What words are these? (the imperial dame replies,
While anger flash'd from her majestic eyes):
Succour like this a mortal arm might lend,
And such success mere human wit attend:
And shall not I the second power above,
Heaven's queen, and consort of the thundering Jove,
Say, shall not I one nation's fate command,
Not wreak my vengeance on one guilty land?
So they. Meanwhile the silver-footed dame
Reach'd the Vulcanian domie, eternal frame
High-eminent amid the works divine,
Where heaven's far-beaming brazen mansions shine.
There the lame architect the goddess found,
Obscure in smoke, his forges flaming round,
While bathed in sweat from fire to fire he flew ;
And puffing loud, the roaring bellows blew.
That day no common task his labour claim'd:
Full twenty tripods for his hall he framed,
That placed on living wheels of massy gold
(Wondrous to tell) instinct with spirit roll'd
From place to place, around the bless'd abodes,
Self-moved, obedient to the beck of gods:
(E'en while he lives, he wastes with secret woe);
Nor I, a goddess, can retard the blow!
Robb'd of the prize the Grecian suffrage gave,
The king of nations forced his royal slave:
For this he grieved; and, till the Greeks oppress'd
Required his arm, he sorrow'd unredress'd.
Large gifts they promise, and their elders send;
In vain-he arms not, but permits his friend
His arms, his steeds, his forces to employ ;
He marches, combats, almost conquers Troy.
Then slain by Phoebus (Hector had the name)
At once resigns his armour, life, and fame.
But thou, in pity, by my prayer be won:
-Grace with immortal arms this short-lived son,
And to the field in martial pomp restore,
To shine with glory till he shines no more!
To her the artist god: Thy griefs resign,
440 Secure, what Vulcan can, is ever thine.
O could I hide him from the Fates as well,
Or with these hands the cruel stroke repel,
As I shall forge most envied arms, the gaze
Of wondering ages, and the world's amaze !
Thus having said, the father of the fires
To the black labours of his forge retires.
Soon as he bade them blow, the bellows turn'd
Their iron months; and where the furnace burn'd, 540
Resounding breathed: at once the blast expires,
For their fair handles now, o'erwrought with flowers, 445
In moulds prepared, the glowing ore he pours.
Just as responsive to his thought the frame
Stood prompt to move, the azure goddess came:
Charis, his spouse, a Grace divinely fair
(With purple fillets round her braided hair),
Observed her entering; her soft hand she press'd,
And smiling, thus the watry queen address'd:
What, goddess! this unusual favour draws?
All hail, and welcome! whatsoe'er the cause:
Till now a stranger, in a happy hour
Approach, and taste the dainties of the bower.
High on a throne, with stars of silver graced,
And various artifice, the queen she placed;
A footstool at her feet; then, calling, said,
Vulcan, draw near; 'tis Thetis asks your aid.
Thetis(replied the god) our powers may claim,
An ever-dear, an ever-honour'd name !
When my proud mother hurl'd me from the sky
(My awkward form, it seems, displeased her eye),
She and Eurynomè my griefs redress'd,
And soft received me on their silver breast.
E'en then, these arts employ'd my infant thought;
Chains, bracelets, pendants, all their toys I wrought.
Nine years kept secret in the dark abode,
Secure I lay conceal'd from man and god:
Deep in a cavern'd rock my days were led;
The rushing ocean murmur'd o'er my head.
Now since her presence glads our mansion, say,
For such desert what service can I pay?
Vouchsafe, O Thetis! at our board to share
The genial rites and hospitable fare;
While I the labours of the forge forego,
And bid the roaring bellows cease to blow.
Then from his anvil the lame artist rose;
Wide with distorted legs oblique he goes
And stills the bellows, and (in order laid)
Locks in their chests his instruments of trade.
Then with a sponge the sooty workman dress'd
His brawny arms imbrown'd and hairy breast.
With his huge sceptre graced and red attire,
Came halting forth the sovereign of the fire:
The monarch's steps two female forms uphold,
That moved and breathed in animated gold:
To whom was voice, and sense, and science given
Of works divine (such wonders are in heaven !).
On these supported, with unequal gait,
He reach'd the throne where pensive Thetis sate
There placed beside her on the shining frame,
He thus address'd the silver-footed dame:
Thee, welcome goddess! what occasion calls
(So long a stranger) to these honour'd walls?
