Iliad

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 uncontainéd tears; and, like a fountain pour'd

In black streams from a lofty rock, the Greeks so plagu'd 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 hath 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 lovéd Phthia brought,

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

On thy kind spirit? Actor's son, the good Menœtius,

Thy father, lives, and Peleus, mine, great son of Æacus,

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 Eurypylus;

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 heav'n'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 may 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-tiréd friend's will breathe; our fresh-set-on supply

Will eas'ly drive their wearied off.” Thus, foolish man, he sued

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 anyone 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 ev'ry 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 whose darts, and with Jove's will beside,

His pow'rs were cloy'd, and his bright helm did deaf'ning blows abide,

His plume, and all bead-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 trembling under his conceit, which was that 'twas Jove's deed,

Who, as be poll'd off his dart's heads, 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 amell'd, 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 giv'n 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 ev'ry 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 oceán, where that fierce Harpy fed.

Automedon join'd these before, and with the hindmost gears

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 Gen'ral'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 ev'rv 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 Perieres. 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 clam'rous hunting, and doth bear the crooked bow of gold)

Stole to her bed in that chaste room, that Phœbe 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 Echecæus, Actor's heir, woo'd earnestly, and won

Her second favour, feeing 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 Mæmalides

Pisandrus, who in skill of darts obtain'd supremest praise

Of all the Myrmidons, except their lord's companion.

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

Son of Laerces, and much fam'd. All these digested thus

In fit place by the mighty son of royal Peleüs,

This stern remembrance he gave all: “You, Myrmidons,” said he,

“Lest any of you should forget his threat'nings us'd 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 Peleüs, 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 gen'rous 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 impell,

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

His honest mind to make sure work; so, for the high estate

This work was brought to, these men's minds, according to the rate,

Were rais'd, and all their bodies join'd; but their well-spoken king,

With his so timely-thought-on speech, more sharp made valour's sting,

And thicken'd so their targets boss'd, so all their helmets then,

That shields propp'd shields, helms helmets knock'd, and men encourag'd men.

Patroclus and Automedon did arm before them all,

Two bodies with one mind inform'd; and then the General

Betook him to his private tent, where from a coffer wrought

Most rich and curiously, and giv'n by Thetis to be brought

In his own ship, top-fill'd with vests, warm robes to check cold wind,

And tapestries all gold'n-fring'd, and curl'd with thrumbs behind,

He took a most unvalu'd bowl, in which none drank but he;

Nor he but to the Deities, nor any Deity

But Jove himself was serv'd with that; and that he first did cleanse

With sulphur, then with fluences of sweetest water rense;

Then wash'd his hands, and drew himself a mighty bowl of wine,

Which (standing midst the place enclos'd for services divine,

And looking up to heav'n and Jove, who saw him well) he pour'd

Upon the place of sacrifice, and humbly thus implor'd:

“Great Dodonæus, president of cold Dodone's tow'rs,

Divine Pelasgicus, that dwellest far hence; about whose bow'rs

Th' austere prophetic Selli dwell, that still sleep on the ground,

Go bare, and never cleanse their feet; as I before have found

Grace to my vows, and hurt to Greece, so now my pray'rs intend.

I still stay in the gather'd fleet, but have dismiss'd my friend,

Amongst my many Myrmidons, to danger of the dart;

O grant his valour my renown, arm with my mind his heart!

That Hector's self may know my friend can work in single war,

And not then only show his hands, so hot and singular,

When my kind presence seconds him. But, fight he ne'er so well,

No further let him trust his fight, but, when he shall repell

Clamour and danger from our fleet, vouchsafe a safe retreat

To him and all his companies, with fames and arms complete.”

He pray'd, and heav'n's great Counsellor gave satisfying ear

To one part of his orisons, but left the other there;

He let him free the fleet of foes, but safe retreat denied.

Achilles left that utter part where he his zeal applied,

And turn'd into his inner tent, made fast his cup, and then

Stood forth, and with his mind beheld the foes fight; and his men,

That follow'd his great-minded friend, embattled till they brake

With gallant spirit upon the foe. And as fell wasps, that make

Their dwellings in the broad high-way, which foolish children use

(Their cottages being near their nests) to anger and abuse

With ever vexing them, and breed (to soothe their childish war)

A common ill to many men, since if a traveller

(That would his journey's end apply, and pass them unassay'd)

Come near and vex them, upon him the children's faults are laid,

For on they fly as he were such, and still defend their own;

So far'd it with the fervent mind of ev'ry Myrmidon,

Who pour'd themselves out of their fleet upon their wanton foes,

That needs would stir them, thrust so near, and cause the overthrows

Of many others, that had else been never touch'd by them,

Nor would have touch'd. Patroclus then put his wind to the stream,

And thus exhorted: “Now, my friends, remember you express

Your late-urg'd virtue, and renown our great Æacides.

