What though, by Jove the female plague design'd,
Fierce to the feeble race of woman-kind,
The wretched matron feels thy piercing dart;
fhy sex's tyrant with a tiger's heart'
What though, tremendous in the woodland chase,
Thy certain arrows pierce the savage race?
How dares thy rashness on the powers divine
Employ those arms, or match thy force with mine?
Learn hence no more unequal war to wage-
She said, and seized her wrists with eager rage:
These in her left hand lock'd, her right untied
The bow, the quiver, and its plumy pride.
About her temples flies the busy bow;

When now the generous youth Achilles spies
Thick beats his heart, the troubled motions rise:
(So ere a storm the waters heave and roll):
560 He stops, and questions thus his mighty soul.
What shall I fly this terror of the plain?
Like others fly, and be like others slain?
Vain hope to shun him by the self-same road
Yon line of slaughter'd Trojans lately trod !
No: with the common heap I scorn to fall-
What if they pass'd me to the Trojan wall,
While I decline to yonder path that leads
To Ida's forests and surrounding shades?
So may I reach conceal'd the cooling flood,

565

Now here, now there, she winds her from the blow: 570 From my tired body wash the dirt and blood;
The scattering arrows rattle from the case,
Drop round and idly mark the dusty place.
Swift from the field the baffled huntress flies,
And scarce restrains the torrent in her eyes:
So when the falcon wings her way above,
To the cleft cavern speeds the gentle dove,
(Not fated yet to die) there safe retreats,
Yet still her heart against the marble beats.
To her Latona hastes with tender care,
Whom Hermes viewing thus declines the war:
How shall I face the dame who gives delight
To him whose thunders blacken heaven with night?
Go matchless goddess! triumph in the skies,
And boast my conquest while I yield the prize.

He spoke and pass'd: Latona, stooping low,
Collects the shatter'd shafts and fallen bow,
That glittering on the dust, lay here and there;
Dishonour'd relics of Diana's war.

Then swift pursued her to her bless'd abode,
Where all confused she sought the sovereign god;
Weeping she grasp'd his knees: the ambroisal vest
Shook with her sighs, and panted on her breast.
The sire superior smiled; and bade her shew
What heavenly hand had caused his daughter's woe.
Abash'd she names his own imperial spouse;
And the pale crescent fades upon her brows.
Thus they above: while swiftly gliding down,

Apollo enters Ilion's sacred town:

The guardian god now trembled for her wall,

585

650

655

660

As soon as night her dusky veil extends,
Return in safety to my Trojan friends.
What if? But wherefore all this vain debate?
Stand I to doubt within the reach of Fate?

580

590

575 E'en now perhaps, ere yet I turn the wall,
The fierce Achilles sees me and I fall:
Such is his swiftness, 'tis in vain to fly,
And such his valour that who stands must die.
Howe'er 'tis better fighting for the state,
Here and in public view to meet my fate.
Yet sure he too is mortal! he may feel
(Like all the sons of earth) the force of steel;
One only soul informs that dreadful frame,
And Jove's sole favour gives him all his fame.
He said, and stood collected in his might;
And all his beating bosom claim'd the fight.
So from some deep-grown wood a panther starts,
Roused from his thicket by a storm of darts:
Untaught to fear or fly, he hears the sounds
Of shouting bunters and of clamorous hounds;
Though struck, though wounded, scarce perceives the

665

670

675

680

pain;

595

And the barb'd javelin stings his breast in vain:
On their whole war untamed the savage flies;
And tears his hunter, or beneath him dies.
Not less resolved, Antenor's valiant heir
Confronts Achilles, and awaits the war,
Disdainful of retreat: high-held before,
His shield (a broad circumference) he bore;

