THE ARGUMENT

Achilles orders justs of exsequies
For his Patroclus; and doth sacrifice
Twelve Trojan princes, most lov’d hounds and horse,
And other off’rings, to the honour’d corse.
He institutes, besides, a Funeral Game;
Where Diomed, for horse-race, wins the fame;
For foot, Ulysses; others otherwise
Strive, and obtain; and end the Exsequies.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Psi sings the rites of the decease,
Ordain’d by great Æacides.

Thus mourn’d all Troy. But when at fleet and Hellespontus’ shore
The Greeks arriv’d, each to his ship; only the Conqueror
Kept undispers’d his Myrmidons, and said, “Lov’d countrymen
Disjoin not we chariots and horse, but, bearing hard our rein,
With state of both, march soft and close, and mourn about the corse;
’Tis proper honour to the dead. Then take we out our horse,
When with our friends’ kind woe our hearts have felt delight to do
A virtuous soul right, and then sup.” This said, all full of woe
Circled the corse; Achilles led, and thrice, about him close,
All bore their goodly-coated horse. Amongst all Thetis rose,
And stirr’d up a delight in grief, till all their arms with tears,
And all the sands, were wet; so much they lov’d that Lord of Fears.
Then to the centre fell the prince; and, putting in the breast
Of his slain friend his slaught’ring hands, began to all the rest
Words to their tears: “Rejoice, said he, “O my Patroclus, thou
Courted by Dis now. Now I pay to thy late overthrow
All my revenges vow’d before. Hector lies slaughter’d here
Dragg’d at my chariot, and our dogs shall all in pieces tear
His hated limbs. Twelve Trojan youths, born of their noblest strains,
I took alive; and, yet enrag’d, will empty all their veins
Of vital spirits, sacrific’d before thy heap of fire.”
This said, a work unworthy him he put upon his ire,
And trampled Hector under foot at his friend’s feet. The rest
Disarm’d, took horse from chariot, and all to sleep address’d
At his black vessel. Infinite were those that rested there.
Himself yet sleeps not, now his spirits were wrought about the cheer
Fit for so high a funeral. About the steel us’d then
Oxen in heaps lay bellowing, preparing food for men;
Bleating of sheep and goats fill’d air; numbers of white-tooth’d swine,
Swimming in fat, lay singeing there. The person of the slain
Was girt with slaughter. All this done, all the Greek kings convey’d
Achilles to the King of men; his rage not yet allay’d
For his Patroclus. Being arriv’d at Agamemnon’s tent,
Himself bade heralds put to fire a caldron, and present
The service of it to the prince, to try if they could win
His pleasure to admit their pains to cleanse the blood soak’d in
About his conqu’ring hands and brows. “Not by the King of Heav’n,”
He swore. “The laws of friendship damn this false-heart licence giv’n
To men that lose friends. Not a drop shall touch me till I put
Patroclus in the fun’ral pile, before these curls be cut,
His tomb erected. ’Tis the last of all care I shall take,
While I consort the careful. Yet, for your entreaties’ sake,
And though I loathe food, I will eat. But early in the morn,
Atrides, use your strict command that loads of wood be borne
To our design’d place, all that fits to light home such a one
As is to pass the shades of death, that fire enough set gone
His person quickly from our eyes, and our diverted men
May ply their business.” This all ears did freely entertain,
And found observance. Then they supp’d with all things fit, and all
Repair’d to tents and rest. The friend the shores maritimal
Sought for his bed, and found a place, fair, and upon which play’d
The murmuring billows. There his limbs to rest, not sleep, he laid,
Heavily sighing. Round about, silent and not too near,
Stood all his Myrmidons; when straight, so over-labour’d were
His goodly lineaments with chase of Hector, that, beyond
His resolution not to sleep, Sleep cast his sudden bond
Over his sense, and loos’d his care. Then of his wretched friend
The Soul appear’d; at ev’ry part the form did comprehend
His likeness; his fair eyes, his voice, his stature, ev’ry weed
His person wore, it fantasied; and stood above his head,
This sad speech utt’ring: “Dost thou sleep? Æacides, am I
Forgotten of thee? Being alive, I found thy memory
Ever respectful; but now, dead, thy dying love abates.
Inter me quickly, enter me in Pluto’s iron gates,
For now the souls (the shades) of men, fled from this being, beat
My spirit from rest, and stay my much-desir’d receipt
Amongst souls plac’d beyond the flood. Now ev’ry way I err
About this broad-door’d house of Dis. O help then to prefer
My soul yet further! Here I mourn, but, had the fun’ral fire
Consum’d my body, never more my spirit should retire
From hell’s low región; from thence souls never are retriev’d
To talk with friends here; nor shall I; a hateful fate depriv’d
My being here, that at my birth was fix’d; and to such fate
Ev’n thou, O god-like man, art mark’d; the deadly Ilion gate
Must entertain thy death. O then, I charge thee now, take care
That our bones part not; but as life combin’d in equal fare
Our loving beings, so let death. When from Opunta’s tow’rs
My father brought me to your roofs (since, ’gainst my will, my pow’rs
Incens’d, and indiscreet at dice, slew fair Amphidamas)
Then Peleus entertain’d me well; then in thy charge I was
By his injunction and thy love; and therein let me still
Receive protection. Both our bones, provide in thy last will,
That one urn may contain; and make that vessel all of gold,
That Thetis gave thee, that rich urn.” This said, Sleep ceas’d to hold
Achilles’ temples, and the Shade thus he receiv’d: “O friend,
What needed these commands? My care, before, meant to commend
My bones to thine, and in that urn. Be sure thy will is done.
A little stay yet, let’s delight, with some full passión
Of woe enough, either’s affects; embrace we.” Op’ning thus
His greedy arms, he felt no friend; like matter vaporous
The Spirit vanish’d under earth, and murmur’d in his stoop.
