THE ARGUMENT

Atrides, to behold the skirmish, brings
Old Nestor, and the other wounded kings.
Juno (receiving of the Cyprian dame
Her Ceston, whence her sweet enticements came)
Descends to Somnus, and gets him to bind
The pow’rs of Jove with sleep, to free her mind.
Neptune assists the Greeks, and of the foe
Slaughter inflicts a mighty overthrow.
Ajax so sore strikes Hector with a stone,
It makes him spit blood, and his sense sets gone.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT

In Ξ with sleep, and bed, heav’n’s Queen
Ev’n Jove himself makes overseen.

Not wine, nor feasts, could lay their soft chains on old Nestor’s ear
To this high clamour, who requir’d Machaon’s thoughts to bear
His care in part, about the cause; “For, methink, still,” said he,
“The cry increases. I must needs the watchtow’r mount, to see
Which way the flood of war doth drive. Still drink thou wine, and eat,
Till fair-hair’d Hecamed hath giv’n a little water heat
To cleanse the quitture from thy wound.” This said, the goodly shield
Of warlike Thrasymed, his son, who had his own in field,
He took, snatch’d up a mighty lance, and so stept forth to view
Cause of that clamour. Instantly th’ unworthy cause he knew,
The Grecians wholly put in rout, the Trojans routing still,
Close at the Greeks’ backs, their wall raz’d. The old man mourn’d this ill;
And, as when with unwieldy waves the great sea fore-feels winds
That both ways murmur, and no way her certain current finds,
But pants and swells confusedly, here goes, and there will stay,
Till on it air casts one firm wind, and then it rolls away;
So stood old Nestor in debate, two thoughts at once on wing
In his discourse, if first to take direct course to the king,
Or to the multitude in fight. At last he did conclude
To visit Agamemnon first. Mean time both hosts imbrued
Their steel in one another’s blood, nought wrought their healths but harms,
Swords, huge stones, double-headed darts, still thumping on their arms.
And now the Jove-kept kings, whose wounds were yet in cure, did meet
Old Nestor, Diomed, Ithacus, and Atreus’ sons, from fleet
Bent for the fight which was far off, the ships being drawn to shore
On heaps at first, till all their sterns a wall was rais’d before,
Which, though not great, it yet suffic’d to hide them, though their men
Were something straited; for whose scope, in form of battle then,
They drew them through the spacious shore, one by another still,
Till all the bosom of the strand their sable bulks did fill,
Ev’n till they took up all the space ’twixt both the promont’ries.
These kings, like Nestor, in desire to know for what those cries
Became so violent, came along, all leaning on their darts,
To see, though not of pow’r to fight, sad and suspicious hearts
Distemp’ring them; and, meeting now Nestor, the king in fear
Cried out: “O Nestor our renown! Why shows thy presence here,
The harmful fight abandoned? Now Hector will make good
The threat’ning vow he made, I fear, that, till he had our blood,
And fir’d our fleet, he never more would turn to Ilion.
Nor is it long, I see, before his whole will will be done.
O Gods! I now see all the Greeks put on Achilles’ ire
Against my honour; no mean left to keep our fleet from fire.”
He answer’d: “’Tis an evident truth, not Jove himself can now,
With all the thunder in his hands, prevent our overthrow.
The wall we thought invincible, and trusted more than Jove,
Is scal’d, raz’d, enter’d; and our pow’rs (driv’n up) past breathing, prove
A most inevitable fight; both slaughters so commix’d,
That for your life you cannot put your diligent’st thought betwixt
The Greeks and Trojans, and as close their throats cleave to the sky.