That, he being strong'st of all the Greeks, his eminence may dim

All others likewise in our strengths, that far off imitate him:

And Agamemnon now may see his fault as general

As his place high, dishonouring him that so much honours all.”

Thus made he sparkle their fresh fire, and on they rush'd; the fleet

Fill'd full her hollow sides with sounds, that terribly did greet

Th' amazed Trojans; and their eyes did second their amaze

When great Menœtius' son they saw, and his friend's armour blaze.

All troops stood troubled, with conceit that Peleus' son was there,

His anger cast off at the ships; and each look'd ev'rywhere

For some authority to lead the then preparéd flight.

Patroclus greeted with a lance the region where the fight

Made strongest tumult, near the ship Protesilaus brought,

And strook Pyræchmen; who before the fair-helmed Pæons fought,

Led from Amydon, near whose walls the broad-stream'd Axius flows.

Through his right shoulder flew the dart, whose blow strook all the blows

In his pow'r from his pow'rless arm, and down he groaning fell;

His men all flying, their leader fled. This one dart did repell

The whole guard plac'd about the ship, whose fire extinct, half burn'd

The Pæons left her, and full cry to clam'rous flight return'd.

Then spread the Greeks about their ships; triumphant tumult flow'd:

And, as from top of some steep hill the Lightner strips a cloud,

And lets a great sky out from heav'n, in whose delightsome light

All prominent foreheads, forests, tow'rs, and temples cheer the sight;

So clear'd these Greeks this Trojan cloud, and at their ships and tents

Obtain'd a little time to breathe, but found no present vents

To their inclusions; nor did Troy, though these Pæonians fled,

Lose any ground, but from this ship they needfully turn'd head.

Then ev'ry man a man subdu'd. Patroclus in the thigh

Strook Areilycus; his dart the bone did break, and fly

Quite through, and sunk him to the earth. Good Menelaus slew

Accomplish'd Thoas, in whose breast, being nak'd, his lance he threw

Above his shield, and freed his soul. Phylides, taking note

That bold Amphiclus bent at him, prevented him, and smote

His thigh's extreme part, where of man his fattest muscle lies,

The nerves torn with his lance's pile, and darkness clos'd his eyes.

Antilochus Atymnius seiz'd, his steel lance did impress

His first three guts, and loos'd his life. At young Nestorides,

Maris, Atymnius' brother, flew; and at him Thrasymed

The brother to Antilochus; his eager jav'lin's head

The muscles of his arm cut out, and shiver'd all the bone;

Night clos'd his eyes, his lifeless corse his brother fell upon.

And so by two kind brothers' hands, did two kind brothers bleed;

Both being divine Sarpedon's friends, and were the darting seed

Of Amisodarus, that kept the bane of many men

Abhorr'd Chimæra; and such bane now caught his childeren.

Ajax Oïliades did take Cleobulus alive,

Invading him stay'd by the press; and at him then let drive

With his short sword that cut his neck; whose blood warm'd all the steel,

And cold Death with a violent fate his sable eyes did seel.

Peneleüs, and Lycon cast together off their darts;

Both miss'd, and both together then went with their swords; in parts

The blade and hilt went, laying on upon the helmet's height.

Peneleus' sword caught Lycon's neck, and cut it thorough quite.

His head hung by the very skin. The swift Meriones,

Pursuing flying Acamas, just as he got access

To horse and chariot overtook, and took him such a blow

On his right shoulder, that he left his chariot, and did strow

The dusty earth; life left his limbs, and night his eyes possess'd.

Idomenæus his stern dart at Erymas address'd,

As, like to Acamas, he fled; it cut the sundry bones

Beneath his brain, betwixt his neck, and foreparts; and so runs,

Shaking his teeth out, through his mouth, his eyes all drown'd in blood,

So through his nostrils and his mouth, that now dart-open stood,

He breath'd his spirit. Thus had death from ev'ry Grecian chief

A chief of Troy. For, as to kids, or lambs, their cruell'st thief,

The wolf, steals in, and, when he sees that by the shepherd's sloth

The dams are spers'd about the hills, then serves his rav'nous tooth

With ease, because his prey is weak; so serv'd the Greeks their foes,

Discerning well how shrieking flight did all their spirits dispose,

Their biding virtues quite forgot. And now the natural spleen

That Ajax bore to Hector still, by all means, would have been

Within his bosom with a dart; but he that knew the war,

Well-cover'd in a well-lin'd shield, did well perceive how far

The arrows and the jav'lins reach'd, by being within their sounds

And ominous singings; and observ'd the there-in-clining bounds

Of Conquest in her aid of him, and so obey'd her change,

Took safest course for him and his, and stood to her as strange.

