captain that thou wert, supply
And in rich Phthia celebrate,
Our nuptial banquets; for which grace,
I never shall be satiate,
Ever delightsome, one sweet grace
Thus spake she weeping; and with her,
Patroclus’ fortunes in pretext,
About Æacides himself
Entreating him to food; and he
Still intermixing words and sighs,
Of all his dearest, they would cease,
But his due sorrows; for before
He would not eat, but of that day
Thus all the kings, in res’lute grief
But both th’ Atrides, Ithacus,
Idomenëus and his friend,
Endeavouring comfort, but no thought
Nor could, till that day’s bloody fight
Remember’d something of his friend,
Their urging meat the diligent
In that excitement: “Thou,” said he,
Against the Trojans, evermore
A pleasing breakfast; being so free,
Thou mad’st all meat sweet. Then the war
But now to me; thy wounds so wound me,
For which my ready food I fly,
Nothing could more afflict me; Fame
Of my dear father’s slaughter, blood
No more could wound me. Curséd man,
(For hateful Helen) my true love,
I thus should part with. Scyros now
O Neoptolemus, to thee, if
I hop’d, dear friend, thy longer life
And my life quitting thine, had pow’r
His young eyes Phthia, subjects, court:
Dead, or most short-liv’d, troublous age
Still of my death’s news.” These sad words,
Of ev’ry visitant with sighs,
Rememb’ring who they left at home.
Jove ; and, since they all
Be much reviv’d, he thus bespake
Now, daughter, thou hast quite forgot.
Extinguish’d in thee? Prostrated
He lies before his high-sail’d fleet,
Are strength’ning them with meat, but he
With heartless fasting. Go thy ways,
Red nectar and ambrosia,
To his near enterprise.” This spur
And, like a harpy, with a voice
And feathers that like needles prick’d,
Amongst the Grecians, all whose tents
Her seres strook through Achilles’ tent,
Heav’n’s most-to-be-desiréd feast
His sinews with that sweet supply,
Should creep into his knees. Herself
The host set forth, and pour’d his steel
And as from air the frosty north
That dazzles eyes, flakes after flakes
So thick, helms, curets, ashen darts,
Flow’d from the navy’s hollow womb.
His beams again. Earth laugh’d to see
Arms shin’d so hot, and she such clouds
She thunder’d, feet of men and horse
In midst of all, divine Achilles
His teeth gnash’d as he stood, his eyes
Unsuffer’d grief and anger at
His greaves first us’d, his goodly curets
His sword, his shield that cast a brightness
And as from sea sailors discern
By herdsmen’s faults, till all their stall
Which being on hills is seen far off;
To give it quench, at shore no neighbours,
Driv’n off with tempests; such a fire,
His ominous radiance, and in heav’n
His crested helmet, grave and high,
On his curl’d head, and like a star
About which a bright thicken’d bush
Which Vulcan forg’d him for his plume.
How fit they were, and if his motion
Their brave instruction; and so far
That to it they were nimble wings,
That from the earth the princely captain
Then from his armoury he drew
Huge, weighty, firm, that not a Greek
Knew how to shake; it grew upon
From height Chiron hew’d it for
To great-soul’d men, of Peleus and
Then from the stable their bright horse,
And Alcymus; put poitrils on,
Their bridles, hurling back the reins,
The fair scourge then Automedon
To guide the horse. The fight’s seat last,
Who look’d so arm’d as if the sun,
And terribly thus charg’d his steeds:
Seed of the Harpy, in the charge
Discharge it not as when Patroclus
But, when with blood, for this day’s fast
Our heart satiety, bring us off.”
As if his aw’d steeds understood,
Vocal the palate of the one;
(Which in his mane, let fall to earth,
Thus Xanthus spake: “Ablest Achilles,
Shall bring thee off; but not far hence
Of thy grave ruin. Nor shall we
But mightiest Fate, and the great God.
Spoiled so of arms by our slow pace,
The best of Gods, Latona’s son,
Gave him his death’s wound; though the grace
We, like the spirit of the west,
For pow’r of wing, could run him off;
So fate ordains; God and a man
This said, the Furies stopp’d his voice.
Thus answer’d him: “It fits not thee,
My overthrow. I know myself,
Thus far from Phthia; yet that fate
Till mine vent thousands.” These words us’d,
Gave dreadful signal, and forthright
97: Vent—give birth to.
160: Which.—The second folio omits, and so Dr. Taylor.
164: This.—The second folio and Taylor, “his.”
193: Of men.—The second folio and Dr. Taylor erroneously omit these words.
246: Took say—assay, sample. Nares has fully illustrated this word. “To give the say at court, was for the royal taster to declare the goodness of the wine or dishes. In hunting the say was taken of the venison, when the deer was killed, in this form:—
“‘The person that takes say is to draw the edge of the knife leisurely along the very middle of the belly, beginning near the brisket, and drawing a little upon it, to discover how fat the deer is.’
258: Submitted—(Latin) placed under.
260: Half-celestial seed—Achilles.
306: War’s old Martialist—Nestor.
322: “Scyros was an isle in the sea Ægeum, where Achilles himself was brought up, as well as his son.” —Chapman.
346: Enchas’d—enclosed; i.e. the skies enshrined her.
THE END OF THE NINETEENTH BOOK.
92 Ate, that hurts all
expected “Até” or “Atë”
331 Jove pitied; and, since they all
expected “pitiéd” (three syllables)
377 From whóse height Chiron hew’d
By Jove’s permission, all the Gods descend
To aid on both parts. For the Greeks contend
Juno, Minerva, Neptune, Mulciber,
And Mercury. The Deities that prefer
The Trojan part are Phœbus, Cyprides,
Phœbe, Latona, and the Foe to peace,*
With bright Scamander. Neptune in a mist
Preserves Æneas daring to resist
Achilles; by whose hand much scathe is done;
Besides the slaughter of old Priam’s son
Young Polydor, whose rescue Hector makes;
Him flying, Phœbus to his rescue takes.
The rest, all shunning their importun’d fates,
Achilles beats ev’n to the Ilian gates.
In Upsilon, Strife stirs in heav’n;
The day’s grace to the Greeks is giv’n.
he Greeks thus arm’d, and made insatiate
About thee, Peleus’ son, the foe,
Stood opposite, rang’d. Then Jove charg’d
To call a court. She ev’ry way
All Deities; not any flood,
But made appearance; not a nymph
The heads of floods, and flow’ry meadows,
Was absent there; but all at his
Assembled, and, in lightsome seats
Performed for Jove by Vulcan, sat.
Nor heard the Goddess with unwilling
Made free ascension from the sea,
In midst of all, began the council,
His reason for that sessión,
His high intention for the foes;
Was then near breaking out in flames?
“Thou knowest this council by the rest
That still inclin’d me; my cares still
Of Troy; though in the mouth of Fate,
One step from off this top of heav’n,
To any one. Here I’ll hold state,
Of either’s fate. Help whom ye please;
Not one day’s conflict can sustain
If Heav’n oppose not. His mere looks
Their pow’rs with trembling; but when blows,
(Thrice heat by slaughter of his friend)
Their former glories, we have fear,
He’ll overturn it. Then descend;
Add all your aids; mix earth and heav’n
Achilles urgeth.” These his words
As no man’s pow’r could wrastle down;
Departed heav’n, and made earth war.
Juno and Pallas, with the God
And most-for-man’s-use Mercury
Were partially and all employ’d;
(Proud of his strength) lame Mulciber,
But made him tread exceeding sure.
The changeable in arms went, Mars;
Diana that delights in shafts,
And Aphrodite laughter-pleas’d,
Still young Apollo, and the Flood
Bright Xanthus. All these aided Troy;
The Grecians triumph’d in the aid
The Trojans trembling with his sight;
He overshin’d the field, and Mars
He bore the iron stream on clear.
Let fall the Gods amongst their troops,
Grew fierce and horrible. The Dame,
Thunder’d with clamour, sometimes set
And sometimes on the bellowing shore.
Of to fight was terrible,
Set on the city’s pinnacles;
Sometimes his heart’nings, other times
His silver current at the foot
And thus the bless’d Gods both sides urg’d;
And brake contention to the hosts.
The Gods’ King in abhorréd claps
Beneath them Neptune toss’d the earth;
Bow’d with affright and shook their heads;
(Steep Ida) trembling at her roots,
Their brows all crannied; Troy did nod;
As on the sea; th’ Infernal King,
And leap’d affrighted from his throne,
Neptune should rend in two the earth,
So loathsome, filthy, and
Should open both to Gods and men.
When this black battle of the Gods
’Gainst Neptune, Phœbus with wing’d shafts;
’Gainst Juno, Phœbe, whose bright hands
Her side arm’d with a sheaf of shafts,
Of bright Latona) sister twin
Against Latona, Hermes stood,
Of human beings. ’Gainst the God,
The wat’ry Godhead, that great Flood,
In spoil as th’ other, all his stream
Xanthus by Gods, by men Scamander,
Enter’d the field, Æacides
To cope with Hector; past all these,
To glut Mars with the blood of him.
Apollo sent Anchises’ son;
A more than natural strength in him,
Infus’d from heav’n; Lycaon’s shape
(Old Priam’s son) and thus he spake:
Where now fly out those threats that late
Of thy fight with Æacides?
Durst vaunt as much.” He answer’d him:
My pow’rs ’gainst that proud enemy,
I mean not now to bid him blows.
That heretofore discourag’d me,
Lyrnessus, and strong Pedasus,
Our oxen from th’ Idæan hill,
Gave strength and knees, and bore me off,
This centre now but propp’d by him;
A light to this her favourite,
His pow’rs to spoil) had ruin’d me,
‘Kill, kill the seed of Ilion,
Mere man then must not fight with him
Averting death on others’ darts,
But with the ends of men. If God
Would give my forces, not with ease
On his proud shoulders, nor he ’scape,
His plight consisteth.” He replied:
Whom he implores, as well as he;
Thou cam’st of Gods like him; the Queen
Fame sounds thy mother; he deriv’d
Old Nereus’ daughter bearing him.
And thy unwearied steel as right;
With only cruelty of words, not
This strengthen’d him, and forth he rush’d;
White-wristed Juno, nor his drifts.
Of th’ Achive faction called to her,
Neptune and Pallas, for the frame
Ye undertake here. Venus’ son,
Runs on Achilles; turn him back,
By one of us. Let not the spirit
Be over-dar’d, but make him know
Stand kind to him: and that the Gods,
That fight against Greece, and were here
Bear no importance. And besides,
To curb this fight, that no impair
By any Trojans, nor their aids,
Hereafter, all things that are wrapp’d
By Parcas in that point of time
He must sustain. But if report
Of all this to him, by the voice
He may be fearful (if some God
Makes him her minister. The Gods,
And manifest their proper forms,
Neptune replied: “Saturnia,
Exceed your reason; ’tis not fit.
We must not mix the hands of Gods,
Sit we by, in some place of height,
And leave the wars of men to men.
Or Mars or Phœbus enter fight,
To Thetis’ son, not giving free
Then comes the conflict to our cares;
Achilles, and send them to heav’n,
With equals, flying under-strifes.”
Led to the tow’r of Hercules,
By Pallas and the Ilians,
To Jove’s divine son ’gainst the whale,
To th’ ample field. There Neptune sat,
The Greeks good meaning, casting all
On their bright shoulders. Th’ oppos’d Gods
On top of steep Callicolon,
O Phœbus, brandisher of darts,
No peace in cities. In this state,
All ling’ring purpos’d fight, to try
His heav’nly weapon. High-thron’d Jove
Said, all the field was full of men,
With feet of proud encounterers,
And barbéd horse. Two champions
Met in their midst prepar’d for blows;
And Venus’ son. Æneas first
His high helm nodding, and his breast
And shook his jav’lin. Thetis’ son
As when the harmful king of beasts
By all the country up in arms)
Prepare resistance, but at last,
Bold charge upon him with his dart,
Fell anger lathers in his jaws,
Lasheth his strength up, sides and thighs
Their own pow’r, his eyes glow, he roars,
Secure of killing; so his pow’r
Matchless Achilles, coming on
Both near, Achilles thus inquir’d:
Thou son of Venus? Calls thy heart
Sure Troy’s whole kingdom is propos’d;
The throne of Priam for my life;
And, for my slaughter, not so mad
Priam hath sons to second him.
Past others fit to set and sow,
The Ilians offer for my head?
No easy conquest. Once, I think,
With terror, those thoughts from your spleen.
When single on th’ Idæan hill
Of runaway, thy oxen left,
That I could see; thy knees bereft
The mask for that? Then that mask, too,
(By Jove and Pallas’ help) and took
Your ladies bearing prisoners;
Then saft thee. Yet again I hope,
To save thy wants, as thou presum’st.
Troy’s throne by me; fly ere thy soul
He answer’d him: “Hope not that words
My stroke-proof breast. I well could speak
And use tart terms; but we know well
Too gentle to bear fruits so rude.
The world’s round bosom, and by fame
To both our knowledges, by sight
Thine to mine eyes, nor mine to thine.
From famous Peleus; the sea-nymph,
Thetis, thy mother; I myself
Great-soul’d Anchises; she that holds
My mother. And of these this light
For their lov’d issue; thee or me;
Are not enough to part our pow’rs;
Due excitation, by distrust
To set up all rests for my life,
(Which many will confirm) my race.
Was sire to Dardanus, that built
Of sacred Ilion spread not yet
Of divers-languag’d men, not rais’d;
The foot of Ida’s fountful hill.
Begot king Erichthonius,
Of living mortals; in his fens
All neighing by their tender foals,
By lofty Boreas, their dams
He took the brave form of a horse
And slept with them. These twice-six colts
Upon the top-ayles of corn-ears,
And when the broad back of the sea
The superficies of his waves
Not dipp’d in dank sweat of his brows.
Sprang Tros, the king of Trojans.
Ilus, renowm’d Assaracus,
The fairest youth of all that breath’d,
The Gods did ravish to their state,
Ilus begot Laomedon.
Got Tithon, Priam, Clytius,
And Lampus. Great Assaracus,
Anchises. Prince Anchises, me.
Sprang both of one high family.
But Jove gives virtue; he augments,
Of all men; and his will their rule;
Why then paint we, like dames, the face
Both may give language that a ship,
Would overburthen. A man’s tongue
Words out of all sorts ev’ry way.
What then need we vie calumnies,
Their tongues out, being once incens’d,
(Being on their way) they travel so?
From virtue, not. It is your steel,
Must prove my proof, as mine shall yours.”
His great heart of his pedigree;
A dart that caught Achilles’ shield,
The son of Thetis, his fair hand
For fear the long lance had driv’n through.
And not to know the God’s firm gifts
To men’s poor pow’rs. The eager lance
Of two plates, and the shield had five,
One, that was centre-plate, of gold;
Of Anchisiades’s lance.
His lance, that through the first fold strook,
And no great proof of hides was laid;
His iron head, and after it
Pass to the earth, and there it stuck,
And hung the shield up; which hard down
His breast from sword blows, shrunk up round,
Was much grief shadow’d, much afraid
Then prompt Achilles rushing in,
Rung with his voice. Æneas now,
And, all-distracted, up he snatch’d
And either at his shield or casque
Nor car’d where, so it strook a place
But he (Achilles came so close)
His own death, had not Neptune seen
Of his divine pow’r, utt’ring this
“I grieve for this great-hearted man;
Ev’n instantly, by Peleus’ son,
By Phœbus’ words. What fool is he!
To add to his great words his guard
Summon’d against him. And what cause,
To others’ mis’ries, he being clear
Against the Grecians? Thankful gifts
Let us then quit him, and withdraw
Achilles end him, Jove will rage;
Is purpos’d, lest the progeny
Whom Jove, past all his issue, lov’d,
All Priam’s race he hates; and this
Of Trojans, and their sons’ sons’ rule,
Saturnia said: “Make free your pleasure.
