Book XIII: The Continuation of the Fourth Battle

When Jove had brought the Trojans and their chief,Hector, beside the ships, he left them thereTo toil and struggle and endure, while heTurned his resplendent eyes upon the landOf Thracian horsemen, and the Mysians, skilledTo combat hand to hand, and the famed tribeOf long-lived Hippomulgi, reared on milk,And the most just of men. On Troy no moreHe turned those glorious eyes, for now he deemedThat none of all the gods would seek to aidEither the Greeks or Trojans in the strife.

The monarch Neptune kept no idle watch;For he in Thracian Samos, dark with woods,Aloft upon the highest summit satO’erlooking thence the tumult of the war;For thence could he behold the Idaean mount,And Priam’s city, and the Grecian fleet.There, coming from the ocean-deeps, he sat,And pitied the Greek warriors put to routBefore the Trojans, and was wroth with Jove.Soon he descended from those rugged steeps,And trod the earth with rapid strides; the hillsAnd forests quaked beneath the immortal feetOf Neptune as he walked. Three strides he took,And at the fourth reached Aegae, where he stopped,And where his sumptuous palace-halls were built,Deep down in ocean, golden, glittering, proofAgainst decay of time. These when he reached,He yoked his swift and brazen-footed steeds,With manes of flowing gold, to draw his car,And put on golden mail, and took his scourge,Wrought of fine gold, and climbed the chariot-seat,And rode upon the waves. The whales came forthFrom their deep haunts, and frolicked round his way:They knew their king. The waves rejoicing smoothedA path, and rapidly the coursers flew;Nor was the brazen axle wet below.And thus they brought him to the Grecian fleet.

Deep in the sea there is a spacious cave,Between the rugged Imbrus and the isleOf Tenedos. There Neptune, he who shakesThe shores, held back his steeds, took off their yoke,Gave them ambrosial food, and, binding nextTheir feet with golden fetters which no powerMight break or loosen, so that they might waitTheir lord’s return, he sought the Grecian host.

Still did the Trojans, rushing on in crowds,Like flames or like a tempest, follow closeHector, the son of Priam; still their rageAbated not; with stormy cries they came;They hoped to seize the fleet and slay the GreeksBeside it. But the power who swathes the earthAnd shakes it, Neptune, coming from the deep,Revived the valor of the Greeks. He tookThe shape of Calchas and his powerful voice,And thus to either Ajax, who yet stemmedThe battle with a resolute heart, he spake:—

“O chieftains! Yours it is to save the host,Recalling your old valor, with no thoughtOf fatal flight. Elsewhere I feel no dreadOf what the daring sons of Troy may doWho climb the wall in throngs; the well-greaved GreeksWill meet them bravely. But where Hector leads,Fierce as a flame, his squadrons, he who boastsTo be a son of sovereign Jove, I fearLest we should sorely suffer. May the godsStrengthen your hearts to stand against the foe,And flinch not, and exhort the rest to stand,And drive him back, audacious as he is,From the swift ships, though Jove should urge him on.”

Thus earth-surrounding Neptune said, and touchedEach hero with his sceptre, filled their heartsWith valor, gave new lightness to their limbsAnd feet and hands, and then, as when a hawkShoots swiftly from some lofty precipiceAnd chases o’er the plain another bird,So swiftly Neptune, shaker of the shores,Darted from them away. Oileus’ sonPerceived the immortal presence first, and thusAt once to Telamonian Ajax spake:—

“Some god, O Ajax, from the Olympian hill,Wearing the augur’s form, hath bid us fightBeside the ships; nor can it be the seerCalchas, for well I marked his feet and legsAs he departed; easily by theseThe gods are known. I feel a spirit rousedIn my own bosom eager to engageIn the fierce strife; my very feet below,And hands above, take part in the desire.”

And thus the son of Telamon replied:—“So also these strong hands that grasp the spearBurn eagerly to wield it, and my heartIs full of courage. I am hurried onBy both my feet, and vehemently longTo try alone the combat with this chiefOf boundless valor, Hector, Priam’s son.”

Thus they conferred, rejoicing as they feltThat ardor for the battle which the godHad breathed into their hearts. Meantime he rousedThe Achaians at the rear, who in their ships tooSought respite, and whose limbs were faint with toil,And their hearts sad to see the Trojan hostWith tumult pouring o’er the lofty wall.As they beheld, the tears came gushing forthFrom underneath their lids; they little hopedFor rescue from destruction; but when cameThe power that shakes the shores, he woke anewThe spirit of their valiant phalanxes.Teucer he first addressed, and Leitus,The hero Peneleus and Thoas next,Deipyrus, Meriones expertIn battle, and Antilochus his peer,And thus exhorted them with wingèd words:—

