Classic Poem

And now Olympus ' shining gates unfold;
The Gods, with Jove , assume their Thrones of Gold:
Immortal Hebe , fresh with bloom divine,
The golden goblet crowns with purple wine:
While the full bowls flow round, the pow'rs employ
Their careful eyes on long-contended Troy .
When Jove , dispos'd to tempt Saturnia 's spleen,
Thus wak'd the fury of his partial Queen.
Two pow'rs divine the son of Atreus aid,
Imperial Juno , and the martial maid;
But high in heav'n they sit, and gaze from far,
The tame spectators of his deeds of war.
Not thus fair Venus helps her favour'd knight,
The Queen of Pleasures shares the toils of fight,
Each danger wards, and constant in her care
Saves in the moment of the last despair.
Her act has rescu'd Paris ' forfeit life,
Tho' great Atrides gain'd the glorious strife.
Then say ye pow'rs! what signal issue waits
To crown this deed, and finish all the Fates?
Shall heav'n by peace the bleeding kingdoms spare,
Or rowze the Furies, and awake the war?
Yet, would the Gods for human good provide,
Atrides soon might gain his beauteous bride,
Still Priam 's walls in peaceful honours grow,
And thro' his gates the crowding nations flow.
Thus while he spoke, the Queen of Heav'n, enrag'd
And Queen of War, in a close consult engag'd.
Apart they sit, their deep designs employ,
And meditate the future woes of Troy .
Tho' secret anger swell'd Minerva 's breast,
The prudent Goddess yet her wrath supprest;
But Juno , impotent of passion, broke
Her sullen silence, and with fury spoke.
Shall then, O tyrant of th' aethereal reign!
My schemes, my labours, and my hopes be vain?
Have I, for this, shook Ilion with alarms,
Assembled nations, set two worlds in arms?
To spread the war, I flew from shore to shore;
Th' immortal coursers scarce the labour bore.
At length, ripe vengeance o'er their heads impends,
But Jove himself the faithless race defends:
Loth as thou art to punish lawless lust,
Not all the Gods are partial and unjust.
The Sire whose thunder shakes the cloudy skies,
Sighs from his inmost soul, and thus replies;
Oh lasting rancour! oh insatiate hate
To Phrygia 's Monarch, and the Phrygian state!
What high offence has fir'd the wife of Jove ,
Can wretched mortals harm the pow'rs above?
That Troy , and Troy 's whole Race thou woud'st confound,
And yon' fair structures level with the ground?
Haste, leave the skies, fulfil thy stern desire,
Burst all her gates, and wrap her walls in fire!
Let Priam bleed! If yet thou thirst for more,
Bleed all his sons, and Ilion float with gore,
To boundless vengeance the wide realm be giv'n,
'Till vast destruction glut the Queen of Heav'n!
So let it be, and Jove his peace enjoy,
When heav'n no longer hears the name of Troy .
But should this arm prepare to wreak our hate
On thy lov'd realms whose guilt demands their fate,
Presume not thou the lifted bolt to stay,
Remember Troy , and give the vengeance way.
For know, of all the num'rous towns that rise
Beneath the rolling sun, and starry skies,
Which Gods have rais'd, or earth-born men enjoy;
None stands so dear to Jove as sacred Troy .
No Mortals merit more distinguish'd grace
Than god-like Priam , or than Priam 's race.
Still to our name their hecatombs expire,
And altars blaze with unextinguish'd fire.
At this the Goddess roll'd her radiant eyes,
Then on the Thund'rer fix'd them, and replies.
Three towns are Juno 's on the Grecian plains,
More dear than all th' extended earth contains,
Mycenae, Argos , and the Spartan wall;
These thou may'st raze, nor I forbid their fall:
'Tis not in me the vengeance to remove;
The crime's sufficient that they share my love.
Of pow'r superior why should I complain?
Resent I may, but must resent in vain.
Yet some distinction Juno might require,
Sprung, with thy self, from one celestial Sire,
A Goddess born to share the realms above,
And styl'd the consort of the thund'ring Jove .
Nor thou a wife and sister's right deny;
Let both consent, and both by turns comply:
So shall the Gods our joint decrees obey,
And heav'n shall act as we direct the way.