Pallas and I have taken many,
That th’ ill day never shall avert
From hated Troy; no, not when all
The Greek rage, blowing her last coal.”
From present rescue, but through all
And came where both were combating;
A mist before Achilles’ eyes,
His lance, and laid it at his feet;
Aloft the light Anchises’ son,
Whole orders of heröes heads,
Leap’d over, till the bounds he reach’d
Where all the Caucons’ quarters lay.
Neptune had time to use these words:
Of all the Gods, that did so much
To urge thy fight with Thetis’ son,
Is better and more dear than thee?
Hell be thy headlong home, retire,
Where he advanceth. But his fate
A free and full sail; no Greek else
He left him, and dispers’d the cloud,
From vex’d Achilles; who again
And, much disdaining the escape,
Discover miracles! My lance
At whom I sent it with desire
Æneas sure was lov’d of heav’n.
Had flow’d from glory. Let him go,
Will his mind long for of my hands,
Cheer then the Greeks, and others try.”
The Grecian orders; ev’ry man
To see their fresh lord shake his lance)
“Divine Greeks, stand not thus at gaze,
Your sev’ral valours. ’Tis a task
On me left to so many men,
Not Mars, immortal and a God,
A field of so much fight could chase,
But what a man may execute,
And all their strength to th’ utmost nerve
By some strange miracle) no more
To any least beam. All this host,
Of all not one again will scape,
To his adventure, and so near
Thus he excited. Hector then
The hearts of his men, adding threats,
In combat with Æacides:
Of your great hearts, brave Ilians,
I’ll fight with any God with words;
The work runs high, their strength exceeds
And they may make works crown their words;
Achilles makes; his hands have bounds;
And leave another to the field.
With sole objection of myself;
A rage like fire, though fire itself
And burning steel flew in his strength.”
And they rais’d lances, and to work
And up flew Clamour. But the heat
This temper: “Do not meet,” said he,
The man thou threaten’st, but in press;
His violence; for, far off, or near,
The God’s voice made a difference
Betwixt his and Achilles’ words,
As weigh’d him back into his strength,
At all threw fierce Æacides,
The first, of all he put to dart,
Surnam’d Otryntides, whom Nais
To town-destroy’r Otrynteüs.
Of Tmolus, in the wealthy town
Were many able men at arms.
Pelides’ lance in his head’s midst,
Achilles knew him one much fam’d,
“Th’ art dead, Otryntides, though call’d
Thy race runs at Gygæus’ lake,
Near fishy Hyllus and the gulfs
Removes it to the fields of Troy.”
His closéd eyes, his body laid
Which Grecian horse broke with the strakes
Next, through the temples, the burst eyes
Of great-in-Troy Antenor’s son,
A mighty turner of a field.
Hippodamas; who leap’d from horse,
Æacides’s turnéd back,
And forth he puff’d his flying soul.
To Neptune brought for sacrifice,
Down to the earth, and drag him round
To please the wat’ry Deity
And forth he pours his utmost throat;
Of flying Ilion, with the breath
Then rush’d he on, and in his eye
Old Priam’s son, whom last of all
And for his youth, being dear to him,
Yet (hot of unexperienc’d blood,
He was of foot, for which of all
The special name) he flew before
Ev’n till he flew out breath and soul;
Of swift Achilles put in air,
Out at his navel. On his knees
And gather’d with his tender hands
Quite through the wide wound, till a cloud
Their sight, and all the world from him.
His brother tumbled so to earth,
Dark sorrow overcast his eyes;
A minute longer, but like fire
Shook his long lance at Thetis’ son;
To feed th’ encounter: “O,” said he,
Of all the world destroys my mind,
My dear Patroclus. Now not long
Can yield us any privy scapes.
He cried to Hector, ’make the pain
As one so desp’rate of his life
This frighted Hector, who bore close,
Leave threats for children. I have pow’r
As well as others, and well know
To that my nerves hold; but the Gods,
And yet, for nerves, there will be found
To drive a lance home to thy life.
Hath point and sharpness, and ’tis this.”
He set it flying; which a breath
From Thetis’ son to Hector’s self,
Achilles us’d no dart, but close
With no strokes but of sure dispatch,
He labour’d, Phœbus clear’d with ease,
For Hector’s guard, as Pallas did,
He rapt him from him, and a cloud
His person and the point oppos’d.
“O see, yet more Gods are at work.
Dog that thou art, thy rescue now;
Thy safety owes him, I shall vent
That yet beat in my heart on thine,
My equal fautor. In mean time,
His fire on other Ilians.”
Great Demuchus, Philetor’s son;
With like encounter. Dardanus
Wise Bias’ sons, he hurl’d from horse;
With his close sword, the other’s life
Then Tros, Alastor’s son, made in,
With free submission. Down he fell,
He would not kill him, but take ruth,
Made to that purpose, being a man
That he himself was. O poor fool,
A ruthful mind! He well might know,
In ruth’s soft mould, he had no spirit
In his hot fury, he was none
Gentle and affable, but fierce
He gladly would have made a pray’r,
He could not quit him; till at last
His fetter’d knees, that made a vent
That caus’d such pitiful affects;
About his bosom, which it fill’d,
And all sense fail’d him. Forth then flew
Who next stoop’d Mulius ev’n to death
One ear it enter’d, and made good
Echeclus then, Agenor’s son,
Whose blood set fire upon his sword,
Of his then labouring brain let out
And gave cold entry to black death.
In these men’s beings, where the nerves
Down to his hand his spear’s steel pierc’d,
As led death jointly; whom he saw
And in his neck felt, with a stroke,
His head. One of the twice-twelve bones,
Let out his marrow; when the head
And hurl’d amongst the Ilians;
Rhigmus of fruitful Thrace next fell.
Of Pireüs; his belly’s midst
Quite tumbled him from chariot.
Their guider Areithous
That threw him to his lord. No end
Achilles enter’d. But as fire,
Inflames the high woods of dry hills,
Through all the sylvan deeps; and raves,
The smother’d hill; so ev’ry way
Consum’d the champain, the black earth
And look how oxen, yok’d and driv’n
Of some fair barn, tread suddenly
And all the corn consum’d with chaff;
Beneath Achilles’ one-hoof’d horse,
His axle-trees and chariot wheels,
Hurl’d from the steeds’ hooves and the strakes.
His most inaccessible hands
52: Inform—animate, actuate by vital powers. A common use. See Todd.
73: The God whose empire, &c.—Vulcan.
Hath giv’n the dare to Cæsar, and commands
The empire of the sea.”
211: Top-ayles—the beards of corn. Halliwell says “ails” is the term for beards of barley in Essex. It is common in West Berks. Probably from French aile, Latin ala.
239: Want want.—So both folios. Perhaps we should read, “want wont,” i.e. are not wont to yield, &c.
250: Stuck.—Dr. Taylor prints “struck.”
288: Past fates—beyond control of fates.
THE END OF THE TWENTIETH BOOK.
51 Of Mars to fight
text has Marst
65 So loathsome, filthy, and abhorr’d
text has aborr’d
295 My lance submitted, and he gone / At whom I sent it
[“he gone” looks odd but is correct]
In two parts Troy’s host parted; Thetis’ son
One to Scamander, one to Ilion,
Pursues. Twelve lords he takes alive, to end
In sacrifice for vengeance to his friend.
Asteropæus dies by his fierce hand,
And, Priam’s son, Lycaon. Over land
The Flood breaks where Achilles being engag’d,
Vulcan preserves him, and with spirit enrag’d
Sets all the champain and the floods on fire.
Contention then doth all the Gods inspire.
Apollo in Agenor’s shape doth stay
Achilles’ fury, and, by giving way,
Makes him pursue, till the deceit gives leave
That Troy in safety might her friends receive.
at the flood’s shore doth express
The labours of Æacides.
nd now they reach’d the goodly swelling
Gulf-eating Xanthus, whom Jove mix’d
And there Achilles cleft the host
On Xanthus, th’ other on the town;
The same way that the last day’s rage
When Hector’s fury reign’d; these now
The scatter’d field. To stay the flight,
Their hasty feet a standing fog;
The other half full on the flood.
Receiv’d them with a mighty cry,
Roar’d at their armours, which the shores
This way and that they swum, and shriek’d
And as in fir’d fields locusts rise,
Plies still their rising, till in swarms
For scape into some neighbour flood;
Here drave the foe, the gulfy flood
Then on the shore the Worthy hid
Amids the tamarisks, and sprite-like
Up to the river; ill affairs
For Troy’s engagements; ev’ry way
A most unmanly noise was made,
Of groans and outcries. The flood blush’d,
With such base souls. And as small fish
Filling the deep pits in the ports,
And there he swallows them in shoals;
About the flood, the Trojans fled,
Ev’n till he tir’d his slaught’rous arm.
He chose of all to take alive,
On that most solemn day of wreak,
These led he trembling forth the flood,
As any hind calves. All their hands
With their own girdles worn upon
Their persons to his Myrmidons
Plung’d in the stream again to take
He met, then issuing the flood
Lycaon, Dardan Priam’s son;
He had surpris’d, as in a wood
The green arms of a wild fig-tree,
In naves of his new chariot.
Stole on him in Achilles’ shape,
To well-built Lemnos, selling him
From whom a guest then in his house
Redeem’d at high rate, and sent home
And saw again his father’s court;
Amongst his friends; the twelfth God thrust
In hands of stern Æacides,
To Pluto’s court, and ’gainst his will.
Naked of helmet, shield, sword, lance
To earth, being overcome with sweat,
His flying knees) he storm’d, and said:
Invades mine eyes! Those Ilians,
Rise from the dark dead quick again.
Her own steel fingers. He was sold
Of all seas ’twixt this Troy, and that
From his lov’d country) bars not him.
The head of Pelias, and try
As other fortunes, or kind earth
On his sly person, whose strong arms
His thoughts thus mov’d, while he stood firm,
Would offer flight (which first he thought)
He was descried and flight was vain,
With purpose to embrace his knees,
His black fate and abhorréd death
Observ’d all this, and up he rais’d
And then Lycaon close ran in,
Achilles’ knees; whose lance, on earth
His still turn’d back, with thirst to glut
That lay so ready. But that thirst
To save his blood; Achilles’ knee
His other held the long lance hard,
But thus besought: “I kiss thy knees,
Respect me, and my fortunes rue.
Of a poor suppliant for thy ruth;
Worthy thy ruth, O Jove’s belov’d.
Fell into any hand, ’twas thine.
By thy gift since, O since that hour
From forth the fair wood my sad feet,
To famous Lemnos, where I found
To make my ransom; for which now
This day makes twelve, since I arriv’d
Being spent before in sufferance:
Thrusts me again into thy hands.
That with such set malignity
There were but two of us for whom
Laothoe, old Alte’s seed;
In height of upper Pedasus,
And rul’d the war-like Lelegi.
King Priam married, and begot
And me accurs’d. Thou slaughter’dst him;
Will prove as mortal. I did think,
I could not ’scape thee; yet give ear,
I told my birth to intimate,
Yet one womb brought not into light
And me. O do not kill me then,
Of Polydore excuse my life.
Brothers to Hector, he (half) paid,
Thus sued he humbly; but he heard,
“Fool, urge not ruth nor price to me,
Resolv’d on for Patroclus’ death,
Till his death I did grace to Troy,
At price of ransom; but none now,
(Whoever Jove throws to my hands)
That death can beat out, specially
Die, die, my friend. What tears are these?
Patroclus died, that far pass’d thee.
Myself, ev’n I, a fair young man,
And, to my father being a king,
In rank with Goddesses; and yet,
Death and a fate
By twilight, morn-light, day, high noon,
Sets on her man to hurl a lance,
An arrow that must reach my life.”
Lycaon’s heart bent like his knees,
Both hands for mercy as he kneel’d.
And forth his sword flies, which he hid
Driv’n through the jointure of his neck;
Stretch’d with death’s pangs, and all the earth
Then gript Æacides his heel,
Flung, swinging, his unpitied corse,
Upon the rough waves, and said: “Go,
Of thy left blood, they clean will suck
Thy mother’s tears upon thy bed.
Shall hoise thee bravely to a tomb,
The sea shall open, where great fish
With thy white fat, and on the waves
Clad in black horror, keeping close
So perish Ilians, till we pluck
Down to her feet, you flying still,
Thus in the rear, and (as my brows
Toss ye together. This brave flood,
Your city with his silver gulfs,
With casting chariots and horse
Shall nothing profit. Perish then,
All at the red feet of Revenge
With whom the absence of my hands
This speech great Xanthus more enrag’d,
For means to shut up the op’d vein
The Trojans in it from his plague.
And now with that long lance he hid,
Asteropæus, the descent
Of broad-stream’d Axius, and the dame,
To all the daughters that renown’d
Bright Peribœa, whom the Flood,
Compress’d. At her grandchild now went
Stood arm’d with two darts, being set on
For those youths’ blood shed in his stream
Without all mercy. Both being near,
With this high question: “Of what race
Thy pow’r to mine thus? Curséd wombs
That stood my anger.” He replied:
Talk, and seek pedigrees? Far hence
In rich Pæonia. My race
Axius, that gives earth purest drink,
Of great Oceanus, and got
Pelegonus, that father’d me;
Arm’d with long lances, here I lead;
Shines on us since we enter’d Troy.
Thus spake he, threat’ning; and to him
With shaken Pelias; but his foe
For both his hands were dexterous.
Of Thetis’ son, but strook not through;
The eager point; the other lance
Of his fair right hand’s cubit; forth
Glanc’d over, fast’ning on the earth,
That wish’d the body. With which wish
That quite miss’d, and infix’d itself
Ev’n to the midst it enter’d it.
Upon his enemy with his sword.
To get his lance out; thrice he pluck’d,
His wish’d evulsion; the fourth pluck,
The ashen plant, but, ere that act,
His bent pow’r, and brake out his soul.
He ripp’d his belly up, and out
His breathless body; whence his arms
“Lie there, and prove it dangerous
Against Jove’s sons, although a Flood
Thy vaunts urg’d him, but I may vaunt
From Jove himself. King Peleüs
Infernal Æacus to Jove,
Thunder-voic’d Jove far passeth floods,
With earth and water as they run
And his seed theirs exceeds as far.
Rag’d near thee now, but with no aid;
King Achelous yields to him, and
Whence all floods, all the sea, all founts,
Fetch their beginnings; yet ev’n he
His thunder gives, when out of heav’n
Thus pluck’d he from the shore his lance,
The wave-sprung entrails, about which
Did shoal, to nibble at the fat
This for himself. Now to his men,
His rage contend, all which cold fear
Their captain slain. At whose maz’d flight,
And then fell all these, Thrasius,
Great Ophelestes, Enius,
And on these many more had fall’n,
Had took the figure of a man,
Thus speaking to Æacides:
Thou great grandchild of Æacus,
And Gods themselves confederates,
All deaths gives thee, all places not.
To all shore service. In the field
Not in my waters. My sweet streams
Of men slain by thee. Carcasses
To pour into the sacred sea
Thy cruel forces. Cease, amaze
Prince of the people.” He replied:
Gulf-fed Scamander, my free wrath?
Proud Ilion’s slaughters, till this hand
Her flying forces, and hath tried
Of war with Hector; whose event
One of our conquests.” Thus again
Upon the Trojans; when the flood
To bright Apollo, telling him
Of Jove’s high charge, importuning
His help of Troy till latest even
On Earth’s broad breast. In all his worst,
Leapt to his midst. Then swell’d his waves,
Against Achilles. Up flew all,
In all his deeps (of which the heaps
He belch’d out, roaring like a bull.