"Tis thine, fair Thetis, the command to lay,
And Vulcan's joy and duty to obey. :
To whom the raournful mother thus replies
(The crystal drops stood trembling in her eyes):
Oh, Vulcan say, was ever breast divine
So pierced with sorrows, so o'erwhelm'd as mine?
Of all the goddesses, did Jove prepare
For Thetis only such a weight of care?
I, only I, of all the watry race,
By force subjected to a man's embrace,
Who, sinking now with age and sorrow, pays
The mighty fine imposed on length of days.
Sprung from my bed, a godlike hero came,
The bravest sure that ever bore the name
Like some fair plant beneath my careful hand
He grew, he flourish'd, and he graced the land:
To Troy I sent him; but his native shore
Never, ah never, shall receive him more!
450 And twenty forges catch at once the fires;
Just as the god directs, now loud, now low,
They raise a tempest, or they gently blow.
In hissing flames huge silver bars are roll'd,
And stubborn brass, and tin, and solid gold:
455 Before, deep fix'd, the eternal anvils stand;
The ponderous hammer loads his better hand,
His left with tongs turns the vex'd metal round,
And thick, strong strokes, the doubling vaults rebound.
Then first he form'd the immense and solid shield; 551
460 Rich various artifice emblazed the field;
Its utmost verge a threefold circle bound;
A silver chain suspends the massy round;
Five ample plates the broad expanse compose,
And godlike labours on the surface rose.
465 There shone the image of the master-mind:
There earth, there heaven, there ocean he design'd;
The unwearied sun, the moon completely round;
The starry lights that heaven's high convex crown'd; 560
The Pleiads, Hyads, with the Northern Team;
And great Orion's more refulgent beam;
To which, around the axle of the sky,
The Bear revolving points his golden eye,
Still shines exalted on the ethereal plain,
Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main.
Two cities radiant on the shield appear,
The image one of peace, and one of war.
Here sacred pomp and genial feast delight,
And solemn dance, and Hymeneal rite;
Along the street the new-made brides are led,
480 With torches flaming, to the nuptial bed;
The youthful dancers, in a circle bound,
To the soft flute and cittern's silver sound:
Through the fair streets, the matrons in a row
Stand in their porches, and enjoy the show.
There, in the forum swarm a numerous train,
The subject of debate a townsman slain :
One pleads the fine discharged, which one denied,
And bade the public and the law decide:
The witness is produced on either hand:
490 For this or that, the partial people stand:
The appointed heralds still the noisy bands,
And form a ring, with sceptres in their hands;
On seats of stone within the sacred place,
The reverend elders nodded o'er the case;
495 Alternate, each the attesting sceptre took,
And, rising solemn, each his sentence spoke.
Two golden talents lay amidst, in sight,
The prize of him who best adjudged the right.
Another part (a prospect differing far)
500 Glow'd with refulgent arms and horrid war.
Two mighty hosts a leaguer'd town embrace,
And one would pillage, one would burn the place.
Meantime the townsmen, arm'd with silent care,
A secret ambush on the foe prepare:
Soon the white flocks proceeded o'er the plains,
And steers slow moving, and two shepherd swains;
Behind them, piping on their reeds, they go,
Nor fear an ambush nor suspect a foe.
In arms the glittering squadron rising round,
Rush sudden! hills of slaughter heap the ground,
Whole flocks and herds lie bleeding on the plains,
And, all amidst them, dead, the shepherd swains!
The bellowing oxen the besiegers hear;
They rise, take horse, approach, and meet the war;
They fight, they fall, beside the silver flood;
The waving silver seem'd to blush with blood.
There tumult, there contention, stood confess'd;
One rear'd a dagger at a captive's breast,
One held a living foe, that freshly bled
With new-made wounds; another dragg'd a dead;
Now here, now there, the carcasses they tore:
Fate stalk'd amidst them, grim with human gore;
And the whole war came out, and met the eye;
And each bold figure seem'd to live or die.
Now high, now low, their pliant limbs they bend:
And general songs the sprightly revel end.
Thus the broad shield complete the artist crown'd
With his last hand, and pour'd the ocean round:
In living silver seem'd the waves to roll,
And beat the buckler's verge, and bound the whole.
This done, whate'er a warrior's use requires,
He forged the cuirass that outshone the fires,
The greaves of ductile tin, the helm impress'd
With various sculpture, and the golden crest.