Consult we then, if that will serve. For fight advise not I;
It fits not wounded men to fight.” Atrides answer’d him:
“If such a wall as cost the Greeks so many a tiréd limb,
And such a dike be pass’d, and raz’d, that, as yourself said well,
We all esteem’d invincible, and would past doubt repell
The world from both our fleet and us; it doth directly show
That here Jove vows our shames and deaths. I evermore did know
His hand from ours when he help’d us, and now I see as clear
That, like the blesséd Gods, he holds our hated enemies dear,
Supports their arms, and pinions ours. Conclude then, ’tis in vain
To strive with him. Our ships drawn up, now let us launch again,
And keep at anchor till calm night, that then, perhaps, our foes
May calm their storms, and in that time our scape we may dispose.
‘It is not any shame to fly from ill, although by night.
Known ill he better does that flies, than he it takes in fight.’”
Ulysses frown’d on him, and said: “Accurs’d, why talk’st thou thus?
Would thou hadst led some barb’rous host, and not commanded us
Whom Jove made soldiers from our youth, that age might scorn to fly
From any charge it undertakes, and ev’ry dazzled eye
The honour’d hand of war might close. Thus wouldst thou leave this town,
For which our many mis’ries felt entitle it our own?
Peace, lest some other Greek give ear, and hear a sentence such;
As no man’s palate should profane; at least that knew how much
His own right weigh’d, and being a prince, and such a prince as bears
Rule of so many Greeks as thou. This counsel loathes mine ears,
Let others toil in fight and cries, and we so light of heels
Upon their very noise, and groans, to hoise away our keels.
Thus we should fit the wish of Troy, that, being something near
The victory, we give it clear; and we were sure to bear
A slaughter to the utmost man, for no man will sustain
A stroke, the fleet gone, but at that, look still, and wish him slain.
And therefore, prince of men, be sure, thy censure is unfit.”
“O Ithacus,” replied the king, “thy bitter terms have smit
My heart in sunder. At no hand, ’gainst any prince’s will
Do I command this. Would to God, that any man of skill
To give a better counsel would, or old, or younger man!
My voice should gladly go with his.” Then Diomed began:
“The man not far is, nor shall ask much labour to bring in,
That willingly would speak his thoughts, if spoken they might win
Fit ear, and suffer no impair, that I discover them,
Being youngest of you; since my sire, that heir’d a diadem,
May make my speech to diadems decent enough, though he
Lies in his sepulchre at Thebes. I boast this pedigree:
Portheus three famous sons begot, that in high Calydon
And Pleuron kept, with state of kings, their habitatión;
Agrius, Melas, and the third the horseman Oeneus,
My father’s father, that excell’d in actions generous
The other two. But these kept home, my father being driv’n
With wand’ring and advent’rous spirits, for so the King of heav’n
And th’ other Gods set down their wills, and he to Argos came,
Where he begun the world, and dwelt. There marrying a dame,
One of Adrastus’ female race, he kept a royal house,
For he had great demesnes, good land, and, being industrious,
He planted many orchard-grounds about his house, and bred
Great store of sheep. Besides all this, he was well qualitied,
And pass’d all Argives, for his spear. And these digressive things
Are such as you may well endure, since (being deriv’d from kings,
And kings not poor nor virtueless) you cannot hold me base,
Nor scorn my words, which oft, though true, in mean men meet disgrace.
However, they are these in short: Let us be seen at fight,
And yield to strong necessity, though wounded, that our sight
May set those men on that, of late, have to Achilles’ spleen
Been too indulgent, and left blows; but be we only seen,
Not come within the reach of darts, lest wound on wound we lay;
Which rev’rend Nestor’s speech implied, and so far him obey.”
This counsel gladly all observ’d, went on, Atrides led.
Nor Neptune this advantage lost, but closely followéd,
And like an aged man appear’d t’ Atrides; whose right hand
He seiz’d, and said: “Atrides, this doth passing fitly stand
With stern Achilles’ wreakful spirit, that he can stand astern
His ship, and both in fight and death the Grecian bane discern,
Since not in his breast glows one spark of any human mind.