In his black whirlpits vast and deep.
About Achilles. On his shield
Beat so, it drave him back, and took
Enforc’d to catch into his stay
Whose roots he toss’d up with his hold,
With this then he repell’d the waves,
He made a bridge to bear him off;
Forth from the channel threw himself.
Ev’n his great spirit, and made him add
And tread the land. And yet not there
But thrust his billows after him,
To make him fear, and fly his charge,
For Troy to ’scape in. He sprung out
Again with a redoubled force.
And strong’st of all fowls, Jove’s black hawk,
A much lov’d quarry; so charg’d he;
Against the black waves. Yet again
His body from the Flood, and fled;
The waves flew roaring. As a man
And from some black fount is to bring
Goes with his mattock, and all checks,
When that runs freely, under it
And, where it finds a fall, runs swift;
His current then, before himself
So of Achilles evermore
Though most deliver, Gods are still
As oft as th’ able god-like man
His charge on them that kept the flood,
If all the Gods inhabiting
Could daunt his spirit; so oft still,
Rampt on his shoulders; from whose depth
Up to the free air, vex’d in soul.
Made faint his knees; so overthwart
All the denied dust, which he wish’d,
Casting his eyes to that broad heav’n,
And said: “O Jove, how am I left!
Me, miserable man. Help now,
With any outrage. Would to heaven,
Bred in this region, had imbru’d
That strong may fall by strong! Where now
Must make my death blush, one, heav’n-born,
Drown’d in a dirty torrent’s rage.
I blame for this, but She alone
That now must die thus. She would still
Affirming Phœbus’ shafts should end
My curs’d beginning.” In this strait,
To fetch him off. In men’s shapes both
And, taking both both hands, thus spake
“Pelides, do not stir a foot,
Against thy bold breast, fear a jot;
Neptune and Pallas, Jove himself
’Tis nothing as thou fear’st with Fate;
This height shall soon down, thine own eyes
Be rul’d then, we’ll advise thee well;
From putting all, indiff’rently,
Upon the Trojans, till the walls
Conclude all in a desp’rate flight.
The soul of Hector, turn to fleet;
Of endless glory on thy brows.”
Both made retreat. He, much impell’d
The field, that now was overcome
He overcame. On their wild breasts
And arms, of many a slaughter’d man.
Of this great captain bore aloft;
With full assault; nor could that God
Nor shrunk the Flood, but, as his foe
Thrust up a billow to the sky,
To his assistance: “Simoïs,
“Come, add thy current, and resist
Or Ilion he will pull down straight;
A minute longer. Come, assist,
All fountains in thy rule to rise,
And stuff thy billows; with whose height,
With trees torn up and justling stones,
May shrink beneath us; whose pow’r thrives
He dares things fitter for a God.
Nor glorious arms shall profit it;
I vow to roll up in my sands,
Nay, in the very sinks of Troy,
Shall make him drowning work enough;
A fort of such strong filth on him,
His bones from it. There, there shall stand
And save a burial for his friends.”
His high-ridg’d billows on the prince,
And carcasses. The crimson stream
Surpris’d Achilles; and her height
Of Jove himself. Then Juno cried,
This wat’ry Deity) the God
Afraid lest that gulf-stomach’d Flood
On great Achilles: “Mulciber,
“Rouse thee, for all the Gods conceive
Is rais’d at thee, and shows as if
And put out all the sphere of fire.
Light flames deep as his pits. Ourself
Will call out of the sea, and breathe
A storm t’ enrage thy fires ’gainst Troy;
Blow flames of sweat about their brows,
Go thou then, and, ’gainst these winds rise,
With setting all his trees on fire,
A fervor that shall make it burn;
Avert thy fury till I speak,
Of all thy blazes.” Mulciber
First in the field us’d; burning up
Of great Achilles reft of souls;
And shrunk the flood up. And as fields,
With catching weather, when their corn
Are with a constant north wind dried,
Their hearts that sow’d them; so this field
And ev’n the flood into a fire
Elms, willows, tam’risks, were inflam’d;
And rushes, with the galingale roots,
About the sweet flood, all were fir’d;
Upwards in flames; the grov’lling eels
Wise Vulcan’s unresisted spirit.
Cried to him: “Cease, O Mulciber,
Thy matchless virtue; nor would I,
Cease then thy strife; let Thetis’ son,
Ev’n to their gates these Ilians.
Or this contention?” Thus in flames
And as a caldron, underput
With boiling of a well-fed brawn,
Bavins of sere wood urging it,
Till all the caldron be engirt
So round this Flood burn’d, and so sod
Nor could flow forth, bound in the fumes
Who, then not mov’d, his mother’s ruth
And ask’d, why Vulcan should invade
Past other floods, when his offence
As that of other Gods for Troy;
Her wrath to it, if she were pleas’d;
Might be reflected; adding this,
To help keep off the ruinous day,
Fir’d by the Grecians. This vow heard,
His fi’ry spirits to their homes,
A God should suffer so for men.
His so unmeasur’d violence,
Ran to his channel. Thus these Gods
At weighty diff’rence; both sides ran
That earth resounded, and great heav’n
Jove heard it, sitting on his hill,
Buckle to arms like angry men;
They laid it freely. Of them all,
And at Minerva with a lance
These vile words ushering his blows:
Thou mak’st Gods fight thus? Thy huge heart
With thy insatiate shamelessness.
When Diomed charg’d me, and by thee,
Took’st lance thyself, and, in all sights,
Now vengeance falls on thee for all.”
With fighting adders, borne by Jove,
He clapt his lance on; and this God,
Pollutes his godhead, that shield pierc’d,
But back she leapt, and with her strong
Above the champain, black and sharp,
Partitions to men’s lands; and that
Of that impetuous challenger.
And overlaid sev’n acres’ land.
With dust and blood mix’d; and his arms
And thus insulted: “O thou fool,
To know mine eminence? Thy strength
So pay thy mother’s furies then,
(Ever afforded perjur’d Troy,
And vows thee mischief.” Thus she turn’d
The hand of Mars took, and from earth
His spirits not yet got up again.
King Aphrodite was his guide.
“Pallas, see, Mars is help’d from field!
Thyself ev’n now; but that his love,
Her old consort. Upon her fly.”
This excitation joyfully,
Strook with her hard hand her soft breast,
Both her and Mars; and there both lay
When thus she triumph’d: “So lie all,
To these false Trojans ’gainst the Greeks;
As Venus, shunning charge of me;
Be all their aids, than hers to Mars,
In our depopulating Troy,
Of all earth’s cities.” At this wish,
Next Neptune and Apollo stood
And thus spake Neptune: “Phœbus! Come,
Stand we two thus? ’Twill be a shame,
Jove’s golden house, being thus in field
For ’tis no graceful work for me;
I older and know more. O fool,
Thou bear’st about thee, to stand here,
And fight with me! Forgett’st thou then,
Of all the Gods, have suffer’d here,
Enjoy’d our service a whole year,
Jove in his sway would have it so;
This broad brave wall about this town,
It might be inexpugnable.
In Ida, that so many hills
To feed his oxen, crooked-shank’d, and
But when the much-joy-bringing Hours
The terrible Laomedon
Our high deservings, not alone
But give us threats too. Hands and feet
And sell thee as a slave, dismiss’d
Nay more, he would have both our ears.
Made us part angry with him then;
Such a king’s subjects? Or with us
Ev’n to their chaste wives and their babes?”
His wisdom little, if with him,
Maintain contention; wretched men
Like leaves, eat some of that earth yields,
Their whole selves for it. Quickly then,
Nor show it offer’d. Let themselves
Thus he retir’d, and fear’d to change
His sister therefore chid him much,
In games of hunting, and thus spake:
To Neptune’s glory, and no blows?
Thy idle bow? No more my ears
Dares to meet Neptune, but I’ll tell
He answer’d nothing; yet Jove’s wife
But spake thus loosely: “How dar’st thou,
Encounter me? ’Twill prove a match
Though the great Lady of the bow
For lion of thy sex, with gift
Thy proud will envies; yet some dames
Wild lions upon hills than them.
Yet under judgment in thy thoughts,
I’ll make thee know it.” Suddenly
Both Cynthia’s palms, lock’d fingers fast,
From her fair shoulders her gilt bow,
About her ears, and ev’ry way
Till all her arrows scatter’d out,
And as a dove, that, flying a hawk,
And in his hollow breasts sits safe,
So fled she mourning, and her bow
His opposite thus undertook:
Will I bide combat. ’Tis a work
At diff’rence with the wives of Jove.
Amongst the Deities, th’ hast subdu’d,
Yield with plain pow’r.” She answer’d not,
And shafts fall’n from her daughter’s side,
Diana to Jove’s starry hall,
Trembling about her so she shook.
Before her fate, flew to her walls;
Up to Olympus, some enrag’d,
Both men and horse of Ilion.
Casts up a heat that purples heav’n,
In ev’ry corner, toil to all,
Which fire th’ incenséd Gods let fall;
Rage on the Trojans, toils and shrieks
Old Priam in his sacred tow’r
Of his forc’d people, all in rout,
By fled resistance. His eyes saw
The son of Peleüs, and down
To all the port-guards, and their chiefs
Commanding th’ op’ning of the ports,
Stir from them, for Æacides
“Destruction comes, O shut them strait,
“For not our walls I fear will check
Off lifted they the bars, the ports
Safety her entry with the host;
Had not Apollo sallied out,
Brought by Achilles in their necks,
The ports bore all, dry, dusty, spent:
Rabid Achilles with his lance,
That prick’d his fury. Then the Greeks
Had seized, had not Apollo stirr’d
Divine Agenor, and cast in
To his bold bosom, and himself
And keep the heavy hand of death
Stood by him, leaning on a beech,
With night-like darkness; yet for all
When that great city-razer’s force
Stood, and went on; a world of doubts
When, angry with himself, he said:
In this so strong need to go on?
’Tis his best weapon to give chace,
Like to a coward. If I stand,
Please not my purpose; I would live.
Still to be routed, and, my feet
Pass all these fields of Ilion,
And steep heights shroud me, and at even
And turn to Ilion? O my soul!
Of these discourses? If this course,
I give my feet, his feet move swift
Of that pass, I pass least; for pace,
Will stand out all men. Meet him then;
Of pow’r to pierce him; his great breast
Death claims his right in, all men say;
In Jove’s high bounty; that’s past man,
And that serves all men ev’ry way.”
To stand Achilles, and stirr’d up
And as a panther, having heard
Her freckled forehead, and stares forth
To try what strength dares her abroad;
The hounds have kindled, no quench serves
Though strook, though wounded,
But till the man’s close strength she tries,
She puts her strength out; so it far’d
And till Achilles he had prov’d,
His fixéd foot. To his broad breast
And up his arm went with his aim,
“Thy hope is too great, Peleus’ son,
Troy’s Ilion at thy foot. O fool!
More than are suffer’d yet, must buy
We are within her many strong,
Our wives and children, will save Troy;
Thy name so terrible, shalt make
With thine own ruins.” Thus he threw,
But strook his foe’s leg near his knee;
Against his tin greaves, and leapt back;
Gave virtue of repulse. And then
Divine Agenor; but in vain,
And rapt Agenor from his reach;
Without the skirmish, casting mists
His tender’d person; and (he gone)
The Deity turn’d Achilles
Of him he thirsted; evermore
And he with all his knees pursu’d.
That still he would be near his reach,
Far from the conflict; to the flood
Of his attraction. In mean time,
Came to the city, comforted;
Strooted with fillers; none would stand
Who scap’d, and who came short. The ports
That pour’d itself in. Ev’ry man
Most fortunate. Whoever scap’d,
18: And sprite-like.—Dr. Taylor, following the second folio, has “the sprite-like.”
56: Down—keep down.
129: “The word is κεραίζων, which they translate cædens, but properly signifies dissipans, ut boves infestis cornibus.” —Chapman. Iliad XXI.129.
132: Which.—both folios and Dr. Taylor have “with;” but it is corrected in the list of errata prefixed to the first folio.
132: Gulls—swallows. Latin gula. Richardson gives an example from Bale’s “Pageant of Popes.”
151: Heat.—The second folio and Taylor, “beat.”
180: Infernal.—Æacus, after his death, became one of the three judges in Hades
188: “The rack or motion of the clouds, for the clouds.” —Chapman.
190: Fausens—a kind of eel. Skinner thinks so called from falx, a reaping-hook, hence falchion, fauchion, from its shape. Willughby mentions an anguilliform fish found at Venice called a falx, a worthless kind of eel. (Hist. Piscium, ed. Ray, fol. Oxon. 1686, p. 117.) Hilpert, in his Deutsch-Englisches Wörterbuch (Carlsruhe, 1845), suggests hausen, the sturgeon, huso. However I cannot find any other authority for the word than this passage of Chapman. It might be derived from the French “fausser,” to bend. I cannot discover that it is a provincialism.
230: “Note the continued height and admired expression of Achilles’ glory.” —Chapman.
281: i.e. Thus to the Immortals, the Gods.
296: Immane—huge, or cruel; both which senses exhibit the original Latin.
300: Sands.—Both folios and Dr. Taylor have “hands,” but it is corrected in the list of errata of the first folio.
328: Gavel—a sheaf of corn. The word is still used in the Eastern Counties. It is hardly necessary to observe that it has nothing to do with the “Anglo-Saxon custom of gavel-kind,” as explained by Dr. Taylor.
333: Galingale.—The rush called “sweet cyperus.”
344: Bavins—small fagots of brushwood, or split wood for lighting fires. The word is still in use in some counties.
346: Sod—past tense of the verb “seethe.”
353: Reflected—turned back.
377: Dusted.—Chapman uses this word several times. All the Dictionaries, even Halliwell’s, want it. Cotgrave has “a dust, or thumpe.” See Horion and Orion in Cotgrave’s Dict.
379: Beray’d.—Another form of bewrayed, exposed; hence, in a bad sense, soiled, defiled. “It is an ill bird that berays its own nest.” Ray’s Proverbs (quoted by Latham, who marks the form as rare, but ?) Phillips seems to use bewray only in this sense, and under beray refers to bewray.
407: Prest—ready. Old French prest. See Nares.
422: Gratulate—confer favour on.
469: By fled resistance.—So both folios.—Dr. Taylor has altered it to “but fled resistance.” This however is not Chapman’s meaning, as he personifies “Resistance” (printing it with a capital) and the sense is, “Resistance fled, and returned no stroke.”
507: Every way.—The second folio and Dr. Taylor, “every man.” This sentence is not in the Greek, and is to me unintelligible.
509: Trail.—The second folio and Taylor, “trails.”
527: The fire’s strong-handed king, &c.—simply, the armour, the gift of Vulcan, repelled it.
THE END OF THE TWENTY-FIRST BOOK.
Arg. Phy at the flood’s shore doth express
46 In t’ hands of stern Æacides
expected “In th’ hands”
109 Death and as violent a fate
text has and as a violent a corrected from 1st edition
168 fast in the steep-up shore;
missing word “the” supplied from 1st edition
186 note Bk. XXIII. 259
text has XIII.
346 So round this Flood burn’d, and so sod
text has burn’d ,and so with misplaced comma
All Trojans hous’d but Hector, only he
Keeps field, and undergoes th’ extremity.
Æacides assaulting, Hector flies,
Minerva stays him, he resists, and dies.
Achilles to his chariot doth enforce,
And to the naval station drags his corse.
Hector, in Chi, to death is done,
By pow’r of Peleus’ angry son.
hus, chas’d like hinds, the Ilians
And to refresh them, getting off
And good strong rampires on instead.
Aloft their shoulders; and now Fate
Of those tough walls, her deadly hand
Before Troy at the Scæan ports.