“Shame on you, Argive youths! I put my trustIn your tried valor to defend our fleet;But if ye fear to face the perilous fight,The day has risen which shall behold us fallVanquished before the Trojans. O ye gods!These eyes have seen a marvel, a strange sightAnd terrible, which I had never thoughtCould be—the Trojans close upon our ships,They who, erewhile, were like the timid deerThat wander in the wood an easy preyTo jackals, pards, and wolves—weak things, unaptFor combat, fleeing, but without an aim.Such were the Trojans, who till now ne’er daredWithstand the might and prowess of the GreeksEven for an hour. But now, afar from TroyThey give us battle at the hollow ships,All through our general’s fault, and through the slothOf the Greek warriors, who, displeased with him,Fight not for their swift galleys, but are slainBeside them. Yet although our sovereign chief,Atrides Agamemnon, may have doneFoul wrong, dishonoring the swift-footed sonOf Peleus, still ye cannot without blameDecline the combat. Let us then repairThe mischief done; the hearts of valiant menAre soon appeased. And not without the lossOf honor can your fiery courage sleep,Since ye are known the bravest of the host.I would not chide the weak, unwarlike manFor shrinking from the combat; but for you—I look on you with anger in my heart.Weaklings! Ye soon will bring upon yourselvesSome sorer evil if ye loiter thus.Let each of you bethink him of the shameAnd infamy impending. TerribleThe struggle is before us. Hector stormsThe ships, loud-shouting Hector; he has burstThe gate and broken the protecting bar.”

So Neptune spake, encouraging the Greeks.While firmly stood the serried phalanxesRound either Ajax, nor could Mars himself,Nor Pallas, musterer of armèd hosts,Reprove their order. There the flower of GreeceWaited the Trojans and their noble chief,Spear beside spear, and shield by shield, so closeThat buckler pressed on buckler, helm on helm,And man on man. The plumes of horse-hair touchedEach other as they nodded on the crestsOf the bright helms, so close the warriors stood.The lances quivered in the fearless handsOf warriors eager to advance and strikeThe enemy. But the men of Troy beganThe assault; the fiery Hector was the firstTo rush against the Greeks. As when a stoneRolls from a cliff before a wintry floodThat sweeps it down the steep, when mighty rainsHave worn away the props that held it fast;It rolls and bounds on high; the woods aroundCrash, as it tears its unresisted wayAlong the slope until it reach the plain,And there, however urged, moves on no more;—So Hector, menacing to cut his wayThrough tents and galleys to the very sea,Slaying as he went forward, when he nowMet the firm phalanxes and pressed them close,Stopped suddenly; the sons of Greece withstoodHis onset and repulsed it, striking himWith swords and two-edged spears, and made the chiefGive way before the shock. He lifted upHis voice and shouted to the Trojans thus:—

“Trojans and Lycians and Dardanians skilledIn fighting hand to hand, stand firm. Not longWill the Greeks bide my onset, though drawn upSquare as a tower in close array. My spear,I trust, will scatter them, if true it beThat Juno’s husband, Sovereign of the gods,And Lord of thunders, prompts my arm today.”

He spake, and kindled in the breasts of allFresh courage. In the band DeïphobusMarched proudly, Priam’s son, with his round shieldBefore him, walking with a quick, light stepBehind its shelter. Then MerionesAimed at the chief his glittering spear; the pointMissed not; it struck the orb of bullock’s hide,Yet did not pierce it, for the weapon brokeJust at the neck. Deïphobus held forthHis shield far from him, dreading to receiveA spear-thrust from the brave Meriones.Vexed thus to lose the victory, and the spearSnapped by the blow, Meriones fell backInto the column of his friends, and passedHastily toward the camp and ships, to bringA powerful spear that stood within his tent,While others fought, and fearful was the din.

Then Teucer first, the son of Telamon,Smote gallant Imbrius, son of Mentor, lordOf many steeds. He, ere the Greeks had comeTo Troy, dwelt at Pedaeum and espousedMedesicasta, Priam’s spurious child.But when the well-oared galleys of the GreeksMustered at Troy, he also came, and thereWas eminent among her chiefs, and dweltWith Priam, and was honored as his son.The son of Telamon beneath the earPierced him with his long javelin, and drew forthThe weapon. Headlong to the earth he fell.As on a mountain height, descried from far,Hewn by a brazen axe, an ash is felledAnd lays its tender sprays upon the ground,Thus Imbrius fell, and round him in his fallClashed his bright armor. Teucer sprang in hasteTo spoil the dead, but Hector hurled at himHis shining spear; the wary Teucer steppedAside, and just escaped the brazen blade.It struck Amphiniachus, Cteatus’ son,And Actor’s grandson; as he came to joinThe battle, he was smitten in the breast,And fell, his armor clashing round his limbs.Then Hector flew in haste to tear awayFrom the large-souled Amphimachus the helmThat cased his temples. Ajax saw, and hurledHis glittering spear at Hector as he came:It made no wound; for Hector stood equippedAll o’er in formidable brass. The spearStruck on the bossy shield with such a shockAs forced him to recoil, and leave unspoiledThe bodies, which the Achaians dragged away.For Stichius and Menestheus, chief amongThe Athenians, bore the dead AmphimachusTo the Greek camp, while the two men of might,The chieftains Ajax, lifted Imbrius up;And as two lions, bearing off amongThe close-grown shrubs a goat, which they have snatchedFrom sharp-toothed dogs, uplift it in their jawsAbove the ground, so the two warriors raisedThe corpse of Imbrius, and stripped off the mail,While, angered that Amphilochus was slain,Oileus’ son struck from the tender neckThe head, and sent it far among the crowd,Whirled like a ball, to fall at Hector’s feet.