And as, when Jove intends a storm, he lets out of the stars,

From steep Olympus, a black cloud, that all heav'n's splendour bars

From men on earth; so from the hearts of all the Trojan host

All comfort lately found from Jove, in flight and cries was lost.

Nor made they any fair retreat. Hector's unruly horse

Would needs retire him, and he left engag'd his Trojan force,

Forc'd by the steepness of the dike, that in ill place they took,

And kept them that would fain have gone. Their horses quite forsook

A number of the Trojan kings, and left them in the dike;

Their chariots in their foreteams broke. Patroclus then did strike

While steel was hot, and cheer'd his friends; nor meant his enemies good,

Who, when they once began to fly, each way receiv'd a flood,

And chok'd themselves with drifts of dust. And now were clouds begot

Beneath the clouds; with flight and noise the horse neglected not

Their home intendments; and, where rout was busiest, there pour'd on

Patroclus most exhorts and threats; and then lay overthrown

Numbers beneath their axle-trees; who, lying in flight's stream,

Made th' after chariots jot and jump, in driving over them.

Th' immortal horse Patroclus rode, did pass the dike with ease,

And wish'd the depth and danger more; and Menœtiades

As great a spirit had to reach, retiring Hector's haste,

But his fleet horse had too much law, and fetch'd him off too fast.

And as in Autumn the black earth is loaden with the storms

That Jove in gluts of rain pours down, being angry with the forms

Of judgment in authoriz'd men, that in their courts maintain,

With violent office, wrested laws, and (fearing Gods, nor men)

Exile all justice; for whose fault, whole fields are overflown,

And many valleys cut away with torrents headlong thrown

From neighbour mountains, till the sea receive them roaring in,

And judg'd men's labours then are vain, plagu'd for their judge's sin;

So now the foul defaults of some all Troy were laid upon;

So like those torrents roar'd they back to windy Ilion;

And so like tempests blew the horse with ravishing back again

Those hot assailants, all their works at fleet now render'd vain.

Patroclus, when he had dispers'd the foremost phalanxes,

Call'd back his forces to the fleet, and would not let them prease,

As they desir'd, too near the town; but 'twixt the ships and flood,

And their steep rampire, his hand steep'd Revenge in seas of blood.

Then Pronous was first that fell beneath his fi'ry lance,

Which strook his bare breast, near his shield. The second Thestor's chance,

Old Enops' son, did make himself; who shrinking, and set close

In his fair seat, ev'n with th' approach Patroclus made, did lose

All manly courage, insomuch that from his hands his reins

Fell flowing down, and his right jaw Patroclus' lance attains,

Strock through his teeth, and there it stuck, and by it to him drew

Dead Thestor to his chariot. It show'd, as when you view

An angler from some prominent rock draw with his line and hook

A mighty fish out of the sea; for so the Greek did pluck

The Trojan gaping from his seat, his jaws op'd with the dart;

Which when Patroclus drew, he fell; his life and breast did part.

Then rush'd he on Erylaus; at whom he hurl'd a stone,

Which strake his head so in the midst, that two was made of one;

Two ways it fell, cleft through his casque. And then Tlepolemus,

Epaltes, Damastorides, Evippus, Echius,

Ipheas, bold Amphoterus, and valiant Erymas,

And Polymelus, by his sire surnam'd Argeadas,

He heap'd upon the much-fed earth. When Jove's most worthy son,

Divine Sarpedon, saw these friends thus stay'd, and others run,

“O shame! Why fly ye?” then he cried, “Now show ye feet enow.

On, keep your way, myself will meet the man that startles you,

To make me understand his name that flaunts in conquest thus,

And hath so many able knees so soon dissolv'd to us.”

Down jump'd he from his chariot; down leap'd his foe as light.

And as, on some far-looking rock, a cast of vultures fight,

Fly on each other, strike and truss, part, meet, and then stick by,

Tug both with crooked beaks and seres, cry, fight, and fight and cry;

So fiercely fought these angry kings, and show'd as bitter galls.

Jove, turning eyes to this stern fight, his wife and sister calls,

And much mov'd for the Lycian Prince, said: “O that to my son

Fate, by this day and man, should cut a thread so nobly spun!