At Phœbus, who his bright head turn’d,
Pursu’st thou, being a man, a God?
Acknowledge not thine eyes my state?
Thy honour in the chase of Troy,
Their utter conquest? They are all
While thou hunt’st me. What wishest thou?
On thy proud jav’lin.” “It is thou,”
“That putt’st dishonour thus on me,
Thou turn’dst me from the walls, whose ports
Numbers now enter’d, over whom
And robb’d my honour; and all is,
Past fear of reck’ning. But held I
It should afford thee dear-bought scapes.”
Steed-like, that at Olympus’ games
And rattles home his chariot,
Achilles so parts with the God.
The great Greek come, spher’d round with beams,
Surnam’d Orion’s hound, that springs
His radiance through a world of stars,
Cast greatest splendour, the midnight
Then being their foil; and on their points,
Come shaking down into the joints
As this were fall’n to earth, and shot
Now towards Priam, when he saw
Out flew his tender voice in shrieks,
His rev’rend head, then up to heav’n
What plagues it sent him, down again
To make him shun them. He now stood
Thirsting the combat; and to him
The kind old king: “O Hector, fly
That straight will stroy thee. He’s too strong,
As strong in heav’n’s love as in mine!
His prostrate carcass, all my woes
He has robb’d me of many sons
Sold to far islands. Two of them,
They are not enter’d, nor stay here.
O queen of women, from whose womb
Detain them only, brass and gold
To their sad durance; ’tis within;
Gave plenty for his daughter’s dow’r;
Of this man’s fury, woe is me,
But in our state’s woe their two deaths
So thy life quit them. Take the town,
Troy’s husbands and her wives, nor give
For this man’s glory. Pity me,
Whom in the door of age Jove keeps;
My being, in fortune’s utmost curse,
Of this life’s mis’ries, my sons slain,
Their resting chambers sack’d, their babes,
Pleading for mercy, themselves dragg’d
And all this drawn through my red eyes.
Alone, all helpless at my gates,
That ruthless gives me to my dogs,
Of age discover’d; and all this
Will pour on me. A fair young man
Being bravely slain, to lie all gash’d,
Of war’s most cruelty; no wound,
But is his ornament; but I,
White head, white-bearded, wrinkled, pin’d,
Live, prevent this then, this most shame
Thus wept the old king, and tore off
Retir’d not Hector. Hecuba
Stripp’d nak’d her bosom, show’d her breasts,
And pity her. If ever she
He would cease hers, and take the town,
When all had left it: “Think,” said she,
My life recomfort; thy rich wife
Nor do thee rites; our tears shall pay
Being ravish’d from us, Grecian dogs
Thus wept both these, and to his ruth
Of what could chance them; yet he stay’d.
Mighty Achilles; yet he still
Look how a dragon, when she sees
Her breeding den, her bosom fed
Gathers her forces, sits him firm,
Wraps all her cavern in her folds,
Out at his entry; Hector so,
Stood great Achilles, stirr’d no foot,
Bent to his bright shield, and resolv’d
Yet all this resolute abode
His free election; but he felt
To the performance, with conceit
Ent’ring, like others, for this cause;
“O me, if I shall take the town,
This flight and all this death on me;
My pow’rs to Troy this last black night,
Incens’d Achilles. I yet stay’d,
Had much more profited than mine;
As comes to all our flight and death,
Hath bred this scandal, all our town
With whisp’ring: ‘Hector’s self-conceit
And, this true, this extremity
Is best for me: stay, and retire
Here for our city with renowme,
And yet one way cuts both these ways:
My helm and lance here on these walls,
Renowm’d Achilles, off’ring him
Whatever in his hollow keels
For both th’ Atrides? For the rest,
In all this city, known or hid,
Of all our citizens; of which
One half themselves. But why, lov’d soul,
Thy state still in me? I’ll not sue;
Mine arms cast off, should be assur’d
To men of oak and rock, no words;
Virgins and youths that love and woo;
What blows and conflicts urge, we cry,
And, with the garlands these trees bear,
These thoughts employ’d his stay; and now
His Mars-like presence terribly
His right arm shook it, his bright arms
Like fire-light, or the light of heav’n
This sight outwrought discourse, cold fear
No more stay now; all ports were left:
Of that Fear-Master; who, hawk-like,
That holds a tim’rous dove in chase,
His fi’ry onset, the dove hastes,
This way and that he turns and winds,
And, till he truss it, his great spirit
So urg’d Achilles Hector’s flight:
His troubled spirit, his knees wrought hard,
In that fair chariot-way that runs,
And Troy’s wild fig-tree, till they reach’d
Of deep Scamander pour’d abroad
One warm and casts out fumes as fire;
Or hail dissolv’d. And when the sun
There water’s concrete crystal shin’d;
All pav’d and clear, where Trojan wives
Laundry for their fine linen weeds,
Before the Grecians brought their siege.
One flying, th’ other in pursuit;
A stronger follow’d him by far,
Both did their best, for neither now
Or for the sacrificer’s hide,
These ran for tame-horse Hector’s soul.
Back’d in some set race for a game,
(A tripod, or a woman, giv’n
Such speed made these men, and on foot
The Gods beheld them, all much mov’d;
A man I love much, I see forc’d
About great Ilion. My heart grieves;
With thighs of sacrificéd beeves,
Of Ida, and in Ilion’s height.
His life from death, or give it now
Minerva answer’d: “Alter Fate?
Now take from death? Do thou; but know,
Our other censures.” “Be it then,”
“My lov’d Tritonia, at thy will;
Thy free intention, work it all.”
To this great combat. Peleus’ son
Still-flying Hector. As a hound
Although he tappish ne’er so oft,
Attempts for strength, and trembles in,
So close that not a foot he fails,
So plied Achilles Hector’s steps;
The Dardan ports and tow’rs for strength
With wingéd shafts) so oft forc’d he
’Twixt him and all his hopes, and still
His utmost turnings to the town.
One thinks he gives another chase,
Possesseth both, that he in chase
Nor can the chaser get to hand
So nor Achilles’ chase could reach
Nor Hector’s flight enlarge itself
But how chanc’d this? How, all this time,
Of fierce Achilles with his own,
If Phœbus, for his last and best,
To add his succours to his nerves,
Near and within him, fed his ’scape?
His knees would fetch him, and gave signs
Of shooting at him) to forbear,
From his full glory in first wounds,
Make his hand last. But when they reach’d
Then Jove his golden scales weigh’d up,
Of fate for Hector, putting in
Two fates of bitter death; of which
The other hell; so low declin’d
Then Phœbus left him, when war’s Queen
In th’ other’s knowledge: “Now,” said she,
I hope at last to make renowme
To all the Grecians; we shall now
Though never so insatiate
Nor must he ’scape our púrsuit still,
Apollo bows into a sphere,
To his most favour’d. Breathe thee then,
And hearten Hector to change blows.”
Lean’d on his lance, and much was joy’d
This fadging conflict. Then came close
To Hector, like Deiphobus
“O brother, thou art too much urg’d
About our own walls; let us stand,
Th’ insulting chaser.” Hector joy’d
And said: “O good Deiphobus,
(Of all my brothers) dear to me,
It costs me honour, that, thus urg’d,
Of my last fortunes; other friends
My rack’d endeavours.” She replied:
One after other, king and queen,
Ev’n on their knees, to stay me there,
With this man’s terror; but my mind
Girt with thy chases, that to death
Come, fight we, thirsty of his blood;
Cost on our lances, but approve,
He can bear glory to their fleet,
In his one suff’rance of thy lance.”
And, both come near, thus Hector spake:
This great town, Peleus’ son, in flight,
That out of fate put off my steps;
The short course set up, death or life.
Must shun all rudeness, and the Gods
For use of victory; and they
Of all vows, since they keep vows best,
Let vows of fit respect pass both,
Her wreath on either. Here I vow
That is not manly, on thy corse,
Resign thy person; which swear thou.”
Far fled Achilles; his brows bent,
“Hector, thou only pestilence
To my sere spirits, never set
Any conditions; but as far
All terms of cov’nant, lambs and wolves;
Impossible for love t’ atone,
The God of soldiers. Do not dream
Endure condition. Therefore now,
Call to thee, all particular parts
And they all this include (besides
Hunger for slaughter, and a hate
Thy foe’s heart. This stirs, this supplies
And all this need’st thou. No more flight.
Will quickly cast thee to my lance.
All griefs for vengeance, both in me,
That bled thee, raging with thy lance.”
His long lance, and away it sung;
Stoop’d low, stood firm, foreseeing it best,
Fast’ning on earth. Athenia
Unseen of Hector. Hector then
God-like Achilles. Now I see,
Of Jove at all, as thy high words
Much tongue affects thee. Cunning words
Thy blows with threats, that mine might faint
But my back never turns with breath;
Burthens of wounds; strike home before;
As mine at thine shall, and try then
With scape of my lance. O would Jove
And make thy bosom take it all!
Our difficult wars, were thy soul fled,
Thus flew his dart, touch’d at the midst
A huge way from it; but his heart
Of that hard scape, and heavy thoughts
His brother vanish’d, and no lance
“Deiphobus, another lance.”
Stood near his call. And then his mind
And thus suggested: “Woe is me,
Must meet death here! Deiphobus
With his white shield; but our strong walls
Flows from Minerva. Now, O now,
No more recovery. O Jove,
Thy bright son and thyself have set
Of Hector’s blood than now; of which,
But Fate now conquers; I am hers;
In my renowme; that life is left
And that some great deed shall beget
Thus, forth his sword flew, sharp and broad,
With which he rush’d in. And look how
Stoops to the rapture of a lamb,
So fell in Hector; and at him
Was fierce and mighty, his shield cast
Helm nodded, and his four plumes shook,
Up Hesp’rus rose ’mongst th’ evening stars.
Look’d through the body of his foe,
The next way to his thirsted life.
Appear’d to him, and that was where
That joins the shoulders and the neck,
The speeding way to death; and there
The place it sought, e’en through those arms
When Hector slew him. There he aim’d,
Stern passage quite through Hector’s neck;
It gave him pow’r to change some words;
His fainting body. Then triumph’d
“Hector,” said he, “thy heart suppos’d
Thy life was safe; my absent arm
One at the fleet that better’d him,
Thy strong knees thus; and now the dogs
Shall tear thee up, thy corse expos’d
He, fainting, said: “Let me implore,
And thy great parents, do not see
Inflicted on me. Brass and gold
And quit my person, that the peers
May tomb it, and to sacred fire
“Dog,” he replied, “urge not my ruth,
I would to God that any rage
Slic’d into pieces, so beyond
I taste thy merits! And, believe,
To rescue thy head from the dogs.
If ten or twenty times so much
Were tender’d here, with vows of more,
I here have vow’d, and after that
Would free thyself; all that should fail
Solemnities of death with thee,
To mourn thy whole corse on a bed;
With fowls and dogs.” He, dying, said:
Thy now tried tyranny, nor hop’d
Of nature, or of nations;
Than death my flight, which never touch’d
A soul of iron informs thee. Mark,
Will give me of thee for this rage,
Phœbus and Paris meet with thee.”
His soul flying his fair limbs to hell,
To part so with his youth and strength.
His prophecy answer’d: “Die thou now.
I’ll bear it as the will of Jove.”
He drew, and stuck by; then his arms,
He spoil’d his shoulders of. Then all
To see his person, and admir’d
Yet none stood by that gave no wound
When each to other said: “O Jove,
He came to fleet in with his fire,
“O friends,” said stern Æacides,
This man thus down, I’ll freely say,
Than all his aiders. Try we then,
And girding all Troy with our host,
Their city clear, her clear stay slain,
Or hold yet, Hector being no more.
Of any act but what concerns
Unsepulchred, he lies at fleet,
Shall make his dead state, while the quick
To move these movers. Though in hell,
Oblivion seizeth, yet in hell
Hold all her forms still of my friend.
Bear we this body, pæans sing,
With endless honour; we have slain
Of all Troy’s glory, to whose worth
This said, a work not worthy him
He bor’d the nerves through from the heel
Both to his chariot with a thong
Trailing the centre. Up he got
The arms repurchas’d, and scourg’d on
A whirlwind made of startled dust
With which were all his black-brown curls
And there lay Troy’s late Gracious,
To all disgrace in his own land,
When, like her son’s head, all with dust
Distain’d her temples, plucking off
Her royal garments, shrieking out.
His sacred person, like a wretch
Broken with outcries. About both
Held down with clamour; all the town
Ilion, with all his tops on fire,
Left for the Greeks, could put on looks
Than now fraid life. And yet the king
The wretched people could not bear
Plaguing himself so, thrusting out,
To open him the Dardan ports,
Each man by name, thus: “ friends,
Though much ye grieve, be that poor mean
Now in our wishes; I will go
Author of horrors, making proof
Excite his pity. His own sire
That got him to our griefs, perhaps,
Mean for our ruth to him. Alas,
Compar’d with me! I many sons,
Have lost by him, and all their deaths
(Afflicted man) are doubled. This
My soul to hell. O would to heav’n,
In these pin’d arms, then tears on tears
In common fortune! Now amaze
And pricks a mad vein.” Thus he mourn’d,
Their store of sorrows. The poor Queen
Turn’d into anguish: “O my son,”
Patient of horrors is my life,
My days thou glorifi’dst, my nights
Done by thy virtues, joy to me,
All made a God of thee, and thou
Now under fate, now dead.” These two
There sorrow’s furnace; Hector’s wife
So much as of his stay without.
Sat at her loom; a piece of work,
Strew’d curiously with varied flow’rs,
To heat a caldron for her lord,
Of which she chief charge gave her maids.
How much her cares lack’d of his case!
Up to her turret; then she shook,
And up she started, call’d her maids,
That ominous outcry: “Come,” said she,
My mother’s voice shriek; to my throat
Utterly alters me; some fate
Of fading Priam. Would to God
No ear had heard yet! O I fear,
That, with some stratagem, the son
The wall of Ilion my lord,
Obtain’d the chase of him alone,
Of his still desp’rate spirit is cool’d.
In guard of others; before all
Or his place forfeited he held.”
Two women, as she will’d, at hand;
Up to the tow’r and press of men,
She cast her greedy eye, and saw
T’ Achilles’ chariot, manlessly
Black night strook through her, under her
And back she shrunk with such a sway
Her coronet, caul, ribands, veil
On her white shoulders that high day
Her hand in nuptials in the court
And that great dow’r then giv’n with her.
Her husband’s sisters, brothers’ wives,
Recover’d her. Then, when again
Free pass (her mind and spirit met)
“O Hector, O me, curséd dame,
Thou here, I in Cilician Thebes,
His shady forehead, in the court
Hapless, begot unhappy me;
To live past thee! Thou now art div’d
Sunk through the coverts of the earth;
Left here thy widow; one poor babe
Whom thou leav’st helpless as he thee,
Of woe and labour. Lands left him
The orphan day of all friends’ helps
An orphan all men suffer sad;
Need tries his father’s friends, and fails;
If one the cup gives, ’tis not long,
Scarce moists his palate; if he chance
Surviving fathers’ sons repine,
Bid, ’leave us, where’s thy father’s place?’
Retires to me, to me, alas!
Born to these mis’ries; he that late
To whom all knees bow’d, daintiest fare
Lay on his temples, his cries still’d,
Of all things precious, a soft bed,
Took him to guardiance. But now
Lies on his suff’rance; now thou want’st
O my Astyanax; my lord,
These gates of Ilion, these long walls
Amply and only. Yet at fleet
Vile worms, when dogs are satiate,
Far from those fun’ral ornaments
(So sudden being the chance of arms)
Which task, though my heart would not serve
I made my women yet
Were those integuments they wrought
Which, since they fly thy use, thy corse
Thy sacrifice they shall be made;
Shall vent their vanities. And yet,
They shall be kept for citizens,
Thus spake she weeping; all the dames
Her desert state, fearing their own,
24: The Dog Star.