Meantime was Neptune moved with grief to seeHis grandson perish in that desperate fray,And passed among the Achaian tents and shipsEncouraging the men, and planning woesFor Ilium. There he met Idomeneus,Expert to wield the spear, as he returnedFrom caring for a comrade who had leftThe battle, wounded in the knee, and whomHis friends had carried in. IdomeneusHad called the surgeons to his aid, and nowWas hastening to the field, intent to bearHis part in battle. Him the monarch godOf ocean thus addressed, but first he tookThe voice of Thoas, King Andraemon’s son,Whose father ruled the Aetolians through the boundsOf Pleuron, and in lofty Calydon,And like a god was honored in the land.

“O counsellor of Crete, Idomeneus!Where are the threats which late the sons of GreeceUttered against the Trojans?” Promptly cameThe Cretan leader’s answer: “No man here,O Thoas, seems blameworthy, for we allAre skilled in war, nor does unmanly fearHold any back; nor from the difficult strifeDoes sloth detain one warrior. So it isDoubtless that it seems good to Saturn’s son,The All-disposer, that the Greeks, afarFrom Argos, should ingloriously fallAnd perish. Thoas, thou wert ever brave,And didst exhort the laggards. Cease not nowTo combat, cease not to exhort the rest.”

And Neptune, he who shakes the earth, rejoined:—“Idomeneus, whoever keeps aloofFrom battle, willingly, today, may heNever return from Troy, but be the preyOf dogs. Take thou thy arms and come with me,For we must quit ourselves like men, and striveTo aid our cause, although we be but two.Great is the strength of feeble arms combined,And we can combat even with the brave.”

So speaking, Neptune turned to share the toilsOf war. Idomeneus, who now had reachedHis princely tent, put on his glorious mail,And seized two spears, and flew upon his way,Like lightning grasped by Saturn’s son and flungQuivering above Olympus’ gleaming peak,A sign to mortals, dazzled by the blaze,So glittered, as he ran, his brazen mail.His fellow-warrior, good Meriones,Met him beside the tent, for he had comeTo fetch a brazen javelin thence, and thusThe stout Idomeneus addressed his friend:—

“O son of Molus, swift Meriones,Dearest of all my comrades! Why hast thouThus left the battle-field? Hast thou a wound—A weapon’s point that galls thee? Dost thou bringA message to me? Think not that I sitWithin my tent an idler: I must fight.”

Discreetly did Meriones reply:—“Idomeneus, whose sovereign counsels ruleThe well-armed Cretans, I am come to seekA spear if one be left within thy tents.I broke the one I bore, in hurling itAgainst the shield of fierce Deïphobus.”

The Cretan chief, Idomeneus, rejoined:—“If spears thou seek, there stand within my tentTwenty and one against the shining walls.I took them from slain Trojans. ’Tis my wontNever to fight at distance from the foe,And therefore have I spears, and bossy shields,And helms, and body-mail of polished brass.”

Then spake in turn discreet Meriones:—“Within my tent are also many spoilsWon from the Trojans, and in my black ship;But they are far away. I do not thinkThat I forget what valor is. I fightAmong the foremost in the glorious strifeWhere’er the battle calls me. Other menAmong the well-armed Greeks may not have seenWhat I perform, but thou must know me well.”

Idomeneus, the Cretan leader, spake:—“I know thy courage well. What need hast thouTo speak as thou hast done? If all of us,The bravest of the Greeks, were set apartTo form an ambush;—for an ambush triesAnd shows men’s valor; there the craven, thereThe brave, is known; the coward’s color comesAnd goes; his spirit is not calm withinHis bosom, so that he can rest awhileAnd tremble not; he shifts his place; he sitsOn both his feet; his heart beats audiblyWithin his breast; his teeth at thought of deathChatter; the brave man’s color changes not,Nor when with other warriors he sits downIn ambush is he troubled, but he longsTo rise and mingle in the desperate fray;—For thee, in such an ambush, none could blameThy courage or thy skill. If there the foeShould wound thee from afar, or smite thee near,The weapon would not strike thy neck behind,Or pierce thy back, but enter at thy breastOr stomach, as thou wert advancing fastAmong the foremost. But enough of this.Come! Stand we here no longer, idiot-like,Lest someone chide us sharply. Hasten thou,And bring a sturdy javelin from the tent.”

He spake. Meriones, like Mars in portAnd swiftness, hastened to the tent and broughtA brazen spear, and joined Idomeneus,Eager for battle. As the god of war,The man-destroyer, comes into the field,With Terror, his strong-limbed and dauntless son,Following and striking fear into the heartOf the most resolute warrior, when from ThraceThey issue armed against the Ephyri,Or else against the Phlegyans large of soul,And hearken not to both the hosts, but giveTo one the victory; so MerionesAdvanced to battle with Idomeneus,Leaders of heroes both, and both equippedIn glittering helms. And first MerionesSpake and addressed his fellow-warrior thus:—

“Son of Deucalion, at which point wilt thouEnter the throng? Upon the army’s right,Its centre, or its left? The long haired GreeksSeem most to need our aid upon the left.”

Then spoke Idomeneus, in turn, the princeOf Cretans: “At the centre of the fleetAre others who will guard it. Posted thereAre either Ajax and the most expertOf Grecian archers, Teucer, not less skilledIn standing fight, and amply will they taskThe arm of Hector, Priam’s son, though bentOn desperate conflict, and though passing fierce.With all his fierceness, he will find it hardTo quell their prowess, never yet o’ercome,And fire the ships, unless Saturnian JoveHimself should cast on them the flaming torch.Nor yet will Telamonian Ajax yieldTo any man of mortal birth, or rearedUpon the grains of Ceres, or whom brassOr ponderous stones can wound. He would not ownThe warlike son of Peleus mightierThan he in standing fight, although in speedHe vies not with him. Lead us then to joinThe army’s left, that we may learn at onceWhether our fate in battle shall conferGlory on other men, or theirs on us.”