Achilles started, both his hands he clapp’d, and lifted up,
In this sort wond’ring: “O ye Gods, I see we have a soul
In th’ under-dwellings, and a kind of man-resembling idol;
The soul’s seat yet, all matter felt, stays with the carcass here.
O friends, hapless Patroclus’ soul did all this night appear
Weeping and making moan to me, commanding ev’rything
That I intended towards him; so truly figuring
Himself at all parts, as was strange.” This accident did turn
To much more sorrow, and begat a greediness to mourn
In all that heard. When mourning thus, the rosy Morn arose,
And Agamemnon through the tents wak’d all, and did dispose
Both men and mules for carriage of matter for the fire;
Of all which work Meriones, the Cretan sov’reign’s squire,
Was captain; and abroad they went. Wood-cutting tools they bore
Of all hands, and well-twisted cords. The mules march’d all before.
Uphill, and down hill, overthwarts, and break-neck cliffs they pass’d;
But, when the fountful Ida’s tops they scal’d with utmost haste,
All fell upon the high-hair’d oaks, and down their curléd brows,
Fell bustling to the earth, and up went all the boles and boughs
Bound to the mules; and back again they parted the harsh way
Amongst them through the tangling shrubs, and long they thought the day
Till in the plain field all arriv’d, for all the woodmen bore
Logs on their necks; Meriones would have it so. The shore
At last they reach’d yet, and then down their carriages they cast,
And sat upon them, where the son of Peleüs had plac’d
The ground for his great sepulchre, and for his friend’s, in one.
They rais’d a huge pile, and to arms went ev’ry Myrmidon,
Charg’d by Achilles; chariots and horse were harnesséd.
Fighters and charioteers got up, and they the sad march led,
A cloud of infinite foot behind. In midst of all was borne
Patroclus’ person by his peers. On him were all heads shorn,
Ev’n till they cover’d him with curls. Next to him march’d his friend
Embracing his cold neck all sad, since now he was to send
His dearest to his endless home. Arriv’d all where the wood
Was heap’d for fun’ral, they set down. Apart Achilles stood,
And when enough wood was heap’d on, he cut his golden hair,
Long kept for Sperchius the flood, in hope of safe repair
To Phthia by that river’s pow’r; but now left hopeless thus,
Enrag’d, and looking on the sea, he cried out: “Sperchius,
In vain my father’s piety vow’d, at my implor’d return
To my lov’d country, that these curls should on thy shores be shorn,
Besides a sacred hecatomb, and sacrifice beside
Of fifty wethers, at those founts, where men have edified
A lofty temple, and perfum’d an altar to thy name.
There vow’d he all these offerings; but fate prevents thy fame,
His hopes not suff’ring satisfied. And since I never more
Shall see my lov’d soil, my friend’s hands shall to the Stygian shore
Convey these tresses.” Thus he put in his friend’s hands the hair;
And this bred fresh desire of moan; and in that sad affair
The sun had set amongst them all, had Thetis’ son not spoke
Thus to Atrides: “King of men, thy aid I still invoke,
Since thy command all men still hear. Dismiss thy soldiers now,
And let them victual; they have mourn’d sufficient; ’tis we owe
The dead this honour; and with us let all the captains stay.”
This heard, Atrides instantly the soldiers sent away;
The fun’ral officers remain’d, and heap’d on matter still,
Till of an hundred foot about they made the fun’ral pile,
In whose hot height they cast the corse, and then they pour’d on tears.
Numbers of fat sheep, and like store of crooked-going steers,
They slew before the solemn fire; stripp’d off their hides and dress’d.
Of which Achilles took the fat, and cover’d the deceas’d
From head to foot; and round about he made the officers pile
The beasts’ nak’d bodies, vessels full of honey and of oil
Pour’d in them, laid upon a bier, and cast into the fire.
Four goodly horse; and of nine hounds, two most in the desire
Of that great prince, and trencher-fed; all fed that hungry flame.
Twelve Trojan princes last stood forth, young, and of toward fame,
All which (set on with wicked spirits) there strook he, there he slew,
And to the iron strength of fire their noble limbs he threw.
Then breath’d his last sighs, and these words: “Again rejoice, my friend,
Ev’n in the joyless depth of hell. Now give I cómplete end
To all my vows. Alone thy life sustain’d not violence,
Twelve Trojan princes wait on thee, and labour to incense
Thy glorious heap of funeral. Great Hector I’ll excuse,
The dogs shall eat him.” These high threats perform’d not their abuse;
Jove’s daughter, Venus, took the guard of noble Hector’s corse,
And kept the dogs off, night and day applying sov’reign force
Of rosy balms, that to the dogs were horrible in taste,
And with which she the body fill’d. Renown’d Apollo cast
A cloud from heav’n, lest with the sun the nerves and lineaments
Might dry and putrefy. And now some Pow’rs denied consents
To this solemnity; the Fire (for all the oily fuel
It had injected) would not burn; and then the loving Cruel
Studied for help, and, standing off, invok’d the two fair Winds,
Zephyr and Boreas, to afford the rage of both their kinds
To aid his outrage. Precious gifts his earnest zeal did vow
Pour’d from a golden bowl much wine, and pray’d them both to blow,
That quickly his friend’s corse might burn, and that heap’s sturdy breast
Embrace consumption. Iris heard. The Winds were at a feast,
All in the court of Zephyrus, that boist’rous blowing Air,
Gather’d together. She that wears the thousand-colour’d hair
Flew thither, standing in the porch. They, seeing her, all arose,
Call’d to her, ev’ry one desir’d she would awhile repose,
And eat with them. She answer’d: “No, no place of seat is here;
Retreat calls to the Ocean and Æthiopia, where
A hecatomb is off’ring now to heav’n, and there must I
Partake the feast of sacrifice. I come to signify
That Thetis’ son implores your aids, princes of North and West,
With vows of much fair sacrifice, if each will set his breast
Against his heap of funeral, and make it quickly burn;
Patroclus lies there, whose decease all the Achaians mourn.”
