Safe from the darts, the care of Heaven he stood,
Amidst alarms, and death, and dust, and blood.
Now past the tomb where ancient Ilus lay,
Through the mid field the routed urge their way;
Where the wild figs th' adjoining summit crown,
That path they take, and speed to reach the town.
As swift Atrides with loud shouts pursued,
Hot with his toil, and bath'd in hostile blood,
Now near the beech-tree, and the Scaan gates,
The hero halts, and his associates waits.
Meanwhile on every side, around the plain,
Dispers'd, disorder'd, fly the Trojan train:
So flies a herd of beeves, that here dismay'd
The lion's roaring through the midnight shade;
On heaps they tumble with successless haste:
The savage seizes, draws, and rends the last :
Not with less fury stern Atrides flew,
Still press'd the rout, and still the hindmost slew;
Hurl'd from their cars, the bravest chiefs are kill'd,
And rage, and death, and carnage, load the field.
Now storms the victor at the Trojan wall;
Surveys the towers, and meditates their fall.
But Jove descending, shook th' Idaan hills,
And down their summits pour'd a hundred rills:
Th' unkindled lightnings in his hand he took,
And thus the many-colour'd maid bespoke :

Iris, with haste thy golden wings display,
To godlike Hector this our word convey-
While Agamemnon wastes the ranks around,
Fights in the front, and bathes with blood the

ground,

Bid him give way; but issue forth commands,
And trust the war to less important hands,
But when, or wounded by the spear or dart,
That chief shall mount his chariot, and depart:
Then Jove shall string his arm, and fire his 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."

He spoke, and Iris at his word obey'd;
On wings of winds descends the various maid.
The chief she found amidst the ranks of war,
Close to the bulwarks, on his glittering car.
The goddess 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 prest,
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 spirits, to each breast returns:
The fight rencw'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 fac'd 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 nurs'd 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
(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 lov'd bride departs with melting eyes,
And swift to aid his dearer country flies.
With twelve black ships he reach'd Percope's
strand,

[charms

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 discharg'd the missive spear;
The Trojan stoop'd, the javelin pass'd in air.
Then near the corselet, 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.
Encumber'd with the dart, Atrides stands,
Till, grasp'd with force, he wrench'd it from his
hands,

At once his weighty sword discharg'd a wound
Full on his neck, that fell'd him to the ground.
Stretch'd in the dust th' unhappy warrior lies,
And slecp 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 passion, lavish of his store,
Bestow'd so much, and vainly promis'd more!
Unwept, uncover'd, on the plain he lay,
While the proud victor bore his arms away.

Coon, Antenor's eldest hope, was nigh:
Tears, at the sight, came starting from his eye,
While pierc'd with grief the much-lov'd 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 transpierc'd the brawny part,
And through his arm stood forth the barbed dart.
Surpris'd the monarch feels, yet void of fear
On Coon rushes with his lifted spear:
His brother's corpse the pious Trojan draws,
And calls his country to assert 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 the brazen dart;
Prone 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 vietor 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'er

thrown.

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 Ilythiæ send

(The powers that cause the teeming matron's throes, Sad mothers of unutterable woes!)

[won,

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! assert your honours
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 space,
The wounded monarch at his tent they place.
No sooner Hector saw the king retir'd,
But thus his Trojans and his aids he fir'd:

Hear, all ye Dardan, all ye Lycian race!
Fam'd 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 provoke their doubting heart,
And springs the foremost with his lifted dart:
So godlike Hector prompts his troops to dare;
Nor prompts alone, but leads himself the war.
On the black body of the foes he pours; [showers,
As from the cloud's deep bosom, swell'd with
A sudden storm the purple ocean sweeps,
Drives the wild waves, and tosses all the deeps.
Say, Muse! when Jove the Trojans' glory crown'd,
Beneath his arm what heroes bit the ground?
Assæus, Dolops, and Autonous dy'd,
Opites next was added to their side;