But be that his own bane. Let God by that loss make him find
How vile a thing he is. For know, the blest Gods have not giv’n
Thee ever over, but perhaps the Trojans may from heav’n
Receive that justice. Nay, ’tis sure, and thou shalt see their falls,
Your fleet soon freed, and for fights here they glad to take their walls.”
This said, he made known who he was, and parted with a cry
As if ten thousand men had join’d in battle then, so high
His throat flew through the host; and so this great Earth-shaking God
Cheer’d up the Greek hearts, that they wish their pains no period.
Saturnia from Olympus’ top saw her great brother there,
And her great husband’s brother too, exciting ev’rywhere
The glorious spirits of the Greeks; which as she joy’d to see,
So, on the fountful Ida’s top, Jove’s sight did disagree
With her contentment, since she fear’d that his hand would descend,
And check the Sea-god’s practices. And this she did contend
How to prevent, which thus seem’d best: To deck her curiously,
And visit the Idalian hill, that so the Lightner’s eye
She might enamour with her looks, and his high temples steep,
Ev’n to his wisdom, in the kind and golden juice of sleep.
So took she chamber, which her son, the God of ferrary,
With firm doors made, being joinèd close, and with a privy key
That no God could command but Jove; where, enter’d, she made fast
The shining gates, and then upon her lovely body cast
Ambrosia, that first made it clear, and after laid on it
An od’rous, rich, and sacred oil, that was so wond’rous sweet
That ever, when it was but touch’d, it sweeten’d heav’n and earth.
Her body being cleans’d with this, her tresses she let forth,
And comb’d, her comb dipp’d in the oil, then wrapp’d them up in curls;
And, thus her deathless head adorn’d, a heav’nly veil she hurls
On her white shoulders, wrought by Her that rules in housewif’ries,
Who wove it full of antique works, of most divine device;
And this with goodly clasps of gold she fasten’d to her breast.
Then with a girdle, whose rich sphere a hundred studs impress’d,
She girt her small waist. In her ears, tenderly pierc’d, she wore
Pearls, great and orient. On her head, a wreath not worn before
Cast beams out like the sun. At last, she to her feet did tie
Fair shoes. And thus entire attir’d, she shin’d in open sky,
Call’d the fair Paphian Queen apart from th’ other Gods, and said:
“Lov’d daughter! Should I ask a grace, should I, or be obey’d?
Or wouldst thou cross me, being incens’d, since I cross thee and take
The Greeks’ part, thy hand helping Troy?” She answer’d, “That shall make
No diff’rence in a diff’rent cause. Ask, ancient Deity,
What most contents thee. My mind stands inclin’d as liberally
To grant it as thine own to ask; provided that it be
A favour fit and in my pow’r.” She, giv’n deceitfully,
Thus said: “Then give me those two pow’rs, with which both men and Gods
Thou vanquishest, Love and Desire; for now the periods
Of all the many-feeding earth, and the original
Of all the Gods, Oceanus, and Thetis whom we call
Our Mother, I am going to greet. They nurst me in their court,
And brought me up, receiving me in most respectful sort
From Phæa, when Jove under earth and the unfruitful seas
Cast Saturn. These I go to see, intending to appease
Jars grown betwixt them, having long abstain’d from speech and bed;
Which jars, could I so reconcile, that in their anger’s stead
I could place love, and so renew their first society,
I should their best lov’d be esteem’d, and honour’d endlessly.”
She answer’d: “’Tis not fit, nor just, thy will should be denied,
Whom Jove in his embraces holds.” This spoken, she untied,
And from her od’rous bosom took, her Ceston, in whose sphere
Were all enticements to delight, all loves, all longings were,
Kind conference, fair speech, whose pow’r the wisest doth inflame.
