The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (36 page)

He fell and slept an iron sleep; wretched young man, he died,

Far from his newly-married wife, in aid of foreign pride,

And saw no pleasure of his love; yet was her jointure great:

An hundred oxen gave he her, and vow’d in his retreat

Two thousand head of sheep and goats, of which he store did leave;

Much gave he of his love’s first-fruits, and nothing did receive.

When Coön (one that for his form might feast an amorous eye,

And elder brother of the slain) beheld this tragedy,

Deep sorrow sat upon his eyes; and (standing laterally,

And to the general undiscern’d) his javelin he let fly,

That ’twixt his elbow and his wrist transfix’d his armless arm:

The bright head shin’d on th’ other side. The unexpected harm

Impress’d some horror in the king: yet so he ceas’d not fight,

But rush’d on Coön with his lance, who made what haste he might

(Seizing his slaughter’d brother’s foot) to draw him from the field,

And call’d the ablest to his aid; when under his round shield

The king’s brass javelin, as he drew, did strike him helpless dead,

Who made Iphidamas the block, and cut off Coön’s head.

Thus under great Atrides’ arm Antenor’s issue thriv’d,

And to suffice precisest fate, to Pluto’s mansion div’d.

He with his lance, sword, mighty stones, pour’d his heroic wreak

On other squadrons of the foe, whiles yet warm blood did break

Through his cleft veins: but when the wound was quite exhaust and crude,

The eager anguish did approve his princely fortitude.

As when most sharp and bitter pangs distract a labouring dame,

Which the divine Ilithiae, that rule the painful frame

Of human child-birth, pour on her – th’ Ilithiae that are

The daughters of Saturnia, with whose extreme repair

The woman in her travail strives to take the worst it gives,

With thought it must be, ’tis love’s fruit, the end for which she lives,

The mean to make herself new born, what comforts will redound:

So Agamemnon did sustain the torment of his wound.

Then took he chariot, and to fleet bad haste his charioteer,

But first pour’d out his highest voice, to purchase every ear:

‘Princes and leaders of the Greeks, brave friends, now from our fleet

Do you expel this boist’rous sway: Jove will not let me meet

Illustrate Hector, nor give leave that I shall end the day

In fight against the Ilion power: my wound is in my way.’

This said, his ready charioteer did scourge his spriteful horse,

That freely to the sable fleet perform’d their fiery course,

To bear their wounded sovereign apart the martial thrust,

Sprinkling their powerful breasts with foam, and snowing on the dust.

When Hector heard of his retreat, thus he for fame contends:

‘Trojans, Dardanians, Lycians, all my close-fighting friends,

Think what it is to be renown’d: be soldiers all of name:

Our strongest enemy is gone, Jove vows to do us fame:

Then in the Grecian faces drive your one-hoo
f
’d violent steeds,

And far above their best be best, and glorify your deeds.’

Thus as a dog-giv’n hunter sets upon a brace of boars

His white-tooth’d hounds, puffs, shouts, breathes terms, and on his emprise pours

All his wild art to make them pinch: so Hector urg’d his host

To charge the Greeks, and he himself most bold and active most:

He brake into the heat of fight, as when a tempest raves,

Stoops from the clouds, and all on heaps doth cuff the purple waves.

Who then was first, and last, he kill’d, when Jove did grace his deed?

Asseüs, and Autonous; Opys, and Clytus’ seed;

Prince Dolops, and the honour’d sire of sweet Euryalus

(Opheltes); Agelaus next, and strong Hipponous;

Orus, Essymnus, all of name. The common soldiers fell,

As when the hollow flood of air in Zephyr’s cheeks doth swell,

And sparseth all the gather’d clouds white Notus’ power did draw,

Wraps waves in waves, hurls up the froth, beat with a vehement flaw:

So were the common soldiers wrack’d in troops by Hector’s hand.

Then ruin had enforc’d such works as no Greeks could withstand,

Then in their fleet they had been hous’d, had not Laertes’ son

Stirr’d up the spirit of Diomed, with this impression:

‘Tydides, what do we sustain, forgetting what we are?

