The Iliad Of Homer: Translated Into English Blank Verse: Book XXI.

Argument Of The Twenty-First Book.     Achilles having separated the Trojans, and driven one part of them to the city and the other into the Scamander, takes twelve young men alive, his intended victims to the manes of Patroclus. The river overflowing his banks with purpose to overwhelm him, is opposed by Vulcan, and gladly relinquishes the attempt. The battle of the gods ensues. Apollo, in the form of Agenor, decoys Achilles from the town, which in the mean time the Trojans enter and shut the gates against him.      [1]But when they came, at length, where Xanthus winds      His stream vortiginous from Jove derived,      There, separating Ilium's host, he drove      Part o'er the plain to Troy in the same road      By which the Grecians had so lately fled      The fury of illustrious Hector's arm.      That way they fled pouring themselves along      Flood-like, and Juno, to retard them, threw      Darkness as night before them. Other part,      Push'd down the sides of Xanthus, headlong plunged      With dashing sound into his dizzy stream,      And all his banks re-echoed loud the roar.      They, struggling, shriek'd in silver eddies whirl'd.      As when, by violence of fire expell'd,      Locusts uplifted on the wing escape      To some broad river, swift the sudden blaze      Pursues them, they, astonish'd, strew the flood,[2]      So, by Achilles driven, a mingled throng      Of horses and of warriors overspread      Xanthus, and glutted all his sounding course      He, chief of heroes, leaving on the bank      His spear against a tamarisk reclined,      Plunged like a God, with falchion arm'd alone      But fill'd with thoughts of havoc. On all sides      Down came his edge; groans follow'd dread to hear      Of warriors smitten by the sword, and all      The waters as they ran redden'd with blood.      As smaller fishes, flying the pursuit      Of some huge dolphin, terrified, the creeks      And secret hollows of a haven fill,      For none of all that he can seize he spares,      So lurk'd the trembling Trojans in the caves      Of Xanthus' awful flood. But he (his hands      Wearied at length with slaughter) from the rest      Twelve youths selected whom to death he doom'd,      In vengeance for his loved Patroclus slain.      Them stupified with dread like fawns he drove      Forth from the river, manacling their hands      Behind them fast with their own tunic-strings,      And gave them to his warrior train in charge.      Then, ardent still for blood, rushing again      Toward the stream, Dardanian Priam's son      He met, Lycaon, as he climb'd the bank.      Him erst by night, in his own father's field      Finding him, he had led captive away.      Lycaon was employ'd cutting green shoots      Of the wild-fig for chariot-rings, when lo!      Terrible, unforeseen, Achilles came.      He seized and sent him in a ship afar      To Lemnos; there the son of Jason paid      His price, and, at great cost, Etion      The guest of Jason, thence redeeming him,      Sent him to fair Arisba;[3] but he 'scaped      Thence also and regain'd his father's house.      Eleven days, at his return, he gave      To recreation joyous with his friends,      And on the twelfth his fate cast him again      Into Achilles' hands, who to the shades      Now doom'd him, howsoever loth to go.      Soon as Achilles swiftest of the swift      Him naked saw (for neither spear had he      Nor shield nor helmet, but, when he emerged,      Weary and faint had cast them all away)      Indignant to his mighty self he said.      Gods! I behold a miracle! Ere long      The valiant Trojans whom my self have slain      Shall rise from Erebus, for he is here,      The self-same warrior whom I lately sold      At Lemnos, free, and in the field again.      The hoary deep is prison strong enough      For most, but not for him. Now shall he taste      The point of this my spear, that I may learn      By sure experience, whether hell itself      That holds the strongest fast, can him detain,      Or whether he shall thence also escape.      