Then brave Hipponous fam'd in many a fight,
Opheltius, Orus, sunk to endless night:
Asymnus, Agelaus; all chiefs of name;
The rest were vulgar deaths, unknown to fame.
As when a western whirlwind, charg'd 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 awak'd 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 reply'd:
"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, rais'd his vengeful steel,
And from his car the proud Thymbræus fell:
Molion, the charioteer, pursued his lord,
His death ennobled by Ulysses' sword.

| There slain, they left them in eternal night,
Then plung'd 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 respir'd 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 urg'd them on; the father warn'd in vain,
They rush'd to fight, and perish'd on the plain!
Their breasts 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-fam'd hero of Pæonian 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 experienc'd eyes
Traverse the files, and to the rescue flies;
Shouts, as he past, the crystal regions rend,
And moving armies on his march attend.
Great Diomed himself was seiz'd with fear,
And thus bespoke his brother of the war: [yield!
"Mark how this way yon bending squadrons
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 danc'd,
Raz'd the smooth cone, and thence obliquely

glanc'd.

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 follow'd 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 shalt not long the death deserv'd withstand, If any god assist Tydides' hand. Fly then, inglorious! but thy flight, this day, Whole hecatombs of Trojan ghosts shall pay.'

Him, while he triumph'd, Paris ey'd 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 plac'd, he bent his bow, And wing'd an arrow at th' unwary foe; Just as he stoop'd, Agastrophus's crest To seize, and drew the corselct from his breast, The bow-string twang'd; nor flew the shaft in vain, But picre'd 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, 66 some god has sped

my dart; Would the same god had fixt it in his heart!

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 pierc'd 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 god.
He lends the lash; the steeds with sounding feet
Shake the dry field, and thunder tow'rd the fleet.
But now Cebriones, from Hector's car,
Survey'd the various fortune of the war. [slain;
"While here" (he cry'd) “the flying Greeks are
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 seven-fold 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;
Stang by the stroke, the coursers scour the fields,
O'er heaps of carcases, and hills of shields.
The horses' hoofs are bath'd 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 lie 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, [heart;
Shot heaven-bred horrour through the Grecian's
Confus'd, unnerv'd in Hector's presence grown,
Amaz'd he stood, with terrours not his own.
O'er his broad back his moony shield he threw,
And, glaring round, with tardy steps withdrew.
Thus the grim lion his retreat maintains,
Beset with watchful dogs and shouting swains,
Pepuls'd 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 th' indignant beast retires.
So turn'd stern Ajax, by whole hosts repell'd,
While his swolu 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 chas'd, And stirs but slowly when he stirs at last. On Ajax thus a weight o: Trojans hung, The strokes redoubled on his buckler rung; Confiding now in bulky strength he stands, Now turns, and backwards 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 lanch'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 fied:
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 retir'd,
Yet thus, retreating, his associates fir'd: [may'd?
"What god, O Grecians! has your heart dis-
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 urg'd the chief; a generous troop appears,
Who spread their bucklers and advance their spears,
To guard their wounded friend: while thus they
With pious care, great Ajax joins the band: [stand
Each takes new courage at the hero's sight;
The hero rallies and renews the fight.

Thus rag'd 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 tight; 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 Menœtius' much-lov'd 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 lov'd injunctions lay; Whate'er thy will, Patroclus shall obey."

"O first of friends!" (Pelides thus reply'd) "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 pass'd me with so swift a pace.”

The hero said. His friend obey'd with haste, Through intermingled ships and tents he pass'd; The chiefs descending from their car he found; The panting steeds Eurymedon unbound. The warriors standing on the breezy shore, To dry their sweat, and wash away the gore, He paus'd 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 prescrib'd fair Hecamede prepares,
Arsinous' daughter, grac'd 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 plac'd;
Whose ample orb a brazen charger grac'd :
Honey new press'd, the sacred flower of wheat,
And wholesome garlic, crown'd the savoury treat.
Next her white hand a spacious goblet brings,
A goblet sacred to the Pylian kings
From eldest times: the massy sculptur'd vase,
Glittering with golden studs, four handies grace;
And curling vines around each handle roll'd
Support two turtledoves emboss'd in gold.
A massy weight, yet heav'd 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 vine ;
With goat's-milk cheese a flavorous 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 warrior's thirst allay,
And pleasing conference beguiles the day.