See ready Pallas waits thy high commands,
To raise in arms the Greek and Phrygian Bands;
Their sudden friendship by her arts may cease,
And the proud Trojans first infringe the peace.
The Sire of men and Monarch of the sky
Th' advice approv'd, and bade Minerva fly,
Dissolve the league, and all her arts employ
To make the breach the faithless act of Troy .
Fir'd with the charge, she head-long urg'd her flight,
And shot like light'ning from Olympus ' height.
As the red comet from Saturnius sent
To fright the nations with a dire portent,
(A fatal sign to armies on the plain,
Or trembling sailors on the wintry main)
With sweeping glories glides along in air,
And shakes the sparkles from its blazing hair:
Between both armies thus, in open sight,
Shot the bright Goddess in a trail of light.
With eyes erect the gazing hosts admire
The pow'r descending, and the heav'ns on fire!
The Gods (they cry'd) the Gods this signal sent,
And fate now labours with some vast event:
Jove seals the league, or bloodier scenes prepares;
Jove , the great arbiter of peace and wars!
They said, while Pallas thro' the Trojan throng
(In shape a mortal) pass'd disguis'd along.
Like bold Laodocus , her course she bent,
Who from Antenor trac'd his high descent.
Amidst the ranks Lycaon 's son she found,
The warlike Pandarus , for strength renown'd;
Whose squadrons, led from black Æsepus ' flood,
With flaming shields in martial circle stood.
To him the Goddess: Phrygian ! can'st thou hear
A well-tim'd counsel with a willing ear?
What praise were thine, cou'd'st thou direct thy dart,
Amidst his triumph, to the Spartan 's heart?
What gifts from Troy , from Paris wou'd'st thou gain,
Thy country's foe, the Grecian glory slain?
Then seize th'occasion, dare the mighty deed,
Aim at his breast, and may that aim succeed!
But first, to speed the shaft, address thy vow
To Lycian Phaebus with the silver bow,
And swear the firstlings of thy flock to pay
On Zelia 's altars, to the God of day.
He heard, and madly at the motion pleas'd,
His polish'd bow with hasty rashness seiz'd.
'Twas form'd of horn, and smooth'd with artful toil;
A mountain goat resign'd the shining spoil,
Who pierc'd long since beneath his arrows bled;
The stately quarry on the cliffs lay dead,
And sixteen palms his brows large honours spread:
The workman join'd, and shap'd the bended horns,
And beaten gold each taper point adorns.
This, by the Greeks unseen, the warriour bends,
Screen'd by the shields of his surrounding friends.
There meditates the mark; and couching low,
Fits the sharp arrow to the well-strung bow.
One from a hundred feather'd deaths he chose,
Fated to wound, and cause of future woes.
Then offers vows with hecatombs to crown
Apollo 's altars in his native town.
Now with full force the yielding horn he bends,
Drawn to an arch, and joins the doubling ends;
Close to his breast he strains the nerve below,
'Till the barb'd point approach the circling bow;
Th' impatient weapon whizzes on the wing,
Sounds the tough horn, and twangs the quiv'ring string.
But thee, Atrides ! in that dang'rous hour
The Gods forget not, nor thy guardian pow'r.
Pallas assists, and (weaken'd in its force)
Diverts the weapon from its destin'd course;
So from her babe, when slumber seals his eye,
The watchful mother wafts th' envenom'd fly.
Just where his belt with golden buckles join'd,
Where linen folds the double corslet lin'd,
She turn'd the shaft, which hissing from above,
Pass'd the broad belt, and thro' the corslet drove;
The folds it pierc'd, the plaited linen tore,
And raz'd the skin and drew the purple gore.
As when some stately trappings are decreed
To grace a monarch on his bounding steed,
A nymph in Caria or Maeonia bred,
Stains the pure iv'ry with a lively red;
With equal lustre various colours vie,
The shining whiteness and the Tyrian dye:
So, great Atrides ! show'd thy sacred blood,
As down thy snowy thigh distill'd the streaming flood.