While musing thus he stood, stunn'd with dismay      The youth approach'd, eager to clasp his knees,      For vehement he felt the dread of death      Working within him; with his Pelian ash      Uplifted high noble Achilles stood      Ardent to smite him; he with body bent      Ran under it, and to his knees adhered;      The weapon, missing him, implanted stood      Close at his back, when, seizing with one hand      Achilles' knees, he with the other grasp'd      The dreadful beam, resolute through despair,      And in wing'd accents suppliant thus began.      Oh spare me! pity me! Behold I clasp      Thy knees, Achilles! Ah, illustrious Chief!      Reject not with disdain a suppliant's prayer.      I am thy guest also, who at thy own board      Have eaten bread, and did partake the gift      Of Ceres with thee on the very day      When thou didst send me in yon field surprised      For sale to sacred Lemnos, far remote,      And for my price receiv'dst a hundred beeves.      Loose me, and I will yield thee now that sum      Thrice told. Alas! this morn is but the twelfth      Since, after numerous hardships, I arrived      Once more in Troy, and now my ruthless lot      Hath given me into thy hands again.      Jove cannot less than hate me, who hath twice      Made me thy prisoner, and my doom was death,      Death in my prime, the day when I was born      Son of Laothe from Alta sprung,      From Alta, whom the Leleges obey      On Satnio's banks in lofty Pedasus.      His daughter to his other numerous wives      King Priam added, and two sons she bore      Only to be deprived by thee of both.      My brother hath already died, in front      Of Ilium's infantry, by thy bright spear,      The godlike Polydorus; and like doom      Shall now be mine, for I despair to escape      Thine hands, to which the Gods yield me again.      But hear and mark me well. My birth was not      From the same womb as Hector's, who hath slain      Thy valiant friend for clemency renown'd.      Such supplication the illustrious son      Of Priam made, but answer harsh received.      Fool! speak'st of ransom? Name it not to me.      For till my friend his miserable fate      Accomplish'd, I was somewhat given to spare,      And numerous, whom I seized alive, I sold.      But now, of all the Trojans whom the Gods      Deliver to me, none shall death escape,      'Specially of the house of Priam, none.      Die therefore, even thou, my friend! What mean      Thy tears unreasonably shed and vain?      Died not Patroclus. braver far than thou?      And look on me--see'st not to what a height      My stature towers, and what a bulk I boast?      A King begat me, and a Goddess bore.      What then! A death by violence awaits      Me also, and at morn, or eve, or noon,      I perish, whensoe'er the destined spear      Shall reach me, or the arrow from the nerve.      He ceased, and where the suppliant kneel'd, he died.      Quitting the spear, with both hands spread abroad      He sat, but swift Achilles with his sword      'Twixt neck and key-bone smote him, and his blade      Of double edge sank all into the wound.      He prone extended on the champain lay      Bedewing with his sable blood the glebe,      Till, by the foot, Achilles cast him far      Into the stream, and, as he floated down,      Thus in wing'd accents, glorying, exclaim'd.      Lie there, and feed the fishes, which shall lick      Thy blood secure. Thy mother ne'er shall place      Thee on thy bier, nor on thy body weep,      But swift Scamander on his giddy tide      Shall bear thee to the bosom of the sea.      There, many a fish shall through the crystal flood      Ascending to the rippled surface, find      Lycaon's pamper'd flesh delicious fare.      Die Trojans! till we reach your city, you      Fleeing, and slaughtering, I. This pleasant stream      Of dimpling silver which ye worship oft      With victim bulls, and sate with living steeds[4]      His rapid whirlpools, shall avail you nought,      But ye shall die, die terribly, till all      Shall have requited me with just amends      For my Patroclus, and for other Greeks      Slain at the ships while I declined the war.      He ended, at those words still more incensed      Scamander means devised, thenceforth to check      Achilles, and avert the doom of Troy.      Meantime the son of Peleus, his huge spear      Grasping, assail'd Asteropus son      Of Pelegon, on fire to take his life.      Fair Periboea, daughter eldest-born      Of Acessamenus, his father bore      To broad-stream'd Axius, who had clasp'd the nymph      In his embrace. On him Achilles sprang.      