What danger, singly if I stand the ground, My friends all scatter'd, all the foes around?

Yet wherefore doubtful? let this truth suffice, The brave meets danger, and the coward flies.

To die or conquer, proves a hero's heart; And, knowing this, I know a soldier's part."

Such thoughts revolving in his careful breast, Near, and more near, the shady cohorts press'd; These, in the warrior, their own fate enclose; And round him deep the steely circle grows.

So fares a boar whom all the troop surrounds Of shouting huntsmen and of clamorous hounds; He grinds his ivory tusks; he foams with ire; His sanguine eye-b.a.l.l.s glare with living fire; By these, by those, on every part is plied; And the red slaughter spreads on every side.

Pierced through the shoulder, first Deiopis fell; Next Ennomus and Thoon sank to h.e.l.l; Chersidamas, beneath the navel thrust, Falls p.r.o.ne to earth, and grasps the b.l.o.o.d.y dust.

Charops, the son of Hippasus, was near; Ulysses reach'd him with the fatal spear; But to his aid his brother Socus flies, Socus the brave, the generous, and the wise.

Near as he drew, the warrior thus began:

"O great Ulysses! much-enduring man!

Not deeper skill'd in every martial sleight, Than worn to toils, and active in the fight!

This day two brothers shall thy conquest grace, And end at once the great Hippasian race, Or thou beneath this lance must press the field."

He said, and forceful pierced his s.p.a.cious shield: Through the strong bra.s.s the ringing javelin thrown, Plough'd half his side, and bared it to the bone.

By Pallas' care, the spear, though deep infix'd, Stopp'd short of life, nor with his entrails mix'd.

The wound not mortal wise Ulysses knew, Then furious thus (but first some steps withdrew): "Unhappy man! whose death our hands shall grace, Fate calls thee hence and finish'd is thy race.

Nor longer check my conquests on the foe; But, pierced by this, to endless darkness go, And add one spectre to the realms below!"

He spoke, while Socus, seized with sudden fright, Trembling gave way, and turn'd his back to flight; Between his shoulders pierced the following dart, And held its pa.s.sage through the panting heart: Wide in his breast appear'd the grisly wound; He falls; his armour rings against the ground.

Then thus Ulysses, gazing on the slain: "Famed son of Hippasus! there press the plain; There ends thy narrow span a.s.sign'd by fate, Heaven owes Ulysses yet a longer date.

Ah, wretch! no father shall thy corpse compose; Thy dying eyes no tender mother close; But hungry birds shall tear those b.a.l.l.s away, And hovering vultures scream around their prey.

Me Greece shall honour, when I meet my doom, With solemn funerals and a lasting tomb."

Then raging with intolerable smart, He writhes his body, and extracts the dart.

The dart a tide of spouting gore pursued, And gladden'd Troy with sight of hostile blood.

Now troops on troops the fainting chief invade, Forced he recedes, and loudly calls for aid.

Thrice to its pitch his lofty voice he rears; The well-known voice thrice Menelaus hears: Alarm'd, to Ajax Telamon he cried, Who shares his labours, and defends his side: "O friend! Ulysses' shouts invade my ear; Distressed he seems, and no a.s.sistance near; Strong as he is, yet one opposed to all, Oppress'd by mult.i.tudes, the best may fall.

Greece robb'd of him must bid her host despair, And feel a loss not ages can repair."

Then, where the cry directs, his course he bends; Great Ajax, like the G.o.d of war, attends, The prudent chief in sore distress they found, With bands of furious Trojans compa.s.s'd round.(223) As when some huntsman, with a flying spear, From the blind thicket wounds a stately deer; Down his cleft side, while fresh the blood distils, He bounds aloft, and scuds from hills to hills, Till life's warm vapour issuing through the wound, Wild mountain-wolves the fainting beast surround: Just as their jaws his prostrate limbs invade, The lion rushes through the woodland shade, The wolves, though hungry, scour dispersed away; The lordly savage vindicates his prey.

Ulysses thus, unconquer'd by his pains, A single warrior half a host sustains: But soon as Ajax leaves his tower-like shield, The scattered crowds fly frighted o'er the field; Atrides' arm the sinking hero stays, And, saved from numbers, to his car conveys.

Victorious Ajax plies the routed crew; And first Doryclus, Priam's son, he slew, On strong Pandocus next inflicts a wound, And lays Lysander bleeding on the ground.