She said, and parted; and out rush’d, with an unmeasur’d roar,
Those two Winds, tumbling clouds in heaps, ushers to either’s blore,
And instantly they reach’d the sea; up flew the waves; the gale
Was strong; reach’d fruitful Troy; and full upon the fire they fall.
The huge heap thunder’d. All night long from his chok’d breast they blew
A lib’ral flame up; and all night swift-foot Achilles threw
Wine from a golden bowl on earth, and steep’d the soil in wine,
Still calling on Patroclus’ soul. No father could incline
More to a son most dear, nor more mourn at his burnéd bones,
Than did the great prince to his friend at his combustións,
Still creeping near and near the heap, still sighing, weeping still.
But when the Day-star look’d abroad, and promis’d from hi hill
Light, which the saffron Morn made good, and sprinkled on the seas,
Then languish’d the great pile, then sunk the flames, and then calm Peace
Turn’d back the rough Winds to their homes; the Thracian billow rings.
Their high retreat, ruffled with cuffs of their triumphant wings.
Pelides then forsook the pile, and to his tired limb
Choos’d place of rest; where laid, sweet sleep fell to his wish on him.
When all the king’s guard (waiting then, perceiving will to rise
In that great session) hurried in, and op’d again his eyes
With tumult of their troop, and haste. A little then he rear’d
His troubled person, sitting up, and this affair referr’d
To wish’d commandment of the kings: “Atrides, and the rest
Of our commanders general, vouchsafe me this request
Before your parting: Give in charge the quenching with black wine
Of this heap’s relics, ev’ry brand the yellow fire made shine;
And then let search Patroclus’ bones, distinguishing them well;
As well ye may, they kept the midst, the rest at random fell
About th’ extreme part of the pile; men’s bones and horses’ mixed.
Being found, I’ll find an urn of gold t’ enclose them, and betwixt
The air and them two kels of fat lay on them, and to rest
Commit them, till mine own bones seal our love, my soul deceas’d.
The sepulchre I have not charg’d to make of too much state,
But of a model something mean, that you of younger fate,
When I am gone, may amplify with such a breadth and height
As fits your judgments and our worths.” This charge receiv’d his weight
In all observance. First they quench’d with sable wine the heap,
As far as it had fed the flame. The ash fell wondrous deep,
In which his consorts, that his life religiously lov’d,
Search’d, weeping, for his bones; which found, they conscionably prov’d
His will made to Æacides, and what his love did add.
A golden vessel, double fat, contain’d them. All which, clad
In veils of linen, pure and rich, were solemnly convey’d
T’ Achilles’ tent. The platform then about the pile they laid
Of his fit sepulchre, and rais’d a heap of earth, and then
Offer’d departure. But the prince retain’d there still his men,
Employing them to fetch from fleet rich tripods for his games,
Caldrons, horse, mules, broad-headed beeves, bright steel, and brighter dames,
The best at horse-race he ordain’d a lady for his prize,
Gen’rally praiseful, fair and young, and skill’d in housewif’ries
Of all kinds fitting; and withal a trivet, that inclos’d
Twenty-two measures’ room, with ears. The next prize he propos’d
Was (that which then had high respect) a mare of six years old,
Unhandled, horséd with a mule, and ready to have foal’d.
The third game was a caldron, new, fair, bright, and could for size
Contain two measures. For the fourth, two talents’ quantities
Of finest gold. The fifth game was a great new standing bowl,
To set down both ways. These brought in, Achilles then stood up,
And said: “Atrides and my lords, chief horsemen of our host,
These games expect ye. If myself should interpose my most
For our horse-race, I make no doubt that I should take again
These gifts propos’d. Ye all know well, of how divine a strain
My horse are, and how eminent. Of Neptune’s gift they are
To Peleus, and of his to me. Myself then will not share
In gifts giv’n others, nor my steeds breathe any spirit to shake
Their airy pasterns; so they mourn for their kind guider’s sake,
Late lost; that us’d with humorous oil to slick their lofty manes,
Clear water having cleans’d them first; and, his bane being their banes,
Those lofty manes now strew the earth, their heads held shaken down.
You then that trust in chariots, and hope with horse to crown
Your conqu’ring temples, gird yourselves; now, fame and prize stretch for,
All that have spirits.” This fir’d all. The first competitor
Was king Eumelus, whom the art of horsemanship did grace,
Son to Admetus. Next to him rose Diomed to the race,
That under reins rul’d Trojan horse, of late forc’d from the son
Of lord Anchises, himself freed of near confusion
By Phœbus. Next to him set forth the yellow-headed king
Of Lacedæmon, Jove’s high seed; and, in his managing,
Podargus and swift Æthe trod, steeds to the King of men;
Æthe giv’n by Echepolus, the Anchisiaden,
As bribe to free him from the war resolv’d for Ilion;
So Delicacy feasted him, whom Jove bestow’d upon
A mighty wealth; his dwelling was in broad Sicyone.
Old Nestor’s son, Antilochus, was fourth for chivalry
In this contention; his fair horse were of the Pylian breed,
And his old father, coming near, inform’d him, for good speed,
With good race notes, in which himself could good instruction give:
“Antilochus, though young thou art, yet thy grave virtues live
Belov’d of Neptune and of Jove. Their spirits have taught thee all
The art of horsemanship, for which the less thy merits fall
In need of doctrine. Well thy skill can wield a chariot
In all fit turnings, yet thy horse their slow feet handle not
As fits thy manage, which makes me cast doubts of thy success.