Meantime Patroclus, by Achilles sent,
Unheard approach'd, and stood before the tent.
Old Nestor rising then, the hero led
To his high seat; the chief refus'd, 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 compassion 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:
Ev'n 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 any manly prime;
Oh! had I still that strength my youth possess'd,
When this bold arm th' Epeian powers oppress'd,
The bulls of Elis in glad triumph led,
And stretch'd the great Itymonæus 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.
These, as my first essay of arms, I won;
Old Neleus glory'd in his conquering son.
Thus Elis fore'd, her long arrears restor'd,
And shares were parted to each Pylian lord.
The state of Pyle was sunk to last despair,
When the proud Elians first commenc'd the war;
For Neleus' sons Alcides' rage had slain;
Of twelve bold brothers, I alone remain!

Oppress'd, we arm'd; and now this conquest gain'd,
My sire three hundred chosen sheep obtain'd.
(That large reprisal he might justly clain,
For prize defrauded, and insulted fame,
When Elis' monarch at the public course
Detain'd his chariot and victorious horse.)
The rest the people shar'd; myself survey'd
The just partition, and due victims pay'd.
Three days were past, when Elis rose to war,
With many a courser, and with many a car;
The sons of Actor at their army's head
(Young as they were) the vengeful squadrons led.
High on a rock fair Thryossa stands,
Our utmost frontier on the Pylian lands;
Not far the streams of fam'd Alphæus flow;
The stream they pass'd, and pitch'd their tents below.
Pallas, descending in the shades of night,
Alarms the Pylians, and commands the fight.
Each burns for fame, and swells with martial pride;
Myself the foremost; but my sire deny'd;
Fear'd for my youth, expos'd to stern alarms;
And stopp'd my chariot, and detain'd my arins.
My sire deny'd in vain: on foot I fled
Amidst our chariots: for the goddess led.
"Along fair Arene's delightful plain,
Soft Minyas rolls his waters to the main.
There, horse and foot, the Pylian troops unite,
And, sheath'd in arms, expect the dawning light.
Thence, ere the Sun advanc'd his noon-day flame,
To great Alphæus' sacred source we came.
There first to Jove our solemn rites were paid;
An untam'd heifer pleas'd the blue-ey'd maid;
A bull Alphæus; and a bull was slain
To the blue monarch of the watery main.
In arms we slept, beside the winding flood,
While round the town the fierce Epeians stood.
Soon as the Sun, with all-revealing ray,
Flam'd in the front of Heaven, and gave the day;
Bright scenes of arms, and works of war, appear;
The nations meet; there Pylos, Elis here.
The first who fell, beneath my javelin bled;
King Augias' son, and spouse of Agamede:
(She that all simples' healing virtues knew,
And every herb that drinks the morning dew.)
seiz'd his car, the van of battle led;
Th' Epeians saw, they trembled, and they fled.
The foe dispers'd, their bravest warrior kill'd,
Fierce as a whirlwind now I swept the field:
Full fifty captive chariots grac'd my train;
Two chiefs from each fell breathless to the plain.
Then Actor's sons had dy'd, but Neptune shrouds
The youthful heroes in a veil of clouds.
O'er heapy shields, and o'er the prostrate throng,
Collecting spoils, and slaughtering all along,
Through wide Buprasian fields we fore'd the foes,
Where o'er the vales th' Olenian rocks arose;
Till Pallas stopp'd us where Alisium flows.
Ev'n there the bindmost of their rear I slay,
And the same arm that led, concludes the day,
Then back to Pyle triumphant take my way.
There to high Jove were public thanks assign'd,
As first of gods; to Nestor, of mankind.
Such then I was, impell'd by youthful blood;
So prov'd iny valour for my country's good.
"Achilles with unactive fury glows,
And gives to passion what to Greece he owes.
How shall he grieve, when to th' eternal shade
Her hosts shall sink, nor his the power to aid?
O friend! my memory recalls the day,
When, gathering aids along the Grecian sea,