This she resigning to her hands, thus urg’d her by her name:
“Receive this bridle, thus fair-wrought, and put it ’twixt thy breasts,
Where all things to be done are done; and whatsoever rests
In thy desire return with it.” The great-ey’d Juno smil’d,
And put it ’twixt her breasts. Love’s Queen, thus cunningly beguil’d,
To Jove’s court flew. Saturnia, straight stooping from heav’n’s height,
Pieria and Emathia, those countries of delight,
Soon reach’d, and to the snowy mounts, where Thracian soldiers dwell,
Approaching, pass’d their tops untouch’d. From Athos then she fell,
Pass’d all the broad sea, and arriv’d in Lemnos, at the tow’rs
Of godlike Thoas, where she met the Prince of all men’s pow’rs,
Death’s brother, Sleep; whose hand she took, and said: “Thou king of men,
Prince of the Gods too, if before thou heard’st my suits, again
Give helpful ear, and through all times I’ll offer thanks to thee.
Lay slumber on Jove’s fi’ry eyes, that I may comfort me
With his embraces; for which grace I’ll grace thee with a throne
Incorruptible, all of gold, and elegantly done
By Mulciber, to which he forg’d a footstool for the ease
Of thy soft feet, when wine and feasts thy golden humours please.”
Sweet Sleep replied: “Satunia, there lives not any God,
Besides Jove, but I would becalm; aye if it were the Flood,
That fathers all the Deities, the great Oceanus;
But Jove we dare not come more near, than he commandeth us.
Now you command me as you did, when Jove’s great-minded son,
Alcides, having sack’d the town of stubborn Ilion,
Took sail from thence; when by your charge I pour’d about Jove’s mind
A pleasing slumber, calming him, till thou drav’st up the wind,
In all his cruelties, to sea, that set his son ashore
In Cous, far from all his friends. Which, waking, vex’d so sore
The supreme Godhead, that he cast the Gods about the sky,
And me, above them all, he sought, whom he had utterly
Hurl’d from the sparkling firmament, if all-gods-taming Night
(Whom, flying, I besought for aid) had suffer’d his despite,
And not preserv’d me; but his wrath with my offence dispens’d,
For fear t’ offend her, and so ceas’d, though never so incens’d.
And now another such escape, you wish I should prepare.”
She answer’d: “What hath thy deep rest to do with his deep care?
As though Jove’s love to Ilion in all degrees were such
As ’twas to Hercules his son, and so would storm as much
For their displeasure as for his? Away, I will remove
Thy fear with giving thee the dame, that thou didst ever love,
One of the fair young Graces born, divine Pasithae.”
This started Somnus into joy, who answer’d: “Swear to me,
By those inviolable springs, that feed the Stygian lake,
With one hand touch the nourishing earth, and in the other take
The marble sea, that all the Gods, of the infernal state,
Which circle Saturn, may to us be witnesses, and rate
What thou hast vow’d; That with all truth, thou wilt bestow on me,
The dame I grant I ever lov’d, divine Pasithae.”
She swore, as he enjoin’d, in all, and strengthen’d all his joys
By naming all th’ infernal Gods, surnam’d the Titanois.
The oath thus taken, both took way, and made their quick repair
To Ida from the town, and isle, all hid in liquid air.
At Lecton first they left the sea, and there the land they trod;
The fountful nurse of savages, with all her woods, did nod
Beneath their feet; there Somnus stay’d, lest Jove’s bright eye should see,
And yet, that he might see to Jove, he climb’d the goodliest tree
That all th’ Idalian mountain bred, and crown’d her progeny,
A fir it was, that shot past air, and kiss’d the burning sky;
There sate he hid in his dark arms, and in the shape with all
Of that continual prating bird, whom all the Deities call
Chalcis, but men Cymmindis name. Saturnia tripp’d apace,
Up to the top of Gargarus, and show’d her heav’nly face
To Jupiter, who saw, and lov’d, and with as hot a fire,
Being curious in her tempting view, as when with first desire
(The pleasure of it being stol’n) they mix’d in love and bed;
And, gazing on her still, he said: “Saturnia, what hath bred
This haste in thee from our high court, and whither tends thy gait,
That void of horse and chariot, fit for thy sov’reign state,
Thou lackiest here?” Her studied fraud replied: “My journey now
Leaves state and labours to do good; and where in right I owe
All kindness to the Sire of Gods, and our good Mother Queen
That nurst and kept me curiously in court (since both have been
Long time at discord) my desire is to atone their hearts;
And therefore go I now to see those earth’s extremest parts.