I well know all these are not seen in art of this address
More than thyself; their horses yet superior are to thine
For their parts, thine want speed to make discharge of a design
To please an artist. But go on, show but thy art and heart
At all points, and set them against their horses’ heart and art;
Good judges will not see thee lose. A carpenter’s desert
Stands more in cunning than in pow’r. A pilot doth avert
His vessel from the rock, and wrack, tost with the churlish winds,
By skill, not strength. So sorts it here; one charioteer that finds
Want of another’s pow’r in horse must in his own skill set
An overplus of that to that; and so the proof will get
Skill, that still rests within a man, more grace; than pow’r without.
He that in horse and chariots trusts, is often hurl’d about
This way and that, unhandsomely, all-heaven wide of his end.
He, better skill’d, that rules worse horse, will all observance bend
Right on the scope still of a race, bear near, know ever when to rein,
When give rein, as his foe before, well noted in his vein
Of manage and his steeds’ estate, presents occasion.
I’ll give thee instance now, as plain as if thou saw’st it done:
Here stands a dry stub of some tree, a cubit from the ground;1
(Suppose the stub of oak or larch, for either are so sound
That neither rots with wet) two stones, white (mark you), white for view,
Parted on either side the stub; and these lay where they drew
The way into a strait; the race betwixt both lying clear.
Imagine them some monument of one long since tomb’d there,
Or that they had been lists of race for men of former years,
As now the lists Achilles sets may serve for charioteers
Many years hence. When near to these the race grows, then as right
Drive on them as thy eye can judge; then lay thy bridle’s weight
Most of thy left side; thy right horse then switching, all thy throat,
Spent in encouragements, give him, and all the rein let float
About his shoulders; thy near horse will yet be he that gave
Thy skill the prize, and him rein so his head may touch the nave
Of thy left wheel; but then take care thou runn’st not on the stone
(With wrack of horse and chariot) which so thou bear’st upon.
Shipwrack within the hav’n avoid, by all means; that will breed
Others delight, and thee a shame. Be wise then, and take heed,
My lov’d son, get but to be first at turning in the course,
He lives not that can cote thee then, not if he back’d the horse
The Gods bred, and Adrastus ow’d; divine Arion’s speed
Could not outpace thee, or the horse Laomedon did breed,
Whose race is famous, and fed here.” Thus sat Neleides,
When all that could be said was said. And then Meriones;2
Set fifthly forth his fair-man’d horse. All leap’d to chariot;
And ev’ry man then for the start cast in his proper lot.
Achilles drew; Antilochus the lot set foremost forth;
Eumelus next; Atrides third; Meriones the fourth;
The fifth and last was Diomed, far first in excellence.
All stood in order, and the lists Achilles fix’d far thence
In plain field; and a seat ordain’d fast by, in which he set
Renownéd Phœnix, that in grace of Peleus was so great,
To see the race, and give a truth of all their passages.
All start together, scourg’d, and cried, and gave their business
Study and order. Through the field they held a wingéd pace.
Beneath the bosom of their steeds a dust so dimm’d the race,
It stood above their heads in clouds, or like to storms amaz’d.
Manes flew like ensigns with the wind. The chariots sometime graz’d,
And sometimes jump’d up to the air; yet still sat fast the men,
Their spirits ev’n panting in their breasts with fervour to obtain.
But when they turn’d to fleet again, then all men’s skills were tried,
Then stretch’d the pasterns of their steeds. Eumelus’ horse in pride
Still bore their sov’reign. After them came Diomed’s coursers close,
Still apt to leap their chariot, and ready to repose
Upon the shoulders of their king their heads; his back ev’n burned
With fire that from their nostrils flew; and then their lord had turn’d
The race for him, or giv’n it doubt, if Phœbus had not smit
The scourge out of his hands, and tears of helpless wrath with it
From forth his eyes, to see his horse for want of scourge made slow,
And th’ others, by Apollo’s help, with much more swiftness go.
Apollo’s spite Pallas discern’d, and flew to Tydeus’ son,
His scourge reach’d, and his horse made fresh. Then took her angry run
At king Eumelus, brake his gears; his mares on both sides flew,
His draught-tree fell to earth, and him the toss’d-up chariot threw
Down to the earth, his elbows torn, his forehead, all his face
Strook at the centre, his speech lost. And then the turnéd race
Fell to Tydides; before all his conqu’ring horse he drave,
And first he glitter’d in the race; divine Athenia gave
Strength to his horse, and fame to him. Next him drave Sparta’s king.
Antilochus his father’s horse then urg’d with all his sting
Of scourge and voice: “Run low,” said he, “stretch out your limbs, and fly;
With Diomed’s horse I bid not strive, nor with himself strive I;
Athenia wings his horse, and him renowns; Atrides’ steeds
Are they ye must not fail but reach; and soon, lest soon succeeds
The blot of all your fames, to yield in swiftness to a mare,
To female Æthe. What’s the cause, ye best that ever were,
That thus ye fail us? Be assur’d, that Nestor’s love ye lose
For ever, if ye fail his son. Through both your both sides goes
His hot steel, if ye suffer me to bring the last prize home.
Haste, overtake them instantly; we needs must overcome.
This harsh way next us, this my mind will take, this I despise
For peril, this I’ll creep through. Hard the way to honour lies,
And that take I, and that shall yield.” His horse by all this knew
He was not pleas’d, and fear’d his voice, and for a while they flew.
But straight more clear appear’d the strait Antilochus foresaw,
It was a gasp the earth gave, forc’d by humours cold and raw,
Pour’d out of Winter’s wat’ry breast, met there, and cleaving deep
All that near passage to the lists. This Nestor’s son would keep,
And left the roadway, being about. Atrides fear’d, and cried:3
“Antilochus, thy course is mad; contain thy horse, we ride
A way most dangerous; turn head, betime take larger field,
We shall be splitted.” Nestor’s son with much more scourge impell’d
His horse for this, as if not heard; and got as far before
As any youth can cast a quoit. Atrides would no more;
He back again, for fear himself, his goodly chariot,
And horse together, strew’d the dust, in being so dusty hot
Of thirsted conquest. But he chid, at parting, passing sore:
“Antilochus,” said he, “a worse than thee earth never bore.