As when a torrent, swell'd with wintry rains, Pours from the mountains o'er the deluged plains, And pines and oaks, from their foundations torn, A country's ruins! to the seas are borne: Fierce Ajax thus o'erwhelms the yielding throng; Men, steeds, and chariots, roll in heaps along.

But Hector, from this scene of slaughter far, Raged on the left, and ruled the tide of war: Loud groans proclaim his progress through the plain, And deep Scamander swells with heaps of slain.

There Nestor and Idomeneus oppose The warrior's fury; there the battle glows; There fierce on foot, or from the chariot's height, His sword deforms the beauteous ranks of fight.

The spouse of Helen, dealing darts around, Had pierced Machaon with a distant wound: In his right shoulder the broad shaft appear'd, And trembling Greece for her physician fear'd.

To Nestor then Idomeneus begun: "Glory of Greece, old Neleus' valiant son!

Ascend thy chariot, haste with speed away, And great Machaon to the ships convey; A wise physician skill'd our wounds to heal, Is more than armies to the public weal."

Old Nestor mounts the seat; beside him rode The wounded offspring of the healing G.o.d.

He lends the lash; the steeds with sounding feet Shake the dry field, and thunder toward the fleet.

But now Cebriones, from Hector's car, Survey'd the various fortune of the war: "While here (he cried) the flying Greeks are slain, Trojans on Trojans yonder load the plain.

Before great Ajax see the mingled throng Of men and chariots driven in heaps along!

I know him well, distinguish'd o'er the field By the broad glittering of the sevenfold shield.

Thither, O Hector, thither urge thy steeds, There danger calls, and there the combat bleeds; There horse and foot in mingled deaths unite, And groans of slaughter mix with shouts of fight."

Thus having spoke, the driver's lash resounds; Swift through the ranks the rapid chariot bounds; Stung by the stroke, the coursers scour the fields, O'er heaps of carcases, and hills of shields.

The horses' hoofs are bathed in heroes' gore, And, dashing, purple all the car before; The groaning axle sable drops distils, And mangled carnage clogs the rapid wheels.

Here Hector, plunging through the thickest fight, Broke the dark phalanx, and let in the light: (By the long lance, the sword, or ponderous stone.

The ranks he scatter'd and the troops o'erthrown:) Ajax he shuns, through all the dire debate, And fears that arm whose force he felt so late.

But partial Jove, espousing Hector's part, Shot heaven-bred horror through the Grecian's heart; Confused, unnerved in Hector's presence grown, Amazed he stood, with terrors not his own.

O'er his broad back his moony shield he threw, And, glaring round, by tardy steps withdrew.

Thus the grim lion his retreat maintains, Beset with watchful dogs, and shouting swains; Repulsed by numbers from the nightly stalls, Though rage impels him, and though hunger calls, Long stands the showering darts, and missile fires; Then sourly slow the indignant beast retires: So turn'd stern Ajax, by whole hosts repell'd, While his swoln heart at every step rebell'd.

As the slow beast, with heavy strength endued, In some wide field by troops of boys pursued, Though round his sides a wooden tempest rain, Crops the tall harvest, and lays waste the plain; Thick on his hide the hollow blows resound, The patient animal maintains his ground, Scarce from the field with all their efforts chased, And stirs but slowly when he stirs at last: On Ajax thus a weight of Trojans hung, The strokes redoubled on his buckler rung; Confiding now in bulky strength he stands, Now turns, and backward bears the yielding bands; Now stiff recedes, yet hardly seems to fly, And threats his followers with retorted eye.

Fix'd as the bar between two warring powers, While hissing darts descend in iron showers: In his broad buckler many a weapon stood, Its surface bristled with a quivering wood; And many a javelin, guiltless on the plain, Marks the dry dust, and thirsts for blood in vain.

But bold Eurypylus his aid imparts, And dauntless springs beneath a cloud of darts; Whose eager javelin launch'd against the foe, Great Apisaon felt the fatal blow; From his torn liver the red current flow'd, And his slack knees desert their dying load.

The victor rushing to despoil the dead, From Paris' bow a vengeful arrow fled; Fix'd in his nervous thigh the weapon stood, Fix'd was the point, but broken was the wood.

Back to the lines the wounded Greek retired, Yet thus retreating, his a.s.sociates fired:

"What G.o.d, O Grecians! has your hearts dismay'd?

Oh, turn to arms; 'tis Ajax claims your aid.

This hour he stands the mark of hostile rage, And this the last brave battle he shall wage: Haste, join your forces; from the gloomy grave The warrior rescue, and your country save."

