The chief she found amidst the ranks of war, Close to the bulwarks, on his glittering car.

The G.o.ddess then: "O son of Priam, hear!

From Jove I come, and his high mandate bear.

While Agamemnon wastes the ranks around, Fights in the front, and bathes with blood the ground, Abstain from fight; yet issue forth commands, And trust the war to less important hands: But when, or wounded by the spear or dart, The chief shall mount his chariot, and depart, Then Jove shall string thy arm, and fire thy breast, Then to her ships shall flying Greece be press'd, Till to the main the burning sun descend, And sacred night her awful shade extend."

She said, and vanish'd. Hector, with a bound, Springs from his chariot on the trembling ground, In clanging arms: he grasps in either hand A pointed lance, and speeds from band to band; Revives their ardour, turns their steps from flight, And wakes anew the dying flames of fight.

They stand to arms: the Greeks their onset dare, Condense their powers, and wait the coming war.

New force, new spirit, to each breast returns; The fight renew'd with fiercer fury burns: The king leads on: all fix on him their eye, And learn from him to conquer, or to die.

Ye sacred nine! celestial Muses! tell, Who faced him first, and by his prowess fell?

The great Iphidamas, the bold and young, From sage Antenor and Theano sprung; Whom from his youth his grandsire Cisseus bred, And nursed in Thrace where snowy flocks are fed.

Scarce did the down his rosy cheeks invest, And early honour warm his generous breast, When the kind sire consign'd his daughter's charms (Theano's sister) to his youthful arms.

But call'd by glory to the wars of Troy, He leaves untasted the first fruits of joy; From his loved bride departs with melting eyes, And swift to aid his dearer country flies.

With twelve black ships he reach'd Percope's strand, Thence took the long laborious march by land.

Now fierce for fame, before the ranks he springs, Towering in arms, and braves the king of kings.

Atrides first discharged the missive spear; The Trojan stoop'd, the javelin pa.s.s'd in air.

Then near the corslet, at the monarch's heart, With all his strength, the youth directs his dart: But the broad belt, with plates of silver bound, The point rebated, and repell'd the wound.

Enc.u.mber'd with the dart, Atrides stands, Till, grasp'd with force, he wrench'd it from his hands; At once his weighty sword discharged a wound Full on his neck, that fell'd him to the ground.

Stretch'd in the dust the unhappy warrior lies, And sleep eternal seals his swimming eyes.

Oh worthy better fate! oh early slain!

Thy country's friend; and virtuous, though in vain!

No more the youth shall join his consort's side, At once a virgin, and at once a bride!

No more with presents her embraces meet, Or lay the spoils of conquest at her feet, On whom his pa.s.sion, lavish of his store, Bestow'd so much, and vainly promised more!

Unwept, uncover'd, on the plain he lay, While the proud victor bore his arms away.

c.o.o.n, Antenor's eldest hope, was nigh: Tears, at the sight, came starting from his eye, While pierced with grief the much-loved youth he view'd, And the pale features now deform'd with blood.

Then, with his spear, unseen, his time he took, Aim'd at the king, and near his elbow strook.

The thrilling steel transpierced the brawny part, And through his arm stood forth the barbed dart.

Surprised the monarch feels, yet void of fear On c.o.o.n rushes with his lifted spear: His brother's corpse the pious Trojan draws, And calls his country to a.s.sert his cause; Defends him breathless on the sanguine field, And o'er the body spreads his ample shield.

Atrides, marking an unguarded part, Transfix'd the warrior with his brazen dart; p.r.o.ne on his brother's bleeding breast he lay, The monarch's falchion lopp'd his head away: The social shades the same dark journey go, And join each other in the realms below.

The vengeful victor rages round the fields, With every weapon art or fury yields: By the long lance, the sword, or ponderous stone, Whole ranks are broken, and whole troops o'erthrown.

This, while yet warm distill'd the purple flood; But when the wound grew stiff with clotted blood, Then grinding tortures his strong bosom rend, Less keen those darts the fierce Ilythiae send: (The powers that cause the teeming matron's throes, Sad mothers of unutterable woes!) Stung with the smart, all-panting with the pain, He mounts the car, and gives his squire the rein; Then with a voice which fury made more strong, And pain augmented, thus exhorts the throng:

"O friends! O Greeks! a.s.sert your honours won; Proceed, and finish what this arm begun: Lo! angry Jove forbids your chief to stay, And envies half the glories of the day."

He said: the driver whirls his lengthful thong; The horses fly; the chariot smokes along.

Clouds from their nostrils the fierce coursers blow, And from their sides the foam descends in snow; Shot through the battle in a moment's s.p.a.ce, The wounded monarch at his tent they place.

No sooner Hector saw the king retired, But thus his Trojans and his aids he fired: "Hear, all ye Dardan, all ye Lycian race!

Famed in close fight, and dreadful face to face: Now call to mind your ancient trophies won, Your great forefathers' virtues, and your own.

Behold, the general flies! deserts his powers!

Lo, Jove himself declares the conquest ours!

Now on yon ranks impel your foaming steeds; And, sure of glory, dare immortal deeds."

With words like these the fiery chief alarms His fainting host, and every bosom warms.

As the bold hunter cheers his hounds to tear The brindled lion, or the tusky bear: With voice and hand provokes their doubting heart, And springs the foremost with his lifted dart: So G.o.dlike Hector prompts his troops to dare; Nor prompts alone, but leads himself the war.

On the black body of the foe he pours; As from the cloud's deep bosom, swell'd with showers, A sudden storm the purple ocean sweeps, Drives the wild waves, and tosses all the deeps.