Farewell, we never thought thee wise that were wise; but not so
Without oaths shall the wreath, be sure, crown thy mad temples. Go.”
Yet he bethought him, and went too, thus stirring up his steeds:
“Leave me not last thus, nor stand vex’d. Let these fail in the speeds
Of feet and knees, not you. Shall these, these old jades, past the flow’r
Of youth that you have, pass you?” This the horse fear’d, and more pow’r
Put to their knees, straight getting ground. Both flew, and so the rest.
All came in smokes, like spirits. The Greeks, set, to see who did best,
Without the race, aloft, now made a new discovery,
Other than that they made at first. Idomenëus’ eye
Distinguish’d all, he knew the voice of Diomed, seeing a horse
Of special mark, of colour bay, and was the first in course,
His forehead putting forth a star, round like the moon, and white.
Up stood the Cretan, utt’ring this: “Is it alone my sight,
Princes and captains, that discerns another lead the race
With other horse than led of late? Eumelus made most pace
With his fleet mares, and he began the flexure as we thought;
Now all the field I search, and find nowhere his view; hath nought
Befall’n amiss to him? Perhaps he hath not with success
Perform’d his flexure; his reins lost, or seat, or with the tress
His chariot fail’d him, and his mares have outray’d with affright.
Stand up, try you your eyes, for mine hold with the second sight;
This seems to me th’ Ætolian king, the Tydean Diomed.”
“To you it seems so,” rusticly Ajax Oïleus said,
“Your words are suited to your eyes. Those mares lead still that led,
Eumelus owes them, and he still holds reins and place that did,
Not fall’n as you hop’d. You must prate before us all, though last
In judgment of all. Y’ are too old, your tongue goes still too fast,
You must not talk so. Here are those that better thee, and look
For first place in the censure.” This Idomenëus took
In much disdain, and thus replied: “Thou best in speeches worst,
Barbarous-languag’d, others here might have reprov’d me first,
Not thou, unfitt’st of all. I bold a tripod with thee here,
Or caldron, and our Gen’ral make our equal arbiter,
Those horse are first, that when thou pay’st thou then may’st know.” This fir’d
Oïliades more, and more than words this quarrel had inspir’d,
Had not Achilles rose, and us’d this pacifying speech:
“No more. Away with words in war. It toucheth both with breach
Of that which fits ye. Your deserts should others reprehend
That give such foul terms. Sit ye still, the men themselves will end
The strife betwixt you instantly, and either’s own load bear
On his own shoulders. Then to both the first horse will appear,
And which is second.” These words us’d, Tydides was at hand,
His horse ran high, glanc’d on the way, and up they toss’d the sand
Thick on their coachman; on their pace their chariot deck’d with gold
Swiftly attended, no wheel seen, nor wheel’s print in the mould.
Impress’d behind them. These horse flew a flight, not ran a race.
Arriv’d, amids the lists they stood, sweat trickling down apace
Their high manes and their prominent breasts; and down jumped Diomed,
Laid up his scourge aloft the seat, and straight his prize was led
Home to his tent. Rough Sthenelus laid quick hand on the dame,
And handled trivet, and sent both home by his men. Next came
Antilochus, that won with wiles, not swiftness of his horse,
Precedence of the gold-lock’d king, who yet maintained the course
So close, that not the king’s own horse gat more before the wheel
Of his rich chariot, that might still the insecution feel
With the extreme hairs of his tail (and that sufficient close
Held to his leader, no great space it let him interpose
Consider’d in so great a field) that Nestor’s wily son
Gat of the king, now at his heels, though at the breach he won
A quoit’s cast of him, which the king again at th’ instant gain’d.
Æthe Agamemnonides, that was so richly man’d,
Gat strength still as she spent; which words her worth had prov’d with deeds,
Had more ground been allow’d the race; and coted far his steeds,
No question leaving for the prize. And now Meriones
A dart’s cast came behind the king, his horse of speed much less,
Himself less skill’d t’ importune them, and give a chariot wing.
Admetus’ son was last, whose plight Achilles pitying
Thus spake: “Best man comes last; yet right must see his prize not least,
The second his deserts must bear, and Diomed the best.”
He said, and all allow’d; and sure the mare had been his own,
Had not Antilochus stood forth, and in his answer shown
Good reason for his interest: “Achilles,” he replied,
“I should be angry with you much to see this ratified.
Ought you to take from me my right, because his horse had wrong,
Himself being good? He should have us’d, as good men do, his tongue
In pray’r to Their pow’rs that bless good, not trusting to his own,
Not to have been in this good last. His chariot overthrown
O’erthrew not me. Who’s last? Who’s first? Men’s goodness without these
Is not our question. If his good you pity yet, and please
Princely to grace it, your tents hold a goodly deal of gold,
Brass, horse, sheep, women; out of these your bounty may be bold,
To take a much more worthy prize than my poor merit seeks,
And give it here before my face, and all these, that the Greeks
May glorify your lib’ral hands. This prize I will not yield.
Who bears this, whatsoever man, he bears a triéd field.
His hand and mine must change some blows.” Achilles laugh’d, and said:
“If thy will be, Antilochus, I’ll see Eumelus paid
Out of my tents. I’ll give him th’ arms, which late I conquer’d in
Asteropæus, forg’d of brass, and wav’d about with tin;
‘Twill be a present worthy him.” This said, Automedon
He sent for them. He went and brought; and to Admetus’ son
Achilles gave them. He, well pleas’d, receiv’d them. Then arose
Wrong’d Menelaus, much incens’d with young Antilochus.
He bent to speak, a herald took his sceptre and gave charge
Of silence to the other Greeks; then did the king enlarge
The spleen he prison’d, utt’ring this: “Antilochus, till now4
We grant thee wise, but in this act what wisdom utter’st thou?
