The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (48 page)

And this forc’d flight you have sustain’d, at length yet countermand.’

Supplies of good words thus supplied the deeds and spirits of all,

And so at last Minerva clear’d the cloud that Jove let fall

Before their eyes: a mighty light flew beaming every way,

As well about their ships as where their darts did hottest play:

Then saw they Hector great in arms, and his associates,

As well all those that then abstain’d, as those that help’d the fates,

And all their own fight at the fleet. Nor did it now content

Ajax to keep down like the rest; he up the hatches went,

Stalk’d here and there; and in his hand a huge great head-hook held,

Twelve cubits long, and full of iron: and as a man well skill’d

In horse, made to the martial race, when (of a number more)

He chooseth four, and brings them forth to run them all before

Swarms of admiring citizens, amids their town’s high way,

And (in their full career) he leaps from one to one, no stay

Enforc’d on any, nor fails he in either seat or leap:

So Ajax with his bead-hook leap’d nimbly from ship to ship,

As actively, commanding all them in their men, as well

As men in them, most terribly exhorting to repel,

To save their navy and their tents. But Hector nothing needs

To stand on exhortations now at home; he strives for deeds.

And look how Jove’s great queen of birds (sharp set) looks out for prey,

Knows floods that nourish wild-wing’d fowls, and (from her airy way)

Beholds where cranes, swans, cormorants, have made their foody fall,

Darkens the river with her wings, and stoops amongst them all:

So Hector flew amongst the Greeks, directing his command

(In chie
f
) ’gainst one opposite ship, Jove with a mighty hand

Still backing him and all his men: and then again there grew

A bitter conflict at the fleet; you would have said none drew

A weary breath, nor ever would, they laid so freshly on.

And this was it that fir’d them both: the Greeks did build upon

No hope, but what the field would yield; flight, an impossible course.

The Trojans all hope entertain’d that sword and fire should force

Both ships and lives of all the Greeks; and thus, unlike affects

Bred like strenuity in both. Great Hector still directs

His pow’rs against the first near ship. ’Twas that fair bark that brought

Protesilaus to those wars, and now, her self to nought,

With many Greek and Trojan lives all spoil’d about her spoil:

One slew another desperately, and close the deadly toil

Was pitch’d on both parts: not a shaft, nor far-off striking dart

Was us’d through all: one fight fell out of one despiteful heart;

Sharp axes, twybills, two-hand swords, and spears with two heads borne,

Were then the weapons; fair short swords, with sanguine hilts still worn,

Had use in like sort; of which last, ye might have numbers view’d

Drop with dissolv’d arms from their hands, as many downright hew’d

From off their shoulders as they fought, their bawdrics cut in twain:

And thus the black blood flow’d on earth, from soldiers hurt and slain.

When Hector once had seiz’d the ship, he clapt his fair broad hand

Fast on the stern, and held it there, and there gave this command:

‘Bring fire, and all together shout; now Jove hath drawn the veil

From such a day as makes amends for all his storms of hail:

By whose blest light we take those ships, that in despite of heav’n

Took sea, and brought us worlds of woe, all since our peers were giv’n

To such a laziness and fear, they would not let me end

Our ling’ring banes, and charge thus home, but keep home and defend.

And so they rul’d the men I led, but though Jove then withheld

My natural spirit, now by Jove ’tis freed, and thus impell’d.’

This more enflam’d them, in so much that Ajax now no more

Kept up, he was so drown’d in darts, a little he forbore

The hatches to a seat beneath, of seven foot long, but thought

It was impossible to ’scape; he sat yet where he fought,

And hurl’d out lances thick as hail at all men that assay’d

To fire the ship; with whom he found his hands so overlaid,

That on his soldiers thus he cried: ‘O friends, fight I alone?

Expect ye more walls at your back? Towns rampir’d here are none,

No citizens to take ye in, no help in any kind;

We are, I tell you, in Troy’s fields, have nought but seas behind,

And foes before, far, far from Greece. For shame, obey commands.

There is no mercy in the wars, your healths lie in your hands.’

Thus rag’d he, and pour’d out his darts; who ever he espied

Come near the vessel, arm’d with fire, on his fierce dart he died;

All that pleas’d Hector made him mad, all that his thanks would earn,

Of which twelve men, his most resolv’d, lay dead before his stern.