With horrour seiz'd, the King of Men descry'd
The shaft infix'd, and saw the gushing tide:
Nor less the Spartan fear'd, before he found
The shining barb appear above the wound.
Then, with a sigh that heav'd his manly breast,
The royal brother thus his grief exprest,
And grasp'd his hand; while all the Greeks around
With answering sighs return'd the plaintive sound.
Oh dear as life! did I for this agree
The solemn truce, a fatal truce to thee!
Wert thou expos'd to all the hostile train,
To fight for Greece , and conquer, to be slain?
The race of Trojans in thy ruin join,
And faith is scorn'd by all the perjur'd line.
Not thus our vows, confirm'd with wine and gore,
Those hands we plighted, and those oaths we swore,
Shall all be vain: When heav'n's revenge is slow,
Jove but prepares to strike the fiercer blow.
The day shall come, that great avenging day,
Which Troy 's proud glories in the dust shall lay,
When Priam 's pow'rs and Priam 's self shall fall,
And one prodigious ruin swallow all.
I see the God, already, from the pole
Bare his red arm, and bid the thunder roll;
I see th' eternal all his fury shed,
And shake his Ægis o'er their guilty head.
Such mighty woes on perjur'd princes wait;
But thou, alas! deserv'st a happier fate.
Still must I mourn the period of thy days,
And only mourn, without my share of praise?
Depriv'd of thee, the heartless Greeks no more
Shall dream of conquests on the hostile shore;
Troy seiz'd of Helen , and our glory lost,
Thy bones shall moulder on a foreign coast:
While some proud Trojan thus insulting cries,
(And spurns the dust where Menelaüs lies)
" Such are the trophies Greece from Ilion brings,
And such the conquests of her King of Kings!
Lo his proud vessels scatter'd o'er the main,
And unreveng'd, his mighty brother slain."
Oh! e're that dire disgrace shall blast my fame,
O'erwhelm me, earth! and hide a monarch's shame.
He said: A leader's and a brother's fears
Possess his soul, which thus the Spartan chears:
Let not thy words the warmth of Greece abate;
The feeble dart is guiltless of my fate:
Stiff with the rich embroider'd work around,
My vary'd belt repell'd the flying wound.
To whom the King. My brother and my friend,
Thus, always thus, may heav'n thy life defend!
Now seek some skilful hand whose pow'rful art
May stanch th' effusion and extract the dart.
Herald, be swift, and bid Machaon bring
His speedy succour to the Spartan King;
Pierc'd with a winged Shaft (the deed of Troy )
The Grecian 's sorrow, and the Dardan 's joy.
With hasty zeal the swift Talthybius flies;
Thro' the thick files he darts his searching eyes,
And finds Machaon , where sublime he stands
In arms encircled with his native bands.
Then thus: Machaon , to the King repair,
His wounded brother claims thy timely care;
Pierc'd by some Lycian or Dardanian bow,
A grief to us, a triumph to the foe.
The heavy tidings griev'd the godlike man;
Swift to his succour thro' the ranks he ran:
The dauntless King yet standing firm he found,
And all the chiefs in deep concern around.
Where to the steely point the reed was join'd,
The shaft he drew, but left the head behind.
Strait the broad belt with gay embroid'ry grac'd
He loos'd; the corslet from his breast unbrac'd;
Then suck'd the blood, and sov'reign balm infus'd,
Which Chiron gave, and Æsculapius us'd.
While round the Prince the Greeks employ their care,
The Trojans rush tumultuous to the war;
Once more they glitter in refulgent arms,
Once more the fields are fill'd with dire alarms.
Nor had you seen the King of Men appear
Confus'd, unactive, or surpriz'd with fear;
But fond of glory, with severe delight,
His beating bosom claim'd the rising Fight.
No longer with his warlike steeds he stay'd,
Or press'd the car with polish'd brass inlay'd:
But left Eurymedon the reins to guide;
The fiery coursers snorted at his side.
On foot thro' all the martial ranks he moves,
And these encourages, and those reproves.
Brave Men! he cries (to such who boldly dare
Urge their swift steeds to face the coming war)
Your ancient valour on the foes approve;
Jove is with Greece , and let us trust in Jove .