Thou hast disgrac’d my virtue, wrong’d my horse, preferring thine
Much their inferiors. But go to, Princes, nor his nor mine
Judge of with favour, him nor me; lest any Grecian use
This scandal: ‘Menelaus won, with Nestor’s son’s abuse,
The prize in question, his horse worst; himself yet wan the best
By pow’r and greatness.’ Yet, because I would not thus contest
To make parts taking, I’ll be judge; and I suppose none here
Will blame my judgment, I’ll do right: Antilochus, come near,
Come, noble gentleman, ’tis your place, swear by th’ earth-circling God,
(Standing before your chariot and horse, and that self rod
With which you scourg’d them in your hand) if both with will and wile
You did not cross my chariot.” He thus did reconcile
Grace with his disgrace, and with wit restor’d him to his wit:
“Now crave I patience. O king, whatever was unfit;5
Ascribe to much more youth in me than you. You, more in age
And more in excellence, know well, the outrays that engage
All young men’s actions; sharper wits, but duller wisdoms, still
From us flow than from you; for which, curb, with your wisdom, will.
The prize I thought mine, I yield yours, and, if you please, a prize
Of greater value to my tent I’ll send for, and suffice
Your will at full, and instantly; for, in this point of time,
I rather wish to be enjoin’d your favour’s top to climb,
Than to be falling all my time from height of such a grace.6
O Jove-lov’d king, and of the Gods receive a curse in place.”
This said, he fetch’d his prize to him; and it rejoic’d him so,
That as corn-ears shine with the dew, yet having time to grow,
When fields set all their bristles up; in such a ruff wert thou.7
O Menelaus, answ’ring thus: “Antilochus, I now,
Though I were angry, yield to thee, because I see th’ hadst wit,
When I thought not; thy youth hath got the mast’ry of thy spirit.
And yet, for all this, ’tis more safe not to abuse at all
Great men, than, vent’ring, trust to wit to take up what may fall;
For no man in our host beside had eas’ly calm’d my spleen,
Stirr’d with like tempest. But thyself hast a sustainer been
Of much affliction in my cause; so thy good father too,
And so thy brother; at thy suit, I therefore let all go,
Give thee the game here, though mine own, that all these may discern
King Menelaus bears a mind at no part proud or stern.”
The king thus calm’d, Antilochus receiv’d, and gave the steed
To lov’d Noemon to lead thence; and then receiv’d beside
The caldron. Next, Meriones, for fourth game, was to have
Two talents’ gold. The fifth, unwon, renown’d Achilles gave
To rev’rend Nestor, being a bowl to set on either end;
Which through the press he carried him: “Receive,” said he, “old friend,
This gift as fun’ral monument of my dear friend deceas’d,
Whom never you must see again. I make it his bequest
To you as, without any strife, obtaining it from all.
Your shoulders must not undergo the churlish whoorlbat’s fall,
Wrastling is past you, strife in darts, the foot’s celerity;
Harsh age in his years fetters you, and honour sets you free.”
Thus gave he it. He took, and joy’d; but, ere he thank’d, he said:
“Now sure, my honourable son, in all points thou hast play’d
The comely orator; no more must I contend with nerves;
Feet fail, and hands; arms want that strength, that this and that swing serves
Under your shoulders. Would to heav’n, I were so young chinn’d now,
And strength threw such a many of bones, to celebrate this show,
As when the Epians brought to fire, actively honouring thus,
King Amaryncea’s funerals in fair Buprasius!
His sons put prizes down for him; where not a man match’d me
Of all the Epians, or the sons of great-soul’d Ætolie,
No, nor the Pylians themselves, my countrymen. I beat
Great Clytomedeus, Enops’ son, at buffets. At the feat
Of wrastling, I laid under me one that against me rose,
Ancæus, call’d Pleuronius. I made Iphiclus lose
The foot-game to me. At the spear, I conquer’d Polydore,
And strong Phylëus. Actor’s sons, of all men, only bore
The palm at horse-race, conquering with lashing on more horse,
And envying my victory, because, before their course,
All the best games were gone with me. These men were twins; one was
A most sure guide, a most sure guide; the other gave the pass
With rod and mettle. This was then. But now young men must wage
These works, and my joints undergo the sad defects of age;
Though then I was another man. At that time I excell’d8
Amongst th’ heroes. But forth now; let th’ other rites be held
For thy deceas’d friend; this thy gift in all kind part I take,
And much it joys my heart, that still, for my true kindness’ sake,
You give me mem’ry. You perceive, in what fit grace I stand
Amongst the Grecians; and to theirs you set your graceful hand.
The Gods give ample recompense of grace again to thee,
For this and all thy favours!” Thus, back through the thrust drave he,
When he had stay’d out all the praise of old Neleides.9
And now for buffets, that rough game, he order’d passages;
Proposing a laborious mule, of six years old, untam’d,
And fierce in handling, brought, and bound, in that place where they gam’d;
And, to the conquer’d, a round cup. Both which he thus proclaims:
“Atrides and all friends of Greece, two men, for these two games,
I bid stand forth. Who best can strike, with high contracted fists,
(Apollo giving him the wreath) know all about these lists,
Shall win a mule, patient of toil; the vanquish’d, this round cup.”
This utter’d; Panopëus’ son, Epëus, straight stood up,
A tall huge man, that to the nail knew that red sport of hand,
And, seizing the tough mule, thus spake: “Now let some other stand
Forth for the cup; this mule is mine, at cuffs I boast me best.
Is’t not enough I am no soldier? Who is worthiest
At all works? None; not possible. At this yet this I say,
And will perform this: Who stands forth, I’ll burst him, I will bray
His bones as in a mortar. Fetch surgeons enow to take10
His corse from under me.” This speech did all men silent make.