The end of the fifteenth book

Book 16

The Argument

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-ru’d 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.

Another Argument

In
Pi
, Patroclus bears the chance

Of death, impos’d by Hector’s lance.

Book 16

Thus fighting for this well-built ship, Patroclus all that space

Stood by his friend, preparing words to win the Greeks his grace,

With pow’r of uncontained tears: and (like a fountain pour’d

In black streams from a lofty rock) the Greeks, so plagued, deplor’d.

Achilles (ruthful for his tears) said: ‘Wherefore weeps my friend,

So like a girl, who though she sees her mother cannot tend

Her childish humours, hangs on her, and would be taken up,

Still viewing her with tear-drown’d eyes, when she has made her stoop.

To nothing liker I can shape thy so unseemly tears.

What causeth them? Hath any ill solicited thine ears,

Befall’n my Myrmidons? Or news from loved Phthia brought,

Told only thee, lest I should grieve, and therefore thus hath wrought

On thy kind spirit? Actor’s son, the good Menoetius

(Thy father) lives, and Peleus (mine), great son of Aeacus,

Amongst his Myrmidons, whose deaths in duty we should mourn.

Or is it what the Greeks sustain that doth thy stomach turn,

On whom (for their injustice sake) plagues are so justly laid?

Speak, man, let both know either’s heart.’ Patroclus, sighing, said:

‘O Peleus’ son (thou strongest Greek by all degrees that lives),

Still be not angry, our sad state such cause of pity gives.

Our greatest Greeks lie at their ships sore wounded: Ithacus,

King Agamemnon, Diomed, and good Eurypilus.

But these, much-med’cine-knowing men (physicians) can recure;

Thou yet unmed’cinable still, though thy wound all endure.

Heav’n bless my bosom from such wrath as thou sooth’st as thy bliss

(Unprofitably virtuous). How shall our progenies,

Born in thine age, enjoy thine aid, when these friends in thy flow’r

Thou leav’st to such unworthy death? O idle, cruel pow’r!

Great Peleus never did beget, nor Thetis bring forth thee;

Thou from the blue sea and her rocks deriv’st thy pedigree.

What so declines thee? If thy mind shuns any augury,

Related by thy mother queen, from heaven’s foreseeing eye,

And therefore thou forsak’st thy friends, let me go ease their moans

With those brave relics of our host, thy mighty Myrmidons,

That I my bring to field more light to conquest than hath been;

To which end grace me with thine arms, since any shadow seen

Of thy resemblance, all the pow’r of perjur’d Troy will fly,

And our so tired friends will breathe: our fresh-set-on supply

Will easily drive their wearied off.’ Thus (foolish man) he su’d

For his sure death; of all whose speech Achilles first renew’d

The last part, thus: ‘O worthy friend, what have thy speeches been?

I shun the fight for oracles, or what my mother queen

Hath told from Jove? I take no care nor note of one such thing,

But this fit anger stings me still, that the insulting king

Should from his equal take his right, since he exceeds in pow’r.

This (still his wrong) is still my grief: he took my paramour

That all men gave, and whom I won by virtue of my spear,

That (for her) overturn’d a town. This rape he made of her,

And used me like a fugitive, an inmate in a town,

That is no city libertine, nor capable of their gown.

But, bear we this, as out of date; ’tis past, nor must we still

Feed anger in our noblest parts; yet thus, I have my will

As well as our great king of men, for I did ever vow

Never to cast off my disdain, till (as it falls out now)

Their miss of me knock’d at my fleet, and told me in their cries

I was reveng’d, and had my wish of all my enemies.

And so of this repeat enough: take thou my fame-blaz’d arms,

And my fight-thirsty Myrmidons lead to these hot alarms.