So spake the chief. Meriones, the peerOf Mars in swiftness, hastened till he joinedThe army where his comrade bade. The foeBeheld Idomeneus, who like a flameSwept on with his companion all in armsGloriously wrought; they raised from rank to rankThe battle-cry, and met him as he came,And hand to hand, before the galleys’ sternsWas waged the combat. As when storms arise,Blown up by piping winds, when dust lies looseAlong the roads, a spreading cloud of dustFills the wide air, so came the battle onBetween the bands that struggled eagerlyTo slay each other. All along the lineThe murderous conflict bristled with long spearsThat tore the flesh; the brazen splendor, shotFrom gleaming helmets and from burnished mailAnd shining bucklers, all in narrow spaceDazzled the eyes. Brave-hearted would he be,The man who, gazing on it, could have seenThe furious strife rejoicing or unmoved.

Meantime the potent sons of Saturn eachFavored a different side, and planned new toilsFor all the warriors, Jupiter had willedThat Hector and the Trojans should prevail,Yet had he not decreed the Achaian hostTo perish before Troy; he only soughtTo honor Thetis and her large-souled son.But Neptune, mingling with the Greeks, arousedTheir martial spirit. From the hoary deepHe came unmarked, for deeply was he grievedTo see the Greeks give way before the hostOf Troy, and he was wroth with Jupiter.Both gods were of one race, and owed their birthTo the same parents; but the elder-bornWas Jupiter, and wiser. For that causeNot openly did Neptune aid the Greeks,But, as by stealth, disguised in human form,Moved through their army and encouraged themTo combat. Thus it was the potent twainEach drew, with equal hand, the net of strifeAnd fearful havoc, which no power could breakOr loosen, stretched o’er both the warring hosts,And laying many a warrior low in death.And now, although his brows were strewn with gray.Idomeneus, encouraging the Greeks,Rushed on the Trojans, and revived the fight.He slew Orthryoneus, who just before,Drawn by the rumor of the war, had leftCabesus, and now made a lover’s suitFor Priam’s fairest daughter. Without dowerHe sought to wed Cassandra, promisingA vast exploit—to drive the Greeks from Troy,In spite of all their valor. The old kingConsented that the maiden should be his;And now he fought, and trusted to fulfilHis promise. But Idomeneus took aim,And cast his glittering javelin at the youth.It struck him marching proudly on, nor stoppedThe weapon at the brazen mail, but piercedThe stomach. With a clash the warrior fell,And thus the victor boasted over him:—

“Orthryoneus, I deem thee worthy of praiseBeyond all other men, if thou performWhat thou hast undertaken—to defendDardanian Priam, who has promised theeHis daughter. We would make a compact too,And will perform it—to bestow on theeA spouse, the fairest daughter of the houseOf Atreus’ son, and we will send for herTo Argos, if thou join us, and lay wasteThe well built Ilium. Now, then, follow me,And at the ships which brought us we will treatOf marriage, and will make no niggard terms.”

So spake Idomeneus, and dragged the slainThrough the sharp conflict by the foot. He metAsius, who walked before his car, and cameTo avenge his friend. The attending charioteerBehind him reined the steeds, that they should breatheOver the shoulders of their lord, who soughtTo smite Idomeneus. The Greek was firstTo strike; he plunged the spear into his throatBelow the chin, and drave the weapon through.The Trojan fell to earth as falls an oak,Poplar, or stately pine, which woodmen fellWith their sharp axes on the mountain-side,To form a galley’s beam. So there he layStretched out before his coursers and his car,And gnashed his teeth, and clenched the bloody dust.The charioteer, amazed, and losing powerOf action, dared not turn the horses backTo bear him from the foe. AntilochusThe warlike cast his spear, and in the midstTransfixed him. Little did the brazen mailAvail to stay the blade, which cleft its wayInto the stomach. With a sudden gaspHe toppled from the sumptuous chariot-seat,And large-souled Nestor’s son, Antilochus,Drave with the chariot to the well-armed Greeks.Deïphobus, who sorrowed for the fateOf Asius, drawing near Idomeneus,Hurled at him his bright spear. The Greek beheld,As face to face they stood, and scaped the stroke,Covered by his round shield, two-handled, strong,With bullocks’ hides and glittering brass. With thisHe hid himself, close couched within, and turnedThe brazen point aside. The buckler rangShrilly; the weapon glanced away, yet flewNot vainly from the Trojan’s powerful hand:It struck Hypsenor, son of Hippasus,The shepherd of the people, on the sideWhere lies the liver, just below the breast.His knees gave way; he fell; DeïphobusThus shouted o’er the dead his empty boast:—

“Not unavenged lies Asius, and no doubt,In journeying to the massy gates and wallOf Hades, will rejoice that I have sentA soul to be companion of his way.”

He spake; and at his boast the Greeks were movedWith anger—most of all AntilochusThe warlike; yet he left not to the foeHis slain companion, but made haste to holdHis shield above him. His beloved friends,Mecisteus, son of Echius, and the princeAlastor, lifted up, with many a groan,The corpse, and bore it to the roomy ships.