He newly risen from the river, stood      Arm'd with two lances opposite, for him      Xanthus embolden'd, at the deaths incensed      Of many a youth, whom, mercy none vouchsafed,      Achilles had in all his current slain.      And now small distance interposed, they faced      Each other, when Achilles thus began.      Who art and whence, who dar'st encounter me?      Hapless the sires whose sons my force defy.      To whom the noble son of Pelegon.      Pelides, mighty Chief? Why hast thou ask'd      My derivation? From the land I come      Of mellow-soil'd Poeonia far remote,      Chief leader of Poenia's host spear-arm'd;      This day hath also the eleventh risen      Since I at Troy arrived. For my descent,      It is from Axius river wide-diffused,      From Axius, fairest stream that waters earth,      Sire of bold Pelegon whom men report      My sire. Let this suffice. Now fight, Achilles!      So spake he threatening, and Achilles raised      Dauntless the Pelian ash. At once two spears      The hero bold, Asteropus threw,      With both hands apt for battle. One his shield      Struck but pierced not, impeded by the gold,      Gift of a God; the other as it flew      Grazed at his right elbow; sprang the sable blood;      But, overflying him, the spear in earth      Stood planted deep, still hungering for the prey.      Then, full at the Poeonian Peleus' son      Hurl'd forth his weapon with unsparing force      But vain; he struck the sloping river bank,      And mid-length deep stood plunged the ashen beam.      Then, with his falchion drawn, Achilles flew      To smite him; he in vain, meantime, essay'd      To pluck the rooted spear forth from the bank;      Thrice with full force he shook the beam, and thrice,      Although reluctant, left it; at his fourth      Last effort, bending it he sought to break      The ashen spear-beam of acides,      But perish'd by his keen-edged falchion first;      For on the belly at his navel's side      He smote him; to the ground effused fell all      His bowels, death's dim shadows veil'd his eyes.      Achilles ardent on his bosom fix'd      His foot, despoil'd him, and exulting cried.      Lie there; though River-sprung, thou find'st it hard      To cope with sons of Jove omnipotent.      Thou said'st, a mighty River is my sire--      But my descent from mightier Jove I boast;      My father, whom the Myrmidons obey,      Is son of acus, and he of Jove.      As Jove all streams excels that seek the sea,      So, Jove's descendants nobler are than theirs.      Behold a River at thy side--let him      Afford thee, if he can, some succor--No--      He may not fight against Saturnian Jove.      Therefore, not kingly Achelous,      Nor yet the strength of Ocean's vast profound,      Although from him all rivers and all seas,      All fountains and all wells proceed, may boast      Comparison with Jove, but even he      Astonish'd trembles at his fiery bolt,      And his dread thunders rattling in the sky.      He said, and drawing from the bank his spear[5]      Asteropus left stretch'd on the sands,      Where, while the clear wave dash'd him, eels his flanks      And ravening fishes numerous nibbled bare.      The horsed Poeonians next he fierce assail'd,      Who seeing their brave Chief slain by the sword      And forceful arm of Peleus' son, beside      The eddy-whirling stream fled all dispersed.      Thersilochus and Mydon then he slew,      Thrasius, Astypylus and Ophelestes,      nius and Mnesus; nor had these sufficed      Achilles, but Poeonians more had fallen,      Had not the angry River from within      His circling gulfs in semblance, of a man      Call'd to him, interrupting thus his rage.      Oh both in courage and injurious deeds      Unmatch'd, Achilles! whom themselves the Gods      Cease not to aid, if Saturn's son have doom'd      All Ilium's race to perish by thine arm,      Expel them, first, from me, ere thou achieve      That dread exploit; for, cumber'd as I am      With bodies, I can pour my pleasant stream      No longer down into the sacred deep;      All vanish where thou comest. But oh desist      Dread Chief! Amazement fills me at thy deeds.      To whom Achilles, matchless in the race.      River divine! hereafter be it so.      