Two minds distract me; if I should now ravish him from fight,

And set him safe in Lycia; or give the Fates their right.”

“Austere Saturnius,” she replied, “what unjust words are these?

A mortal, long since mark'd by fate, wouldst thou immortalize?

Do, but by no God be approv'd. Free him, and numbers more,

Sons of Immortals, will live free, that death must taste before

These gates of Ilion; ev'ry God will have his son a God,

Or storm extremely. Give him then an honest period

In brave fight by Patroclus' sword, if he be dear to thee,

And grieves thee for his danger'd life; of which when he is free,

Let Death and Somnus bear him hence, till Lycia's natural womb

Receive him from his brother's hands, and citizens'; a tomb

And column rais'd to him. This is the honour of the dead.”

She said, and her speech rul'd his pow'r; but in his safety's stead,

For sad ostent of his near death, he steep'd his living name

In drops of blood heav'n swet for him, which earth drunk to his fame.

And now, as this high combat grew to this too humble end,

Sarpedon's death had this state more; 'twas usher'd by his friend

And charioteer, brave Thrasymed; whom in his belly's rim

Patroclus wounded with his lance, and endless ended him.

And then another act of name foreran his princely fate.

His first lance missing, he let fly a second that gave date

Of violent death to Pedasus; who, as he joy'd to die

By his so honourable hand, did ev'n in dying neigh.

His ruin startled th' other steeds, the gears crack'd, and the reins

Strappled his fellows; whose misrule Automedon restrains

By cutting the intangling gears, and so dissund'ring quite

The brave slain beast; when both the rest obey'd, and went foreright.

And then the royal combatants fought for the final stroke;

When Lycia's Gen'ral miss'd again, his high-rais'd jav'lin took

Above his shoulder empty way. But no such speedless flight

Patroclus let his spear perform, that on the breast did light

Of his brave foe, where life's strings close about the solid heart,

Impressing a recureless wound; his knees then left their part,

And let him fall; when like an oak, a poplar, or a pine,

New fell'd by arts-men on the hills, he stretch'd his form divine

Before his horse and chariot. And as a lion leaps

Upon a goodly yellow bull, drives all the herd in heaps,

And, under his unconquer'd jaws, the brave beast sighing dies;

So sigh'd Sarpedon underneath this prince of enemies,

Call'd Glaucus to him, his dear friend, and said: “Now, friend, thy hands

Much duty owe to fight and arms; now for my love it stands

Thy heart in much hand to approve that war is harmful; now

How active all thy forces are, this one hour's act must show.

First call our Lycian captains up, look round, and bring up all,

And all exhort to stand, like friends, about Sarpedon's fall,

And spend thyself thy steel for me; for be assur'd no day

Of all thy life, to thy last hour, can clear thy black dismay

In woe and infamy for me, if I be taken hence

Spoil'd of mine arms, and thy renown despoil'd of my defence.

Stand firm then, and confirm thy men.” This said, the bounds of death

Concluded all sight to his eyes, and to his nosthrils breath.

Patroclus, though his guard was strong, forc'd way through ev'ry doubt,

Climb'd his high bosom with his foot, and pluck'd his jav'lin out,

And with it drew the film and strings of his yet panting heart;

And last, together with the pile, his princely soul did part.

His horse, spoil'd both of guide and king, thick snoring and amaz'd,

And apt to flight, the Myrmidons made nimbly to, and seiz'd.

Glaucus, to hear his friend ask aid, of him past all the rest,

Though well he knew his wound uncur'd, confusion fill'd his breast

Not to have good in any pow'r, and yet so much good will.

And (laying his hand upon his wound, that pain'd him sharply still,

And was by Teucer's hand set on from their assail'd steep wall,

In keeping hurt from other men) he did on Phœbus call,

The God of med'cines, for his cure: “Thou King of cures,” said he,

“That art perhaps in Lycia with her rich progeny,

Or here in Troy; but any where, since thou hast pow'r to hear,

O give a hurt and woeful man, as I am now, thine ear.