At Thetis' feet the finish'd labour lay;
She, as a falcon, cuts the aërial way,
Swift from Olympus' snowy summit flies,
620 And bears the blazing present through the skies.
A field deep-furrow'd next the god design'd, The third time labour'd by the sweating hind; The shining shares full many ploughmen guide, And turn their crooked yokes on every side. Still as at either end they wheel around, The master meets them with his goblet crown'd; The hearty draught rewards, renews their toil, Then back the turning plough-shares cleave the soil: Behind, the rising earth in ridges roll'd;
And sable look'd, though form'd of molten gold. Another field rose high with waving grain:
With bended sickles stand the reaper-train ;
Here stretch'd in ranks the levell'd swaths are found,
Sheaves heap'd on sheaves here thicken up the ground.
With sweeping stroke the mowers strew the lands; 641
The gatherers follow, and collect in bands:
And last the children, in whose arms are borne
(Too short to gripe them) the brown sheaves of corn.
The rustic monarch of the field descries,
With silent glee, the heaps around him rise.
A ready banquet on the turf is laid,
Beneath an ample oak's expanded shade.
The victim ox the sturdy youth prepare;
The reaper's due repast, the women's care.
Next, ripe in yellow gold, a vineyard shines,
Bent with the pondrous harvest of its vines;
A deeper dye the dangling clusters shew,
And, curl'd on silver props, in order glow:
A darker metal mix'd, intrench'd the place:
And pales of glittering tin the enclosure grace.
To this, one path-way gently winding leads,
Where march a train with baskets on their heads
(Fair maids, and blooming youths), that smiling bear
The purple product of the autumnal year.
To these a youth awakes the warbling strings,
Whose tender lay the fate of Linus sings;
In measured dance behind him move the train,
Tune soft the voice, and answer to the strain.
Here, herds of oxen march, erect and bold,
Rear high their horns, and seem to low in gold,
And speed to meadows, on whose sounding shores
A rapid torrent through the rushes roars:
Four golden herdsmen as their guardians stand,
And nine sour dogs complete the rustic band.
Two lions rushing from the wood appear'd,
And seized a bull, the master of the herd:
He roar'd in vain the dogs, the men withstood;
They tore his flesh, and drank the sable blood.
The dogs (oft cheer'd in vain) desert the prey,
Dread the grim terrors, and at distance bay.
Next this, the eye the art of Vulcan leads
Deep through fair forests and a length of meads;
And stalls, and folds, and scatter'd cots between;
And fleecy flocks, that whiten all the scene.
The reconciliation of Achilles and Agamemnon. Thetis brings to her son the armour made by Vulcan. She preserves the body of his friend from corrup tion, and commands him to assemble the army, to declare his resentment at an end. Agamemnon and Achilles are solemnly reconciled: the speeches, presents, and ceremonies, on that occasion. Achilles is with great difficulty persuaded to refrain from the battle till the troops have refreshed themselves, by the advice of Ulysses. The presents are conveyed to the tent of Achilles: where Briseïs laments over the body of Patroclus. The hero obstinately refuses all repast, and gives himself up to lamentations for his friend. Minerva descends to strengthen him, by the order of Jupiter. He arms for the fight his appearance described. He addresses himself to his horses, and reproaches them with the death of Patroclus. One of them is miraculously endued with voice, and inspired to prophesy his fate: but the hero, not astonished by that prodigy, rushes with fury to the combat. The thirtieth day. The scene is on the sea-shore,
as Aurora heaved her orient head Above the waves that blush'd with early red (With new-born day to gladden mortal sight, And gild the courts of heaven with sacred light), 665 The immortal arms the goddess-mother bears Swift to her son: her son she finds in tears Stretch'd o'er Patroclus' corse; while all the rest Their sovereign's sorrows in their own express'd. A ray divine her heavenly presence shed, 670 And thus, his hand soft-touching, Thetis said:
Suppress (my son) this rage of grief, and know
It was not man, but Heaven, that gave the blow;
Behold what arms by Vulcan are bestow'd,
Arms worthy thee, or fit to grace a god.
A figured dance succeeds; such once was seen In lofty Gnossus; for the Cretan queen, Form'd by Dædalean art: a comely band Of youths and maidens, bounding hand in hand: The maids in soft cymars of linen dress'd; The youths all graceful in the glossy vest: Of those the locks with flowery wreaths enroll'd; Of these the sides adorn'd with swords of gold, That glittering gay, from silver belts depend. Now all at once they rise, at once descend With well-taught feet: now shape, in oblique ways, Confusedly regular, the moving maze :
Then in the nostrils of the slain she pour'd
Nectareous drops, and rich ambrosia shower'd
O'er all the corse. The flies forbid their prey,
Untouch'd it rests, and sacred from decay.