'Tis not for us, but guilty Troy to dread,
Whose crimes sit heavy on her perjur'd head;
Her sons and matrons Greece shall lead in chains,
And her dead warriours strow the mournful plains.
Thus with new ardour he the brave inspires;
Or thus the fearful with reproaches fires.
Shame to your country, scandal of your kind!
Born to the fate ye well deserve to find!
Why stand ye gazing round the dreadful plain,
Prepar'd for flight, but doom'd to fly in vain?
Confus'd and panting, thus, the hunted deer
Falls as he flies, a victim to his fear.
Still must ye wait the foes, and still retire,
'Till yon' tall vessels blaze with Trojan Fire?
Or trust ye, Jove a valiant foe shall chace,
To save a trembling, heartless, dastard race?
This said, he stalk'd with ample strides along,
To Crete 's brave monarch and his martial throng;
High at their head he saw the chief appear,
And bold Meriones excite the rear.
At this the King his gen'rous joy exprest,
And clasp'd the warriour to his armed breast.
Divine Idomeneus ! what thanks we owe
To worth like thine? what praise shall we bestow?
To thee the foremost honours are decreed,
First in the fight, and ev'ry graceful deed.
For this, in banquets, when the gen'rous bowls
Restore our blood, and raise the warriours souls,
Tho' all the rest with stated rules we bound,
Unmix'd, unmeasur'd are thy goblets crown'd.
Be still thyself; in arms a mighty name;
Maintain thy honours, and enlarge thy fame.
To whom the Cretan thus his speech addrest;
Secure of me, O King! exhort the rest:
Fix'd to thy side, in ev'ry toil I share,
Thy firm associate in the day of war.
But let the signal be this moment giv'n;
To mix in fight is all I ask of heav'n.
The field shall prove how perjuries succeed,
And chains or death avenge their impious deed.
Charm'd with this heat, the King his course pursues,
And next the troops of either Ajax views:
In one firm orb the bands were rang'd around,
A cloud of heroes blacken'd all the ground.
Thus from the lofty promontory's brow
A swain surveys the gath'ring storm below;
Slow from the main the heavy vapours rise,
Spread in dim streams, and sail along the skies,
'Till black as night the swelling tempest shows,
The cloud condensing as the West-wind blows:
He dreads th' impending storm, and drives his flock
To the close covert of an arching rock.
Such, and so thick, th' embattel'd squadrons stood,
With spears erect, a moving iron wood;
A shady light was shot from glimm'ring shields,
And their brown arms obscur'd the dusky fields.
O heroes! worthy such a dauntless train,
Whose godlike virtue we but urge in vain,
(Exclaim'd the King) who raise your eager bands
With great examples more than loud commands.
Ah would the Gods but breathe in all the rest
Such souls as burn in your exalted breast!
Soon should our arms with just success be crown'd,
And Troy 's proud walls lie smoaking on the ground.
Then to the next the Gen'ral bends his course;
(His heart exults, and glories in his force)
There rev'rend Nestor ranks his Pylian bands,
And with inspiring eloquence commands,
With strictest order sets his train in arms,
The chiefs advises, and the soldiers warms.
Alastor, Chromius, Haemon round him wait,
Bias the good, and Pelagon the great.
The horse and chariots to the front assign'd,
The foot (the strength of war) he rang'd behind;
The middle space suspected troops supply,
Inclos'd by both, nor left the pow'r to fly:
He gives command to curb the fiery steed,
Nor cause confusion, nor the ranks exceed;
Before the rest let none too rashly ride;
No strength nor skill, but just in time, be try'd:
The charge once made, no warriour turn the rein,
But fight, or fall; a firm, embody'd train.
He whom the fortune of the field shall cast
From forth his chariot, mount the next in haste;
Nor seek unpractis'd to direct the car,
Content with jav'lins to provoke the war.
Our great forefathers held this prudent course,
Thus rul'd their ardour, thus preserv'd their force,
By laws like these immortal conquests made,
And earth's proud tyrants low in ashes laid.
So spoke the master of the martial art,
And touch'd with transport great Atrides ' heart.
Oh! had'st thou strength to match thy brave desires,
And nerves to second what thy soul inspires!