But not from slaughter of this faithless host      I cease, till I shall shut them fast in Troy      And trial make of Hector, if his arm      In single fight shall strongest prove, or mine      He said, and like a God, furious, again      Assail'd the Trojans; then the circling flood      To Phoebus thus his loud complaint address'd.      Ah son of Jove, God of the silver bow!      The mandate of the son of Saturn ill      Hast thou perform'd, who, earnest, bade thee aid      The Trojans, till (the sun sunk in the West)      Night's shadow dim should veil the fruitful field.      He ended, and Achilles spear-renown'd      Plunged from the bank into the middle stream.      Then, turbulent, the River all his tide      Stirr'd from the bottom, landward heaving off      The numerous bodies that his current chok'd      Slain by Achilles; them, as with the roar      Of bulls, he cast aground, but deep within      His oozy gulfs the living safe conceal'd.      Terrible all around Achilles stood      The curling wave, then, falling on his shield      Dash'd him, nor found his footsteps where to rest.      An elm of massy trunk he seized and branch      Luxuriant, but it fell torn from the root      And drew the whole bank after it; immersed      It damm'd the current with its ample boughs,      And join'd as with a bridge the distant shores,      Upsprang Achilles from the gulf and turn'd      His feet, now wing'd for flight, into the plain      Astonish'd; but the God, not so appeased,      Arose against him with a darker curl,[6]      That he might quell him and deliver Troy.      Back flew Achilles with a bound, the length      Of a spear's cast, for such a spring he own'd      As bears the black-plumed eagle on her prey      Strongest and swiftest of the fowls of air.      Like her he sprang, and dreadful on his chest      Clang'd his bright armor. Then, with course oblique      He fled his fierce pursuer, but the flood,      Fly where he might, came thundering in his rear.      As when the peasant with his spade a rill      Conducts from some pure fountain through his grove      Or garden, clearing the obstructed course,      The pebbles, as it runs, all ring beneath,      And, as the slope still deepens, swifter still      It runs, and, murmuring, outstrips the guide,      So him, though swift, the river always reach'd      Still swifter; who can cope with power divine?      Oft as the noble Chief, turning, essay'd      Resistance, and to learn if all the Gods      Alike rush'd after him, so oft the flood,      Jove's offspring, laved his shoulders. Upward then      He sprang distress'd, but with a sidelong sweep      Assailing him, and from beneath his steps      Wasting the soil, the Stream his force subdued.      Then looking to the skies, aloud he mourn'd.      Eternal Sire! forsaken by the Gods      I sink, none deigns to save me from the flood,      From which once saved, I would no death decline.      Yet blame I none of all the Powers of heaven      As Thetis; she with falsehood sooth'd my soul,      She promised me a death by Phoebus' shafts      Swift-wing'd, beneath the battlements of Troy.      I would that Hector, noblest of his race,      Had slain me, I had then bravely expired      And a brave man had stripp'd me of my arms.      But fate now dooms me to a death abhorr'd      Whelm'd in deep waters, like a swine-herd's boy      Drown'd in wet weather while he fords a brook.      So spake Achilles; then, in human form,      Minerva stood and Neptune at his side;      Each seized his hand confirming him, and thus      The mighty Shaker of the shores began.      Achilles! moderate thy dismay, fear nought.      In us behold, in Pallas and in me,      Effectual aids, and with consent of Jove;      For to be vanquish'd by a River's force      Is not thy doom. This foe shall soon be quell'd;      Thine eyes shall see it. Let our counsel rule      Thy deed, and all is well. Cease not from war      Till fast within proud Ilium's walls her host      Again be prison'd, all who shall escape;      Then (Hector slain) to the Achaian fleet      Return; we make the glorious victory thine.      So they, and both departing sought the skies.      Then, animated by the voice divine,      He moved toward the plain now all o'erspread      By the vast flood on which the bodies swam      And shields of many a youth in battle slain.      