Achilles to the strand obedient went;
The shores resounded with the voice he sent.
The heroes heard, and all the naval train
That tend the ships, or guide them o'er the main,
Alarm'd, transported at the well-known sound,
Frequent and full the great assembly crown'd;
Stadious to see that terror of the plain,
Long lost to battle, shine in arms again.
Tydides and Ulysses first appear,
Lame with their wounds, and leaning on the spear;
These on the sacred seats of council placed,
The king of men, Atrides, came the last:
He too sore wounded by Agenor's son,
Achilles, rising in the midst, begun :
Oli monarch! better far had been the fate
Of thee, of me, of all the Grecian state,
If (ere the day when, by mad passion sway'd,
Rash we contended for the black-eyed maid),
Preventing Dian had dispatch'd her dart,
And shot the shining mischief to the heart:
Then many a hero had not press'd the shore,
Nor Troy's glad fields been fatten'd with our gore:
Long, long shall Greece the woes we caused bewail,
And sad posterity repeat the tale.
But this, no more the subject of debate,
Is past, forgotten, and resign'd to fate
Why should (alas!) a mortal man, as I,
Burn with a fury that can never die?
Here then my anger ends: let war succeed,
And e'en as Greece has bled, let Ilion bleed.
Now call the hosts, and try if in our sight
Troy yet shall dare to camp a second night:
I deem, their mightiest, when this arm he knows,
Shall 'scape with transport, and with joy repose.
He said: his finish'd wrath with loud acclaim
The Greeks accept, and shout Pelides' naine.
When thus, not rising from his lofty throne,
In state unmoved, the king of men begun :
Hear me, ye sons of Greece! with silence hear!
And grant your monarch an impartial ear;
Awhile your loud, untimely joy suspend,
And let your rash, injurious clamours end:
Unruly murmurs, or ill timed applause,
Wrong the best speaker, and the justest cause.
Nor charge on me, ye Greeks, the dire debate:
Know, angry Jove, and all-compelling Fate,
With fell Erinnys, urged my wrath that day
When from Achilles' arms I forced the prey.
What then could I, against the will of Heaven?
Not by myself, but vengeful Atè driven;
She, Jove's dread daughter, fated to infest
The race of mortals, enter'd in my breast.
Not on the ground that haughty Fury treads,
But prints her lofty footsteps on the heads
Of mighty men! inflicting as she goes
Long festering wounds, inextricable woes!
Of old, she stalk'd amid the bright abodes;
And Jove himself, the sire of men and gods,
The world's great ruler, felt her venom'd dart;
Deceived by Juno's wiles, and female art.
For when Alcmena's nine long months were run,
And Jove expected his immortal son,
To gods and goddesses the unruly joy
He shew'd, and vaunted of his matchless boy:
From us (he said) this day an infant springs,
Fated to rule, and born a king of kings.
Saturnia ask'd an oath, to vouch the truth,
And fix dominion on the favour'd youth.
The Thunderer, unsuspicious of the fraud,
Pronounced those solemn words that bind a god.
The joyful goddess from Olympus' height,
Swift to Achaian Argos bent her flight;
Scarce seven moons gone, lay Sthenelus's wife;
She push'd her lingering infant into life:
Her charms Alcmena's coming labours stay,
And stop the babe just issuing to the day:
Then bids Saturnius bear his oath in mind:
A youth (says she) of Jove's immortal kind
Is this day born; from Sthenelus he springs,
And claims thy promise to be king of kings.'
Grief seized the Thunderer, by his oath engaged;
Stung to the soul, he sorrow'd and he raged.
From his ambrosial head, where perch'd she sat,
He snatch'd the fury-goddess of debate,
The dread, the irrevocable oath he swore,
The immortal seats should ne'er behold her more;
And whirl'd her headlong down, for ever driven
From bright Olympus and the starry heaven :
Thence on the nether world the Fury fell; 40 ordain'd with man's contentious race to dwell, Full oft the god his son's hard toils bemoan'd, Cursed the dire Fury, and in secret groan'd. E'en thus, like Jove himself, was I misled, While raging Hector heap'd our camps with dead. 45 What can the errors of my rage atone?
My martial troops, my treasures are thy own:
This instant from the navy shall be sent
Whate'er Ulysses promised at thy tent:
But thou appeased, propitious to our prayer,
Resume thy arms, and shine again in war.