27: Cure-passing—cure-surpassing, not to be cured.
41: Islands.—Taylor, “lands.”
52: So.—Omitted by second folio and Taylor.
66: Man’s.—Second folio and Taylor, “men’s.”
144: “Up and down the walls, it is to be understood.” —Chapman.
158: Tappish—hide, seek cover. A hunting term. From the French. Fairfax uses it,—
“When the slie beast tapisht in bush and brire
No art nor paines can rowse out of his place.”
161: Assay’d.—The folio has assail’d, but assaid, tried, is evidently the word.
168: “A most ingenious simile, used (as all our Homer besides) by Virgil, but this as a translator merely.” —Chapman.
194: Fadging—seems here fagging, fatiguing. Nares says to fadge is to suit, to fit, but such a sense does not appear applicable here.
229: Do not dream, &c.—do not imagine that any conditions can be made to part us.
341: “Achilles’ tyranny to Hector’s person, which we lay on his fury and love to his slain friend, for whom himself living suffered so much.” —Chapman.
341: Whitleather—i.e., white leather; leather dressed with alum to give it toughness.
360: In. —Dr. Taylor has erroneously omitted this word.
360: Fil’d with tumbling.—Fil’d, i.e. defiled. Dr. Taylor has committed a strange error in printing “all fill’d with rumbling,” conveying to the reader a most unhappy picture of the effects of poor Priam’s distress.
407: That off.—The second folio and Taylor, “then off.”
THE END OF THE TWENTY-SECOND BOOK.
155 note Tasso. G. L.
name “Tasso” printed in italics by mistake for small capitals
[Labeled (by Hooper?) 341, but passage really begins at 339]
361 Each man by name, thus: “Lov’d friends
expected “Lovéd” or “O lov’d” (two syllables)
445 I made my women yet perform.
full stop invisible
Achilles orders justs of exsequies*
For his Patroclus; and doth sacrifice
Twelve Trojan princes, most lov’d hounds and horse,
And other off’rings, to the honour’d corse.
He institutes, besides, a Funeral Game;
Where Diomed, for horse-race, wins the fame;
For foot, Ulysses; others otherwise
Strive, and obtain; and end the Exsequies.
Psi sings the rites of the decease,
Ordain’d by great Æacides.
hus mourn’d all Troy. But when at fleet
The Greeks arriv’d, each to his ship;
Kept undispers’d his Myrmidons,
Disjoin not we chariots and horse,
With state of both, march soft and close,
’Tis proper honour to the dead.
When with our friends’ kind woe our hearts
A virtuous soul right, and then sup.”
Circled the corse; Achilles led,
All bore their goodly-coated horse.
And stirr’d up a delight in grief,
And all the sands, were wet; so much
Then to the centre fell the prince;
Of his slain friend his slaught’ring hands,
Words to their tears: “Rejoice,” said he,
Courted by Dis now. Now I pay
All my revenges vow’d before.
Dragg’d at my chariot, and our
His hated limbs. Twelve Trojan youths,
I took alive; and, yet enrag’d,
Of vital spirits, sacrific’d
This said, a work unworthy him
And trampled Hector under foot
Disarm’d, took horse from chariot,
At his black vessel. Infinite
Himself yet sleeps not, now his spirits
Fit for so high a funeral.
Oxen in heaps lay bellowing,
Bleating of sheep and goats fill’d air;
Swimming in fat, lay singeing there.
Was girt with slaughter. All this done,
Achilles to the King of men;
For his Patroclus. Being arriv’d
Himself bade heralds put to fire
The service of it to the prince,
His pleasure to admit their pains
About his conqu’ring hands and brows.
He swore. “The laws of friendship damn
To men that lose friends. Not a drop
Patroclus in the fun’ral pile,
His tomb erected. ’Tis the last
While I consort the careful. Yet,
And though I loathe food, I will eat.
Atrides, use your strict command
To our design’d place, all that fits
As is to pass the shades of death,
His person quickly from our eyes,
May ply their business.” This all ears
And found observance. Then they supp’d
Repair’d to tents and rest. The friend
Sought for his bed, and found a place,
The murmuring billows. There his limbs
Heavily sighing. Round about,
Stood all his Myrmidons; when straight,
His goodly lineaments with chase
His resolution not to sleep,
Over his sense, and loos’d his care.
The Soul appear’d; at ev’ry part
His likeness; his fair eyes, his voice,
His person wore, it fantasied;
This sad speech utt’ring: “Dost thou sleep?
Forgotten of thee? Being alive,
Ever respectful; but now, dead,
Inter me quickly, enter me
For now the souls (the shades) of men,
My spirit from rest, and stay
Amongst souls plac’d beyond the flood.
About this broad-door’d house of Dis.
My soul yet further! Here I mourn,
Consum’d my body, never more
From hell’s low región; from thence
To talk with friends here; nor shall I;
My being here, that at my birth
Ev’n thou, O god-like man, art mark’d;
Must entertain thy death. O then,
That our bones part not; but as life
Our loving beings, so let death.
My father brought me to your roofs
Incens’d, and indiscreet at dice,
Then Peleus entertain’d me well;
By his injunction and thy love;
Receive protection. Both our bones,
That one urn may contain; and make
That Thetis gave thee, that rich urn.”
Achilles’ temples, and the Shade
What needed these commands? My care,
My bones to thine, and in that urn.
A little stay yet, let’s delight,
Of woe enough, either’s affects;
His greedy arms, he felt no friend;
The Spirit vanish’d under earth,
Achilles started, both his hands
In this sort wond’ring: “O ye Gods,
In th’ under-dwellings, and a kind
The soul’s seat yet, all matter felt,
O friends, hapless Patroclus’ soul
Weeping and making moan to me,
That I intended towards him;
Himself at all parts, as was strange.”
To much more sorrow, and begat
In all that heard. When mourning thus,
And Agamemnon through the tents
Both men and mules for carriage
Of all which work Meriones,
Was captain; and abroad they went.
Up hill, and down hill, overthwarts,
But, when the fountful Ida’s tops
All fell upon the high-hair’d oaks,
Fell bustling to the earth, and up
Bound to the mules; and back again
Amongst them through the tangling shrubs,
Till in the plain field all arriv’d,
Logs on their necks; Meriones would
At last they reach’d yet, and then down
And sat upon them, where the son
The ground for his great sepulchre,
They rais’d a huge pile, and to arms
Charg’d by Achilles; chariots
Fighters and charioteers got up,
A cloud of infinite foot behind.
Patroclus’ person by his peers.
Ev’n till they cover’d him with curls.
Embracing his cold neck all sad,
His dearest to his endless home.
Was heap’d for fun’ral, they set down.
And when enough wood was heap’d on,
Long kept for Sperchius the flood,
To Phthia by that river’s pow’r;
Enrag’d, and looking on the sea,
In vain my father’s piety vow’d,
To my lov’d country, that these curls
Besides a sacred hecatomb,
Of fifty wethers, at those founts,
A lofty temple, and perfum’d
There vow’d he all these offerings;
His hopes not suff’ring satisfied.
Shall see my lov’d soil, my friend’s hands
Convey these tresses.” Thus he put
And this bred fresh desire of moan;
The sun had set amongst them all,
Thus to Atrides: “King of men,
Since thy command all men still hear.
And let them victual; they have mourn’d
The dead this honour; and with us
This heard, Atrides instantly
The fun’ral officers remain’d,
Till of an hundred foot about
In whose hot height they cast the corse,
Numbers of fat sheep, and like store
They slew before the solemn fire;
Of which Achilles took the fat,
From head to foot; and round about
The beasts’ nak’d bodies, vessels full
Pour’d in them, laid upon a bier,
Four goodly horse; and of nine hounds,
Of that great prince, and trencher-fed;
Twelve Trojan princes last stood forth,
All which (set on with wicked spirits)
And to the iron strength of fire
Then breath’d his last sighs, and these words:
Ev’n in the joyless depth of hell.
To all my vows. Alone thy life
Twelve Trojan princes wait on thee,
Thy glorious heap of funeral.
The dogs shall eat him.” These high threats
Jove’s daughter, Venus, took the guard
And kept the dogs off, night and day
Of rosy balms, that to the dogs
And with which she the body fill’d.
A cloud from heav’n, lest with the sun
Might dry and putrefy. And now
To this solemnity; the Fire
It had injected) would not burn;
Studied for help, and, standing off,
Zephyr and Boreas, to afford
To aid his outrage. Precious gifts
Pour’d from a golden bowl much wine,
That quickly his friend’s corse might burn,
Embrace consumption. Iris heard.
All in the court of Zephyrus,
Gather’d together. She that wears
Flew thither, standing in the porch.
Call’d to her, ev’ry one desir’d
And eat with them. She answer’d: “No,
Retreat calls to the Ocean
A hecatomb is off’ring now
Partake the feast of sacrifice.
That Thetis’ son implores your aids,
With vows of much fair sacrifice,
Against his heap of funeral,
Patroclus lies there, whose decease
She said, and parted; and out rush’d,
Those two Winds, tumbling clouds in heaps,
And instantly they reach’d the sea;
Was strong; reach’d fruitful Troy; and full
The huge heap thunder’d. All night long
A lib’ral flame up; and all night
Wine from a golden bowl on earth,
Still calling on Patroclus’ soul.
More to a son most dear, nor more
Than did the great prince to his friend
Still creeping near and near the heap,
But when the Day-star look’d abroad,
Light, which the saffron Morn made good,
Then languish’d the great pile, then sunk
Turn’d back the rough Winds to their homes;
Their high retreat, ruffled with cuffs
Pelides then forsook the pile,
Choos’d place of rest; where laid, sweet sleep
When all the king’s guard (waiting then,
In that great session) hurried in,
With tumult of their troop, and haste.
His troubled person, sitting up,
To wish’d commandment of the kings:
Of our commanders general,
Before your parting: Give in charge
Of this heap’s relics, ev’ry brand
And then let search Patroclus’ bones,
As well ye may, they kept the midst,
About th’ extreme part of the pile;
Being found, I’ll find an urn of gold
The air and them two kels of fat
Commit them, till mine own bones seal
The sepulchre I have not charg’d
But of a model something mean,
When I am gone, may amplify
As fits your judgments and our worths.”
In all observance. First they quench’d
As far as it had fed the flame.
In which his consorts, that his life
Search’d, weeping, for his bones; which found,
His will made to Æacides,
A golden vessel, double fat,
In veils of linen, pure and rich,
T’ Achilles’ tent. The platform then
Of his fit sepulchre, and rais’d
Offer’d departure. But the prince
Employing them to fetch from fleet
Caldrons, horses, mules, broad-headed beeves,
The best at horse-race he ordain’d
Gen’rally praiseful, fair and young,
Of all kinds fitting; and withal
Twenty-two measures’ room, with ears.
Was (that which then had high respect)
Unhandled, horséd with a mule,
The third game was a caldron, new,
Contain two measures. For the fourth,
Of finest gold. The fifth game was
To set down both ways. These brought in,
And said: “Atrides and my lords,
These games expect ye. If myself
For our horse-race, I make no doubt
These gifts propos’d. Ye all know well,
My horse are, and how eminent.
To Peleus, and of his to me.
In gifts giv’n others, nor my steeds
Their airy pasterns; so they mourn
Clear water having cleans’d them first,
Those lofty manes now strew the earth,
You then that trust in chariots,
Your conqu’ring temples, gird yourselves;
All that have spirits.” This fir’d all.
Was king Eumelus, whom the art
Son to Admetus. Next to him
That under reins rul’d Trojan horse,
Of lord Anchises, himself freed
By Phœbus. Next to him set forth
Of Lacedæmon, Jove’s high seed;
Podargus and swift Æthe trod,
Æthe giv’n by Echepolus,
As bribe to free him from the war
So Delicacy feasted him,
A mighty wealth; his dwelling was
Old Nestor’s son, Antilochus,
In this contention; his fair horse
And his old father, coming near,
With good race notes, in which himself
“Antilochus, though young thou art,
Belov’d of Neptune and of Jove.
The art of horsemanship, for which
In need of doctrine. Well thy skill
In all fit turnings, yet thy horse
As fits thy manage, which makes me
I well know all these are not seen
More than thyself; their horses yet
For their parts, thine want speed to make
To please an artist. But go on,
At all points, and set them against
Good judges will not see thee lose.
Stands more in cunning than in pow’r.
His vessel from the rock, and wrack,
By skill, not strength. So sorts it here;
Want of another’s pow’r in horse
An overplus of that to that;
Skill, that still rests within a man,
He that in horse and chariots trust,
This way and that, unhandsomely,
He, better skill’d, that rules worse horse,
Right on the scope still of a race,
When give rein, as his foe before,
Of manage and his steeds’ estate,
I’ll give thee instance now, as plain
Here stands a dry stub of some tree,
(Suppose the stub of oak or larch,
That neither rots with wet) two stones,
Parted on either side the stub;
The way into a strait; the race
Imagine them some monument
Or that they had been lists of race
As now the lists Achilles sets
Many years hence. When near to these
Drive on them as thy eye can judge;
Most of thy left side; thy right horse
Spent in encouragements, give him,
About his shoulders; thy near horse
Thy skill the prize, and him rein so
Of thy left wheel; but then take care
(With wrack of horse and chariot)
Shipwrack within the hav’n avoid,
Others delight and thee a shame.
My lov’d son, get but to be first
He lives not that can cote thee then,
The Gods bred, and Adrastus ow’d;
Could not outpace thee, or the horse
Whose race is famous, and fed here.”
When all that could be said was said.
Set fifthly forth his fair-man’d horse.
And ev’ry man then for the start
Achilles drew; Antilochus
Eumelus next; Atrides third;
The fifth and last was Diomed,
All stood in order, and the lists
In plain field; and a seat ordain’d
Renowméd Phœnix, that in grace
To see the race, and give a truth
All start together, scourg’d, and cried,
Study and order. Through the field
Beneath the bosom of their steeds
It stood above their heads in clouds,
Manes flew like ensigns with the wind.
And sometimes jump’d up to the air;
Their spirits ev’n panting in their breasts
But when they turn’d to fleet again,
Then stretch’d the pasterns of their steeds.
Still bore their sov’reign. After them
Still apt to leap their chariot,
Upon the shoulders of their king
With fire that from their nostrils flew;
The race for him, or giv’n it doubt,
The scourge out of his hands, and tears
From forth his eyes, to see his horse
And th’ others, by Apollo’s help,
Apollo’s spite Pallas discern’d,
His scourge reach’d, and his horse made fresh.
At king Eumelus, brake his gears;
His draught-tree fell to earth, and him
Down to the earth, his elbows torn,
Strook at the centre, his speech lost.
Fell to Tydides; before all
And first he glitter’d in the race;
Strength to his horse, and fame to him.
Antilochus his father’s horse
Of scourge and voice: “Run low,” said he,
With Diomed’s horse I bid not strive,
Athenia wings his horse, and him
Are they ye must not fail but reach;
The blot of all your fames, to yield
To female Æthe. What’s the cause,
That thus ye fail us? Be assur’d,
For ever, if ye fail his son.
His hot steel, if ye suffer me
Haste, overtake them instantly;
This harsh way next us, this my mind
For peril, this I’ll creep through. Hard
And that take I, and that shall yield.”
He was not pleas’d, and fear’d his voice,
But straight more clear appear’d the strait
It was a gasp the earth gave, forc’d
Pour’d out of Winter’s wat’ry breast,
All that near passage to the lists.
And left the roadway, being about.