Stand by me (dearest in my love), ’twere horrible impair

For our two valours to endure a customary flight,

To leave our navy still engag’d, and but by fits to fight.’

He answer’d: ‘I am bent to stay, and anything sustain:

But our delight to prove us men will prove but short and vain,

For Jove makes Trojans instruments, and virtually then

Wields arms himself: our cross affairs are not ’twixt men and men.’

This said, Thimbraeus with his lance he tumbled from his horse,

Near his left nipple wounding him: Ulysses did enforce

Fair Molion, minion to this king that Diomed subdu’d:

Both sent they thence, till they return’d, who now the king pursu’d

And furrow’d through the thicken’d troops. As when two chased boars

Turn head ’gainst kennels of bold hounds, and race way through their gores:

So (turn’d from flight) the forward kings show’d Trojans backward death;

Nor fled the Greeks but by their wills to get great Hector breath.

Then took they horse and chariot from two bold city foes,

Merops Percosius’ mighty sons: their father could disclose,

Beyond all men, hid auguries, and would not give consent

To their egression to these wars: yet wilfully they went,

For Fates, that order sable death, enforc’d their tragedies.

Tydides slew them with his lance, and made their arms his prize;

Hipporochus, and Hippodus Ulysses reft of light.

But Jove, that out of Ida look’d, then equalis’d the fight;

A Grecian for a Trojan then paid tribute to the Fates;

Yet royal Diomed slew one, even in those even debates,

That was of name more than the rest: Paeon’s renowned son,

The prince Agastrophus; his lance into his hip did run.

His squire detain’d his horse apart, that hinder’d him to fly;

Which he repented at his heart, yet did his feet apply

His ’scape with all the speed they had, alongst the foremost bands,

And there his loved life dissolv’d. This Hector understands,

And rush’d with clamour on the king, right soundly seconded

With troops of Trojans: which perceiv’d by famous Diomed,

The deep conceit of Jove’s high will stiffen’d his royal hair,

Who spake to near-fought Ithacus: ‘The fate of this affair

Is bent to us: come, let us stand, and bound his violence.’

Thus threw he his long javelin forth, which smote his head’s defence

Full on the top, yet pierc’d no skin; brass took repulse with brass:

His helm (with three folds made, and sharp) the gift of Phoebus was.

The blow made Hector take the troop, sunk him upon his hand,

And struck him blind: the king pursu’d before the foremost band

His dart’s recovery, which he found laid on the purple plain;

By which time Hector was reviv’d, and taking horse again,

Was far commix’d within his strength, and fled his darksome grave.

He follow’d with his trusty lance, and this elusive brave:

‘Once more be thankful to thy heels, proud dog, for thy escape:

Mischief sate near thy bosom now; and now another rape

Hath thy Apollo made of thee, to whom thou well mayst pray,

When through the singing of our darts thou find’st such guarded way.

But I shall meet with thee at length, and bring thy latest hour,

If with like favour any god be fautor of my pow’r:

Meanwhile, some other shall repay what I suspend in thee.’

This said, he set the wretched soul of Paeon’s issue free,

Whom his late wound not fully slew: but Priam’s amorous birth

Against Tydides bent his bow, hid with a hill of earth,

Part of the ruinated tomb for honour’d Ilus built:

And as the curace of the slain (engrav’n and richly gilt)

Tydides from his breast had spoil’d, and from his shoulders raft

His target and his solid helm, he shot, and his keen shaft

(That never flew from him in vain) did nail upon the ground

The king’s right foot: the spleenful knight laugh’d sweetly at the wound,

Crept from his covert, and triumph’d: ‘Now art thou maim’d,’ said he,

‘And would to god my happy hand had so much honour’d me,

To have infix’d it in thy breast as deep as in thy foot,

Ev’n to th’ expulsure of thy soul: then blest had been my shoot

Of all the Trojans, who had then breath’d from their long unrests,

Who fear thee as the braying goats abhor the king of beasts.’