O king of nations! whose superior sway
(Returns Achilles) all our hosts obey!
To keep or send the presents be thy care;
To us 'tis equal: all we ask is war.
55 While yet we talk, or but an instant shun
The fight, our glorious work remains undone.
Let every Greek who sees my spear confound
The Trojan ranks, and deal destruction round,
With emulation, what I act survey,
60 And learn from thence the business of the day.
The son of Peleus thus: and thus replies
The great in councils, Ithacus the wise.
Though godlike, thou art by no toils oppress'd,
At least our armies claim repast and rest
65 Long and laborious must the combat be,
When by the gods inspired, and led by thee.
Strength is derived from spirits and from blood,
And those augment by generous wine and food:
What boastful son of war, without that stay,
70 Can last a hero through a single day?
Courage may prompt; but, ebbing out his strength, Mere unsupported man must yield at length; Shrunk with dry famine, and with toils declined, The drooping body will desert the inind:
75 But build a-new with strength-conferring fare,
With limbs and soul untamed he tires a war
Dismiss the people then, and give command,
With strong repast to hearten every band;
But let the presents to Achilles made,
80 In full assembly of all Greece be laid.
The king of men shall rise in public sight,
And solemn swear (observant of the rite),
That spotless as she canie, the maid reinoves,
Pure from his arms, andguiltless of his loves.
85 That done, a sumptuous banquet shall be made, And the full price of injured honour paid. Stretch not henceforth, O prince thy sovereign might Beyond the bound of reason and of right; "Tis the chief praise that e'er to kings belong'd,
90 To right with justice whon with power they wrong'd.
To him the monarch: Just is thy decree,
Thy words give joy, and wisdom breathes in thee.
Each due atonement gladly I prepare;
And Heaven regard me as I justly swear
95 Here then awhile let Greece assembled stay, Not great Achilles grudge this short delay; Till from the fleet our presents be convey'd, And, Jove attesting, the firm compact made. A train of noble youth the charge shall bear; 100 These to select, Ulysses, be thy care: In order rank'd let all our gifts appear, And the fair train of captives close the rear: Talthybius shall the victim boar convey Sacred to Jove, and yon bright orb of day. For this (the stern acides replies) Some less important season may suffice, When the stern fury of the war is o'er,
115 Let not my palate know the taste of food,
Till my insatiate rage be cloy'd with blood.
Pale lies my friend with wounds disfigured o er,
And his cold feet are pointed to the door.
Revenge is all my soul! no meaner care,
120 Interest, or thought, has room to harbour there;
Destruction be my feast, and mortal wounds,
And scenes of blood, and agonizing sounds.
O first of Greeks! (Ulysses thus rejoin'd),
The best and bravest of the warrior kind!
125 Thy praise it is in dreadful camps to shine,
But old experience and calm wisdom mine.
Then hear my counsel, and to reason yield:
The bravest soon are satiate of the field;
Though vast the heaps that strew the crimson plain
130 The bloody harvest brings but little gain:
The scale of conquest ever wavering lies,
Great Jove but turns it, and the victor dies!
The great, the bold, by thousands daily fall,
And endless were the grief to weep for all.
Eternal sorrows what avails to shed?
Greece honours not with solemn fasts the dead:
Enough when death demands the brave to pay
The tribute of a melancholy day,
One chief with patience to the grave resign'd,
Our care devolves on others left behind.
Let generous food supplies of strength produce,
Let rising spirits flow from sprightly juice,
Let their warm heads with scenes of battle glow,
And pour new furies on the feebler foe.
Yet a short interval and none shall dare
Expect a second summons to the war
Who waits for that the dire effect shall find,
If trembling in the ships he lags behind.
Embodied, to the battle let us bend,
And all at once on haughty Troy descend.
And now the delegates Ulysses sent,
To bear the presents from the royal tent.
The sons of Nestor, Phyleus' valiant heir,
Thias and Merion, thunderbolts of war,
With Lycomedes of Creontian strain,
And Melanippus, form'd the chosen train.
Swift as the word was given the youths obey'd;
Twice ten bright vases in the inidst they laid;
A row of six fair tripods then succeeds;
And twice the number of high-bounding steeds;
Seven captives next a lovely line compose;
The eighth Briseis, like the blooming rose,
Closed the bright band: great Ithacus before,
First of the train, the golden talents bore:
The rest in public view the chiefs dispose,
A splendid scene! Then Agamemnon rose:
The boar Talthybius held the Grecian lord
Drew the broad cutlass sheath'd beside his sword:
T..e stubborn bristles from the victim's brow
He crops, and offering meditates his vow.