He leap'd, he waded, and the current stemm'd      Right onward, by the flood in vain opposed,      With such might Pallas fill'd him. Nor his rage      Scamander aught repress'd, but still the more      Incensed against Achilles, curl'd aloft      His waters, and on Simos call'd aloud.      Brother! oh let us with united force      Check, if we may, this warrior; he shall else      Soon lay the lofty towers of Priam low,      Whose host appall'd, defend them now no more.      Haste--succor me--thy channel fill with streams      From all thy fountains; call thy torrents down;      Lift high the waters; mingle trees and stones      With uproar wild, that we may quell the force      Of this dread Chief triumphant now, and fill'd      With projects that might more beseem a God.      But vain shall be his strength, his beauty nought      Shall profit him or his resplendent arms,      For I will bury them in slime and ooze,      And I will overwhelm himself with soil,      Sands heaping o'er him and around him sands      Infinite, that no Greek shall find his bones      For ever, in my bottom deep immersed.      There shall his tomb be piled, nor other earth,      At his last rites, his friends shall need for him.      He said, and lifting high his angry tide      Vortiginous, against Achilles hurl'd,      Roaring, the foam, the bodies, and the blood;      Then all his sable waves divine again      Accumulating, bore him swift along.      Shriek'd Juno at that sight, terrified lest      Achilles in the whirling deluge sunk      Should perish, and to Vulcan quick exclaim'd.      Vulcan, my son, arise; for we account      Xanthus well able to contend with thee.      Give instant succor; show forth all thy fires.      Myself will haste to call the rapid South      And Zephyrus, that tempests from the sea      Blowing, thou may'st both arms and dead consume      With hideous conflagration. Burn along      The banks of Xanthus, fire his trees and him      Seize also. Let him by no specious guile      Of flattery soothe thee, or by threats appall,      Nor slack thy furious fires 'till with a shout      I give command, then bid them cease to blaze.      She spake, and Vulcan at her word his fires      Shot dreadful forth; first, kindling on the field,      He burn'd the bodies strew'd numerous around      Slain by Achilles; arid grew the earth      And the flood ceased. As when a sprightly breeze      Autumnal blowing from the North, at once      Dries the new-water'd garden,[7] gladdening him      Who tills the soil, so was the champain dried;      The dead consumed, against the River, next,      He turn'd the fierceness of his glittering fires.      Willows and tamarisks and elms he burn'd,      Burn'd lotus, rushes, reeds; all plants and herbs      That clothed profuse the margin of his flood.      His eels and fishes, whether wont to dwell      In gulfs beneath, or tumble in the stream,      All languish'd while the artist of the skies      Breath'd on them; even Xanthus lost, himself,      All force, and, suppliant, Vulcan thus address'd.      Oh Vulcan! none in heaven itself may cope      With thee. I yield to thy consuming fires.      Cease, cease. I reck not if Achilles drive      Her citizens, this moment, forth from Troy,      For what are war and war's concerns to me?      So spake he scorch'd, and all his waters boil'd.      As some huge caldron hisses urged by force      Of circling fires and fill'd with melted lard,      The unctuous fluid overbubbling[8] streams      On all sides, while the dry wood flames beneath,      So Xanthus bubbled and his pleasant flood      Hiss'd in the fire, nor could he longer flow      But check'd his current, with hot steams annoy'd      By Vulcan raised. His supplication, then,      Importunate to Juno thus he turn'd.      Ah Juno! why assails thy son my streams,      Hostile to me alone? Of all who aid      The Trojans I am surely least to blame,      Yet even I desist if thou command;      And let thy son cease also; for I swear      That never will I from the Trojans turn      Their evil day, not even when the host      Of Greece shall set all Ilium in a blaze.      He said, and by his oath pacified, thus      The white-arm'd Deity to Vulcan spake.      Peace, glorious son! we may not in behalf      Of mortal man thus longer vex a God.      