“Antilochus, thy course is mad;
A way most dangerous; turn head,
We shall be splitted.” Nestor’s son
His horse for this, as if not heard;
As any youth can cast a quoit.
He back again, for fear himself,
And horse together, strew’d the dust,
Of thirsted conquest. But he chid,
“Antilochus,” said he, “a worse
Farewell, we never thought thee wise
Without oaths shall the wreath, be sure,
Yet he bethought him, and went too,
“Leave me not last thus, nor stand vex’d.
Of feet and knees, not you. Shall these,
Of youth that you have, pass you?” This
Put to their knees, straight getting ground.
All came in smokes, like spirits. The Greeks, set,
Without the race, aloft, now made
Other than that they made at first.
Distinguish’d all, he knew the voice
Of special mark, of colour bay,
His forehead putting forth a star,
Up stood the Cretan, utt’ring this:
Princes and captains, that discerns
With other horse than led of late?
With his fleet mares, and he began
Now all the field I search, and find
Befall’n amiss to him? Perhaps
Perform’d his flexure; his reins lost,
His chariot fail’d him, and his mares
Stand up, try you your eyes, for mine
This seems to me th’ Ætolian king,
“To you it seems so,” rusticly
“Your words are suited to your eyes.
Eumelus owes them, and he still
Not fall’n as you hop’d. You must prate
In judgment of all. Y’ are too old,
You must not talk so. Here are those
For first place in the censure.” This
In much disdain, and thus replied:
Barbarous-languag’d, others here
Not thou, unfitt’st of all. I hold
Or caldron, and our Gen’ral make
Those horse are first, that when thou pay’st
Oïliades more, and more than words
Had not Achilles rose, and us’d
“No more. Away with words in war.
Of that which fits ye. Your deserts
That give such foul terms. Sit ye still,
The strife betwixt you instantly,
On his own shoulders. Then to both
And which is second.” These words us’d,
His horse ran high, glanc’d on the way,
Thick on their coachman; on their pace
Swiftly attended, no wheel seen,
Impress’d behind them. These horse flew
Arriv’d, amids the lists they stood,
Their high manes and their prominent breasts;
Laid up his scourge aloft the seat,
Home to his tent. Rough Sthenelus
And handled trivet, and sent both
Antilochus, that won with wiles,
Precedence of the gold-lock’d king,
So close, that not the king’s own horse
Of his rich chariot, that might still
With the extreme hairs of his tail
Held to his leader, no great space
Considered in so great a field)
Gat of the king, now at his heels,
A quoit’s cast of him, which the king
Gat strength still as she spent; which words
Had more ground been allow’d the race;
No question leaving for the prize.
A dart’s cast came behind the king,
Himself less skill’d t’ importune them,
Admetus’ son was last, whose plight
Thus spake: “Best man comes last; yet right
The second his deserts must bear,
He said, and all allow’d; and sure
Had not Antilochus stood forth,
Good reason for his interest:
“I should be angry with you much
Ought you to take from me my right,
Himself being good? He should have us’d,
In pray’r to Their pow’rs that bless good,
Not to have been in this good last.
O’erthrew not me. Who’s last! Who’s first?
Is not our question. If his good
Princely to grace it, your tents hold
Brass, horse, sheep, women; out of these
To take a much more worthy prize
And give it here before my face,
May glorify your lib’ral hands.
Who bears this, whatsoever man,
His hand and mine must change some blows.”
“If thy will be, Antilochus,
Out of my tents. I’ll give him th’ arms,
Asteropæus, forg’d of brass,
’Twill be a present worthy him.”
He sent for them. He went, and brought;
Achilles gave them. He, well pleas’d,
Wrong’d Menelaus, much incens’d
He bent to speak, a herald took
Of silence to the other Greeks;
The spleen he prison’d, utt’ring this:
We grant thee wise, but in this act
Thou hast disgrac’d my virtue, wrong’d
Much their inferiors. But go to,
Judge of with favour, him nor me;
This scandal: ‘Menelaus won,
The prize in question, his horse worst;
By pow’r and greatness.’ Yet, because
To make parts taking, I’ll be judge;
Will blame my judgment, I’ll do right:
Come, noble gentleman, ’tis your place,
(Standing before your chariot
With which you scourg’d them in your hand)
You did not cross my chariot.”
Grace with his disgrace, and with wit
“Now crave I patiénce. O king,
Ascribe to much more youth in me
And more in excellence, know well,
All young men’s actions; sharper wits,
From us flow than from you; for which,
The prize I thought mine, I yield yours,
Of greater value to my tent
Your will at full, and instantly;
I rather wish to be enjoin’d
Than to be falling all my time
O Jove-lov’d king, and of the Gods
This said, he fetch’d his prize to him;
That as corn-ears shine with the dew,
When fields set all their bristles up;
O Menelaus, answ’ring thus:
Though I were angry, yield to thee,
When I thought not; thy youth hath got
And yet, for all this, ’tis more safe
Great men, than, vent’ring, trust to wit
For no man in our host beside
Stirr’d with like tempest. But thyself
Of much affliction in my cause;
And so thy brother; at thy suit,
Give thee the game here, though mine own,
King Menelaus bears a mind
The king thus calm’d, Antilochus
To lov’d Noemon to lead thence;
The caldron. Next, Meriones,
Two talents’ gold. The fifth, unwon,
To rev’rend Nestor, being a bowl
Which through the press he carried him:
This gift as fun’ral monument
Whom never you must see again.
To you as, without any strife,
Your shoulders must not undergo
Wrastling is past you, strife in darts,
Harsh age in his years fetters you,
Thus gave he it. He took, and joy’d;
“Now sure, my honourable son,
The comely orator; no more
Feet fail, and hands; arms want that strength,
Under your shoulders. Would to heav’n,
And strength threw such a many of bones,
As when the Epians brought to fire,
King Amaryncea’s funerals
His sons put prizes down for him;
Of all the Epians, or the sons
No, nor the Pylians themselves,
Great Clytomedeus, Enops’ son,
Of wrastling, I laid under me
Ancæus, call’d Pleuronius.
The foot-game to me. At the spear,
And strong Phylëus. Actor’s sons,
The palm at horse-race, conquering
And envying my victory,
All the best games were gone with me.
A most sure guide, a most sure guide;
With rod and mettle. This was then.
These works, and my joints undergo
Though then I was another man.
Amongst th’ heroës. But forth now;
For thy deceas’d friend; this thy gift
And much it joys my heart, that still,
You give me mem’ry. You perceive,
Amongst the Grecians; and to theirs
The Gods give ample recompense
For this and all thy favours!” Thus,
And now for buffets, that rough game,
Proposing a laborious mule,
And fierce in handling, brought, and bound,
And, to the conquer’d, a round cup.
“Atrides and all friends of Greece,
I bid stand forth. Who best can strike,
(Apollo giving him the wreath)
Shall win a mule, patient of toil;
This utter’d; Panopëus’ son,
A tall huge man, that to the nail
And, seizing the tough mule, thus spake:
Forth for the cup; this mule is mine,
Is’t not enough I am no soldier?
At all works? None; not possible.
And will perform this: Who stands forth,
His bones as in a mortar. Fetch
His corse from under me.” This speech
At last stood forth Euryalus,
To king Mecisteus, the grandchild
He was so strong that, coming once
Had like rites solemniz’d for him,
From all the Thebans. This rare man
Put on his girdle, oxhide cords,
That he might conquer, hearten’d him,
Fit for th’ affair, both forth were brought;
Fists against fists rose, and, they join’d,
Gnashing of teeth, and heavy blows
At length Epëus spy’d clear way,
Drave underneath the other’s ear,
The knock’d earth, no more legs had he;
Near to the cold-weed-gath’ring shore,
Shoots back, and in the black deep hides;
Was foil’d Euryalus, his strength
Deeps of Epëus, who took up
About whom rush’d a crowd of friends,
His falt’ring knees, he spitting up
Totter’d of one side, his sense gone;
Thither they brought him the round cup.
Prize for a wrastling; to the best
Twelve oxen, great and fit for fire;
A woman excellent in works;
Priz’d at four oxen. Up he stood,
You wrastlers, that will prove for these.”
Of mighty Ajax, huge in strength;
The crafty one, as huge in sleight.
Of making ready, forth they stepp’d,
And as the beams of some high house
The house, being built by well-skill’d men;
With horrid twitches; in their sides,
Ran thick the wales, red with the blood,
Long’d for the conquest and the prize;
To lose both. Nor could Ithacus
Hale down Ulysses, being more strong
Hurl’d from all vantage of his sleight.
Great Ajax Telamonins said:
My face up, or let me lay thine;
This said, he hois’d him up to air;
His wiles forgat not, Ajax’ thigh
He on his back fell; on his breast
Was this of all; all stood amaz’d.
Divine Ulysses, at next close
A little rais’d from earth, not quite,
Lock’d legs; and down fell both on earth,
Both fil’d with dust; but starting up,
Had not Achilles’ self stood up,
“No more tug one another thus,
Prize equal; conquest crowns ye both;
They heard, and yielded willingly,
Put other vests. Pelides then,
Propos’d another prize; a bowl,
Both for the size and workmanship,
It held six measures; silver all;
For workmanship, receiving form
Of Sidon. The Phœnicians
Along the green sea, giving it
It came t’ Eunæus, Jason’s son,
Lycaon, of Achilles’ friend
Achilles made best game for him,
For second he propos’d an ox,
And half a talent gold for last.
“Rise, you that will assay for these.”
Ulysses answer’d; and the third
For footmanship, Antilochus.
The race-scope. From the start they glid.
His feet the swiftest; close to him
And as a lady at her loom,
Her silk-shuttle close to her breast,
And her white hand, lifts quick and oft,
Her gentle thread, which she unwinds
Gracing her fair hand; so close still,
In all men’s likings, Ithacus
By him before, took out his steps
Promptly and gracefully his own,
And clouded with his breath his head.
His royal person, that he strook
That he should conquer, though he flew:
Ever they cried to him. And this
To more desire of victory;
Minerva’s aid, his fautress still:
“And to my feet stoop with thy help,
She was, and light made all his limbs.
Minerva tripp’d up Ajax’ heels,
Amids the ordure of the beasts,
Since they were slain there; and by this,
Oïliades of that rich bowl,
Ruthfully smear’d. The fat ox yet
Held by the horn, spit out the tail,
“O villainous chance! This Ithacus
To his Minerva, that her hand
She, like his mother, nestles him;
I know, that I am us’d thus.” This
Amongst whom quick Antilochus
Thus wittily: “Know, all my friends,
The Gods most honour most-liv’d men.
More old than I, but Ithacus
First generation of men.
They count him of the green-hair’d eld;
For not our greatest flourisher
Of foot-strife, but Æacides.”
Who thus accepted it: “Well, youth,
With unrewarded feet on mine,
I’ll make a whole one. Take you, sir.”
A shield, and helmet, being th’ arms
Against Patroclus, and he pris’d.
“Stand forth two the most excellent,
Give mutual onset to the touch
Who first shall wound, through other’s arms
Shall win this sword, silver’d, and hatch’d;
Asteropæus yielded it.
With either’s valour; and the men
At my pavilion.” To this game
Was Ajax Telamonius;
Both, in oppos’d parts of the press,
The lists amids the multitude,
And join’d so roughly, that amaze
Of either’s mischief. Thrice they threw
Then Ajax strook through Diomed’s shield,
His curets saft him. Diomed’s dart
Still mounting with the spirit it
So violent, that the Greeks cried: “Hold,
Give equal prize to either.” Yet
For him did best, Achilles gave
In fashion of a sphere, he show’d;
But natural, only melted through
That king Eetion us’d to hurl;
By great Achilles, to the fleet,
He brought it, and propos’d it now
And prize itself. He stood, and said:
Your arms’ strengths now in this brave strife.
This furthest, needs no game but this;
With large fields of his own in Greece
His plough, or other tools of thrift,
For five revolvéd years; no need
To any town to furnish him,
Iron enough for all affairs.”
First Polypœtes issuéd;
Great Ajax; huge Epëus fourth,
That mine of iron. Up it went,
That laughter took up all the field.
Was Leontëus; Ajax third,
That far past both their marks it flew.
By Polypœtes, and, as far as
A herdsman can swing out his goad,
The stone past all men; all the field
About him flock’d his friends, and bore
For archery he then set forth
And ten of one edge. On the shore,
A ship-mast; to whose top they tied
At which all shot, the game put thus:
Nor touch the string that fasten’d her,
All to the fleet. Who touch’d the string,
The one-edg’d axes. This propos’d;
And with him rose Meriones.
Their shooting first; both which let fall
First Teucer’s came, and first he shot,
To shoot the string, the dove untouch’d;
His skill, since not to him he vow’d,
A first-fall’n lamb. The bitter shaft
That down fell, and the dove aloft
The Greeks gave shouts. Meriones
To sacrifice a first-fall’n lamb
And then fell to his aim, his shaft
He spy’d her in the clouds that here,
Yet at her height he reach’d her side,
The shaft fell at his feet; the dove
There hung the head, and all her plumes
And there, far off from him, she fell.
And stood astonish’d; th’ archer pleas’d.
A long lance, and a caldron new,
Priz’d at an ox. These games were show’d
Up rose the General of all,
Up rose late-crown’d Meriones.
Do him this grace, prevents more deed,
Thus interrupting: “King of men,
Thy worth superior is to all,
Thy pow’r is, and thy skill in darts!
Without contention, and (your will
Afford Meriones the lance.”
To that fit grace. Achilles then
On good Meriones. The King
But to renowm’d Talthybius
* Justs of exsequies—funeral games.
7: In the folio it is, “When with our friends kinds woe our hearts,” &c. As I cannot understand this, and it is not in the Greek, I have read as above. It is possible Chapman may have meant, “And with our friend’s kin’s woe,” with the woe of the kin of Patroclus, but this seems far fetched.
47: Diverted—turned from their proper duty of fighting.
58: Comprehend—i.e. contain (Latin).
83: That vessel.—The second folio and Dr. Taylor, “the.”
94: Idol—εἴδωλον, the image, figure, of a disembodied spirit. Iliad XXIII.104.
106: Hands.—Thus both Chapman, following the original, says, “all hands bore wood-cutting tools, &c.” Dr. Taylor has wrongly altered it to “all kinds.” Iliad XXIII.114.
106: March’d.—The second folio and Dr. Taylor erroneously, “march.”
107: Overthwarts.—This is the celebrated line,
Πολλὰ δ’ ἅπαντα κάταντα πάραντά τε δόχμιά τ’ ἦλθον.
Both folios have overthwarts in one word, which I prefer. Dr. Taylor has printed over thwarts; but overthwarts, adverbially, as we say athwart, conveys the sense and sound intended in the original. Iliad XXIII.116.
126: Set down.—So both folios, the Greek being κάτθεσαν. Dr. Taylor, however, has “sat down.” Iliad XXIII.139.
134: Those founts.—Dr. Taylor, following the error of the second folio, has “whose founts.”
164: Incense—(Latin) burn.
174: Loving Cruel—Achilles, loving to his friend, cruel to his enemy.
218: Made shine.—Thus both folios. Dr. Taylor has erroneously printed, “make shine.”
220: Kept.—The second folio and Taylor, “keep.”
239: Employing.—The second folio has “employed.”
243: Kinds.—The second folio and Dr. Taylor have “kind.”
255: Horse.—The second folio and Taylor have “horses.” They both also omit “of” before “Neptune’s;” likewise “and” before “of his” in the following line.
267: Trojan horse—the horses of Tros.
283: Wield.—The second folio and Dr. Taylor have “yield;” and “turning” for “turnings” in the next line.
297: Skill.—Dr. Taylor has followed the typographical error of the second folio in printing “still.”