His hands uplifted to the attested skies,
On heaven's broad marble roof were fix'd his eyes;
The solemn words a deep attention draw,
And Greece around sat thrill'd with sacred awe.
Witness, thou first! thou greatest power above!
All good, all wise, and all-surveying Jove!
And Mother-earth, and Heaven s revolving light
And ye, fell Furies of the realms of night,
Who rule the dead, and horrid woes prepare
For perjured kings, and all who falsely swear!
The black-eyed maid inviolate removes,
Pure and unconscious of my manly loves.
If this be false, Heaven all its vengeance shed,
And levell'd thunder strike my guilty head.
With that his weapon deep inflicts the wound;
The bleeding savage tumbles to the ground;
The sacred herald rolls the victim slain
(A feast for fish) into the foaming main.
Then thus Achilles: Hear, ye Greeks! and know
Whate'er we feel, 'tis Jove inflicts the woe:
Achilles' care you promised I should prove,
The first the dearest partner of his love!
225 That rites divine should ratify the band,
And make me empress in his native land.
Accept these grateful tears! for thee they flow,
For thee that ever felt another's woe i
Her sister captives echo'd groan for groan,
Nor mourn'd Patroclus' fortunes, but their own.
The leaders press'd the chief on every side
Unmoved he heard them, and with sighs denied.
If yet Achilles have a friend, whose care
Is bent to please him, this request forbear:
235 Till yonder sun descend, ah let me pay
To grief and anguish one abstemious day.
He spoke, and from the warriors turn'd his face :
Yet still the brother-kings of Atreus' race
Nestor, Idomenous, Ulysses sage,
And Phoenix, strive to calm his grief and rage:
His rage they calm not, nor his grief control;
He groans, he raves, he sorrows from his soul.
Thou too, Patroclus! (thus his heart he vents)
Once spread the inviting banquet in our tents:
245 Thy sweet society, thy winning care,
Once staid Achilles rushing to the war.
But now, alas! to death's cold arms resign'd,
What banquet but revenge can glad my mind?
What greater sorrow could afflict my breast,
What more if hoary Peleus were deceased:
Who now, perhaps, in Phthia dreads to hear
His son's sad fate, and drops a tender tear?
What more should Neoptolemus the brave
(My only offspring) sink into the grave
255 If yet that offspring lives (I distant far,
Of all neglectful, wage a hateful war).
I could not this, this cruel stroke attend;
Fate claim'd Achilles, but might spare his friend.
I hoped Patroclus might survive, to rear
My tender orphan with a parent's care,
From Scyros' isle conduct him o'er the main,
And glad his eyes with his paternal reign,
The lofty palace, and the large domain.
For Peleus breathes no more the vital air;
Or drags a wretched life of age and care,
But till the news of my sad fate invades
His hastening soul, and sinks hini to the shades.
Sighing he said: his grief the heroes join'd,
Each stole a tear for what he left behind.
270 Their mingled grief the sire of heaven survey'd,
And thus with pity to his blue eyed maid:
Is then Achilles now no more thy care,
And dost thou thus desert the great in war?
Lo, where yon sails their canvass wings extend,
275 All-comfortless he sits, and wails his friend:
Ere thirst and want his forces have oppress'd,
Haste and infuse ambrosia in his breast.
He spoke and sudden at the word of Jove,
Shot the descending goddess from above.
Not else Atrides could our rage inflame,
Nor from my arms unwilling force the dame. "Twas Jove's high will alone o'er-ruling all,
So swift through ether the shrill Harpy springs,
The wide air floating to her ample wings.
To great Achilles she her flight address'd,
And pour'd divine ambrosia in his breast,
With nectar sweet (refection of the god!),
Then, swift ascending, sought the bright abodes.
Now issued from the ships the warrior-train,
And like a deluge pour'd upon the plain.
As when the piercing blasts of Boreas blow,
And scatter o'er the fields the driving snow;
From dusky clouds the fleecy winter flies,
Whose dazzling lustre whitens all the skies:
So helms succeeding helms, so shields from shields
Catch the quick beams, and brighten all the fields; 385
Broad glittering breast-plates, spears with pointed rays,
Mix in one stream, reflecting blaze on blaze:
Thick beats the centre as the coursers bound,
With splendor flame the skies and laugh the fields
around.
