The Iliad · Homer
ARGUMENT.
But now the Eternal shook his sable shield, That shaded Ide and all the subject field Beneath its ample verge. A rolling cloud Involved the mount; the thunder roar’d aloud; The affrighted hills from their foundations nod, And blaze beneath the lightnings of the god: At one regard of his all-seeing eye The vanquish’d triumph, and the victors fly. Then trembled Greece: the flight Peneleus led; For as the brave Bœotian turn’d his head To face the foe, Polydamas drew near, And razed his shoulder with a shorten’d spear: By Hector wounded, Leitus quits the plain, Pierced through the wrist; and raging with the pain, Grasps his once formidable lance in vain. As Hector follow’d, Idomen address’d The flaming javelin to his manly breast; The brittle point before his corslet yields; Exulting Troy with clamour fills the fields: High on his chariots the Cretan stood, The son of Priam whirl’d the massive wood. But erring from its aim, the impetuous spear Struck to the dust the squire and charioteer Of martial Merion: Coeranus his name, Who left fair Lyctus for the fields of fame. On foot bold Merion fought; and now laid low, Had graced the triumphs of his Trojan foe, But the brave squire the ready coursers brought, And with his life his master’s safety bought. Between his cheek and ear the weapon went, The teeth it shatter’d, and the tongue it rent. Prone from the seat he tumbles to the plain; His dying hand forgets the falling rein: This Merion reaches, bending from the car, And urges to desert the hopeless war: Idomeneus consents; the lash applies; And the swift chariot to the navy flies.
Not Ajax less the will of heaven descried, And conquest shifting to the Trojan side, Turn’d by the hand of Jove. Then thus begun, To Atreus’s seed, the godlike Telamon: “Alas! who sees not Jove’s almighty hand Transfers the glory to the Trojan band? Whether the weak or strong discharge the dart, He guides each arrow to a Grecian heart: Not so our spears; incessant though they rain, He suffers every lance to fall in vain. Deserted of the god, yet let us try What human strength and prudence can supply; If yet this honour’d corse, in triumph borne, May glad the fleets that hope not our return, Who tremble yet, scarce rescued from their fates, And still hear Hector thundering at their gates. Some hero too must be despatch’d to bear The mournful message to Pelides’ ear; For sure he knows not, distant on the shore, His friend, his loved Patroclus, is no more. But such a chief I spy not through the host: The men, the steeds, the armies, all are lost In general darkness—Lord of earth and air! Oh king! Oh father! hear my humble prayer: Dispel this cloud, the light of heaven restore; Give me to see, and Ajax asks no more: If Greece must perish, we thy will obey, But let us perish in the face of day!”
To him the king: “Beloved of Jove! draw near, For sadder tidings never touch’d thy ear; Thy eyes have witness’d what a fatal turn! How Ilion triumphs, and the Achaians mourn. This is not all: Patroclus, on the shore Now pale and dead, shall succour Greece no more. Fly to the fleet, this instant fly, and tell The sad Achilles, how his loved-one fell: He too may haste the naked corse to gain: The arms are Hector’s, who despoil’d the slain.” The youthful warrior heard with silent woe, From his fair eyes the tears began to flow: Big with the mighty grief, he strove to say What sorrow dictates, but no word found way. To brave Laodocus his arms he flung, Who, near him wheeling, drove his steeds along; Then ran the mournful message to impart, With tearful eyes, and with dejected heart. Swift fled the youth: nor Menelaus stands (Though sore distress’d) to aid the Pylian bands; But bids bold Thrasymede those troops sustain; Himself returns to his Patroclus slain. “Gone is Antilochus (the hero said); But hope not, warriors, for Achilles’ aid: Though fierce his rage, unbounded be his woe, Unarm’d, he fights not with the Trojan foe. ’Tis in our hands alone our hopes remain, ’Tis our own vigour must the dead regain, And save ourselves, while with impetuous hate Troy pours along, and this way rolls our fate.”
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.