But wasting years that wither human race,
Exhaust thy spirits, and thy arms unbrace.
What once thou wert, oh ever might'st thou be!
And age the lot of any chief but thee.
Thus to th' experienc'd Prince Atrides cry'd;
He shook his hoary locks, and thus reply'd.
Well might I wish, could mortal wish renew
That strength which once in boiling youth I knew;
Such as I was, when Ereuthalion slain
Beneath this arm fell prostrate on the plain.
But heav'n its gifts not all at once bestows,
These years with wisdom crowns, with action those:
The field of combate fits the young and bold,
The solemn council best becomes the old:
To you the glorious conflict I resign,
Let sage advice, the palm of age, be mine.
He said. With joy the monarch march'd before,
And found Menestheus on the dusty shore,
With whom the firm Athenian Phalanx stands;
And next Ulysses , with his subject bands.
Remote their forces lay, nor knew so far
The peace infring'd, nor heard the sounds of war;
The tumult late begun, they stood intent
To watch the motion, dubious of th' event.
The King, who saw their squadrons yet unmov'd,
With hasty ardour thus the chiefs reprov'd.
Can Peteus ' son forget a warriour's part,
And fears Ulysses , skill'd in ev'ry art?
Why stand you distant, and the rest expect
To mix in combate which your selves neglect?
From you 'twas hop'd among the first to dare
The shock of armies, and commence the war.
For this your names are call'd, before the rest,
To share the pleasures of the genial feast:
And can you, chiefs! without a blush survey
Whole troops before you lab'ring in the fray?
Say, is it thus those honours you requite?
The first in banquets, but the last in fight.
Ulysses heard; The hero's warmth o'erspread
His cheek with blushes; and severe, he said.
Take back th' unjust reproach! Behold we stand
Sheath'd in bright arms, and but expect command.
If glorious deeds afford thy soul delight,
Behold me plunging in the thicket fight.
Then give thy warriour-chief a warriour's due,
Who dares to act whate'er thou dar'st to view.
Struck with his gen'rous wrath, the King replies;
Oh great in action, and in council wise!
With ours, thy care and ardour are the same,
Nor need I to command, nor ought to blame.
Sage as thou art, and learn'd in humankind,
Forgive the transport of a martial mind.
Haste to the fight, secure of just amends;
The Gods that make, shall keep the worthy, friends.
He said, and pass'd where great Tydides lay,
His steeds and chariots wedg'd in firm array:
(The warlike Sthenelus attends his side)
To whom with stern reproach the monarch cry'd.
Oh Son of Tydeus ! (he, whose strength could tame
The bounding steed, in arms a mighty Name)
Can'st thou, remote, the mingling hosts descry
With hands unactive, and a careless eye?
Not thus thy Sire the fierce encounter fear'd;
Still first in front the matchless Prince appear'd:
What glorious toils, what wonders they recite,
Who view'd him lab'ring thro' the ranks of fight!
I saw him once, when gath'ring martial pow'rs
A peaceful guest, he sought Mycenae 's tow'rs;
Armies he ask'd, and armies had been giv'n,
Not we deny'd, but Jove forbad from heav'n;
While dreadful comets glaring from afar
Forewarn'd the horrours of the Theban war.
Next, sent by Greece from where Asopus flows,
A fearless envoy, he approach'd the foes;
Thebes ' hostile walls, unguarded and alone,
Dauntless he enters, and demands the throne.
The tyrant feasting with his chiefs he found,
And dar'd to combate all those chiefs around;
Dar'd and subdu'd, before their haughty lord;
For Pallas strung his arm, and edg'd his sword.
Stung with the shame, within the winding way,
To bar his passage fifty warriours lay;
Two heroes led the secret squadron on,
Maeon the fierce, and hardy Lycophon ;
Those fifty slaughter'd in the gloomy vale,
He spar'd but one to bear the dreadful tale.
Such Tydeus was, and such his martial fire;
Gods! how the son degen'rates from the sire?
No words the godlike Diomed return'd,
But heard respectful, and in secret burn'd:
Not so fierce Capaneus ' undaunted son,
Stern as his sire, the boaster thus begun.