Full in the midst, high-towering o'er the rest,
That doom'd our strife, and doom'd the Greeks to fall.
Go then, ye chiefs! indulge the genial rite
Achilles waits you, and expects the fight.
The speedy council at his word adjourn'd:
To their black vessels all the Greeks return'd;
Achilles sought his tent. His train before
March'd onward, bending with the gifts they bore.
These in the tents the squires industrious spread:
The foaming coursers to the stalls they led;
To their new seats the female captives move:
Briseis, radiant as the queen of love,
Slow as she pass'd beheld with sad survey
Where, gash'd with cruel wounds, Patroclus lay.
Prone on the body fell the heavenly fair,
Beat her sad breast, and tore her golden hair;
All-beautiful in grief, her humid eyes
Shining with tears she lifts, and thus sne cries:
Ah, youth for ever dear, for ever kind,
Once tender friend of my distracted mind!
I left thee fresh in life, in beauty gay!
Now find thee cold, inanimated clay.
What woes my wretched race of life attend!
Sorrows on sorrows, never doom'd to end
The first loved consort of my virgin bed
Before these eyes in fatal battle bled!
My three brave brothers in one mournful day,
All trod the dark irremeable way;
Thy friendly hand uprear'd me from the plain,
And dried my sorrows for a husband slain;
300 His limbs in arms divine Achilles dress'd;
Arms which the father of the fire bestow'd,
Forged on the eternal anvils of the god.
Grief and revenge his furious heart inspire,
His glowing eye-balls roll with living fire;
305 He grinds his teeth, and furious with delay
O'erlooks the embattled host, and hopes the bloody day.
The silver cuishes first his thighs infold;
Then o'er his breast was braced the hollow gold:
The brazen sword a various baldric tied,
Which on the far-seen mountain blazing high,
Streams from some lonely watch-tower to the sky:
With mournful eyes they gaze, and gaze again;
Loud howls the storm, and drives them o'er the main.
Next his high head the helmet graced; behind
The sweepy crest hung floating in the wind:
Like the red star that from his flaming hair
Shakes down diseases, pestilence, and war;
So stream'd the golden honours from his head,
Trembled the sparkling plumes, and the loose glories
shed.
The chief beholds himself with wondering eyes;
His arms, he poises, and his motions tries;
Buoy'd by some inward force he seems to swim,
And feels a pinion lifting every limb.
And now he shakes his great paternal spear.
Pondrous and huge! which not a Greek could rear.
From Pelion's cloudy top an ash entire
Old Chiron fell'd, and shaped it for his sire;
A spear which stern Achilles only wields,
The death of heroes and the dread of fields!
Automedon and Alcimus prepare
The immortal coursers and the radiant car
(The silver traces sweeping at their side);
Their fiery mouths resplendent bridles tied;
The ivory studded reins return'd behind,
Waved o'er their backs, and to the chariot join'd.
The charioteer then whirl'd the lash around,
And swift ascended at one active bound.
All-bright in heavenly arms above his squire,
Achilles mounts, and sets the field on fire;
Not brighter Phoebus in the ethereal way,
Flames from his chariot and restores the day.
High o'er the host all terrible he stands,
THUS round Pelides breathing war and blood,
Greece sheath'd in arms beside her vessels stood;
While near impending from a neighbouring height,
Troy's black battalions wait the shock of fight.
Then Jove to Themis gives command to call
The gods to council in the starry hall:
Swift o'er Olympus' hundred hills she flies,
And summons all the senate of the skies.
These shining on, in long procession come
To Jove's eternal adamantine doom.
Not one was absent, not a rural power,
That haunts the verdant gloom, or rosy bower:
Each fair-hair'd dryad of the shady wood,
Each azure sister of the silver flood;
All but old Ocean, hoary sire who keeps
His ancient seat beneath the sacred deeps.
On marble thrones with lucid columns crown'd
(The work of Vulcan) sat the powers around.
425 E'en he whose trident sways the watry reign
Heard the loud summons, and forsook the main,
Assumed his throne amid the bright abodes,
And question'd thus the sire of men and gods:
What moves the god who heaven and earth commands,
And grasps the thunder in his awful hands,
Thus to convene the whole ethereal state?
Is Greece and Troy the subject in debate?
Already met the lowering hosts appear,
And death stands ardent on the edge of war.
"Tis true (the cloud-compelling power replies),
This day we call the council of the skies
In care of human race; e'en Jove's own eye
Sees with regret unhappy mortals die.