685

690

306

610

And fear'd the Greeks, though Fate forbade her fall. 600 Then graceful as he stood in act to throw
Back to Olympus from the war's alarms
Return'd the shining bands of gods in arms;
Some proud in triumphs, some with rage on fire;
And take their thrones around the ethereal sire.
Through blood, through death, Achilles still proceeds
O'er slaughter'd heroes, and o'er rolling steeds.
As when avenging flames, with fury driven
On guilty towns, exert the wrath of Heaven;
The pale inhabitants, some fall, some fly;
And the red vapours purple all the sky:
So raged Achilles: death and dire dismay,
And toils, and terrors, fill'd the dreadful day.
High on a turret hoary Priam stands,
And marks the waste of his destructive hands;
Views from his arms the Trojans' scatter'd flight,
And the near hero rising on his sight!
No stop, no check, no aid! With feeble pace,
And settled sorrow on his aged face,
Fast as he could he sighing quits the walls;
And thus descending, on the guards he calls;
You to whose care our city gates belong,
Set wide your portals to the flying throng:
For lo! he comes with unresisted sway;
He comes, and desolation marks his way!
But when within the walls our troops take breath,
Lock fast the brazen bars, and shut out death.
Thus charged the reverend monarch: wide were
The opening folds; the sounding hinges rung.
Phoebus rush'd forth the flying bands to meet;
Struck slaughter back, and cover'd the retreat.
On heaps the Trojans crowd to gain the gate,
And gladsome see their last escape from Fate.
Thither all parch'd with thirst, a heartless train,
Hoary with dust they beat the hollow plain;
And gasping, panting, fainting, labour on,
With heavier strides that lengthen'd toward the town.
Enraged Achilles follows with his spear,
Wild with revenge, insatiable of war.

The lifted javelin, thus bespoke the foe:
How proud Achilles glories in his fame!
And hopes this day to sink the Trojan name
Beneath her ruins! Know that hope is vain;
A thousand woes, a thousand toils remain.
Parents and children our just arms employ,
And strong and many are the sons of Troy.
Great as thou art, e'en thou may'st stain with gore
These Phrygian fields, and press a foreign shore.
He said with matchless force the javelin flung
Smote on his knee; the hollow cuishes rung
Beneath the pointed steel: but safe from harms
He stands impassive in ethereal arms.
Then fiercely rushing on the daring foe,
615 His lifted arm prepares the fatal blow:
But jealous of his fame, Apollo shrouds
The godlike Trojan in a veil of clouds.
Safe from pursuit, and shut from mortal view,
Dismiss'd with fame the favour'd youth withdrew.
620 Meanwhile the god, to cover their escape,

625

flung

695

700

705

710

715

Assumes Agenor's habit, voice, and shape,
Flies from the furious chief in this disguise;
The furious chief still follows where he flies.
Now o'er the fields they stretch with lengthen'd strides,
Now urge the course where swift Scamander glides:
The god now distant scarce a stride before,
Tempts his pursuit, and wheels about the shore;
While all the flying troops their speed employ,
And pour on heaps into the walls of Troy:
630 No stop, no stay; no thought to ask, or tell
Who 'scaped by flight, or who by battle fell.
"Twas tumult all, and violence of flight;
And sudden joy confused, and mix'd affright:
Pale Troy against Achilles shuts her gate;
And nations breathe deliver'd from their fate.

Methinks my suffering country's voice I hear,
But most her worthless sons insult my ear,

On my rash courage charge the chance of war,
And blame those virtues which they cannot share.
No-If I e'er return, return I must
Glorious, my country's terror laid in dust:

Or if I perish, let her see me fall

And will no murmurs fill the courts above?
No gods indignant blame their partial Jove?
Go then (return'd the sire) without delay,
Exert thy will: I give the fates their way.
150 Swift at the mandate pleased Tritonia flies,

155

And stoops impetuous from the cleaving skies.

As through the forest o'er the vale and lawn,
The well-breath'd beagle drives the flying fawn ;
In vain he tries the covert of the brakes,
Or deep beneath the trembling thicket shakes;
Sure of the vapour in the tainted dews.
The certain hound his various maze pursues :
Thus step by step, where'er the Trojan wheel'd,
There swift Achilles compass'd round the field.
160 Oft as to reach the Dardan gates he bends,
And hopes the assistance of his pitying friends
(Whose showering arrows, as he coursed below,
From the high turrets might oppress the foe),
So oft Achilles turns him to the plain:
He eyes the city, but he eyes in vain.
As men in slumber seem with speedy pace
One to pursue, and one to lead the chase,
Their sinking limbs the fancied course forsake,
Nor this can fly, nor that can overtake:

In field at least, and fighting for her wall.
And yet suppose these measures I forego,
Approach unarm'd and parley with the foe,
The warrior-shield, the helm, and lance, lay down,
And treat on terms of peace to save the town:
The wife withheld, the treasure ill-detain'd
(Cause of the war, and grievance of the land),
With honourable justice to restore :
And add half Ilion's yet remaining store,
Which Troy shall sworn produce; that injured Greece
May share our wealth, and leave our walls in peace.
But why this thought? Unarm'd if I should go,
What hope of mercy from this vengeful foe,
But woman-like to fall, and fall without a blow?
We greet not here as man conversing man,
Met at an oak, or journeying o'er a plain;
No season now for calm familiar talk,
Like youths and maidens in an evening walk:
War is our business, but to whom is given
To die or triumph, that determine Heaven!