Meantime the valor of IdomeneusRemitted not; he vehemently longedTo cover many a Trojan with the nightOf death, or fall himself with clashing arms,In warring to defend the ships of Greece.The brave Alcathoüs, the beloved sonOf Aesyetus, whom Anchises madeHis son-in-law—for he had given to himHippodameia, eldest-born of allHis daughters, whom her parents, while she dweltWith them, loved dearly, fair and wise beyondAll other maidens of her age, and skilledIn household arts; so that the noblest princeOf the broad Trojan kingdom made her his;—Him, by the weapon of Idomeneus,Did Neptune bring to death. The sparkling eyesGrew dim, and stiffened were the shapely limbs,For neither could he flee nor turn aside;But as he stood before him, column-like,Or like a towering tree, IdomeneusTransfixed him in the bosom with his spearThe brazen coat of mail gave way, which oftHad saved him, breaking with a sharp, shrill soundBefore the severing blade. He fell to earthWith noise; the spear stood planted in his heart,And as he panted quivered through its length,Yet soon its murderous force was spent and still.And then the victor boasted thus aloud:—

“Deïphobus, does this appear to theeA fair return, when three are slain for one,Or hast thou boasted idly? Yet do thou,Vain as thou art, stand forth and face me here,And I will teach thee of what race I am—An offshoot of the stock of Jove, whose sonWas Minos, guardian of our Crete, and heWas father of the good Deucalion.Deucalion’s son am I, and I am kingO’er many men in the broad isle of Crete.My galleys brought me thence to be the dreadOf thee, thy father, and the men of Troy.”

He spake. Deïphobus, irresolute,Stood doubting whether to retreat and bringSome other of the heroic sons of TroyTo aid him, or to try the fight alone.As thus he mused, it seemed most wise to seekAeneas. Him he found withdrawn amongThe rear of the army, for he was displeasedWith noble Priam, who had paid his worthWith light esteem. Deïphobus approached,And thus with wingèd words accosted him:—

“Aeneas, counsellor of Troy, if thouHadst ever a regard to him who wasThy sister’s husband, it becomes thee nowTo avenge him. Follow me, and help avengeAlcathoüs, guardian of thy tender years,Slain by the spear of famed Idomeneus.”

He spake; and at his words Aeneas feltHis courage rise. Impatient for the fight,He went to meet Idomeneus; yet fearFell not upon the Greek as if he wereA puny boy: he stood and kept his ground.As, when a mountain boar, unterrified,Waits in the wilderness the hunter-crew,That come with mighty din, his bristly backRises, his eyes shoot fire, he whets his tusks,And fiercely keeps both dogs and men at bay—So did Idomeneus, expert to wieldThe spear, await Aeneas hastening onWith fury. Not a backward step he made,But called upon his warrior-friends aloud,Looking at Aphareus, Ascalaphus,Deipyrus, Meriones, and lastAntilochus, all skilled in arts of war,And thus exhorted them with wingèd words:—

“Haste hither, O my friends, and bring me aid.I stand alone, in dread of the approachOf swift Aeneas, who comes fiercely on,Powerful to slay, and in his prime of youth,The highest vigor of the human frame.Yet, were our years the same, that chief or IWould quickly triumph at the other’s cost.”

He spake, and all with one accord drew nearAnd stood by him, with shields obliquely heldUpon their shoulders. On the other sideAeneas cheered his comrades on. He fixedHis look on Paris, and Deïphobus,And nobly born Agenor, who, like him,Were leaders of the Trojans. After theseThe soldiers followed, as the thronging flockFollow the ram that leads them to the fountFrom pasture, and the shepherd’s heart is pleased.So was Aeneas glad at heart to seeThe multitude of warriors following him.

Then mingled they in battle hand to handAround Alcathoüs, with their ponderous spears,And fearfully upon their bosoms rangThe brass, as through the struggling crowd they aimedTheir weapons at each other. Two brave men,Aeneas and Idomeneus, the peersOf Mars, conspicuous o’er their fellows, stroveWith cruel brass to rend each other’s limbs.And first Aeneas cast his spear to smiteIdomeneus, who saw it as it came,And shunned it. Plunging in the earth beyond,It stood and quivered; it had left in vainThe Trojan’s powerful hand. IdomeneusNext smote Oenomaüs: the spear brake throughHis hollow corselet at the waist; it piercedAnd drank the entrails: down amid the dustHe fell, and grasped the earth with dying hand.Idomeneus plucked forth the massy spear,But, pressed by hostile weapons, ventured notTo strip the sumptuous armor from the dead;Since now no more the sinews of his feetWere firm to bear him rushing to retakeHis spear, or start aside from hostile spears.Wherefore in standing fight he warded offThe evil hour, nor trusted to his feetTo bear him fleetly from the field. He movedSlowly away, and now Deïphobus,Who long had hated him and bitterly,Aimed at him his bright spear; it missed its mark,And struck Ascalaphus, the son of Mars.The weapon cleft the shoulder of the Greek,Who fell amid the dust, and clenched the earth.