Then Vulcan his tremendous fires repress'd,      And down into his gulfy channel rush'd      The refluent flood; for when the force was once      Subdued of Xanthus, Juno interposed,      Although incensed, herself to quell the strife.      But contest vehement the other Gods      Now waged, each breathing discord; loud they rush'd      And fierce to battle, while the boundless earth      Quaked under them, and, all around, the heavens      Sang them together with a trumpet's voice.      Jove listening, on the Olympian summit sat      Well-pleased, and, in his heart laughing for joy,      Beheld the Powers of heaven in battle join'd.      Not long aloof they stood. Shield-piercer Mars,      His brazen spear grasp'd, and began the fight      Rushing on Pallas, whom he thus reproach'd.      Wasp! front of impudence, and past all bounds      Audacious! Why impellest thou the Gods      To fight? Thy own proud spirit is the cause.      Remember'st not, how, urged by thee, the son      Of Tydeus, Diomede, myself assail'd,      When thou, the radiant spear with thy own hand      Guiding, didst rend my body? Now, I ween,      The hour is come in which I shall exact      Vengeance for all thy malice shown to me.      So saying, her shield he smote tassell'd around      Terrific, proof against the bolts of Jove;      That shield gore-tainted Mars with fury smote.      But she, retiring, with strong grasp upheaved      A rugged stone, black, ponderous, from the plain,      A land-mark fixt by men of ancient times,      Which hurling at the neck of stormy Mars      She smote him. Down he fell. Seven acres, stretch'd,      He overspread, his ringlets in the dust      Polluted lay, and dreadful rang his arms.      The Goddess laugh'd, and thus in accents wing'd      With exultation, as he lay, exclaim'd.      Fool! Art thou still to learn how far my force      Surpasses thine, and darest thou cope with me?      Now feel the furies of thy mother's ire      Who hates thee for thy treachery to the Greeks,      And for thy succor given to faithless Troy.      She said, and turn'd from Mars her glorious eyes.      But him deep-groaning and his torpid powers      Recovering slow, Venus conducted thence      Daughter of Jove, whom soon as Juno mark'd,      In accents wing'd to Pallas thus she spake.      Daughter invincible of glorious Jove!      Haste--follow her--Ah shameless! how she leads      Gore-tainted Mars through all the host of heaven.      So she, whom Pallas with delight obey'd;      To Venus swift she flew, and on the breast      With such force smote her that of sense bereft      The fainting Goddess fell. There Venus lay      And Mars extended on the fruitful glebe,      And Pallas thus in accents wing'd exclaim'd.      I would that all who on the part of Troy      Oppose in fight Achaia's valiant sons,      Were firm and bold as Venus in defence      Of Mars, for whom she dared my power defy!      So had dissension (Ilium overthrown      And desolated) ceased long since in heaven.      So Pallas, and approving Juno smiled.      Then the imperial Shaker of the shores      Thus to Apollo. Phoebus! wherefore stand      We thus aloof? Since others have begun,      Begin we also; shame it were to both      Should we, no combat waged, ascend again      Olympus and the brass-built hall of Jove.      Begin, for thou art younger; me, whose years      Alike and knowledge thine surpass so far,      It suits not. Oh stupidity! how gross      Art thou and senseless! Are no traces left      In thy remembrance of our numerous wrongs      Sustain'd at Ilium, when, of all the Gods      Ourselves alone, by Jove's commandment, served      For stipulated hire, a year complete,      Our task-master the proud Laomedon?      Myself a bulwark'd town, spacious, secure      Against assault, and beautiful as strong      Built for the Trojans, and thine office was      To feed for King Laomedon his herds      Among the groves of Ida many-valed.      But when the gladsome hours the season brought      Of payment, then the unjust King of Troy      Dismiss'd us of our whole reward amerced      By violence, and added threats beside.      Thee into distant isles, bound hand and foot,      To sell he threatened, and to amputate      The ears of both; we, therefore, hasted thence      Resenting deep our promised hire withheld.      Aid'st thou for this the Trojans? Canst thou less      Than seek, with us, to exterminate the whole      Perfidious race, wives, children, husbands, all?      