This arm sustains a cruel wound, whose pains shoot ev'ry way,

Afflict this shoulder, and this hand, and nothing long can stay

A flux of blood still issuing; nor therefore can I stand

With any enemy in fight, nor hardly make my hand

Support my lance; and here lies dead the worthiest of men,

Sarpedon, worthy son to Jove, whose pow'r could yet abstain

From all aid in this deadly need; give thou then aid to me,

O King of all aid to men hurt; assuage th' extremity

Of this arm's anguish, give it strength, that by my precedent

I may excite my men to blows, and this dead corse prevent

Of further violence.” He pray'd, and kind Apollo heard,

Allay'd his anguish, and his wound of all the black blood clear'd

That vex'd it so, infus'd fresh pow'rs into his weaken'd mind;

And all his spirits flow'd with joy that Phœbus stood inclin'd,

In such quick bounty, to his pray'rs. Then, as Sarpedon will'd,

He cast about his greedy eye; and first of all instill'd

To all his captains all the stings, that could inflame their fight

For good Sarpedon. And from them, he stretch'd his speedy pace

T' Agenor, Hector, Venus' son, and wise Polydamas;

And (only naming Hector) said: “Hector, you now forget

Your poor auxiliary friends, that in your toils have swet

Their friendless souls out far from home. Sarpedon, that sustain'd

With justice, and his virtues all, broad Lycia, hath not gain'd

The like guard for his person here; for yonder dead he lies

Beneath the great Patroclus' lance. But come, let your supplies,

Good friends, stand near him. O disdain to see his corse defil'd

With Grecian fury; and his arms, by their oppressions spoil'd.

These Myrmidons are come enrag'd, that such a mighty boot

Of Greeks Troy's darts have made at fleet.” This said, from head to foot

Grief strook their pow'rs past patience, and not to be restrain'd,

To hear news of Sarpedon's death; who, though he appertain'd

To other cities, yet to theirs he was the very fort,

And led a mighty people there, of all whose better sort

Himself was best. This made them run in flames upon the foe;

The first man Hector, to whose heart Sarpedon's death did go.

Patroclus stirr'd the Grecian spirits; and first th' Ajaces, thus:

“Now, brothers, be it dear to you, to fight and succour us,

As ever heretofore ye did, with men first excellent.

The man lies slain that first did scale, and raze the battlement

That crown'd our wall, the Lycian prince. But if we now shall add

Force to his corse, and spoil his arms, a prise may more be had

Of many great ones, that for him will put on to the death.”

To this work these were prompt enough; and each side ordereth

Those phalanxes that most had rate of resolutions;

The Trojans and the Lycian pow'rs; the Greeks and Myrmidons.

These ran together for the corse, and clos'd with horrid cries,

Their armours thund'ring with the claps laid on about the prise.

And Jove, about th' impetuous broil, pernicious night pour'd out,

As long as for his lovéd son, pernicious Labour fought.

The first of Troy the first Greeks foil'd; when, not the last indeed

Amongst the Myrmidons, was slain, the great Agacleus' seed,

Divine Epigeus, that before had exercis'd command

In fair Budeiüs; but because he laid a bloody hand

On his own sister's valiant son, to Peleus and his queen

He came for pardon, and obtain'd; his slaughter being the mean

He came to Troy, and so to this. He ventur'd ev'n to touch

The princely carcass; when a stone did more to him by much,

Sent out of able Hector's hand; it cut his skull in twain,

And strook him dead. Patroclus, griev'd to see his friend so slain,

Before the foremost thrust himself. And as a falcon frays

A flock of stares or caddesses; such fear brought his assays

Amongst the Trojans and their friends; and, angry at the heart,

As well as griev'd, for him so slain, another stony dart

As good as Hector's he let fly, that dusted in the neck

Of Sthenelaus, thrust his head to earth first, and did break

The nerves in sunder with his fall; off fell the Trojans too,

Ev'n Hector's self, and all as far as any man can throw

(Provok'd for games, or in the wars to shed an enemy's soul)

A light long dart. The first that turn'd, was he that did control

The targeteers of Lycia, prince Glaucus; who to hell

Sent Bathyclæus, Chalcon's son; he did in Hellas dwell,

And shin'd for wealth and happiness amongst the Myrmidons;

His bosom's midst the jav'lin strook, his fall gat earth with groans.

The Greeks griev'd, and the Trojans joy'd, for so renown'd a man;

About whom stood the Grecians firm. And then the death began

On Troy's side by Meriones; he slew one great in war,

Laogonus, Onetor's son, the priest of Jupiter,

Created in th' Idæan hill. Betwixt his jaw and ear

The dart stuck fast, and loos'd his soul; sad mists of hate and fear

Invading him. Anchises' son despatch'd a brazen lance

At bold Meriones; and hop'd to make an equal chance

On him with bold Laogonus, though under his broad shield

He lay so close. But he discern'd, and made his body yield

So low, that over him it flew, and trembling took the ground,

With which Mars made it quench his thirst; and since the head could wound

No better body, and yet thrown from ne'er the worse a hand,

It turn'd from earth, and look'd awry. Æneas let it stand,

Much angry at the vain event, and told Meriones

He scap'd but hardly, nor had cause to hope for such success

Another time, though well he knew his dancing faculty,

By whose agility he scap'd; for, had his dart gone by

With any least touch, instantly he had been ever slain.