Whole clouds of Trojans circle us with hateful eminence,

The Greeks shut in a little shore, a sort of citizens

Skipping upon them – all because their proud eyes do not see

The radiance of my helmet there, whose beams had instantly

Thrust back, and all these ditches fill’d with carrion of their flesh,

If Agamemnon had been kind; where now they fight as fresh,

As thus far they had put at ease, and at our tents contend –

And may, for the repulsive hand of Diomed doth not spend

His raging darts there, that their death could fright out of our fleet:

Nor from that head of enmity can my poor hearers meet

The voice of great Atrides now: now Hector’s only voice

Breaks all the air about both hosts, and with the very noise

Bred by his loud encouragements, his forces fill the field,

And fight the poor Achaians down. But on, put thou my shield

Betwixt the fire-plague and our fleet: rush bravely on, and turn

War’s tide as headlong on their throats. No more let them ajourn

Our sweet home-turning. But observe the charge I lay on thee

To each least point, that thy rul’d hand may highly honour me,

And get such glory from the Greeks, that they may send again

My most sweet wench, and gifts to boot: when thou hast cast a rein

On these so headstrong citizens and forc’d them from our fleet –

With which grace if the god of sounds thy kind egression greet –

Retire, and be not tempted on (with pride, to see thy hand

Rain slaughter’d carcasses on earth) to run forth thy command

As far as Ilion, lest the gods that favour Troy come forth

To thy encounter; for the Sun much loves it, and my worth

(In what thou suffer’st) will be wrong’d, that I would let my friend

Assume an action of such weight without me, and transcend

His friend’s prescription. Do not then affect a further fight

Than I may strengthen: let the rest (when thou hast done this right)

Perform the rest. O would to Jove, thou Pallas, and thou Sun,

That not a man hous’d underneath those tow’rs of Ilion,

Nor any one of all the Greeks (how infinite a sum

Soever all together make) might live unovercome,

But only we two (’scaping death) might have the thund’ring down

Of every stone stuck in the walls of this so sacred town.’

Thus spake they only ’twixt themselves. And now the foe no more

Could Ajax stand, being so oppress’d with all the iron store

The Trojans pour’d on; with those darts, and with Jove’s will beside,

His pow’rs were cloy’d, and his bright helm did dea
f
’
ning blows abide;

His plume and all head ornaments could never hang in rest,

His arm yet labour’d up his shield, and having done their best,

They could not stir him from his stand, although he wrought it out

With short respirings, and with sweat, that ceaseless flow’d about

His reeking limbs, no least time giv’n to take in any breath.

Ill strengthen’d ill; when one was up, another was beneath.

Now, Muses, you that dwell in heav’n, the dreadful mean inspire

That first enforc’d the Grecian fleet to take in Trojan fire:

First Hector, with his huge broad sword, cut off, at setting on,

The head of Ajax’ ashen lance; which Ajax seeing gone,

And that he shook a headless spear (a little while unware),

His wary spirits told him straight the hand of heav’n was there,

And trembled under his conceit; which was, that ’twas Jove’s deed:

Who, as he poll’d off his dart’s head, so, sure, he had decreed

That all the counsels of their war he would poll off like it,

And give the Trojans victory: so trusted he his wit,

And left his darts. And then the ship was heap’d with horrid brands

Of kindling fire, which instantly was seen through all the strands

In unextinguishable flames, that all the ship embrac’d:

And then Achilles beat his thighs, cried out: ‘Patroclus, haste;

Make way with horse: I see at fleet a fire of fearful rage.

Arm, arm, lest all our fleet it fire, and all our pow’r engage;

Arm quickly, I’ll bring up the troops.’ To these so dreadful wars

Patroclus, in Achilles’ arms, enlighten’d all with stars,

And richly ’ameld, all haste made: he wore his sword, his shield,

His huge-plum’d helm, and two such spears as he could nimbly wield.

But the most fam’d Achilles’ spear, big, solid, full of weight,

He only left of all his arms; for that far pass’d the might

Of any Greek to shake but his; Achilles’ only ire

Shook that huge weapon, that was given by Chiron to his sire,

Cut from the top of Pelion, to be heroës’ deaths.

His steeds Automedon straight join’d, like whom no man that breathes

(Next Peleus’ son) Patroclus lov’d; for like him, none so great

He found, in faith, at every fight, nor to out-look a threat.

Automedon did therefore guide (for him) Achilles’ steeds:

Xanthius and Balius swift as wind, begotten by the seeds

Of Zephyr and the harpy-born Podarge, in a mead

Close to the wavy ocean, where that fierce harpy fed.