To whom the King of radiant shafts Apollo.      Me, Neptune, thou wouldst deem, thyself, unwise      Contending for the sake of mortal men      With thee; a wretched race, who like the leaves      Now flourish rank, by fruits of earth sustain'd,      Now sapless fall. Here, therefore, us between      Let all strife cease, far better left to them.      He said, and turn'd away, fearing to lift      His hand against the brother of his sire.      But him Diana of the woods with sharp      Rebuke, his huntress sister, thus reproved.      Fly'st thou, Apollo! and to Neptune yield'st      An unearn'd victory, the prize of fame      Resigning patient and with no dispute?      Fool! wherefore bearest thou the bow in vain?      Ah, let me never in my father's courts      Hear thee among the immortals vaunting more      That thou wouldst Neptune's self confront in arms.      So she, to whom Apollo nought replied.[9]      But thus the consort of the Thunderer, fired      With wrath, reproved the Archeress of heaven.      How hast thou dared, impudent, to oppose      My will? Bow-practised as thou art, the task      To match my force were difficult to thee.      Is it, because by ordinance of Jove      Thou art a lioness to womankind,      Killing them at thy pleasure? Ah beware--      Far easier is it, on the mountain-heights      To slay wild beasts and chase the roving hind,      Than to conflict with mightier than ourselves.      But, if thou wish a lesson on that theme,      Approach--thou shalt be taught with good effect      How far my force in combat passes thine.      She said, and with her left hand seizing both      Diana's wrists, snatch'd suddenly the bow      Suspended on her shoulder with the right,      And, smiling, smote her with it on the ears.      She, writhing oft and struggling, to the ground      Shook forth her rapid shafts, then, weeping, fled      As to her cavern in some hollow rock      The dove, not destined to his talons, flies      The hawk's pursuit, and left her arms behind.      Then, messenger of heaven, the Argicide      Address'd Latona. Combat none with thee,      Latona, will I wage. Unsafe it were      To cope in battle with a spouse of Jove.      Go, therefore, loudly as thou wilt, proclaim      To all the Gods that thou hast vanquish'd me.      Collecting, then, the bow and arrows fallen      In wild disorder on the dusty plain,      Latona with the sacred charge withdrew      Following her daughter; she, in the abode      Brass-built arriving of Olympian Jove,      Sat on his knees, weeping till all her robe      Ambrosial shook. The mighty Father smiled,      And to his bosom straining her, inquired.      Daughter beloved! who, which of all the Gods      Hath raised his hand, presumptuous, against thee,      As if convicted of some open wrong?      To whom the clear-voiced Huntress crescent-crown'd.      My Father! Juno, thy own consort fair      My sorrow caused, from whom dispute and strife      Perpetual, threaten the immortal Powers.      Thus they in heaven mutual conferr'd. Meantime      Apollo into sacred Troy return'd      Mindful to guard her bulwarks, lest the Greeks      Too soon for Fate should desolate the town.      The other Gods, some angry, some elate      With victory, the Olympian heights regain'd,      And sat beside the Thunderer. But the son      Of Peleus--He both Trojans slew and steeds.      As when in volumes slow smoke climbs the skies      From some great city which the Gods have fired      Vindictive, sorrow thence to many ensues      With mischief, and to all labor severe,      So caused Achilles labor on that day,      Severe, and mischief to the men of Troy.      But ancient Priam from a sacred tower      Stood looking forth, whence soon he noticed vast      Achilles, before whom the Trojans fled      All courage lost. Descending from the tower      With mournful cries and hasting to the wall      He thus enjoin'd the keepers of the gates.      Hold wide the portals till the flying host      Re-enter, for himself is nigh, himself      Achilles drives them home. Now, wo to Troy!      But soon as safe within the walls received      They breathe again, shut fast the ponderous gates      At once, lest that destroyer also pass.      