Thus pondering, like a god the Greek drew nigh,
His dreadful plumage nodded from on high
The Pelian javelin in his better hand
Shot trembling rays that glitter'd o'er the land ;
And on his breast the beamy splendors shone,
Like Jove's own lightning or the rising sun.
As Hector sees, unusual terrors rise,
Struck by some god, he fears, recedes, and flies;
He leaves the gates, he leaves the walls behind:
Achilles follows like the winged wind.
Thus at the panting dove a falcon flies
(The swiftest racer of the liquid skies):

165

175

180

190

170 No less the labouring heroes pant and strain,
While that but flies, and this pursues in vain.
What god, O Muse! assisted Hector's force,
With Fate itself so long to hold the course?
Phoebus it was; who in his latest hour
Endued his knees with strength, his nerves with power:
And great Achilles, lest some Greek's advance
Should snatch the glory from his lifted lance,
Sign'd to the troops to yield his foe the way,
And leave untouch'd the honours of the day.
Jove lifts the golden balances that shew
The fates of mortal men and things below;
Here each contending hero's lot he tries,
And weighs with equal hand their destinies,
Low sinks the scale surcharged with Hector's fate; 275
185 Heavy with death it sinks, and hell receives the weight.
Then Phoebus left him. Fierce Minerva flies
To stern Pelides, and triumphing cries:
Oh, loved of Jove! this day our labours cease,
And conquest blazes with full beams on Greece.
Great Hector falls: that Hector famed so far,
Drunk with renown, insatiable of war,
Falls by thy hand and mine: nor force nor flight
Shall more avail him, nor his god of light.
See where in vain he supplicates above,
Roll'd at the feet of unrelenting Jove!
Rest here: myself will lead the Trojan on,
And urge to meet the fate he cannot shun.

265

270

280

235

195

Just when he holds or thinks he holds his prey,
Obliquely wheeling through the aërial way;
With open beak and shrilling cries he springs,
And aims his claws and shoots upon his wings:
No less fore-right the rapid chase they held
One urged by fury, one by fear impell'd;
Now circling round the walls their course maintain,
Where the high watch-tower overlooks the plain:
Now where the fig-trees spread their umbrage broad,
(A wider compass), smoke along the road.
Next by Scamander's double source they bound,
Where two famed fountains burst the parted ground;
This hot through scorching clefts is seen to rise,
With exhalations steaming to the skies;
That the green banks in summer's heat o'erflows,
Like crystal clear, and cold as winter snows.
Each gushing fount a marble cistern fills,
Whose polish'd bed receives the falling rills,
Where Trojan dames (ere yet alarm'd by Greece)
Wash'd their fair garments in the days of peace.
By these they pass'd, one chasing, one in flight
(The mighty fled, pursued by stronger might).
Swift was the course; no vulgar prize they play,
No vulgar victim must reward the day
(Such as in races crown the speedy strife),
The prize contended was great Hector's life.

As when some hero's funerals are decreed
In grateful honour of the mighty dead;
Where high rewards the vigorous youth inflame
(Some golden tripod, or some lovely dame);
The panting coursers swiftly turn the goal,
And with them turns the raised spectator's soul:
Thus three times round the Trojan wall they fly:
The gazing gods lean forward from the sky:
To whom, while eager on the chase they look,
The sire of mortals and immortals spoke:

Unworthy sight! the man beloved of Heaven,
Behold, inglorious round yon city driven !
My heart partakes the generous Hector's pain;
Hector, whose zeal whole hecatombs has slain,
Whose grateful fumes the gods received with joy,
From Ida's summits and the towers of Troy :
Now see him flying! to his fears resign d
And Fate and fierce Achilles close behind.
Consult, ye powers! ('tis worthy your debate)
Whether to snatch him from impending Fate,
Or let him bear, by stern Pelides slain
(Good as he is), the lot imposed on man?