Automedon join’d these before, and with the hindmost geres

He fasten’d famous Pedasus, whom from the massacres

Made by Achilles, when he took Eëtion’s wealthy town,

He brought, and (though of mortal race) yet gave him the renown

To follow his immortal horse. And now, before his tents,

Himself had seen his Myrmidons, in all habiliments

Of dreadful war. And when ye see (upon a mountain bred)

A den of wolves (about whose hearts unmeasur’d strengths are fed)

New come from currie of a stag, their jaws all blood-besmear’d,

And when from some black water-fount they all together herd,

There having plentifully lapp’d, with thin and thrust-out tongues,

The top and clearest of the spring, go belching from their lungs

The clotter’d gore, look dreadfully, and entertain no dread,

Their bellies gaunt all taken up with being so rawly fed:

Then say that such, in strength and look, were great Achilles’ men

Now order’d for the dreadful fight: and so with all them then

Their princes and their chiefs did show about their general’s friend –

His friend, and all about himself, who chiefly did intend

Th’ embattelling of horse and foot. To that siege, held so long,

Twice five and twenty sail he brought; twice five and twenty strong

Of able men was every sail: five colonels he made

Of all those forces, trusty men, and all of pow’r to lead,

But he of pow’r beyond them all. Menesthius was one,

That ever wore discolour’d arms; he was a river’s son

That fell from heav’n, and good to drink was his delightful stream:

His name, unwearied Sperchius. He lov’d the lovely dame,

Fair Polydora, Peleus’ seed, and dear in Borus’ sight;

And she, to that celestial flood, gave this Menesthius light,

A woman mixing with a god. Yet Borus bore the name

Of father to Menesthius, he marrying the dame,

And giving her a mighty dow’r; he was the kind descent

Of Perieris. The next man renown’d with regiment

Was strong Eudorus, brought to life by one suppos’d a maid,

Bright Polymela (Phylas’ seed) but had the wanton play’d

With Argus-killing Mercury, who (fir’d with her fair eyes

As she was singing in the quire of her that makes the cries

In clamorous hunting, and doth bear the crooked bow of gold)

Stole to her bed, in that chaste room that Phebe chaste did hold,

And gave her that swift-warlike son (Eudorus), brought to light

As she was dancing: but as soon as she that rules the plight

Of labouring women, eas’d her throes, and show’d her son the sun,

Strong Echelcaeus, Actor’s heir, woo’d earnestly, and won

Her second favour, seeing her with gifts of infinite prize,

And after brought her to his house, where in his grandsire’s eyes

(Old Phylas) Polymela’s son obtain’d exceeding grace,

And found as careful bringing up, as of his natural race

He had descended. The third chief was fair Memalides

Pysandrus, who in skill of darts obtain’d supremest praise

Of all the Myrmidons, except their lord’s companion:

The fourth charge aged Phoenix had. The fifth, Alcimedon,

Son of Laercus, and much fam’d. All these digested thus

In fit place, by the mighty son of royal Peleus,

This stern remembrance he gave all: ‘You Myrmidons,’ said he,

‘Lest any of you should forget his threat’nings used to me

In this place, and through all the time that my just anger reign’d,

Attempting me with bitter words for being so restrain’d

(For my hot humour) from the fight, remember them, as these:

“Thou cruel son of Peleus, whom she that rules the seas

Did only nourish with her gall, thou dost ungently hold

Our hands against our wills from fight; we will not be controll’d,

But take our ships, and sail for home, before we loiter here,

And feed thy fury.” These high words exceeding often were

The threats that in your mutinous troops ye us’d to me for wrath

To be detain’d so from the field: now then, your spleens may bathe

In sweat of those great works ye wish’d; now he that can employ

A generous heart, go fight, and fright these bragging sons of Troy.’

This set their minds and strengths on fire, the speech enforcing well,

Being us’d in time – but being their king’s, it much more did impel,

And closer rush’d in all the troops. And as, for buildings high,

The mason lays his stones more thick, against th’ extremity

Of wind and weather; and ev’n then, if any storm arise,

He thickens them the more for that, the present act so plies