Not yet the clamorous Mars, of passionate mood,Had heard that in the fray his son was slain;But on the summit of the Olympian mountHe sat, o’ercanopied by golden clouds,Restrained from combat by the will of Jove,With other gods, forbidden, like himself,To aid the combatants. Meantime aroundAscalaphus the combat hand to handStill raged. Deïphobus had torn awayThe slain man’s shining helm, when suddenlyMeriones sprang forward, spear in hand,And smote him on the arm; the wounded limbLet fall the helm, resounding as it fell,And with a vulture’s leap MerionesRushed toward him, plucking out from the torn fleshThe spear, and falling back among the crowd.Polites, brother of the wounded, threwBoth arms around his waist, and bore him offFrom the loud din of conflict, till he reachedHis swift-paced steeds, that waited in the rearOf battle, with their chariot nobly wroughtAnd charioteer. These took him back to Troy,Heavily groaning and in pain, the bloodYet gushing from the newly wounded limb.

Still fought the other warriors, and the noiseOf a perpetual tumult filled the air.Aeneas, rushing upon Aphareus,Caletor’s son, who turned to face him, thrustA sharp spear through his throat. With drooping head,And carrying shield and helmet to the ground,He fell, and rendered up his soul in death.Antilochus, as Thoön turned away,Attacked and smote him, cutting off the veinThat passes through the body to the neck.This he divided sheer; the warrior fellBackward, and lay in dust, with hands outstretchedTo his beloved friends. AntilochusFlew to the slain, and from his shoulders strippedThe armor, casting cautious glances round;While toward him pressed the Trojans on all sides,Striking the fair broad buckler with their darts,Yet could not even score with pointed brassThe tender skin of Nestor’s son; for stillNeptune, the shaker of the sea-coast, keptWatch o’er him while the weapons round him showered.Yet he withdrew not from his foes, but movedAmong the crowd, nor idle was his spear,But wielded right and left, and still he watchedWith resolute mind the time to strike the foeAt distance, or assault him near at hand.

The son of Asius, Adamas, beheldThe hero meditating thus, and struck,In close attack, the middle of his shieldWith a sharp brazen spear. The dark-haired godWho rules the deep denied to AdamasThe life he sought, and weakened the hard stroke.Part of the Trojan’s weapon, like a stakeHardened by fire, stood fixed within the shield,Part lay on earth, and he who cast it slunkAmong his comrades to avoid his fate.Meriones, pursuing with his spear,Smote him between the navel and the groin,Where deadliest are the wounds in battle givenTo man’s unhappy race. He planted thereThe cruel blade, and Adamas, who fell,Writhed panting round it, as a bullock boundBy cowherds on the mountain with strong cordsPants as they lead him off against his will.So wounded, Adamas drew heavy breath,And yet not long. The brave Meriones,Approaching, plucked the weapon forth, and nightCame o’er the eyes of Adamas. At handStood Helenus, and struck DeipyrusUpon the temple with his ponderous sword,Of Thracian make, and cut the three-coned helmAway, and dashed it to the ground; it rolledBetween a Grecian warrior’s feet, who stoopedAnd took it up, while o’er its owner’s eyesThe darkness gathered. Grieved at this, the sonOf Atreus, Menelaus great in war,Rushed forward, threatening royal Helenus.He brandished his sharp spear; the Trojan drewHis bow; advancing, one to hurl a lance,And one to send an arrow. Priam’s sonLet fly a shaft at Menelaus’ breast.The bitter missile from the hollow mailGlanced off. As when from the broad winnowing-fanOn some wide threshing-floor the swarthy beans,Or vetches, bound before the whistling windAnd winnower’s force, so, bounding from the mailOf gallant Menelaus, flew afarThe bitter shaft. Then Menelaus, greatIn battle, smote the hand of HelenusThat held the polished bow; the brazen spearPassed through the hand, and reached the bow, and thereStood fixed, while Helenus, avoiding death,Drew back among his comrades, with his handHeld low, and trailing still the ashen stem.Magnanimous Agenor from the woundDrew forth the blade, and wrapped the hand in wool,Carefully twisted, taken from a slingCarried by an attendant of the chief.

To meet the glorious Menelaus sprangPisander, led by his unhappy fateTo perish, Menelaus! by thy handIn that fierce conflict. When the two were near,Advancing toward each other, Atreus’ sonTook aim amiss; his spear flew far aside.Pisander smote the buckler on the armOf mighty Menelaus, yet drave notThe weapon through. The broad shield stopped its force,And broke it at the neck; yet hoped he stillFor victory, and exulted. Then the sonOf Atreus drew his silver-studded swordAnd sprang upon his foe, who from beneathHis buckler took a brazen battle-axe,With a long stem of polished olive-wood.Both struck at once. Pisander hewed away,Below the crest, the plumèd helmet-coneOf Atreus’ son, who smote, above the nose,Pisander’s forehead, crashing through the bones.Both bleeding eyes dropped to the ground amidThe dust; he fell; he writhed; the conqueror,Advancing, set his heel upon his breast,And stripped the armor off, and, boasting, said:—