Undaunted Diomed replied: ‘You braver, with your bow,

You slick-hair’d lover, you that hunt and fleer at wenches so,

Durst thou but stand in arms with me, thy silly archery

Would give thee little cause to vaunt; as little suffer I

In this same tall exploit of thine, perform’d when thou wert hid,

As if a woman or a child, that knew not what it did,

Had touch’d my foot: a coward’s steel hath never any edge,

But mine (t’assure it sharp) still lays dead carcasses in pledge;

Touch it, it renders lifeless straight: it strikes the fingers’ ends

Of hapless widows in their cheeks, and children blind of friends:

The subject of it makes earth red, and air with sighs inflames,

And leaves limbs more embrac’d with birds than with enamour’d dames.’

Lance-fam’d Ulysses now came in, and stept before the king,

Kneel’d opposite, and drew the shaft: the eager pain did sting

Through all his body: straight he took his royal chariot there,

And with direction to the fleet did charge his charioteer.

Now was Ulysses desolate; fear made no friend remain.

He thus spake to his mighty mind: ‘What doth my state sustain?

If I should fly this odds in fear, that thus comes clust’ring on,

’Twere high dishonour; yet ’twere worse to be surpris’d alone:

’Tis Jove that drives the rest to flight, but that’s a faint excuse,

Why do I tempt my mind so much? Pale cowards fight refuse.

He that affects renown in war must like a rock be fix’d,

Wound, or be wounded: valour’s truth puts no respect betwixt.

In this contention with himself, in flew the shady bands

Of targeteers, who sieg’d him round with mischief-filled hands.

As when a crew of gallants watch the wild muse of a boar,

Their dogs put after in full cry, he rusheth on before;

Whets, with his lather-making jaws, his crooked tusks for blood,

And (holding firm his usual haunts) breaks through the deepen’d wood,

They charging, though his hot approach be never so abhorr’d:

So, to assail the Jove-lov’d Greek, the Ilians did accord,

And he made through them: first he hurt, upon his shoulder blade,

Deiops, a blameless man at arms; then sent to endless shade

Thoön and Eunomus; and struck the strong Chersidamas,

As from his chariot he leap’d down, beneath his targe of brass:

Who fell, and crawl’d upon the earth with his sustaining palms,

And left the fight: nor yet his lance left dealing martial alms,

But Socus’ brother by both sides, young Carops, did impress:

Then princely Socus to his aid made brotherly access,

And (coming near) spake in his charge: ‘O great Laertes’ son,

Insatiate in sly stratagems, and labours never done,

This hour, or thou shalt boast to kill the two Hypasides,

And prize their arms, or fall thyself, in my resolv’d access.’

This said, he threw quite through his shield his fell and well-driv’n lance,

Which held way through his curaces, and on his ribs did glance,

Plowing the flesh alongst his sides; but Pallas did repel

All inward passage to his life. Ulysses, knowing well

The wound undeadly (setting back his foot to form his stand),

Thus spake to Socus: ‘O thou wretch, thy death is in this hand,

That stay’st my victory on Troy: and where thy charge was made

In doubtful terms – or this or that – this shall thy life invade.’

This frighted Socus to retreat, and in his faint reverse,

The lance betwixt his shoulders fell, and through his breast did pierce.

Down fell he sounding, and the king thus play’d with his misease:

‘O Socus, you that make by birth the two Hypasides,

Now may your house and you perceive death can outfly the flyer:

Ah wretch, thou canst not ’scape my vows: old Hypasus thy sire,

Nor thy well-honour’d mother’s hands, in both which lies thy worth,

Shall close thy wretched eyes in death, but vultures dig them forth,

And hide them with their darksome wings: but when Ulysses dies,

Divinest Greeks shall tomb my corse with all their obsequies.

Now from his body and his shield the violent lance he drew,

That princely Socus had infix’d: which drawn, a crimson dew

Fell from his bosom on the earth: the wound did dare him sore.

And when the furious Trojans saw Ulysses’ forced gore,

(Encouraging themselves in gross) all his destruction vow’d;

Then he retir’d, and summon’d aid: thrice shouted he aloud

(As did denote a man engag’d), thrice Menelaus’ ear

Observ’d his aid-suggesting voice: and Ajax being near,

He told him of Ulysses’ shouts, as if he were enclos’d

From all assistance, and advis’d their aids might be dispos’d