What needs, O monarch, this invidious praise,
Our selves to lessen, while our sires you raise?
Dare to be just, Atrides ! and confess
Our valour equal, tho' our fury less.
With fewer troops we storm'd the Theban wall,
And happier, saw the sev'nfold city fall.
In impious acts the guilty fathers dy'd;
The sons subdu'd, for heav'n was on their side.
Far more than heirs of all our parents fame,
Our glories darken their diminish'd name.
To him Tydides thus. My friend forbear,
Suppress thy passion, and the King revere:
His high concern may well excuse this rage,
Whose cause we follow, and whose war we wage;
His the first praise, were Ilion 's tow'rs o'erthrown,
And, if we fail, the chief disgrace his own.
Let him the Greeks to hardy toils excite,
'Tis ours, to labour in the glorious fight.
He spoke, and ardent, on the trembling ground
Sprung from his car; his ringing arms resound.
Dire was the clang, and dreadful from afar,
Of arm'd Tydides rushing to the war.
As when the winds, ascending by degrees,
First move the whitening surface of the seas,
The billows float in order to the shore,
The wave behind rolls on the wave before;
Till, with the growing storm, the deeps arise,
Foam o'er the rocks, and thunder to the skies.
So to the fight the thick Battalions throng,
Shields urg'd on shields, and men drove men along.
Sedate and silent move the num'rous bands;
No sound, no whisper, but the Chief's commands,
Those only heard; with awe the rest obey,
As if some God had snatch'd their voice away.
Not so the Trojans , from their host ascends
A gen'ral shout that all the region rends.
As when the fleecy flocks unnumber'd stand
In wealthy folds, and wait the milker's hand,
The hollow vales incessant bleating fills,
The lambs reply from all the neighb'ring hills:
Such clamours rose from various nations round,
Mix'd was the murmur, and confus'd the sound.
Each Host now joins, and each a God inspires,
These Mars incites, and those Minerva fires.
Pale Flight around, and dreadful Terror reign;
And Discord raging bathes the purple plain:
Discord ! dire sister of the slaught'ring pow'r,
Small at her birth, but rising ev'ry hour,
While scarce the skies her horrid head can bound,
She stalks on earth, and shakes the world around;
The nations bleed, where-e'er her steps she turns,
The groan still deepens, and the combate burns.
Now shield with shield, with helmet helmet clos'd,
To armour armour, lance to lance oppos'd,
Host against host with shadowy squadrons drew,
The sounding darts in iron tempests flew,
Victors and vanquish'd join promiscuous cries,
And shrilling shouts and dying groans arise;
With streaming blood the slipp'ry fields are dy'd,
And slaughter'd heroes swell the dreadful tide.
As torrents roll, increas'd by num'rous rills,
With rage impetuous down their ecchoing hills;
Rush to the vales, and pour'd along the plain,
Roar thro' a thousand chanels to the main;
The distant shepherd trembling hears the sound:
So mix both hosts, and so their cries rebound.
The bold Antilochus the slaughter led,
The first who strook a valiant Trojan dead:
At great Echepolus the lance arrives,
Raz'd his high crest, and thro' his helmet drives;
Warm'd in the brain the brazen weapon lies,
And shades eternal settle o'er his eyes.
So sinks a tow'r, that long assaults had stood
Of force and fire; its walls besmear'd with blood.
Him, the bold Leader of th' Abantian throng
Seiz'd to despoil, and dragg'd the corps along:
But while he strove to tug th' inserted dart,
Agenor 's jav'lin reach'd the hero's heart.
His flank, unguarded by his ample shield,
Admits the lance: He falls, and spurns the field;
The nerves unbrac'd support his limbs no more;
The soul comes floating in a tide of gore.
Trojans and Greeks now gather round the slain;
The war renews, the warriours bleed again;
As o'er their prey rapacious wolves engage,
Man dies on man, and all is blood and rage.
In blooming youth fair Simoisius fell,
Sent by great Ajax to the shades of hell:
Fair Simoisius , whom his mother bore
Amid the flocks on silver Simois ' shore:
The Nymph descending from the hills of Ide ,
To seek her parents on his flow'ry side,
Brought forth the babe, their common care and joy,
And thence from Simois nam'd the lovely boy.
