Classic Poem

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 dazling Lustre whitens all the Skies:
So Helms succeeding Helms, so Shields from Shields
Catch the quick Beams, and brighten all the Fields;
Broad-glitt'ring Breastplates, Spears with pointed Rays
Mix in one Stream, reflecting Blaze on Blaze:
Thick beats the Center as the Coursers bound,
With Splendor flame the Skies, and laugh the Fields around.
Full in the midst, high tow'ring o'er the rest,
His Limbs in Arms divine Achilles drest;
Arms which the Father of the Fire bestow'd,
Forg'd on th' Eternal Anvils of the God.
Grief and Revenge his furious Heart inspire,
His glowing Eye-balls roll with living Fire,
He grinds his Teeth, and furious with Delay
O'erlooks th' embattled Host, and hopes the bloody Day.
The silver Cuishes first his Thighs infold;
Then o'er his Breast was brac'd the hollow Gold:
The brazen Sword a various Baldrick ty'd,
That, starr'd with Gems, hung glitt'ring at his side;
And like the Moon, the broad refulgent Shield
Blaz'd with long Rays, and gleam'd athwart the Field.
So to Night-wand'ring Sailors, pale with Fears,
Wide o'er the wat'ry Waste, a Light appears,
Which on the far-seen Mountain blazing high,
Streams from some lonely Watch-tow'r 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 grac'd; 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 wond'ring eyes;
His Arms he poises, and his Motions tries;
Buoy'd by some inward Force, he seems to swim,
And feels a Pinion lifting ev'ry Limb.
And now he shakes his great paternal Spear,
Pond'rous and huge! which not a Greek could rear.
From Pelion 's cloudy Top an Ash entire
Old Chiron fell'd, and shap'd it for his Sire;
A Spear which stern Achilles only wields,
The Death of Heroes, and the Dread of Fields.
Automedon and Alcimus prepare
Th' immortal Coursers, and the radiant Car,
(The silver Traces sweeping at their side)
Their fiery Mouths resplendent Bridles ty'd,
The Iv'ry studded Reins, return'd behind,
Wav'd 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 heav'nly Arms, above his Squire
Achilles mounts, and sets the Field on Fire;
Not brighter, Phaebus in th' Æthereal Way,
Flames from his Chariot, and restores the Day.
High o'er the Host, all terrible he stands,
And thunders to his Steeds these dread Commands.
Xanthus and Balius ! of Podarges ' Strain,
(Unless ye boast that heav'nly Race in vain)
Be swift, be mindful of the Load ye bear,
And learn to make your Master more your Care:
Thro' falling Squadrons bear my slaught'ring Sword,
Nor, as ye left Patroclus , leave your Lord.
The gen'rous 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 thro' the Files of War:
But come it will, the fatal Time must come,
Nor ours the Fault, but God decrees thy Doom.
Not thro' our Crime, or Slowness in the Course,
Fell thy Patroclus , but by heav'nly Force.
The bright far-shooting God who gilds the Day,
(Confest 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 ceas'd for ever, by the Furies ty'd,
His fate-ful Voice. Th' intrepid Chief reply'd
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 lov'd Parents, and my native Shore —
Enough — When Heav'n ordains, I sink in Night,
Now perish Troy ! He said, and rush'd to Fight.