299: Heaven—the past participle of the verb to heave. The Greek is ἑλίσσεται. Iliad XXIII.320.
304: Thee.—So both folios; Dr. Taylor, “the.”
305: “A comment might well be bestowed upon this speech of Nestor.” —Chapman.
324: Cote—pass by, outstrip. See Nares. The word seems a hunting term, when the greyhound passes by and turns the hare into its fellow’s mouth. Thus Drayton uses it. (Polyolbion, XXIII. p. 1115, quoted by Nares.)
328: When all, &c.—“Nestor’s aged love of speech was here briefly noted.” —Chapman.
329: Fifthly.—Dr. Taylor, erroneously, “fitly.”
383: “Menelaus in fear to follow Antilochus, who ye may see played upon him.” —Chapman.
409: Flexure—the turning at the goal.
441: Breasts.—The second folio and Taylor, “breast.”
446: Gold-lock’d king—Menelaus.
448: Insecution—Close pursuit (Latin).
485: The second folio and Dr. Taylor erroneously omit “them.”
489: “Note Menelaus’ ridiculous speech for conclusion of his character.” —Chapman.
504: “Antilochus’s ironical reply.” —Chapman.
513: “Ironicè.” —Chapman.
517: “This simile likewise is merely ironical.” —Chapman.
538: Whoorlbat’s—whirlbats, missiles for hurling, quoits, &c. George Sandys in a marginal note to his Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Bk. V. p. 174 (ed. 1632), says a hurl-bat is “a weapon with plummets of lead hung at the end of a staff.” Again in Bk. VIII. p. 272, is a similar note, where he says “whorl-bats, plummets of lead hung at the end staves: weapons used in their solemn games.”
545: Young chinn’d—newly bearded.
561: “His desire of praise pants still.” —Chapman.
571: “Another note of Nestor’s humour, not so much being to be plainly observed in all these Iliads as in this book.” —Chapman.
571: Praise.—The second folio and Dr. Taylor, erroneously, “prize.”
572: Passages—as we say, “passages at arms.”
576: The second folio and Dr. Taylor, erroneously, “all his friends,” &c.
581: To the nail—exactly, accurately. Like the ad unguem of Horace (Sat. I. v. 32), and the in unguem of Virgil (Georg. II. 277).
587: “Note the sharpness of wit in our Homer; if where you look not for it you can find it.” —Chapman.
603: The second folio has erroneously printed “back” for “black,” which Dr. Taylor has followed.
606: Clusters.—The second folio and Dr. Taylor read “blusters.”
635: Dr. Taylor has improperly printed “fill’d.”
637: Moil—trouble, labour.
665: Facilie.— easily.
688: Eld.—This is a grand old word, meaning “old age.” The reader may remember the fine personification of “Eld” in Chaucer’s “Romaunt of the Rose,” and Sackville’s “Induction” to the “Mirrour for Magistrates.”
696: He pris’d.—The second folio and Taylor erroneously omit “he.” Dr. Taylor has also wrongly printed priz’d; the word being “prised,” took, captured, from Sarpedon.
700: Hatch’d—inlaid with silver, &c.
761: Engrail’d—here variegated. The word is derived from (French) grêle, hail, as we should say, spotted with hail. Now chiefly used in heraldry, indented in lines.
770: It may be observed that Chapman reverses the order here. In the Greek, Agamemnon gives Meriones the lance, Achilles the caldron to Talthybius.
THE END OF THE TWENTY-THIRD BOOK.
66 My spirit from rest, and stay my much-desir’d receipt
Full line as shown; it seems to be one foot short.
106 note Thus both folios.
text has folios, with comma for full stop
301 Right on the scope still of a race,
Full line as shown; there seems to be an extra foot.
He sent for them. He went, and brought; and to Admetus’ son
Achilles gave them. He, well pleas’d, receiv’d them. Then arose
[The third edition skips from one “them. He” to the next, leaving the single line
He sent for them. He, well pleas’d, receiv’d them. Then arose
485 note erroneously omit “them.”
That is, the second “them” (there are two in the line)
694 Another game forth.
final . invisible
Jove, entertaining care of Hector’s corse,
Sends Thetis to her son for his remorse,*
And fit dismission of it. Iris then
He sends to Priam; willing him to gain
His son for ransom. He, by Hermes led,
Gets through Achilles’ guards; sleeps deep and dead
Cast on them by his guide; when, with access
And humble suit made to Æacides,
He gains the body; which to Troy he bears,
And buries it with feasts, buried in tears.
Omega sings the Exsequies,
And Hector’s redemptory prise.
he games perform’d; the soldiers
Supper and sleep their only care.
Wept for his friend, nor sleep itself,
Could touch at him; this way and that
His friend’s dear memory, his grace
And his strength’s greatness, how life rack’d
Griefs, battles, and the wraths of seas,
Each thought of which turn’d to a tear.
In tumbling on the shore, his side;
Flat on his bosom; start upright.
Show sea and shore his ecstasy,
Rage varied his distraction;
He call’d for; and, those join’d, the corse
And thrice about the sepulchre
Dragging the person. All this past;
Rest seiz’d him, but with Hector’s corse
Still suff’ring it t’ oppress the dust.
Pitied the prince, and would not see
With more pollution of his limbs;
His person with his golden shield,
His manly lineaments, which threat
Had us’d in fury. But now Heav’n
Of pity on him; the blest Gods
Their good observer, to his stealth;
Stood pleas’d with it: Juno except,
Grac’d with the blue eyes, all their hearts
Long since, and held it, as at first,
And all his subjects, for the rape
Proud Paris, that despis’d these Dames
Made to his cottage, and prais’d Her
So costly nourish’d. The twelfth morn
Of Hector’s rescue, and then spake
Thus to th’ Immortals: “Shameless Gods,
To suffer ill. Hath Hector’s life
Of all your rights, in burning thighs
And are your cares no more of him?
Ev’n dead, to keep him, that his wife,
Father, and subjects, may be mov’d
Seeing you preserve him that serv’d you,
His person for the rites of fire?
All help to others, you can help;
Nor soul within him, that will move
That fits a man, but lion-like,
Slave to his pride, and all his nerves
Of eminent strength, stalks out and preys
And so fares this man, that fit ruth
In all the world being lost in him;
Of so much weight, that both it helps
Men in their manners, is not known,
In this man’s being. Other men
Have undergone, a son, suppose,
Yet, after dues of woes and tears,
All their deplorings. Fates have giv’n
True manly patience; but this man
That no blood serves it, he must have
To his proud chariot, and danc’d
About his lov’d friend’s sepulchre,
And draws no profit after it.
Mark but our angers; he is spent;
It tempts not our wraths; he begets,
The dull earth with his fury’s hate.”
Being much incens’d, “This doom is one
Thou bearer of the silver bow,
And honour should hold Hector’s worth,
In our deservings. Hector suck’d
Æacides a Goddess’s;
Both in his infant nourishment,
And to the human Peleüs
Because he had th’ Immortals’ love.
Of their high nuptials, ev’ry God
And thou fedd’st of his father’s cates,
Of that beginning of our friend,
In his perfection, blusheth not
O thou that to betray and shame
Jove thus receiv’d her: “Never give
Those two men shall not be compar’d;
The well-pav’d Ilion, none so dear
As Hector was; at least to me,
His hands would never pretermit.
Furnish’d with banquets fitting us,
Smok’d in our temples; and for this,
We mark’d with honour, which must stand.
In his deliv’rance, shun we that;
To shame another. Privily,
We must not work out Hector’s right.
And open course, by laws of arms;
The friends of Hector. Which just mean
And use the other, ’twould not serve;
Is guardian to him. But would one
Would give directions that for gifts
His Hector’s body, which the sun
This said, his will was done; the Dame
Dewy and thin, footed with storms,
’Twixt Samos and sharp Imber’s cliffs;
Of her rough feet, and, plummet-like,
That bears death to the raw-fed fish,
Thetis lamenting her son’s fate,
Far from his country, his death serv’d.
And said: “Rise, Thetis, prudent Jove,
Calls for thee.” Thetis answer’d her
The great God calls? My sad pow’rs fear’d
In going fil’d with griefs to heav’n.
With colour’d counsels; not a word
She said, and took a sable veil
A heav’nly shoulder) and gave way.
About both roll’d the brackish waves.
Up to Olympus; where they found
Spher’d with heav’n’s ever-being States.
Her place to Thetis near to Jove;
Her entry with a cup of gold,
Grac’d her with comfort, and the cup
She drank, resigning it; and then
Thus entertain’d her: “Com’st thou up
Fair Goddess Thetis, yet art sad;
As passeth suff’rance? This I know,
Thy will by mine rul’d, which is rule
Besides this trial yet, this cause
Nine days’ contention hath been held
For Hector’s person and thy son;
To have our good spy Mercury
But that reproach I kept far off,
Thy former love and reverence.
The Gods are angry, and myself
To Hector in worst part of all,
Detains his person. Charge him then,
For any reason, to resign
Iris to Priam to redeem
Fit ransom to Achilles’ grace,
And end his vain grief.” To this charge
Instant endeavour. From heav’n’s tops
Found him still sighing, and some friends
Soothing his Humour; other some
Dressing his dinner, all their pains
A huge wool-bearer, slaughtered there.
Came near, took kindly his fair hand,
Will sorrow leave thee? How long time
Fed with no other food, nor rest?
Thy friend’s love to some lady, cheer
As she can quit thy grace withal.
I shall not long have, death is near,
Whose haste thou must not haste with grief,
Of things belonging to thy life,
Am sent from Jove t’ advértise thee,
Is angry with thee, himself most,
Still to keep Hector. Quit him then,
His injur’d person.” He replied:
The ransom, and the person take.
Men of all pleasures.” This good speech,
And mother us’d, in ear of all
And now to holy Ilion
“Go, swift-foot Iris, bid Troy’s king
Achilles for his son’s release;
The Grecian navy; not a man,
As may his horse and chariot guide,
Attending him; and let him take
Discourag’d nor with death nor fear,
His passage till the prince be near;
Resolv’d ev’n in Achilles’ tent.
Of his high person, nor admit
Of all about him; for, though fierce,
Nor inconsid’rate, nor a man
But passing free and curious
This said, the Rainbow to her feet
Reach’d instantly. The heavy court
The sons all set about the sire;
Tears on their garments. In the midst
All wrinkled, head and neck dust-fil’d;
The princesses his sons’ fair wives,
Of friends so many, and so good,
By Grecian hands, consum’d their youth,
Iris came near the king; her sight
And therefore spake she soft, and said:
Of good occurrents, and none ill,
Jove greets thee, who, in care, as much
Eye to thy sorrows, pitying thee.
This charge to thee from him: He wills
Bear gifts t’ Achilles, cheer him so;
None but some herald let attend,
To manage for thee. Fear nor death
Hermes to guide thee, who as near to
Shall guard thee; and being once with him,
Stand touch’d with, he will all contain;
Nor impious, but with all his nerves
One that submits with all fit grace.”
He mules and chariot calls, his sons
A trunk behind it; he himself
Built all of cedar, highly roof’d,
That much stuff, worth the sight, contain’d.
Thus greeting her: “Come, hapless dame,
Sent down from Jove, that bade me free
With ransom pleasing to our foe.
My strength and spirit lays high charge
The Greeks’ worst, vent’ring through their host.”
His vent’rous purpose, and replied:
The late discretion that renown’d
In foreign and thine own rul’d realms,
Sight of that man, in whose brow sticks
Of sons so many, and so strong?
If this stern man, whose thirst of blood
Take, or but see, thee, thou art dead.
Nor honours age. Without his sight,
To mourn with thought of him. Keep we
Our son is past our helps. Those throes,
Of his unhappy lineaments,
With black-foot dogs. Almighty Fate,
Spun in his springing thread that end;
This bloody fellow then ordain’d
Whose stony liver would to heav’n
My son’s revengers made! Curs’d Greek,
Doing an ill work; he alone
Fled not, nor fear’d, but stood his worst;
Was his undoing.” He replied:
Is not our question, we must now
His end from scandal; from which act
Nor let me nourish in my house
To my good actions; ’tis in vain.
Giv’n this suggestion, if our priests,
Of prophets, I might hold it false,
To keep my palace, but these ears
It was a Goddess. I will go;
I know was idle. If it were,
Quick riddance of me at the fleet,
When getting to thee, I shall find
On Hector’s bosom, when enough
Quench to his fervour.” This resolv’d,
Of his rich screens he brought abroad;
Twelve plain gowns; and as many suits
As many mantles; horsemen’s coats;
Two tripods; caldrons four; a bowl,
Beyond all price, presented by
The old king nothing held too dear,
His gracious Hector. Forth he came.
The Trojan citizens so press’d,
Of check he us’d: “Hence, cast-aways!
Are not your griefs enough at home?
Care ye for my griefs? Would ye see
Is’t not enough, imagine ye?
What such a son’s loss weigh’d with me.
Your houses have the weaker doors;
The easier for his loss, be sure.
Thy ruin, let the doors of hell
Thus with his sceptre set he on
Who gave back, seeing him so urge.
His sons as roughly, Helenus,
Pammon, divine Agathones,
Agavus, and Antiphonus,
The strong Polites: these nine sons the
Help’d him to vent in these sharp terms:
And get my chariot. Would to heav’n
In all your veins had Hector ’scus’d!
All my good sons are gone, my light
Have swallow’d from me. I have lost
Troilus, that ready knight at arms,
Ever so prompt and joyfully;
Esteem’d a God, not from a mortal’s seed,
He seem’d to all eyes. These are gone,
Liars and common freebooters;
But in your heels, in all your parts;
Ye all are excellent. Hence, ye brats!
Will ye not get my chariot?
That I may perfect this dear work.”
And straight his mule-drawn chariot came,
The trunk with gifts. And then came forth,
Old Hecuba. In her right hand
With sweet wine crown’d, stood near, and said:
With sacrificing it to Jove,
Thy mind likes still to go, though mine
Pray to the black-cloud-gath’ring God,
All Troy, and all her miseries,
His most-lov’d bird to ratify
Spread on thy right hand, thou mayst know
Accepted, and thy safe return
Fail thy intent, though never so
“This I refuse not,” he replied,
In Jove’s high favour, but it must
This said, the chambermaid, that held
He bade pour water on his hands;
He took the bowl, did sacrifice,
From Ida using thy commands,
All other Gods, vouchsafe me safe,
Of great Achilles; and, for trust
Thy swift-wing’d Messenger, most strong,
To soar on my right hand; which sight
Thy former summons, and my speed.”
And instantly cast from his fist
The black-wing’d huntress, perfectest
Percnos, the eagle. And how broad
Of any mighty man hath doors,
Which now she us’d, and spread them wide
All saw it, and rejoic’d, and up
Drave forth, the portal and the porch
His friends all follow’d him, and mourn’d
And bringing him past town to field,
Of Jupiter was then his guard,
These words to Hermes: “Mercury,
Ever with most grace in consórts
Now cónsort Priam to the fleet;
Suspicion of him be attain’d,
The convoy hath arriv’d him safe.”
He put in practice. To his feet
Immortal, and made all of gold,
The rough sea and th’ unmeasur’d earth,
The puffs of wind. Then took he up
To shut what eyes he lists with sleep,
In strongest trances. This he held,
To Troy and Hellespontus straight.
First-down-chinn’d, and of such a grace
Contending eyes to view him, forth
He, having pass’d the mighty tomb
His mules in Xanthus, the dark even
Idæus (guider of the mules)
And spake afraid to Priamus:
Our states ask counsel; I discern
Of some man near us; now I fear
To fly, or kiss his knees and ask
Confusion strook the king, cold fear
Upright upon his languishing head
Of strong amaze bound all his pow’rs.