Short was his date! by dreadful Ajax slain
He falls, and renders all their cares in vain!
So falls a poplar, that in watry ground
Rais'd high the head, with stately branches crown'd,
(Fell'd by some artist with his shining steel,
To shape the circle of the bending wheel)
Cut down it lies, tall, smooth, and largely spread,
With all its beauteous honours on its head;
There left a subject to the wind and rain,
And scorch'd by suns, it withers on the plain.
Thus pierc'd by Ajax, Simoisius lies
Stretch'd on the shore, and thus neglected dies.
At Ajax, Antiphus his jav'lin threw;
The pointed lance with erring fury flew,
And Leucus , lov'd by wise Ulysses , slew.
He drops the corps of Simoisius slain,
And sinks a breathless carcass on the plain.
This saw Ulysses , and with grief enrag'd
Strode where the foremost of the foes engag'd;
Arm'd with his spear, he meditates the wound,
In act to throw; but cautious, look'd around.
Struck at his sight the Trojans backward drew,
And trembling heard the jav'lin as it flew.
A Chief stood nigh who from Abydos came,
Old Priam 's son, Democoon was his name;
The weapon enter'd close above his ear,
Cold thro' his temples glides the whizzing spear;
With piercing shrieks the youth resigns his breath,
His eye-balls darken with the shades of death;
Pond'rous he falls; his clanging arms resound;
And his broad buckler rings against the ground.
Seiz'd with affright the boldest foes appear;
Ev'n godlike Hector seems himself to fear;
Slow he gave way, the rest tumultuous fled;
The Greeks with shouts press on, and spoil the dead;
But Phaebus now from Ilion 's tow'ring height
Shines forth reveal'd, and animates the fight.
Trojans be bold, and force with force oppose;
Your foaming steeds urge headlong on the foes!
Nor are their bodies rocks, nor ribb'd with steel;
Your weapons enter, and your strokes they feel.
Have ye forgot what seem'd your dread before?
The great, the fierce Achilles fights no more.
Apollo thus from Ilion 's lofty tow'rs
Array'd in terrours, rowz'd the Trojan pow'rs:
While War's fierce Goddess fires the Grecian foe,
And shouts and thunders in the fields below.
Then great Diores fell, by doom divine,
In vain his valour, and illustrious line.
A broken rock the force of Pirus threw,
(Who from cold Ænus led the Thracian crew)
Full on his ankle dropt the pond'rous stone,
Burst the strong nerves, and crash'd the solid bone:
Supine he tumbles on the crimson'd sands,
Before his helpless friends, and native bands,
And spreads for aid his unavailing hands.
The foe rush'd furious as he pants for breath,
And thro' his navel drove the pointed death:
His gushing entrails smoak'd upon the ground,
And the warm life came issuing from the wound.
His lance bold Thoas at the conqu'ror sent,
Deep in his breast above the pap it went,
Amid the lungs was fix'd the winged wood,
And quiv'ring in his heaving bosom stood:
'Till from the dying chief, approaching near,
Th' Ætolian warriour tugg'd his weighty spear:
Then sudden wav'd his flaming faulchion round,
And gash'd his belly with a ghastly wound.
The corps now breathless on the bloody plain,
To spoil his arms the victor strove in vain;
The Thracian bands against the victor prest;
A grove of lances glitter'd at his breast.
Stern Thoas , glaring with revengeful eyes,
In sullen fury slowly quits the prize.
Thus fell two Heroes; one the pride of Thrace ,
And one the leader of th' Epeian race;
Death's sable shade at once o'ercast their eyes,
In dust the vanquish'd, and the victor lies.
With copious slaughter all the fields are red,
And heap'd with growing mountains of the dead.
Had some brave Chief this martial scene beheld,
By Pallas guarded thro' the dreadful field,
Might darts be bid to turn their points away,
And swords around him innocently play,
The war's whole art with wonder had he seen,
And counted Heroes where he counted Men.
So fought each host, with thirst of glory fir'd,
And crowds on crowds triumphantly expir'd.