For whose far-seat I spar’d my horse the scaling of this hill,
And left them at the foot of it; for they must taste their fill
Of travail with me, and must draw my coach through earth and seas,
Whose far-intended reach, respect, and care not to displease
Thy graces, made me not attempt, without thy gracious leave.”
The cloud-compelling God her guile in this sort did receive:
“Juno, thou shalt have after leave, but, ere so far thou stray,
Convert we our kind thoughts to love, that now doth ev’ry way
Circle with victory my pow’rs, nor yet with any dame,
Woman, or Goddess, did his fires my bosom so inflame
As now with thee. Not when it lov’d the parts so generous
Ixion’s wife had, that brought forth the wise Pirithous;
Nor when the lovely dame Acrisius’ daughter stirr’d
My amorous pow’rs, that Perseus bore to all men else preferr’d;
Nor when the dame, that Phenix got, surpris’d me with her sight,
Who the divine-soul’d Rhadamanth and Minos brought to light;
Nor Semele, that bore to me the joy of mortal men,
The sprightly Bacchus; nor the dame that Thebes renownéd then,
Alcmena, that bore Hercules; Latona, so renown’d;
Queen Ceres, with the golden hair; nor thy fair eyes did wound
My entrails to such depth as now with thirst of amorous ease.”
The cunning Dame seem’d much incens’d, and said: “What words are these,
Unsufferable Saturn’s son? What! Here! In Ida’s height!
Desir’st thou this? How fits it us? Or what if in the sight
Of any God thy will were pleas’d, that he the rest might bring
To witness thy incontinence? ’Twere a dishonour’d thing.
I would not show my face in heav’n, and rise from such a bed.
But, if love be so dear to thee, thou hast a chamberstead,
Which Vulcan purposely contriv’d with all fit secrecy;
There sleep at pleasure.” He replied: “I fear not if the eye
Of either God or man observe, so thick a cloud of gold
I’ll cast about us that the sun, who furthest can behold,
Shall never find us.” This resolv’d, into his kind embrace
He took his wife. Beneath them both fair Tellus strew’d the place
With fresh-sprung herbs, so soft and thick that up aloft it bore
Their heav’nly bodies; with his leaves, did dewy lotus store
Th’ Elysian mountain; saffron flow’rs and hyacinths help’d make
The sacred bed; and there they slept. When suddenly there brake
A golden vapour out of air, whence shining dews did fall,
In which they wrapt them close, and slept till Jove was tam’d withal.
Mean space flew Somnus to the ships, found Neptune out, and said:
“Now cheerfully assist the Greeks; and give them glorious head,
At least a little, while Jove sleeps; of whom through ev’ry limb
I pour’d dark sleep, Saturnia’s love hath so illuded him.”
This news made Neptune more secure in giving Grecians heart,
And through the first fights thus he stirr’d the men of most desert:
“Yet, Grecians, shall we put our ships, and conquest, in the hands
Of Priam’s Hector by our sloth? He thinks so, and commands
With pride according; all because, Achilles keeps away.
Alas, as we were nought but him! We little need to stay
On his assistance, if we would our own strengths call to field,
And mutually maintain repulse. Come on then, all men yield
To what I order. We that bear best arms in all our hosts,
Whose heads sustain the brightest helms, whose hands are bristled most
With longest lances, let us on. But stay, I’ll lead you all;
Nor think I but great Hector’s spirits will suffer some appall,
Though they be never so inspir’d. The ablest of us then,
That on our shoulders worst shields bear, exchange with worser men
That fight with better.” This propos’d, all heard it, and obey’d.