Far on Olympus' top in secret state
Ourself will sit, and see the hand of fate
Work out our will. Celestial powers! descen",
And as your minds direct, your succour lend
To either host. Troy soon must lie o'erthrown,
If uncontroll'd Achilles fights alone :
Their troops but lately durst not meet his eyes;
What can they now if in his rage he rise?
Assist them gods; or Ilion's sacred wall
May fall this day, though fate forbids the fall.
He said, and fired their heavenly breasts with rage: 450 On adverse parts the warring gods engage.
And thunders to his steeds these dread commands:
Xanthus and Balius! of Podarges' strain,
(Unless ye boast that heavenly race in vain)
Be swift, be mindful of the load ye bear,
And learn to make your master more your care:
Through falling squadrons bear my slaughtering sword,
Nor, as ye left Patroclus, leave your lord.
The generous Xanthus, as the words he said,
Seem'd sensible of woe, and droop'd his head:
Trembling he stood before the golden wain,
And bow'd to dust the honours of his mane;
When, strange to tell! (so Juno will'd) he broke
Eternal silence, and portentous spoke:
Achilles! yes! this day at least we bear
Thy rage in safety through the files of war:
But come it will, the fatal time must come,
Nor ours the fault, but God decrees thy doom.
Not through our crime, or slowness in the course,
Fell thy Patroclus, but by heavenly force;
The bright far-shooting god who gilds the day
(Confess'd we saw him), tore his arms away.
No could our swiftness o'er the winds prevail,
Or beat the pinions of the western gale,
All were in vain-the Fates thy death demand,
Due to a mortal and immortal hand.
Then ceased for ever, by the Furies tied,
His fateful voice. The intrepid chief replied
With unabated rage-So let it be !
Portents and prodigies are lost on me.
I know my fates: to die, to see no more
My much-loved parents and my native shore-
Enough-when heaven ordains, I sink in night;
Now perish Troy!-He said, and rush'd to fight.
Heaven's awful queen; and he whose azure round
Girds the vast globe; the maid in arms renown'd;
Hermes, of profitable arts the sire;
And Vulcan, the black sovereign of the fire:
455 These to the fleet repair with instant flight;
The vessels tremble as the gods alight.
In aid of Troy, Latona, Phoebus came,
Mars fiery-helm'd, the laughter-loving dame,
Xanthus whose streams in golden currents flow,
460 And the chaste huntress of the silver bow.
Ere yet the gods their various aid employ,
Each Argive bosom swell'd with manly joy,
While great Achilles (terror of the plain),
Long lost to battle shone in arms again.
465 Dreadful he stood in front of all his host;
Pale Troy beheld, and seem'd already lost;
Her bravest heroes pant with inward fear,
And trembling see another god of war.
But when the powers descending swell'd the fight,
470 Then tumult rose; fierce rage and pale affright
Varied each face; then discord sounds alarms,
Earth echoes, and the nations rush to arms.
Now through the trembling shores Minerva calls,
And now she thunders from the Grecian walls.
Mars hovering o'er his Troy, his terror shrouds
In gloomy tempests and a night of clouds:
Now through each Trojan heart he fury pours
With voice divine from Ilion's topmost towers:
Now shouts to Simoïs from the beauteous hill;
The mountain shook, and rapid stream stood still,
Above the sire of gods his thunder rolls,
And peals on peals redoubled rend the poles.
Beneath stern Neptune shakes the solid ground;
The forests wave, the mountains nod around;
Through all their summits tremble Ida's woods,
And from their sources boil her hundred floods.
Troy's turrets totter on the rocking plain;
And the toss'd navies beat the heaving main.
Deep in the dismal regions of the dead,
The infernal monarch rear'd his horrid head,
Leap'd from his throne, lest Neptune's arm should lay 85
His dark dominions open to the day,
And pour in light on Pluto's drear abodes,
Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful e'en to goda
The Battle of the Gods, and the Acts of Achilles. Jupiter, upon Achilles's return to the battle, calls a Council of the gods, and permits them to assist either party. The terrors of the battle described, when the deities are engaged. Apollo encourages Eneas to meet Achilles. After a long conversation, these two heroes encounter; but Eneas is pre. served by the assistance of Neptune. Achilles falls upon the rest of the Trojans, and is upon the point of killing Hector, but Apollo conveys him away in a cloud. Achilles pursues the Trojans with a great slaughter.
The same day continues. The scene is the field before Troy.
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