Her voice divine the chief with joyful mind
Obey'd; and rested, on his lance reclined.
200 While like Deïphobus the martial dame
(Her face, her gesture, and her arms the same)
In shew and aid, by hapless Hector's side
Approach'd, and greets him thus with voice beli ed :
Too long, O Hector, have I borne the sight
205 Of this distress, and sorrow'd in thy flight:
It fits us now a noble stand to make,
And here as brothers equal fates partake.
Then he: O prince! allied in blood and fame,
Dearer than all that own a brother's name;

290

295

ვიც

210 Of all that Hecuba to Priam bore,

215 And much my mother's press'd me to forbear:
My friends embraced my knees, adjured my stay,
But stronger love impell'd, and I obey.
Come then, the glorious conflict let us try,
Let the steel sparkle, and the javelin fly:
220 Or let us stretch Achilles on the field,

310

225

Or to his arm our bloody trophies yield.
Fraudful she said; then swiftly march'd before:
The Dardan hero shuns his foe no more.
Sternly they met. The silence Hector broke ;
His dreadful plumage nodded as he spoke :
Enough, O son of Peleus! Troy has view'd
Her walls thrice circled, and her chief pursued:
But now some god within me bids me try
Thine, or my fate: I kill thee, or I die.
230 Yet on the verge of battle let us stay,
And for a moment's space suspend the day;
Let Heaven's high powers be call'd to arbitrate
The just conditions of this stern debate
(Eternal witnesses of all below,

Then Pallas thus: Shall he whose vengeance forms
The forky bolt, and blackens heaven with storms,
Shall he prolong one Trojan's forfeit breath!
▲ man, a mortal, pre-ordain'd to death?

315

320

235

And faithful guardians of the treasured vow!).
To them I swear; if, victor in the strife,
Jove by these hands shall shed thy noble life,

395

No vile dishonour shall thy corse pursue;
Stripp d of its arms alone (the conqueror's due)
The rest to Greece uninjured I'll restore :
Now plight thy mutual oath, I ask no more.

Talk not of oaths (the dreadful chief replies,
While anger flash'd from his disdainful eyes):
Detested as thou art, and ought to be,
Nor oath nor pact Achilles plights with thee.
Such pacts as lambs and rabid wolves combine,
Such leagues as men and furious lions join,
To such I call the gods! one constant state
Of lasting rancour and eternal hate;
No thought but rage and never-ceasing strite,
Till death extinguish rage, and thought, and life.
Rouse then thy forces this important hour,
Collect thy soul, and call forth all thy power.
No farther subterfuge, no farther chance;
'Tis Pallas, Pallas gives thee to my lance.
Each Grecian ghost by thee deprived of breath
Now hovers round, and calls thee to thy death.

He spoke, and launch'd the javelin at the foe;
But Hector shunn'd the meditated blow:
He stoop'd, while o'er his head the flying spear
Sung innocent, and spent its force in air.
Minerva watch'd it falling on the land,
Then drew and gave to great Achilles' hand,
Unseen of Hector, who, elate with joy,

355

Now shakes his lance, and braves the dread of Troy.
The life you boasted to that javelin given,
Prince! you have miss'd. My fate depends on Heaven.
To thee, presumptuous as thou art, unknown
Or what must prove my fortune or thy own.
Boasting is but an art our fears to blind,
And with false terror sink another's mind.
But know, whatever fate I am to try,
By no dishonest wound shall Hector die;

I shall not fall a fugitive at least,

My soul shall bravely issue from my breast.
But first try thou my arm! and may this dart

Should Troy to bribe me bring forth all her store,

360

350 And giving thousands, offer thousands more;
Should Dardan Priam, and his weeping dame,
Drain the whole realm to buy one funeral flame:
Their Hector on the pile they should not see,
Nor rob the vultures of one limb of thee.
Then thus the chief his dying accents drew:
Thy rage implacable too well I knew:
The Furies that relentless breast have steel'd,
And cursed thee with a heart that cannot yield.
Yet think, a day will come, when Fate's decree
And angry gods shall wreak this wrong on thee;
Phoebus and Paris shall avenge my fate,
And stretch thee here before this Scæan gate.

440

445

450

He ceased. The Fates suppress'd his labouring breath, And his eyes stiffen'd at the hand of death;

365 To the dark realm the spirit wings its way
(The manly body left a load of clay),

455

370

And plaintive glides along the dreary coast,
A naked, wandering, melancholy ghost!
Achilles, musing as he roll'd his eyes
O'er the dead hero, thus (unheard) replies:
Die thou the first! When Jove and Heaven ordain,
I follow thee-He said, and stripp'd the slain.
Then forcing backward from the gaping wound
The reeking javelin, cast it on the ground.