The kings, ev’n those that suffer’d wounds, Ulysses, Diomed,
And Agamemnon, helpt t’ instruct the cómplete army thus:
To good gave good arms, worse to worse, yet none were mutinous.
Thus, arm’d with order, forth they flew; the great Earth-shaker led,
A long sword in his sinewy hand, which when he brandishéd
It lighten’d still, there was no law for him and it, poor men
Must quake before them. These thus mann’d, illustrious Hector then
His host brought up. The blue-hair’d God and he stretch’d through the prease
A grievous fight; when to the ships and tents of Greece the seas
Brake loose, and rag’d. But when they join’d, the dreadful clamour rose
To such a height, as not the sea, when up the North-spirit blows
Her raging billows, bellows so against the beaten shore;
Nor such a rustling keeps a fire, driven with violent blore
Through woods that grow against a hill; nor so the fervent strokes
Of almost-bursting winds resound against a grove of oaks;
As did the clamour of these hosts, when both the battles clos’d.
Of all which noble Hector first at Ajax’ breast dispos’d
His jav’lin, since so right on him the great-soul’d soldier bore;
Nor miss’d it, but the bawdricks both that his broad bosom wore,
To hang his shield and sword, it strook; both which his flesh preserv’d.
Hector, disdaining that his lance had thus as good as swerv’d,
Trode to his strength; but, going off, great Ajax with a stone,
One of the many props for ships, that there lay trampled on,
Strook his broad breast above his shield, just underneath his throat,
And shook him piecemeal; when the stone sprung back again, and smote
Earth, like a whirlwind, gath’ring dust with whirring fiercely round,
For fervour of his unspent strength, in settling on the ground.
And as when Jove’s bolt by the roots rends from the earth an oak,
His sulphur casting with the blow a strong unsavoury smoke,
And on the fall’n plant none dare look but with amazéd eyes,
(Jove’s thunder being no laughing game) so bow’d strong Hector’s thighs,
And so with tost-up heels he fell, away his lance he flung,
His round shield follow’d, then his helm, and out his armour rung.
The Greeks then shouted, and ran in, and hop’d to hale him off,
And therefore pour’d on darts in storms, to keep his aid aloof;
But none could hurt the people’s Guide, nor stir him from his ground;
Sarpedon, prince of Lycia, and Glaucus so renown’d,
Divine Agenor, Venus’ son, and wise Polydamas,
Rush’d to his rescue, and the rest. No one neglective was
Of Hector’s safety. All their shields, they couch’d about him close,
Rais’d him from earth, and (giving him, in their kind arms, repose)
From off the labour carried him, to his rich chariot,
And bore him mourning towards Troy. But when the flood they got
Of gulfy Xanthus, that was got by deathless Jupiter,
There took they him from chariot, and all besprinkled there
His temples with the stream. He breath’d, look’d up, assay’d to rise,
And on his knees stay’d spitting blood. Again then clos’d his eyes,
And back again his body fell. The main blow had not done
Yet with his spirit. When the Greeks saw worthy Hector gone,
Then thought they of their work, then charg’d with much more cheer the foe,
And then, far first, Oïliades began the overthrow.
He darted Satnius Enops’ son, whom famous Nais bore
As she was keeping Enops’ flocks on Satnius’ river’s shore,
And strook him in his belly’s rim, who upwards fell, and rais’d
A mighty skirmish with his fall. And then Panthœdés seiz’d
Prothenor Areilycides, with his revengeful spear,
On his right shoulder, strook it through, and laid him breath less there;
For which he insolently bragg’d, and cried out: “Not a dart
From great-soul’d Panthus’ son, I think, shall ever vainlier part,
But some Greek’s bosom it shall take, and make him give his ghost.”