At last stood forth Euryalus, a man god-like, and son
To king Mecisteus, the grandchild of honour’d Talaon.
He was so strong that, coming once to Thebes, when Œdipus
Had like rites solemniz’d for him, he went victorious
From all the Thebans. This rare man Tydides would prepare,
Put on his girdle, oxhide cords, fair wrought; and spent much care
That he might conquer, hearten’d him, and taught him tricks. Both dress’d
Fit for th’ affair, both forth were brought; then breast oppos’d to breast,
Fists against fists rose, and, they join’d, rattling of jaws was there,
Gnashing of teeth, and heavy blows dash’d blood out ev’rywhere.
At length Epëus spy’d clear way, rush’d in, and such a blow
Drave underneath the other’s ear, that his neat limbs did strow
The knock’d earth, no more legs had he; but as a huge fish laid
Near to the cold-weed-gath’ring shore, is with a north flaw fraid.
Shoots back, and in the black deep hides; so, sent against the ground,
Was foil’d Euryalus, his strength so bid in more profound
Deeps of Epëus, who took up th’ intranc’d competitor;
About whom rush’d a crowd of friends, that through the clusters bore
His falt’ring knees, he spitting up thick clods of blood, his head
Totter’d of one side, his sense gone; when, to a by-place led,
Thither they brought him the round cup. Pelides then set forth
Prize for a wrastling; to the best a trivet, that was worth
Twelve oxen, great and fit for fire; the conquer’d was t’ obtain
A woman excellent in works; her beauty, and her gain,
Priz’d at four oxen. Up he stood, and thus proclaim’d: “Arise,
You wrastlers, that will prove for these.” Out stepp’d the ample size
Of mighty Ajax, huge in strength; to him Laertes’ son,
The crafty one, as huge in sleight. Their ceremony done
Of making ready, forth they stepp’d, catch elbows with strong hands,
And as the beams of some high house crack with a storm, yet stands
The house, being built by well-skill’d men; so crack’d their backbones, wrinch’d
With horrid twitches; in their sides, arms, shoulders, all bepinch’d,
Ran thick the wales, red with the blood, ready to start out. Both
Long’d for the conquest and the prize; yet show’d no play, being loth
To lose both. Nor could Ithacus stir Ajax; nor could he
Hale down Ulysses, being more strong than with mere strength to be
Hurl’d from all vantage of his sleight. Tir’d then with tugging play,
Great Ajax Telamonius said: “Thou wisest man, or lay
My face up, or let me lay thine; let Jove take care for these.”
This said, he hois’d him up to air; when Laertiades
His wiles forgat not, Ajax’ thigh he strook behind, and flat
He on his back fell; on his breast Ulysses. Wonder’d at
Was this of all; all stood amaz’d. Then the much-suff’ring man,
Divine Ulysses, at next close the Telamonian
A little rais’d from earth, not quite, but with his knee implied
Lock’d legs; and down fell both on earth, close by each other’s side,
Both fil’d with dust; but starting up, the third close they had made,
Had not Achilles’ self stood up, restraining them, and bade:
“No more tug one another thus, nor moil yourselves; receive
Prize equal; conquest crowns ye both; the lists to others leave.”
They heard, and yielded willingly, brush’d off the dust, and on
Put other vests. Pelides then, to those that swiftest run,
Propos’d another prize; a bowl, beyond comparison,
Both for the size and workmanship, past all the bowls of earth.
It held six measures; silver all; but had his special worth
For workmanship, receiving form from those ingenious men
Of Sidon. The Phœnicians made choice, and brought it then
Along the green sea, giving it to Thoas; by degrees
It came t’ Eunæus, Jason’s son, who young Priamides,
Lycaon, of Achilles’ friend bought with it; and this here
Achilles made best game for him, that best his feet could bear.
For second he propos’d an ox, a huge one, and a fat;
And half a talent gold for last. These thus he set them at:
“Rise, you that will assay for these.” Forth stepp’d Oïliades;
Ulysses answer’d; and the third was, one esteem’d past these
For footmanship, Antilochus. All rank’d, Achilles show’d
The race-scope. From the start they glid. Oïliades bestow’d
His feet the swiftest; close to him flew god-like Ithacus.
And as a lady at her loom, being young and beauteous,
Her silk-shuttle close to her breast, with grace that doth inflame,
And her white hand, lifts quick and oft, in drawing from her frame
Her gentle thread, which she unwinds with ever at her breast
Gracing her fair hand; so close still, and with such interest
In all men’s likings, Ithacus unwound, and spent the race
By him before, took out his steps with putting in their place
Promptly and gracefully his own, sprinkled the dust before,
And clouded with his breath his head. So facilie he bore
His royal person, that he strook shouts from the Greeks, with thirst
That he should conquer, though he flew: “Yet come, come, O come first,”
Ever they cried to him. And this ev’n his wise breast did move
To more desire of victory; it made him pray, and prove,
Minerva’s aid, his fautress still: “O Goddess, hear,” said he,
“And to my feet stoop with thy help, now happy fautress be.”
She was, and light made all his limbs. And now, both near their crown,
Minerva tripp’d up Ajax’ heels, and headlong he fell down
Amids the ordure of the beasts, there negligently left
Since they were slain there; and by this, Minerva’s friend bereft
Oïliades of that rich bowl, and left his lips, nose, eyes,
Ruthfully smear’d. The fat ox yet he seiz’d for second prize,
Held by the horn, spit out the tail, and thus spake all-besmear’d:
“O villainous chance! This Ithacus so highly is endear’d
To his Minerva, that her hand is ever in his deeds.