Say, Muse! when Jove the Trojan's glory crown'd, Beneath his arm what heroes bit the ground?

a.s.saeus, Dolops, and Autonous died, Opites next was added to their side; Then brave Hipponous, famed in many a fight, Opheltius, Orus, sunk to endless night; aesymnus, Agelaus; all chiefs of name; The rest were vulgar deaths unknown to fame.

As when a western whirlwind, charged with storms, Dispels the gather'd clouds that Notus forms: The gust continued, violent and strong, Rolls sable clouds in heaps on heaps along; Now to the skies the foaming billows rears, Now breaks the surge, and wide the bottom bares: Thus, raging Hector, with resistless hands, O'erturns, confounds, and scatters all their bands.

Now the last ruin the whole host appals; Now Greece had trembled in her wooden walls; But wise Ulysses call'd Tydides forth, His soul rekindled, and awaked his worth.

"And stand we deedless, O eternal shame!

Till Hector's arm involve the ships in flame?

Haste, let us join, and combat side by side."

The warrior thus, and thus the friend replied:

"No martial toil I shun, no danger fear; Let Hector come; I wait his fury here.

But Jove with conquest crowns the Trojan train: And, Jove our foe, all human force is vain."

He sigh'd; but, sighing, raised his vengeful steel, And from his car the proud Thymbraeus fell: Molion, the charioteer, pursued his lord, His death enn.o.bled by Ulysses' sword.

There slain, they left them in eternal night, Then plunged amidst the thickest ranks of fight.

So two wild boars outstrip the following hounds, Then swift revert, and wounds return for wounds.

Stern Hector's conquests in the middle plain Stood check'd awhile, and Greece respired again.

The sons of Merops shone amidst the war; Towering they rode in one refulgent car: In deep prophetic arts their father skill'd, Had warn'd his children from the Trojan field.

Fate urged them on: the father warn'd in vain; They rush'd to fight, and perish'd on the plain; Their b.r.e.a.s.t.s no more the vital spirit warms; The stern Tydides strips their shining arms.

Hypirochus by great Ulysses dies, And rich Hippodamus becomes his prize.

Great Jove from Ide with slaughter fills his sight, And level hangs the doubtful scale of fight.

By Tydeus' lance Agastrophus was slain, The far-famed hero of Paeonian strain; Wing'd with his fears, on foot he strove to fly, His steeds too distant, and the foe too nigh: Through broken orders, swifter than the wind, He fled, but flying left his life behind.

This Hector sees, as his experienced eyes Traverse the files, and to the rescue flies; Shouts, as he pa.s.s'd, the crystal regions rend, And moving armies on his march attend.

Great Diomed himself was seized with fear, And thus bespoke his brother of the war:

"Mark how this way yon bending squadrons yield!

The storm rolls on, and Hector rules the field: Here stand his utmost force."--The warrior said; Swift at the word his ponderous javelin fled; Nor miss'd its aim, but where the plumage danced Razed the smooth cone, and thence obliquely glanced.

Safe in his helm (the gift of Phoebus' hands) Without a wound the Trojan hero stands; But yet so stunn'd, that, staggering on the plain.

His arm and knee his sinking bulk sustain; O'er his dim sight the misty vapours rise, And a short darkness shades his swimming eyes.

Tydides followed to regain his lance; While Hector rose, recover'd from the trance, Remounts his car, and herds amidst the crowd: The Greek pursues him, and exults aloud: "Once more thank Phoebus for thy forfeit breath, Or thank that swiftness which outstrips the death.

Well by Apollo are thy prayers repaid, And oft that partial power has lent his aid.

Thou shall not long the death deserved withstand, If any G.o.d a.s.sist Tydides' hand.

Fly then, inglorious! but thy flight, this day, Whole hecatombs of Trojan ghosts shall pay,"

Him, while he triumph'd, Paris eyed from far, (The spouse of Helen, the fair cause of war;) Around the fields his feather'd shafts he sent, From ancient Ilus' ruin'd monument: Behind the column placed, he bent his bow, And wing'd an arrow at the unwary foe; Just as he stoop'd, Agastrophus's crest To seize, and drew the corslet from his breast, The bowstring tw.a.n.g'd; nor flew the shaft in vain, But pierced his foot, and nail'd it to the plain.

The laughing Trojan, with a joyful spring.

Leaps from his ambush, and insults the king.

"He bleeds! (he cries) some G.o.d has sped my dart!

Would the same G.o.d had fix'd it in his heart!

So Troy, relieved from that wide-wasting hand, Should breathe from slaughter and in combat stand: Whose sons now tremble at his darted spear, As scatter'd lambs the rushing lion fear."

He dauntless thus: "Thou conqueror of the fair, Thou woman-warrior with the curling hair; Vain archer! trusting to the distant dart, Unskill'd in arms to act a manly part!

Thou hast but done what boys or women can; Such hands may wound, but not incense a man.

Nor boast the scratch thy feeble arrow gave, A coward's weapon never hurts the brave.

Not so this dart, which thou may'st one day feel; Fate wings its flight, and death is on the steel: Where this but lights, some n.o.ble life expires; Its touch makes orphans, bathes the cheeks of sires, Steeps earth in purple, gluts the birds of air, And leaves such objects as distract the fair."

Ulysses hastens with a trembling heart, Before him steps, and bending draws the dart: Forth flows the blood; an eager pang succeeds; Tydides mounts, and to the navy speeds.

Now on the field Ulysses stands alone, The Greeks all fled, the Trojans pouring on; But stands collected in himself, and whole, And questions thus his own unconquer'd soul:

"What further subterfuge, what hopes remain?

What shame, inglorious if I quit the plain?