He answer'd: “Though thy strength be good, it cannot render vain

The strength of others with thy jests; nor art thou so divine,

But when my lance shall touch at thee, with equal speed to thine,

Death will share with it thy life's pow'rs; thy confidence can shun

No more than mine what his right claims.” Menœtius' noble son

Rebuk'd Meriones, and said: “What need'st thou use this speech?

Nor thy strength is approv'd with words, good friend, nor can we reach

The body, nor make th' enemy yield, with these our counterbraves.

We must enforce the binding earth, to hold them in her graves.

If you will war, fight. Will you speak? Give counsel Counsel, blows,

Are th' ends of wars and words. Talk here, the time in vain bestows.”

He said, and led; and, nothing less for any thing he said,

(His speech being season'd with such right) the worthy seconded.

And then, as in a sounding vale, near neighbour to a hill,

Wood-fellers make a far-heard noise, with chopping, chopping still,

And laying on, on blocks and trees; so they on men laid load,

And beat like noises into air, both as they strook and trode.

But, past their noise, so full of blood, of dust, of darts, lay smit

Divine Sarpedon, that a man must have an excellent wit

That could but know him, and might fail, so from his utmost head,

Ev'n to the low plants of his feet, his form was alteréd.

All thrusting near it ev'ry way, as thick as flies in spring,

That in a sheep-cote, when new milk assembles them, make wing,

And buzz about the top-full pails. Nor ever was the eye

Of Jove averted from the fight; he view'd, thought, ceaselessly

And diversly upon the death of great Achilles' friend,

If Hector there, to wreak his son, should with his jav'lin end

His life, and force away his arms, or still augment the field;

He then concluded that the flight of much more soul should yield

Achilles' good friend more renown, and that ev'n to their gates

He should drive Hector and his host; and so disanimates

The mind of Hector that he mounts his chariot, and takes Flight

Up with him, tempting all to her; affirming his insight

Knew evidently that the beam of Jove's all-ord'ring scoles

Was then in sinking on their side, surcharg'd with flocks of souls.

Then not the noble Lycians stay'd, but left their slaughter'd lord

Amongst the corses' common heap; for many more were pour'd

About and on him, while Jove's hand held out the bitter broil.

And now they spoil'd Sarpedon's arms, and to the ships the spoil

Was sent by Menœtiades. Then Jove thus charg'd the Sun:

“Haste, honour'd Phœbus, let no more Greek violence be done

To my Sarpedon; but his corse of all the sable blood

And jav'lins purg'd; then carry him, far hence to some clear flood,

With whose waves wash, and then embalm each thorough-cleanséd limb

With our ambrosia; which perform'd, divine weeds put on him,

And then to those swift mates and twins, sweet Sleep and Death, commit

His princely person, that with speed they both may carry it

To wealthy Lycia; where his friends and brothers will embrace,

And tomb it in some monument, as fits a prince's place.”

Then flew Apollo to the fight, from the Idalian hill,

At all parts putting into act his great Commander's will;

Drew all the darts, wash'd, balm'd the corse; which, deck'd with ornament,

By Sleep and Death, those feather'd twins, he into Lycia sent.

Patroclus then Automedon commands to give his steeds

Large reins, and all way to the chace; so madly he exceeds

The strict commission of his friend; which had he kept had kept

A black death from him. But Jove's mind hath evermore outstept

The mind of man; who both affrights, and takes the victory

From any hardiest hand with ease; which he can justify,

Though he himself commands him fight, as now he put this chace

In Menœtiades's mind. How much then weighs the grace,

Patroclus, that Jove gives thee now, in scoles put with thy death,

Of all these great and famous men the honourable breath!

Of which Adrestus first he slew, and next Autonous,

Epistora, and Perimus, Pylartes, Elasus,

Swift Menalippus, Molius; all these were overthrown

By him, and all else put in rout; and then proud Ilion

Had stoop'd beneath his glorious hand, he rag'd so with his lance,

If Phœbus had not kept the tow'r, and help'd the Ilians,

Sustaining ill thoughts 'gainst the prince. Thrice to the prominence

Of Troy's steep wall he bravely leap'd; thrice Phœbus thrust him thence,

Objecting his all-dazzling shield, with his resistless hand;

But fourthly, when, like one of heav'n, he would have stirr'd his stand,

Apollo threaten'd him, and said: “Cease, it exceeds thy fate,

Forward, Patroclus, to expugn with thy bold lance this state;

Nor under great Achilles' pow'rs, to thine superior far,

Lies Troy's grave ruin.” When he spake, Patroclus left that war,

Leap'd far back, and his anger shunn'd. Hector detain'd his horse

Within the Scæan port, in doubt to put his personal force

Amongst the rout, and turn their heads, or shun in Troy the storm.