The prince turn’d Deity, took his hand,
“To what place, father, driv’st thou out
When others sleep? Give not the Greeks
To these late travels, being so near,
Of all which, if with all this load
On thy adventures, what would then
Thyself old, and thy follow’r old?
At any value; as for me,
To thy grave person, but against
Mine own lov’d father did not get
To his good, than thou dost to thine.”
Of danger in my course, fair son,
Thou urgest; but some God’s fair hand
That sends so sweet a guardian
Of night, and danger, as thyself,
Of body and of beauty show’st,
So knowing, that it cannot be
Thou are descended.” “Not untrue,”
In all this holds; but further truth
As I conceive thy carriage be,
Thy goods of most price to more guard;
Frighted from holy Ilion,
As thou hadst (being your special strength)
Whom no Greek better’d for his fight?”
“Most worthy youth, of what race born,
My wretched son’s death with such truth?”
“You tempt me far, in wond’ring how
Of your divine son to a man
As you hold me; but I am one
His person like a God in field;
The Greeks, all routed to their fleet,
Made me admire, not feel his hand;
Incens’d, admitted not our fight,
To his high person, serving him,
In one ship sail’d. Besides, by birth
Polyctor, call’d the rich, my sire,
Six sons he hath, and me a seventh;
In Phthia, since, all casting lots,
To follow hither. Now for walk
To-morrow all the sun-burn’d Greeks
The princes rage to be withheld
Not giv’n half hot enough they think,
He answer’d: “If you serve the prince,
This grace of thee, and tell me true:
Or have the dogs his flesh?” He said:
Touch’d at his person; still he lies
Of our great Captain, who indeed
Of his fit usage. But, though now
On his cold body, neither worms
Nor putrefaction perish’d it;
Lifts her divine light from the sea,
About Patroclus’ sepulchre,
Bound to his chariot; but no fits
In his distemper. You would muse
Ev’n steeps the body, all the blood
Of gore or quitture, but his wounds
Open’d about him. Such a love
Ev’n dead, to thy dear son, because
He joyful answer’d: “O my son,
In any man to serve the Gods.
For no cause, having season fit,
Advancement to the Gods with gifts,
Miss his remembrance after death.
Thy graces to receive this cup,
Nor leave me till the Gods and thee
Achilles’ pity, by thy guide
Hermes replied: “You tempt me now,
Far from me, though youth aptly errs.
Gifts that I cannot broadly vouch,
My lord dishonour, or what he
Perhaps unfit? Such briberies
Sweet and secure; but futurely
Both fear and danger. I could wish
My guide to Argos, either shipp’d,
And would be studious in thy guard,
But care in me to keep thee safe,
And vouch to all men.” These words past,
For which Jove sent him; up he leapt
Took scourge and reins, and blew in strength
The naval tow’rs and deep dike straight.
Those he enslumber’d, op’d the ports,
Old Priam with his wealthy prize.
Of great Achilles, large and high,
A shaggy roof of seedy reeds
Of state they made their king in it,
Thick with fir rafters; whose approach
That had but one bar, but so big
Rais’d it to shut, three fresh take down;
Would shut and ope himself.
Hermes set ope, ent’ring the king;
“Now know, old king, that Mercury,
To thy endeavour, sent by Jove;
For men would envy thy estate
Affect a man thus. Enter thou,
And by his sire, son, mother, pray
This said, he high Olympus reach’d.
To grave Idæus, and went on,
And enter’d in a goodly room,
Jove-lov’d Achilles, at their feast;
Of his attendance, Alcimus,
At Priam’s entry. A great time
His wonder’d-at approach, nor ate;
While close he came up, with his hands
Of Hector’s conqueror, and kiss’d
That much blood from his sons had drawn.
And great man’s house, a man is driv’n
That follows wilful bloodshed still,
One whose blood cries aloud for his)
In such a miserable plight
In such a stupified estate
So unexpected, so in night,
Old Priam’s entry. All his friends
To see his strange looks, seeing no cause.
His son’s redemption: “See in me,
Thy aged father; and perhaps
With some of my woes, neighbour foes
To do him mischief; no mean left
Of his oppression; yet he hears
And joys to hear it, hoping still
From ruin’d Troy; but I, curs’d man,
To see none living. Fifty sons
My hopes to live in; all alive
The Greek ships harbour’d, and one womb
Now Mars a number of their knees
That was, of all, my only joy,
Late fighting for his country, slain;
I come to . Infinite
Myself conferring it, expos’d
Only imploring right of arms.
Pity an old man like thy sire;
That I am wretcheder, and bear
That never man did, my curs’d lips
That slew my children.” This mov’d tears;
Mention’d by Priam, in much help
And mov’d Æacides so much,
The weeping father. With his hand
His grave face. Calm remission now
Her pow’r in either’s heaviness.
His son’s death and his deathsman see,
Before Achilles; at his feet
Achilles’ thoughts, now with his sire,
Betwixt both sorrow fill’d the tent.
(Satiate at all parts with the ruth
Start up, and up he rais’d the king.
With pity he beheld, and said:
With much afflictión. How durst
Venture on his sight, that hath slain
And so dear to thee? Thy old heart
And settle we our woes, though huge,
Cold mourning wastes but our lives’ heats.
That wretched mortals must live sad;
Of Deity that lives secure.
In Jove’s gate, one of good, one ill,
Maintain, spoil, order; which when Jove
One while he frolics, one while mourns.
A man drinks only, only wrongs
Sad hunger in th’ abundant earth
Respected nor of Gods nor men.
Ev’n from his birth; Heav’n blest his life;
The Gods for such rare benefits
He reign’d among his Myrmidons
And, though a mortal, had his bed
And yet, with all this good, one ill
From all that goodness; his name now,
Men count the crown of their most good,
One blossom but myself, and I
Nor shall I live to cheer his age,
To him that nourished me. Far off
To leave thee restless and thy seed;
As we have heard, a happy life;
In times past being a bless’d man’s seat,
Of Hellespontus, Phrygia, holds,
Thy empire, wealth and sons enow;
Thy blest state to partake with bane,
Circled thy city, never clear.
Mourn not inevitable things;
To help thee, nor recall thy son;
Ill upon ill, makes worst things worse,
“Give me no seat, great seed of Jove,
Hector lies riteless in thy tents,
His resignation, that these eyes
And thy grace satisfied with gifts.
And turn to Phthia; ’tis enough
Till Hector falter’d under it,
With free humanity safe.” He frown’d
Fresh cause of fury. I know well
Jove by my mother utter’d it;
I know as amply; and thyself,
Some God hath brought thee; for no man
On such a service. I have guards,
Easy accesses; do not then
Like Jove’s will, and incense again
Nor Jove get the command of me.”
And down he sat in fear. The prince
Automedon and Alcimus
Brought for the body they took down
Idæus, herald to the king;
And two rich cloaks, they left to hide
Call’d out his women, to anoint
The corse with water, lifting it
Lest Priam saw, and his cold blood
Of anger at the turpitude
Again his wrath’s fire to his death.
The coat and cloak on; but the corse
Upon a bed, and with his friends
For which forc’d grace, abhorring so
Cried out for anger, and thus pray’d:
Against this favour to our foe,
And that I give him to his sire;
In my observance is Jove’s will;
Of all these gifts by any mean
To thy renown here, and will there,
Thy honour’d sepulchre. This said,
Told Priam, saying: “Father, now
Thy son is giv’n up; in the morn
Deck’d in thy chariot on his bed;
The rich-hair’d Niobe found thoughts
Though twelve dear children she saw slain,
The sons incens’d Apollo slew;
Diana wrought, since Niobe
With great Latona’s, arguing
Two children, and herself had twelve;
Slew all her twelve. Nine days they lay
Found no friend to afford them fire,
Humans to stones. The tenth day yet,
The trunks themselves, and Niobe,
Fell to her food, and now with rocks
In Sipylus the Gods’ wrath still,
The Goddess Fairies use to dance
Of Achelous, where, though turn’d
Heav’n gives her heat enough to feel
With his pow’rs made by earth deserves.
Without grief, like a God, being a man,
And take fit food; thou shalt have time
He shall be tearful, thou being full;
Shall find thee weeping-rooms enow.”
And caus’d a silver-fleec’d sheep kill’d;
The flaying, cutting of it up,
Roasted, and drew it artfully.
Was for the rev’rend sewer’s place;
On wicker vessel to the board;
And close they fell to. Hunger stanch’d;
Was us’d of all hands. Priam sat
Of Thetis’ son, accomplish’d so
In which the fashion of a God
Achilles fell to him as fast,
Told in his grave and good aspéct;
So order’d, so material.
Old Priam spake thus: “Now, Jove’s seed,
And add to this feast grace of rest.
Since under thy hands fled the soul
And woes, all use from food and sleep
Of my sad palace made my beds,
Of sorrow I have variéd,
No bit, no drop, of sust’nance touch’d.”
His men and women see his bed
With purple blankets, and on them
Waistcoats of silk plush laying by.
And two beds made with utmost speed,
Their lord nam’d us’d, who pleasantly
“Good father, you must sleep without;
Make his access in depth of night,
Brings them t’ impart our war-affairs;
Discern your presence, his next steps
And then shall I lose all these gifts.
And that with truth, how many days
Of Hector’s funerals; because
Mine own edge set to sack your town,
From interruption of your rites.”
To suffer such rites to my son,
Of most grace to me. But you know
Our host took Troy; and how much fear
Their spirits to make out again,
For wood to raise our heap of death;
That this your high grace will stand good,
Which if you seriously confirm,
The tenth keep funeral and feast;
My son’s fit sepulchre; the twelfth,
“Be it,” replied Æacides,
I’ll hold war back those whole twelve days;
Take this my right hand.” This confirm’d,
His herald lodg’d by him; and both
Achilles in an inmost room
Whose side bright-cheek’d Briseis warm’d.
All but most-useful Mercury;
On his quick temples, taking care
Engagéd Priam undiscern’d
The sacred watch. Above his head
“O father, sleep’st thou so secure,
Of so much ill, and being dismiss’d
’Tis true thou hast redeem’d the dead;
Should Agamemnon hear thee here,
Thy sons’ hands must repay for thee.”
Start from his sleep, Idæus call’d,
The horse and mules, before loos’d, join’d
That no ear heard, and through the host
To gulfy Xanthus’ bright-wav’d stream,
Industrious Mercury. And now
Spreading her white robe over all
They scourg’d on with the corse to Troy,
Before Cassandra, their return.
Ascending Pergamus, discern’d
His herald, and her brother’s corse;
Round about Troy: “O Troïans,
Hector return’d from fight alive,
His ransom’d person. Then his worth
Now do it honour.” Out all rush’d;
Was left, a most unmeasur’d cry
To Scæa’s ports they met the corse;
The rev’rend mother, the dear wife;
And lie entrancéd. Round about
In lamentations; and all day
If Priam had not cried: “Give way,
The body home, and mourn your fills.”
Way to the chariot. To the court
Where on a rich bed they bestow’d
Girt it with singers that the woe
A woeful elegy they sung,
Sigh’d as they sung. Andromache
Began to all; she on the neck
And cried out: “O my husband, thou
Left’st me a widow, thy sole son
In our birth made him right our child;
His infancy will never give
Troy from her top will be destroy’d;
Thou ev’n of all her strength the strength,
Her careful mothers of their babes,
Soon will the swoln fleet fill her womb
Myself with them, and thou with me,
Shalt be employ’d, sternly survey’d
Or, rage not suff’ring life so long,
Thy presence (putting him in mind
His brother, son, or friend) shall work
Toss’d from some tow’r, for many Greeks
Of thy strong father; in sad fight
And therefore mourn his people; we,
For that thou mak’st endure a woe,
Of all yet thou hast left me worst,
And reaching me thy last-rais’d hand,
Nothing commanded by that pow’r
Some deed for thy sake. O for these
Never my tears cease.” Thus wept she,
Her passion with a gen’ral shriek.
Her thoughts in like words: “O my son,
Dear while thou liv’dst too ev’n to Gods,
Careful to save thee. Being best,
My other sons Achilles sold;
Imber and Samos, the false ports
Their persons; thine, no port but death.
Thy violated corse, the tomb
With thy dragg’d person; yet from death
But, all his rage us’d, so the Gods
Thou liest as living, sweet and fresh,
Of Phœbus’ holy shafts.” These words
And, next her, Helen held that state
“O Hector, all my brothers more
As thy most virtues. Not my lord
That brought me hither; before which
To ruin; for what breeds that wish
By my access) yet never found
From thy sweet carriage. Twenty years
Since my arrival; all which time
Thyself without check, but all else,
Their sisters’ lords, sisters themselves,
(The king being never but most mild)
Sour and reproachful, it would still
With sweet words, and thy gentle soul.
I truly mourn for; and myself
All broad Troy yielding me not one,
Of pity or forgiveness mov’d
But only thee, all else abhorr’d
These words made ev’n the commons mourn;
Now fetch wood for our fun’ral fire,
Ambush, or any violence;
At my dismission, that twelve days
And all men’s else.” Thus oxen, mules,
Went forth, and an unmeasur’d pile
Nine days employ’d in carriage,
On wretched mortals, then they brought
Forth to be burn’d. Troy swum in tears.
They laid the person, and gave fire.
But when th’ elev’nth morn let on earth
The people flock’d about the pile,
Quench’d all the flames. His brothers then,
Gather’d into an urn of gold,
Then wrapt they in soft purple veils
Grav’d it, ramm’d up the grave with stones,
A sepulchre. But, while that work
Were in performance, guards were held
For fear of false surprise before
To these solemnities. The tomb
In Jove-nurs’d Priam’s Court partook
And so horse-taming Hector’s rites
47: “Shame a quality that hurts and helps men exceedingly.” —Chapman.
95: See note on Odyssey, XII. 370.
131: Complement.—Both folios, “complements;” Dr. Taylor, “compliments.” See Nares under the word complement.
134: Wool-bearer—i.e. sheep.
189: Angel—simply “messenger,” ἄγγελος. Iliad XXIV.194.
295: Profused—(Latin) poured forth.
299: Incontinent—without restraint, instantly.
306: Straight.—Dr. Taylor has printed “Hellespontus’ strait,” but straight, immediately, is the true word. Iliad XXIV.346.
340: Frighted.—Thus both folios, and rightly, for the Greek is δειδιότες. Dr. Taylor, however, without consulting the original, has changed it to “freighted.” Iliad XXIV.384.
411: Would envy.—The second folio and Dr. Taylor read “must.”
462: Start—here and in 612 is the past tense, i.e. “started up.”
494: Spring—cause to spring, produce.
637: The downright prose exclaims.—I am afraid this may appear downright prose to old Chapman’s readers. It is needless to say that it is not in the original, but he means that Andromache used no funeral hymn, but used plain prose.
659: Never will.—Thus the first folio; the second and Dr. Taylor, “will never.”
THE END OF THE TWENTY-FOURTH BOOK.
46 And so fares this man, that fit ruth that now should draw so deep
missing word “that” (“that now should”) supplied from 1st edition
95 note See note on Odyssey, XII. 370
[The line reference is definitely correct—the passages are similar—but there is no linenote anywhere near XII.370 in Hooper’s edition of Chapman’s Odyssey.]
255 Esteem’d a God, not from a mortal’s seed, but of th’ Eternal strain,
full line as shown
407 Would shut and ope himself. And this with far more ease
full line as shown
445 I come to ransom.
text has ranson
[corrected from 1st edition]
551 Without grief, like a God, being a man, but for a man’s life care,
full line as shown
The original of this text is in the public domain—at least in the U.S.
My notes are copyright, as are all under-the-hood elements.
If in doubt, ask.