This brag the Grecians stomach’d much; but Telamonius most,
Who stood most near Prothenor’s fall, and out he sent a lance,
Which Panthus’ son, declining, ’scap’d, yet took it to sad chance
Archilochus, Antenor’s son, whom heav’n did destinate
To that stern end; ’twixt neck and head the jav’lin wrought his fate,
And ran in at the upper joint of all the back long bone,
Cut both the nerves; and such a load of strength laid Ajax on,
As that small part he seiz’d outweigh’d all th’ under limbs, and strook
His heels up, so that head and face the earth’s possessions took,
When all the low parts sprung in air; and thus did Ajax quit
Panthœdes’ brave: “Now, Panthus’ son, let thy prophetic wit
Consider, and disclose a truth, if this man do not weigh
Ev’n with Prothenor. I conceive, no one of you will say
That either he was base himself, or sprung of any base;
Antenor’s brother, or his son, he should be by his face;
One of his race, past question, his likeness shows he is,”
This spake he, knowing it well enough. The Trojans storm’d at this,
And then slew Acamas, to save his brother yet engag’d,
Bœotius, dragging him to spoil; and thus the Greeks enrag’d:
“O Greeks, ev’n born to bear our darts, yet ever breathing threats,
Not always under tears and toils ye see our fortune sweats,
But sometimes you drop under death. See now your quick among
Our dead, intranc’d with my weak lance, to prove I have ere long
Reveng’d my brother. ’Tis the wish of ev’ry honest man
His brother, slain in Mars’s field, may rest wreak’d in his fane.”
This stirr’d fresh envy in the Greeks, but urg’d Peneleus most,
Who hurl’d his lance at Acamas; he ’scap’d; nor yet it lost
The force he gave it, for it found the flock-rich Phorbas’ son,
Ilionëus, whose dear sire, past all in Ilion,
Was lov’d of Hermes, and enrich’d, and to him only bore
His mother this now slaughter’d man. The dart did undergore
His eye-lid, by his eye’s dear roots, and out the apple fell,
The eye pierc’d through. Nor could the nerve that stays the neck repell
His strong-wing’d lance, but neck and all gave way, and down he dropp’d.
Peneleus then unsheath’d his sword, and from the shoulders chopp’d
His luckless head; which down he threw, the helm still sticking on,
And still the lance fix’d in his eye; which not to see alone
Contented him, but up again he snatch’d, and show’d it all,
With this stern brave: “Ilians, relate brave Ilionëus’ fall
To his kind parents, that their roofs their tears may overrun;
For so the house of Promachus, and Alegenor’s son,
Must with his wife’s eyes overflow, she never seeing more
Her dear lord, though we tell his death, when to our native shore
We bring from ruin’d Troy our fleet, and men so long forgone.”
This said, and seen, pale fear possess’d all those of Ilion,
And ev’ry man cast round his eye to see where death was not,
That he might fly him. Let not then his grac’d hand be forgot,
O Muses, you that dwell in heav’n, that first imbru’d the field
With Trojan spoil, when Neptune thus had made their irons yield.
First Ajax Telamonius the Mysian captain slew,
Great Hyrtius Gyrtiades. Antilochus o’erthrew
Phalces and Mermer, to their spoil. Meriones gave end
To Morys and Hyppotion. Teucer to fate did send
Prothoon and Periphetes. Atrides’ jav’lin chac’d
Duke Hyperenor, wounding him in that part that is plac’d
Betwixt the short ribs and the bones, that to the triple gut
Have pertinence; the jav’lin’s head did out his entrails cut,
His forc’d soul breaking through the wound; night’s black hand clos’d his eyes.
Then Ajax, great Oïleus’ son, had divers victories,
For when Saturnius suffer’d flight, of all the Grecian race
Not one with swiftness of his feet could so enrich a chace.
THE END OF THE FOURTEENTH BOOK.

1 This first verse (after the first four syllables) is to be read as one of our tens.