Apollo, seeing his suspense, resum'd the goodly form

Of Hector's uncle, Asius; the Phrygian Dymas' son,

Who near the deep Sangarius had habitation,

Being brother to the Trojan queen. His shape Apollo took,

And ask'd of Hector, why his spirit so clear the fight forsook?

Affirming 'twas unfit for him, and wish'd his forces were

As much above his, as they mov'd in an inferior sphere.

He should, with shame to him, be gone; and so bade drive away

Against Patroclus, to approve, if He that gave them day

Would give the glory of his death to his preferréd lance.

So left he him, and to the fight did his bright head advance,

Mix'd with the multitude, and stirr'd foul tumult for the foe.

Then Hector bade Cebriones put on; himself let go

All other Greeks within his reach, and only gave command

To front Patroclus. He at him; jump'd down; his strong left hand

A jav'lin held, his right a stone, a marble sharp and such

As his large hand had pow'r to gripe, and gave it strength as much

As he could lie to; nor stood long, in fear of that huge man

That made against him, but full on with his huge stone he ran,

Discharg'd, and drave it 'twixt the brows of bold Cebriones.

Nor could the thick bone there prepar'd extenuate so th' access,

But out it drave his broken eyes, which in the dust fell down,

And he div'd after; which conceit of diving took the son

Of old Menœtius, who thus play'd upon the other's bane.

“O heav'ns! For truth, this Trojan was a passing active man!

With what exceeding ease he dives, as if at work he were

Within the fishy seas! This man alone would furnish cheer

For twenty men, though 'twere a storm, to leap out of a sail,

And gather oysters for them all, he does it here as well,

And there are many such in Troy.” Thus jested he so near

His own grave death; and then made in, to spoil the charioteer,

With such a lion's force and fate, as, often ruining

Stalls of fat oxen, gets at length a mortal wound to sting

His soul out of that rav'nous breast, that was so insolent,

And so his life's bliss proves his bane; so deadly confident

Wert thou, Patroclus, in pursuit of good Cebriones,

To whose defence now Hector leap'd. The opposite address,

These masters of the cry in war now made, was of the kind

Of two fierce kings of beasts, oppos'd in strife about a hind

Slain on the forehead of a hill, both sharp and hungry set

And to the currie never came but like two deaths they met;

Nor these two entertain'd less mind of mutual prejudice

About the body, close to which when each had press'd for prise,

Hector the head laid hand upon, which, once grip'd, never could

Be forc'd from him; Patroclus then upon the feet got hold,

And he pinch'd with as sure a nail. So both stood tugging there,

While all the rest made eager fight, and grappled ev'ry where.

And as the east and south winds strive, to make a lofty wood

Bow to their greatness, barky elms, wild ashes, beeches, bow'd

Ev'n with the earth, in whose thick arms the mighty vapours lie,

And toss by turns, all, either way, their leaves at random fly,

Boughs murmur, and their bodies crack, and with perpetual din

The sylvans falter, and the storms are never to begin;

So rag'd the fight, and all from Flight pluck'd her forgotten wings,

While some still stuck, still new-wing'd shafts flew dancing from their strings,

Huge stones sent after that did shake the shields about the corse,

Who now, in dust's soft forehead stretch'd, forgat his guiding horse.

As long as Phœbus turn'd his wheels about the midst of heaven,

So long the touch of either's darts the falls of both made even;

But, when his wain drew near the west, the Greeks past measure were

The abler soldiers, and so swept the Trojan tumult clear

From off the body, out of which they drew the hurl'd-in darts,

And from his shoulders stripp'd his arms; and then to more such parts

Patroclus turn'd his striving thoughts, to do the Trojans ill.