460

End all my country's woes, deep buried in thy heart!
The weapon flew, its course unerring held;
Unerring, but the heavenly shield repell'd
The mortal dart; resulting with a bound
From off the ringing orb, it struck the ground.
Hector beheld his javelin fall in vain,
Nor other lance, nor other hope remain;
He calls Deiphobus, demands a spear,
In vain, for no Deïphobus was there.

All comfortless he stands: then, with a sigh,
"Tis so-Heaven wills it, and my hour is nigh!
I deem'd Deïphobus had heard my call,
But he secure lies guarded in the wall.
A god deceived me: Pallas, 'twas thy deed:
Death and black Fate approach! 'tis I must bleed.
Great Jove deserts me, and the son of Jove,
No refuge now, no succour from above,
Propitious once, and kind! then welcome Fate!
"Tis true I perish, yet I perish great :
Yet in a mighty deed I shall expire,
Let future ages hear it and admire!

Fierce at the word his weighty sword he drew,
And all-collected on Achilles flew.

So Jove's bold bird, high balanced in the air,
Stoops from the clouds to truss the quivering hare.
Nor less Achilles his fierce soul prepares;
Before his breast the flaming shield he bears,
Refulgent orb! above his fourfold cone
The gilded horse hair sparkled in the sun,
Nodding at every step (Vulcanian frame !):
And as he moved his figure seem'd on flame.
As radiant Hesper shines with keener light,
Far beaming o'er the silver host of night.
When all the starry train emblaze the sphere:
So shone the point of great Achilles' spear.
In his right hand he waves the weapon round,
Eyes the whole man, and meditates the wound:
But the rich mail Patroclus lately wore,
Securely cased the warrior's body o'er!
One place at length he spies to let in Fate,
Where 'twixt the neck and throat the jointed plate
Gave entrance: through that penetrable part
Furious he drove the well-directed dart :
Nor pierced the windpipe yet, nor took the power
Of speech unhappy from thy dying hour.
Prone on the field the bleeding warrior lies,
While thus triumphing stern Achilles cries:
At last is Hector stretch'd upon the plain,
Who fear'd no vengeance for Patroclus slain?

375 The thronging Greeks behold with wondering eyes 465
His manly beauty and superior size:
While some ignobler the great dead deface
With wounds ungenerous, or with taunts disgrace:

380

How changed that Hector, who like Jove of late
Sent lightning on our fleets, and scatter'd fate!'
High o'er the slain the great Achilles stands,
Begirt with heroes and surrounding bands;
And thus aloud, while all the hosts attends:
Princes and leaders! countrymen and friends!

470

390

385 Since now at length the powerful will of Heaven
The dire destroyer to our arm has given,
Is not Troy fall'n already? Haste, ye powers!
See if already their deserted towers
Are left unmann'd; or if they yet retain
The souls of heroes, their great Hector stain.
But what is Troy, or glory what to me?
Or why reflects my mind on aught but thee,
Divine Patroclus! Death has seal'd his eyes;
Unwept, unhonour d, uninterr'd, he lies!
395 Can his dear image from my soul depart,
Long as the vital spirit moves my heart?
If in the melancholy shades below,
The flames of friends and lovers cease to glow,
Yet mine shall sacred last; mine undecay'd

400 Burn on through death, and animate my shade.
Meanwhile, ye sons of Greece, in triumph bring
The corse of Hector, and your Pæans sing.
Be this the song, slow-moving toward the shore,
'Hector is dead, and Hion is no more.'

475

480

485

490

405

410

Then his fell soul a thought of vengeance bred
(Unworthy of himself and of the dead).
The nervous ancles bored, his feet he bound
With thongs inserted through the double wound;
These fix'd up high behind the rolling wain,
His graceful head was trail'd along the plain.
Proud on his car the insulting victor stood,
And bore aloft his arms distilling blood.
He smites the steeds; the rapid chariot flies;
The sudden clouds of circling dust arise,
415 Now lost is all that formidable air;
The face divine, and long-descending hair,

Then, prince, you should have fear'd what now you feel; Purple the ground, and streak the sable sand;
Achilles absent was Achilles still.

She spoke; and furious with distracted pace, Fears in her heart, and anguish in her face, Flies through the doom (the maids her steps pursue), And mounts the walls, and sends around her view. 595 Too soon her eyes the killing object found, The godlike Hector dragg'd along the ground. A sudden darkness shades her swimming eyes; She faints, she falls; her breath, her colour flies. Her hair's fair ornaments, the braids that bound, The net that held them, and the wreath that crown'd,