“Thus shall ye leave unharmed the fleet that broughtThe knights of Greece, ye treaty-breaking sonsOf Ilium, never satisfied with war!Yet lack ye not still other guilt and shame—Wrong done to me, ye dogs! Ye have not fearedThe wrath of Hospitable Jove, who flingsThe thunder, and will yet destroy your town,With all its towers—ye who, without a cause,Bore off my youthful bride, and heaps of wealth,When she had given you welcome as our guests.And now ye seek to burn with fire the fleetWith which we cross the ocean, and to slayThe Grecian heroes. Ye shall yet be forced,Eager for battle as ye are, to pause.O Father Jupiter, who hast the praiseOf highest wisdom among gods and men!All this is of thy ordering. How hast thouFavored this arrogant crew of Troy, in loveWith violence, who never have enoughOf war and all its many miseries!All other things soon satisfy desire—Sleep, love, and song, and graceful dance, which mostDelight in more than warlike toils—yet theyOf Troy are never satisfied with war.”So spake the illustrious man, and, having strippedThe bloody armor from the dead, he gaveThe spoil to his companions, and rejoinedThe warriors in the van. Harpalion then,A son of King Pytemenes, with whomHe left his home to join the war at Troy,Assaulted him. He never saw againHis native land. Close to Atrides’ shield,He struck it in the centre with his lance,Yet could not drive the weapon through the brass,And backward shrank, in fear of death, amongHis comrades, looking round him lest some foeShould wound him with the spear. MerionesLet fly a brazen arrow after him,Which, entering his right flank below the bone,Passed through and cleft the bladder. Down he sankWhere the shaft struck him, breathing out his lifeIn the arms of his companions. Like a wormHe lay extended on the earth; his bloodGushed forth, a purple stream, and steeped the soil.The large-souled Paphlagonians came around,And placed him in a chariot, sorrowing,And bore him to the gates of sacred Troy.The father followed weeping, but no handWas raised to avenge the slaughter of his son.

Yet deeply moved was Paris at his death,For he had been Harpalion’s guest amongThe Paphlagonians. Grieving for the slain,He sent a brazen arrow from his bow.Now there was one Euchenor, rich and brave,The son of Polyidus, hoary seer;His dwelling was in Corinth, and he came,Forewarned and conscious of his fate, to Troy;For often Polyidus, good old man,Warned him that he within his palace hallsShould perish by a grievous malady,Or else be slain by Trojan hands besideThe Grecian fleet. So, to escape at onceThe censure of the Achaians and disease,He came, lest he in after times might rueHis choice. And now between the jaw and earDid Paris smite him; from the warrior’s limbsLife fled, and darkness gathered o’er his eyes.

And then they fought; like a devouring fireThat battle was; but Hector, dear to Jove,Had not yet learned that on the left the GreeksMade havoc of his men; for in that hourThe Greeks had almost made the victory theirs,So greatly had the god who shakes the shoresKindled their courage, and with his own armBrought timely aid. Still Hector, pressing onWhere first he leaped within the gates and wall,Broke the close phalanxes of shielded Greeks.There, ranged beside the hoary deep, the shipsOf Ajax and Protesilaüs lay.The wall that guarded them was low, and thereWarriors and steeds in fiercest conflict met;There the Boeotians, there in their long robesThe Iaonians, there the Locrians, thereThe men of Phthia, and the Epeians famedFor valor, held back Hector, struggling onTo reach the ships, yet found they had no powerTo drive the noble warrior from the ground,For he was like a flame. The chosen menOf Athens formed the van. Menestheus, sonOf Peteus, was their leader, after whomPhidas and Stichius followed, and with themThe gallant Bias. Meges, Phyleus’ son,With Dracius and Amphion, marshalled thereThe Epeians; while the Phthian band were ledBy Medon and Podarces, warlike chief.And Medon was the great Oileus’ son,And brother of the lesser Ajax, bornWithout the tie of wedlock, and he dweltFar from his native land, in Phylacè;For by his violent hand the brother diedOf Eryopis, whom Oileus madeHis lawful spouse. Podarces was the sonOf Iphiclus, and dwelt in Phylacè.These, at the head of Phthia’s valiant youth,And cased in massive armor, fought besideBoeotia’s warriors for the Grecian fleet.

But Ajax swift of foot, Oileus’ son,From him of Telamon departed not asEven for an instant. As when two black steersOf equal vigor o’er a fallow drawThe strongly jointed plough, till near their hornsStreams the warm sweat; the polished yoke aloneHolds them asunder, as they move alongThe furrow, and the share divides the soilThat lies between them;—so the heroic twainKept near each other. Many men and braveFollowed to Troy the son of TelamonAs his companions, and, when wearinessCame o’er his sweaty limbs, relieved their chiefOf his broad buckler. But the Locrian hostAttended not Oileus’ great-souled son,Nor could they ever venture to engageIn combat hand to hand. No brazen helmsWere theirs, with horse-hair plumes, no orbèd shields,Nor ashen spears. They came with him to Troy,Trusting in their good bows, and in their slingsOf twisted wool, from which they showered afarStones that dispersed the phalanxes of Troy.The chieftains Ajax, warring in the van,Clad in their shining armor, fought to checkThe Trojans and their leader, brazen-mailed,While in the rear the Locrians lurked unseen,And sent their shafts, so that the men of Troy,All order lost, were fain to cease from fight.