Thrice, like the God of war, he charg'd, his voice as horrible,

And thrice-nine those three charges slew; but in the fourth assay,

O then, Patroclus, show'd thy last; the dreadful Sun made way

Against that onset; yet the prince discern'd no Deity,

He kept the press so, and, besides, obscur'd his glorious eye

With such felt darkness. At his back, he made a sudden stand,

And 'twixt his neck and shoulders laid down-right with either hand

A blow so weighty, that his eyes a giddy darkness took,

And from his head his three-plum'd helm the bounding violence shook,

That rung beneath his horses' hooves, and, like a water-spout,

Was crush'd together with the fall; the plumes that set it out,

All spatter'd with black blood and dust; when ever heretofore

It was a capital offence to have or dust or gore

Defile a triple-feather'd helm, but on the head divine

And youthful temples of their prince it us'd, untouch'd, to shine.

Yet now Jove gave it Hector's hands, the other's death was near.

Besides whose lost and filéd helm his huge long weighty spear,

Well-bound with iron, in his hand was shiver'd, and his shield

Fell from his shoulders to his feet, the bawdrick strewing the field;

His curets left him, like the rest. And all this only done

By great Apollo. Then his mind took in confusion,

The vig'rous knittings of his joints dissolv'd; and, thus dismay'd,

A Dardan, one of Panthus' sons, and one that overlaid

All Trojans of his place with darts, swift footing, skill, and force

In noble horsemanship, and one that tumbled from their horse,

One after other, twenty men, and when he did but learn

The art of war; nay when he first did in the field discern

A horse and chariot of his guide; this man, with all these parts,

(His name Euphorbus) comes behind, and 'twixt the shoulders darts

Forlorn Patroclus, who yet liv'd, and th' other (getting forth

His jav'lin) took him to his strength; nor durst he stand the worth

Of thee, Patroclus, though disarm'd, who yet (discomfited

By Phœbus' and Euphorbus' wound) the red heap of the dead

He now too late shunn'd, and retir'd. When Hector saw him yield,

And knew he yielded with a wound, he scour'd the arméd field,

Came close up to him, and both sides strook quite through with his lance.

He fell, and his most weighty fall gave fit tune to his chance;

For which all Greece extremely mourn'd. And as a mighty strife

About a little fount begins, and riseth to the life

Of some fell boar resolv'd to drink; when likewise to the spring

A lion comes alike dispos'd, the boar thirsts, and his king,

Both proud, and both will first be serv'd; and then the lion takes

Advantage of his sov'reign strength, and th' other, fainting, makes

Resign his thirst up with his blood; Patroclus, so enforc'd

When he had forc'd so much brave life, was from his own divorc'd.

And thus his great divorcer brav'd: “Patroclus, thy conceit

Gave thee th' eversion of our Troy, and to thy fleet a freight

Of Trojan ladies, their free lives put all in bands by thee;

But (too much prizer of thy self) all these are propp'd by me,

For these have my horse stretch'd their hoofs to this so long a war,

And I (far best of Troy in arms) keep off from Troy as far,

Ev'n to the last beam of my life, their necessary day.

And here, in place of us and ours, on thee shall vultures prey,

Poor wretch; nor shall thy mighty friend afford thee any aid,

That gave thy parting much deep charge, and this perhaps be said:

'Martial Patroclus, turn not face, nor see my fleet before

The curets from great Hector's breast, all gilded with his gore,

Thou hew'st in pieces.' If thus vain were his far-stretched commands,

As vain was thy heart to believe his words lay in thy hands.”

He, languishing, replied: “This proves, thy glory worse than vain,

That when two Gods have giv'n thy hands what their pow'rs did obtain,

(They conqu'ring, and they spoiling me both of my arms and mind,

It being a work of ease for them) thy soul should be so blind

To oversee their evident deeds, and take their pow'rs to thee;

When, if the pow'rs of twenty such had dar'd t' encounter me,

My lance had strew'd earth with them all. Thou only dost obtain

A third place in my death; whom, first, a harmful hate hath slain

Effected by Latona's son; second, and first of men,

Euphorbus. And this one thing more concerns thee; note it then;

Thou shalt not long survive thyself; nay, now death calls for thee,

And violent fate; Achilles' lance shall make this good for me.”

Thus death join'd to his words his end; his soul took instant wing,

And to the house that hath no lights descended) sorrowing

For his sad fate, to leave him young, and in his ablest age.

He dead, yet Hector ask'd him why, in that prophetic rage,

He so forespake him, when none knew but great Achilles might

Prevent his death, and on his lance receive his latest light?

Thus setting on his side his foot, he drew out of his wound

His brazen lance, and upwards cast the body on the ground;

When quickly, while the dart was hot, he charg'd Automedon,

Divine guide of Achilles' steeds, in great contention

To seize him too; but his so swift and deathless horse, that fetch'd

Their gift to Peleus from the Gods, soon rapt him from his reach.