She, like his mother, nestles him; for from her it proceeds,
I know, that I am us’d thus.” This all in light laughter cast;
Amongst whom quick Antilochus laugh’d out his coming last
Thus wittily: “Know, all my friends, that all times past, and now,
The Gods most honour most-liv’d men. Oïliades ye know
More old than I, but Ithacus is of the foremost race,
First generation of men. Give the old man his grace,
They count him of the green-hair’d eld; they may; or in his flow’r;
For not our greatest flourisher can equal him in pow’r
Of foot-strife, but Æacides.” Thus sooth’d he Thetis’ son
Who thus accepted it: “Well, youth, your praises shall not run
With unrewarded feet on mine, your half a talent’s prize
I’ll make a whole one. Take you, sir.” He took, and joy’d. Then flies
Another game forth. Thetis’ son set in the lists a lance,
A shield, and helmet, being th’ arms Sarpedon did advance
Against Patroclus, and he pris’d. And thus he nam’d th’ address:
“Stand forth two the most excellent, arm’d, and before all these
Give mutual onset to the touch and wound of either’s flesh.
Who first shall wound, through other’s arms his blood appearing fresh,
Shall win this sword, silver’d, and hatch’d; the blade is right of Thrace;
Asteropæus yielded it. These arms shall part their grace
With either’s valour; and the men I’ll liberally feast
At my pavilion.” To this game the first man that address’d
Was Ajax Telamonius; to him king Diomed.
Both, in oppos’d parts of the press, full arm’d, both enteréd
The lists amids the multitude, put looks on so austere,
And join’d so roughly, that amaze surpris’d the Greeks in fear
Of either’s mischief. Thrice they threw their fierce darts, and clos’d thrice.
Then Ajax strook through Diomed’s shield, but did no prejudice,
His curets saft him. Diomed’s dart still over shoulders flew,
Still mounting with the spirit it bore. And now rough Ajax grew
So violent, that the Greeks cried: “Hold, no more. Let them no more.
Give equal prize to either.” Yet the sword, propos’d before
For him did best, Achilles gave to Diomed. Then a stone,
In fashion of a sphere, he show’d; of no inventión,
But natural, only melted through with iron. ’Twas the bowl
That king Eetion us’d to hurl; but he bereft of soul
By great Achilles, to the fleet, with store of other prise,
He brought it, and propos’d it now both for the exercise
And prize itself. He stood, and said: “Rise you that will approve
Your arms’ strengths now in this brave strife. His vigour that can move
This furthest, needs no game but this; for reach he ne’er so far
With large fields of his own in Greece (and so needs for his car,
His plough, or other tools of thrift, much iron) I’ll able this
For five revolvéd years; no need shall use his messages
To any town to furnish him, this only bowl shall yield
Iron enough for all affairs.” This said; to try this field,
First Polypœtes issuéd; next Leontëus; third
Great Ajax; huge Epëus fourth, yet he was first that stirr’d
That mine of iron. Up it went, and up he toss’d it so,
That laughter took up all the field. The next man that did throw
Was Leontëus; Ajax third, who gave it such a hand,
That far past both their marks it flew. But now ’twas to be mann’d
By Polypœtes, and, as far as at an ox that strays
A herdsman can swing out his goad, so far did he outraise
The stone past all men; all the field rose in a shout to see’t;
About him flock’d his friends, and bore the royal game to fleet.
For archery he then set forth ten axes edg’d two ways,
And ten of one edge. On the shore, far-off, he caus’d to raise
A ship-mast; to whose top they tied a fearful dove by th’ foot,
At which all shot, the game put thus; He that the dove could shoot,
Nor touch the string that fasten’d her, the two-edg’d tools should bear
All to the fleet. Who touch’d the string, and miss’d the dove, should share
The one-edg’d axes. This propos’d; king Teucer’s force arose,
And with him rose Meriones. And now lots must dispose
Their shooting first; both which let fall into a helm of brass,
First Teucer’s came, and first he shot, and his cross fortune was
To shoot the string, the dove untouch’d; Apollo did envy
His skill, since not to him he vow’d, being God of archery,
A first-fall’n lamb. The bitter shaft yet cut in two the cord,
That down fell, and the dove aloft up to the welkin soar’d.
The Greeks gave shouts. Meriones first made a hearty vow
To sacrifice a first-fall’n lamb to Him that rules the bow,
And then fell to his aim, his shaft being ready nock’d before.
He spy’d her in the clouds that here, there, ev’rywhere, did soar,
Yet at her height he reach’d her side, strook her quite through, and down
The shaft fell at his feet; the dove the mast again did crown,
There hung the head, and all her plumes were ruffled, she stark dead,
And there, far off from him, she fell. The people wonderéd,
And stood astonish’d; th’ archer pleas’d. Æacides then shows
A long lance, and a caldron new, engrail’d with twenty hues,
Priz’d at an ox. These games were show’d for men at darts; and then
Up rose the General of all, up rose the King of men,
Up rose late-crown’d Meriones. Achilles, seeing the King
Do him this grace, prevents more deed, his royal offering
Thus interrupting: “King of men, we well conceive how far
Thy worth superior is to all, how much most singular
Thy pow’r is, and thy skill in darts! Accept then this poor prize
Without contention, and (your will pleas’d with what I advise)
Afford Meriones the lance.” The King was nothing slow
To that fit grace. Achilles then the brass lance did bestow
On good Meriones. The King his present would not save,
But to renown’d Talthybius the goodly caldron gave.
THE END OF THE TWENTY-THIRD BOOK.

1 A comment might well be bestowed upon this speech of Nestor.
2 When all, etc.—Nestor’s aged love of speech was here briefly noted.
3 Menelaus in fear to follow Antilochus, who ye may see played upon him.
4 Note Menelaus’ ridiculous speech for conclusion of his character.
5 Antilochus’s ironical reply.
6 Ironicè.
7 This simile likewise is merely ironical.
8 His desire of praise pants still.
9 Another note of Nestor’s humour, not so much being to be plainly observed in all these Iliads as in this book.
10 Note the sharpness of wit in our Homer; if where you look not for it you can find it.