Thus urged the chief: a generous troop appears, Who spread their bucklers, and advance their spears, To guard their wounded friend: while thus they stand With pious care, great Ajax joins the band: Each takes new courage at the hero's sight; The hero rallies, and renews the fight.

Thus raged both armies like conflicting fires, While Nestor's chariot far from fight retires: His coursers steep'd in sweat, and stain'd with gore, The Greeks' preserver, great Machaon, bore.

That hour Achilles, from the topmost height Of his proud fleet, o'erlook'd the fields of fight; His feasted eyes beheld around the plain The Grecian rout, the slaying, and the slain.

His friend Machaon singled from the rest, A transient pity touch'd his vengeful breast.

Straight to Menoetius' much-loved son he sent: Graceful as Mars, Patroclus quits his tent; In evil hour! Then fate decreed his doom, And fix'd the date of all his woes to come.

"Why calls my friend? thy loved injunctions lay; Whate'er thy will, Patroclus shall obey."

"O first of friends! (Pelides thus replied) Still at my heart, and ever at my side!

The time is come, when yon despairing host Shall learn the value of the man they lost: Now at my knees the Greeks shall pour their moan, And proud Atrides tremble on his throne.

Go now to Nestor, and from him be taught What wounded warrior late his chariot brought: For, seen at distance, and but seen behind, His form recall'd Machaon to my mind; Nor could I, through yon cloud, discern his face, The coursers pa.s.s'd me with so swift a pace."

The hero said. His friend obey'd with haste, Through intermingled ships and tents he pa.s.s'd; The chiefs descending from their car he found: The panting steeds Eurymedon unbound.

The warriors standing on the breezy sh.o.r.e, To dry their sweat, and wash away the gore, Here paused a moment, while the gentle gale Convey'd that freshness the cool seas exhale; Then to consult on farther methods went, And took their seats beneath the shady tent.

The draught prescribed, fair Hecamede prepares, Arsinous' daughter, graced with golden hairs: (Whom to his aged arms, a royal slave, Greece, as the prize of Nestor's wisdom gave:) A table first with azure feet she placed; Whose ample orb a brazen charger graced; Honey new-press'd, the sacred flour of wheat, And wholesome garlic, crown'd the savoury treat, Next her white hand an antique goblet brings, A goblet sacred to the Pylian kings From eldest times: emboss'd with studs of gold, Two feet support it, and four handles hold; On each bright handle, bending o'er the brink, In sculptured gold, two turtles seem to drink: A ma.s.sy weight, yet heaved with ease by him, When the brisk nectar overlook'd the brim.

Temper'd in this, the nymph of form divine Pours a large portion of the Pramnian wine; With goat's-milk cheese a flavourous taste bestows, And last with flour the smiling surface strows: This for the wounded prince the dame prepares: The cordial beverage reverend Nestor shares: Salubrious draughts the warriors' thirst allay, And pleasing conference beguiles the day.

Meantime Patroclus, by Achilles sent, Unheard approached, and stood before the tent.

Old Nestor, rising then, the hero led To his high seat: the chief refused and said:

"'Tis now no season for these kind delays; The great Achilles with impatience stays.

To great Achilles this respect I owe; Who asks, what hero, wounded by the foe, Was borne from combat by thy foaming steeds?

With grief I see the great Machaon bleeds.

This to report, my hasty course I bend; Thou know'st the fiery temper of my friend."

"Can then the sons of Greece (the sage rejoin'd) Excite compa.s.sion in Achilles' mind?

Seeks he the sorrows of our host to know?

This is not half the story of our woe.

Tell him, not great Machaon bleeds alone, Our bravest heroes in the navy groan, Ulysses, Agamemnon, Diomed, And stern Eurypylus, already bleed.

But, ah! what flattering hopes I entertain!

Achilles heeds not, but derides our pain: Even till the flames consume our fleet he stays, And waits the rising of the fatal blaze.

Chief after chief the raging foe destroys; Calm he looks on, and every death enjoys.

Now the slow course of all-impairing time Unstrings my nerves, and ends my manly prime; Oh! had I still that strength my youth possess'd, When this bold arm the Epeian powers oppress'd, The bulls of Elis in glad triumph led, And stretch'd the great Itymonaeus dead!

Then from my fury fled the trembling swains, And ours was all the plunder of the plains: Fifty white flocks, full fifty herds of swine, As many goats, as many lowing kine: And thrice the number of unrivall'd steeds, All teeming females, and of generous breeds.