He said; they, shooting back the bars, threw wide      The gates and saved the people, whom to aid      Apollo also sprang into the field,      They, parch'd with drought and whiten'd all with dust,      Flew right toward the town, while, spear in hand,      Achilles press'd them, vengeance in his heart      And all on fire for glory. Then, full sure,      Ilium, the city of lofty gates, had fallen      Won by the Grecians, had not Phoebus roused      Antenor's valiant son, the noble Chief      Agenor; him with dauntless might he fill'd,      And shielding him against the stroke of fate      Beside him stood himself, by the broad beech      Cover'd and wrapt in clouds. Agenor then,      Seeing the city-waster hero nigh      Achilles, stood, but standing, felt his mind      Troubled with doubts; he groan'd, and thus he mused.      [10]Alas! if following the tumultuous flight      Of these, I shun Achilles, swifter far      He soon will lop my ignominious head.      But if, these leaving to be thus dispersed      Before him, from the city-wall I fly      Across the plain of Troy into the groves      Of Ida, and in Ida's thickets lurk,      I may, at evening, to the town return      Bathed and refresh'd. But whither tend my thoughts?      Should he my flight into the plain observe      And swift pursuing seize me, then, farewell      All hope to scape a miserable death,      For he hath strength passing the strength of man.      How then--shall I withstand him here before      The city? He hath also flesh to steel      Pervious, within it but a single life,      And men report him mortal, howsoe'er      Saturnian Jove lift him to glory now.      So saying, he turn'd and stood, his dauntless heart      Beating for battle. As the pard springs forth      To meet the hunter from her gloomy lair,      Nor, hearing loud the hounds, fears or retires,      But whether from afar or nigh at hand      He pierce her first, although transfixt, the fight      Still tries, and combats desperate till she fall,      So, brave Antenor's son fled not, or shrank,      Till he had proved Achilles, but his breast      O'ershadowing with his buckler and his spear      Aiming well-poised against him, loud exclaim'd.      Renown'd Achilles! Thou art high in hope      Doubtless, that thou shalt this day overthrow      The city of the glorious sons of Troy.      Fool! ye must labor yet ere she be won,      For numerous are her citizens and bold,      And we will guard her for our parents' sake      Our wives and little ones. But here thou diest      Terrible Chief and dauntless as thou art.      He said, and with full force hurling his lance      Smote, and err'd not, his greave beneath his knee      The glittering tin, forged newly, at the stroke      Tremendous rang, but quick recoil'd and vain      The weapon, weak against that guard divine.      Then sprang Achilles in his turn to assail      Godlike Agenor, but Apollo took      That glory from him, snatching wrapt in clouds      Agenor thence, whom calm he sent away.      Then Phoebus from pursuit of Ilium's host      By art averted Peleus' son; the form      Assuming of Agenor, swift he fled      Before him, and Achilles swift pursued.      While him Apollo thus lured to the chase      Wide o'er the fruitful plain, inclining still      Toward Scamander's dizzy stream his course      Nor flying far before, but with false hope      Always beguiling him, the scatter'd host      Meantime, in joyful throngs, regain'd the town.      They fill'd and shut it fast, nor dared to wait      Each other in the field, or to inquire      Who lived and who had fallen, but all, whom flight      Had rescued, like a flood pour'd into Troy.      * * * * * The Trojans being now within the city, excepting Hector, the field is cleared for the most important and decisive action in the poem; that is, the battle between Achilles and Hector, and the death of the latter. This part of the story is managed with singular skill. It seems as if the poet, feeling the importance of the catastrophe, wished to withdraw from view the personages of less consequence, and to concentrate our attention upon those two alone. The poetic action and description are narrowed in extent, but deepened in interest. The fate of Troy is impending; the irreversible decree of Jupiter is about to be executed; the heroes, whose bravery is to be the instrument of bringing about this consummation, are left together on the plain.--FELTON.