Then had the Trojans from the ships and tentsTurned back, and fled, with fearful loss of life,To lofty Ilium, if PolydamasHad not accosted valiant Hector thus:—

“Hector, thou hearkenest not to warning words.Deem’st thou, because a god has given thee strengthBeyond all other men for feats of war,That therefore thou art wiser than they allIn council? Think not for thyself to claimAll gifts at once. On one the god bestowsProwess in war, upon another graceIn dance, upon another skill to touchThe harp and sing. In yet another, JoveThe Thunderer implants the prudent mind,By which the many profit, and by whichCommunities are saved; and well doth heWho hath it know its worth. Now let me speakWhat seems to me the wisest. Round thee flamesThe encircling war; the valiant sons of Troy,Since they have crossed the ramparts, stand aloof,Armed as they are, or fight against large oddsScattered among the galleys. Yield thou nowThe ground, and, summoning the chiefs, decideWhat plan to follow—whether we shall stormThe well-oared galleys, should the God vouchsafeThe victory to us—or else departIn safety from the fleet. I greatly fearThe Achaians may repay to us the debtOf yesterday. There yet is at the fleetOne who, I think, no longer will refrainWholly from battle.” Thus PolydamasSpake, and the sage advice pleased Hector well,Who, leaping from his chariot to the ground,With all his weapons, said these wingèd words:—

“Remain with all the bravest warriors here,Polydamas, while I depart to giveThe due commands, and instantly return.”

He spake, and with a shout he rushed away,Seen from afar, like a snow-mountain’s peak,And flew among the Trojans and allies,Who crowded round the brave Polydamas,The son of Panthoüs, at Hector’s call.Among the foremost combatants he soughtDeïphobus, and mighty Helenus,The king; he looked for Adamas, the sonOf Asius, and for Asius of the houseOf Hyrtacus. Some not unharmed he found,Yet not o’ercome; while others lay in deathBeneath the galley sterns, where Grecian handsHad slain them; others on the wall, struck downBy missiles, or in combat hand to hand.There on the left of that disastrous frayHe met the noble Alexander, spouseOf fair-haired Helen, as he cheered his men,And rallied them to battle. Hector thusAddressed his brother with reproachful words:—

“Accursed Paris! Noble but in form,Effeminate seducer! Where are nowDeïphobus, and mighty Helenus?And Adamas, the son of Asius, where?And Asius, son of Hyrtacus? and whereOrthryoneus? Now towering Ilium sinksFrom her high summit, and thy fate is sure.”And then the godlike Paris answered thus:—

“Since it hath pleased thee, Hector, thus to castReproach on me, though innocent, I mayAnother day neglect the toils of war,Although in truth my mother brought me forthNot quite unapt for combat. Since the hourWhen thou didst lead the battle to the shipsWith thy companions, we have held our ground,Here on this spot, contending with the Greeks.Three chiefs for whom thou askest have been slain.Deïphobus and mighty Helenus,Both wounded in the hand by massive spears,Have left the field; the son of Saturn savedTheir lives. Now lead us wheresoe’er thou wilt,And we will follow thee with resolute hearts,Nor deem that thou wilt find in us a lackOf valor while our strength of arm remains.The boldest cannot fight beyond his strength.”

With such persuasive words the warrior calmedHis brother’s anger, and they went where ragedThe hottest conflict round Cebriones,Phalces, Ortbasus, and the excellentPolydamas, with Palmys at his side,And Polyphoetes, godlike in his form,And where Ascanius and Morys fought,Sons of Hippotion. They the day beforeCame marching from Ascania’s fertile fields,Moved by the will of Jove to share the war.All these swept on, as when a hurricane,A thunder-gust, from Father JupiterBuffets the plain, and mingles with the deep,In mighty uproar, and the billows riseAll over the resounding brine, and swell,Whitening with foam, and chase each other on.So moved the Trojans on, man after man,In close array, all armed in glittering brass,Following their generals. Hector, Priam’s son,And peer of Mars in battle, led the van,His round shield held before him, tough with hidesAnd overlaid with brass. Upon his browThe gleaming helmet nodded as he moved.On every side he tried the phalanxes,If haply they might yield to his assault,Made from beneath that buckler; but the GreeksIn spirit or in order wavered not.And Ajax, striding forth, defied him thus:—

“Draw nearer, friend! Think’st thou to frighten thusThe Greeks? We are not quite so inexpertIn war, although so cruelly chastisedBy Jupiter. Thou thinkest in thy heartThat thou shalt make our ships thy spoil; but weHave also our strong arms to drive thee back,And far more soon the populous town of Troy,Captured and sacked, shall fall by Grecian hands.And now I warn thee that the hour is nearWhen, fleeing, thou shalt pray to Father JoveAnd all the immortals, that thy long-maned steeds,Bearing thee townward mid a cloud of dustAlong the plain, may be more swift than hawks.”

As thus he spake, an eagle, to the right,High in the middle heaven, flew over him,And, gladdened by the omen, all the GreeksShouted; but then illustrious Hector spake:—

“Babbler and boaster, what wild words are these?O Ajax! Would that I were but as sureTo be the child of aegis-bearing Jove,Brought forth by Juno the august, and heldIn honor everywhere like that which crownsApollo and Minerva, as I knowThat to the Greeks this very day will bringDestruction, and that thou shalt also lieSlain with the others, if thou dare abideThe stroke of my long spear, which yet shall tearThy dainty flesh, and thou, with thy full limbs,Shalt be the feast of Trojan dogs and birds,Unburied by the galleys of the Greeks.”

So Hector spake, and led his warriors on.They followed with a mighty shout; the rearSent up as loud a cry. On the other sideShouted the Greeks, nor intermitted nowTheir wonted valor, but stood firm to breastThe onset of the chosen men of Troy.The mingled clamor of both hosts went upTo heaven, and to the shining seat of Jove.