Book XVII: The Seventh Battle

The warlike Menelaus, Atreus’ son,Beheld Patroclus fall by Trojan hands,And came in glittering armor to the vanTo guard the body of the slain. As walksA heifer moaning round her new-born young,So fair-haired Menelaus stalked aroundThe body of Patroclus, holding forthHis spear and great round shield, intent to slayWhoever came against him. But the sonOf Panthoüs, mighty spearman, not the lessIntent to spoil the illustrious dead, drew near,And spake to warlike Menelaus thus:—

“Atrides Menelaus, reared by Jove,And leader of thy host, give way and leaveThe dead, and quit to me his bloody spoil;For none of our brave Trojans and alliesSmote him in deadly combat with the spear,Before me. Leave me therefore to receiveThe glory due me from the sons of Troy,Else will I smite thee too, and thou wilt loseThy precious life!” Indignant at the word,The fair-haired Menelaus answered him:—

“O Father Jove! Unseemly boasts are these!For not the panther’s nor the lion’s might,Nor that of the fierce forest-boar whose rageIs heightened into fury, is as greatAs that which these distinguished spearmen, sonsOf Panthoüs, utter with their lips. And yetThe horseman Hyperenor did not longEnjoy his youth when he with insolent wordsAssailed me, and withstood me—when he saidThat I was the most craven wretch who boreArms in the Grecian host. He never turned,I think, his footsteps homeward to delightHis reverend parents and beloved wife;And I, like his, will take thy life, if thouOppose me. Heed my counsel, and withdrawAmong the crowd, and so avoid my strokeBefore thou come to harm. He is a foolWho only sees the mischiefs that are past.”

He said: Euphorbus, heeding not his wordsOf warning, spake again: “Now is my time,Jove-nurtured Menelaus, to avengeMy brother, slain by thee, and over whomThou utteredst such swelling words, whose wifeIn her new bridal chamber thou hast madeA widow, and upon her parents broughtMourning and endless sorrow. It may makeThe sorrow less, should I into the handsOf Panthoüs and the noble Phrontis giveThy head and armor. Let us now delayThe strife no longer: it will show with whomThe valor dwells, and who is moved by fear.”

He spake, and smote his enemy’s round shield,But pierced it not; the stubborn metal turnedThe weapon’s point. Then Menelaus, sonOf Atreus, with a prayer to Jupiter,Struck, as Euphorbus made a backward step,His throat, and drave the weapon with strong handThrough the soft neck. He fell with clashing arms.His locks, which were like those the Graces wear,And ringlets, bound with gold and silver bands,Were drenched with blood. As when some husbandmanRears in a lonely and well-watered spotAn olive-tree with widely spreading boughs,Beautiful with fresh shoots, and putting forthWhite blossoms, gently waved by every wind,A sudden blast descends with mighty sweepAnd tears it from its bed, and lays it proneUpon the earth—so lay Euphorbus, skilledTo wield the spear and son of Panthoüs, slainAnd spoiled by Menelaus, Atreus’ son.As when a lion of the mountain wilds,Fearless and strong, bears from the browsing herdThe fairest of the kine, and breaks her neckWith his strong teeth, and, tearing her, devoursThe bloody entrails, while a clamorous throngOf dogs and herdsmen, with incessant cries,Gather around him, yet approach him not,Withheld by fear, so of the warriors round soThe gallant Menelaus none could findThe courage to encounter him; and thenAtrides easily had borne awayThe sumptuous armor worn by Panthoüs’ son,If envious Apollo had not movedHector to meet him. Putting on the formOf Mentes, chief of the Ciconian band,He said to him aloud, with wingèd words:—

“Hector, thou art pursuing what thy feetWill never overtake, the steeds which drawThe chariot of Achilles. Hard it wereFor mortal man to tame them or to guide,Save for Achilles, goddess-born. MeanwhileHath warlike Menelaus, Atreus’ son,Guarding the slain Patroclus, overthrownEuphorbus, bravest of the Trojan host,A son of Panthoüs; he will fight no more.”

Thus spake the god, and disappeared amongThe warring squadrons. Bitter was the griefThat seized the heart of Hector as he lookedAlong the ranks and saw the Greek bear offThe sumptuous arms, and saw the Trojan lieWeltering in blood. At once he made his wayTo the front rank, all armed in glittering brass,And with loud shouts. As terrible he cameAs Vulcan’s inextinguishable fires.The son of Atreus heard that mighty shout,And thus to his great soul lamenting said:—“If I abandon these rich spoils and leavePatroclus, who has perished in my cause,I fear the Greeks will look upon the actWith indignation. If, through dread of shame,I fight alone with Hector and his men,I fear to be o’erwhelmed by multitudes,For crested Hector leads the whole arrayOf Trojans hither. Yet why question thus?For when a warrior ventures to assaultOne whom a god protects, a bitter doomIs his. Then none of all the Greeks should blameIf I give way to Hector, whom a godHath sent against me. Yet could I but hearThe voice of mighty Ajax, we would bothReturn, and even against a god renewThe combat, that we haply might restorePatroclus to Achilles, Peleus’ son.Such in this choice of evils were the least.”

As thus he mused, the men of Troy came on,With Hector at their head. The Greek gave wayAnd left the slain. As when a lion, drivenWith pikes and clamor from the herdsman’s stallsBy men and dogs, unwillingly retreats,His valiant heart still raging in his breast,So did the fair-haired Menelaus leavePatroclus. When he reached the Grecian ranks,He turned and stood and looked about to findThe mighty Ajax, son of Telamon,And him he soon beheld on the left edgeOf battle, rallying there and hearteningHis men; for Phoebus from above had sentA panic fear among them. To him thenThe son of Atreus went in haste and said:—

“Ajax, my friend, come hither where we fightAround Patroclus. Let us strive at leastTo bring Achilles back the hero’s corpse,Though stripped; for crested Hector hath his arms.”

He spake; the courage of the warlike sonOf Telamon was kindled by his words.To the front rank he hastened, and with himWent fair-haired Menelaus. Hector thereHad spoiled Patroclus of his glorious arms,And now was dragging him apart to hewThe head away with his keen sword, and giveThe body to the dogs of Troy. Just thenCame Ajax, bearing, like a tower, his shield,And Hector mingled with the Trojan ranks,And leaped into his car; but first he gaveHis friends the glittering spoil to bear awayTo Troy—a glory to the conqueror;While Ajax, over MenoetiadesHolding his ample shield, stood firm as standsA lion o’er his whelps, when, as he comesLeading them through the wood, the hunters rushUpon him, and his look is terribleAs his knit eyebrows cover his fierce eyes.So Ajax moved around the hero’s corpse,While warlike Menelaus by his side,The son of Atreus, stood in bitter grief.

Then with a look of anger, Glaucus spake—Son of Hippolochus, and chief amongThe Lycians—thus to Hector: “Though thy form,Hector, be noble, yet in prowess thouArt wanting, and thy fame in feats of warIs not deserved, since thou dost fly the foe.Think whether thou alone, with others bornIn Troy, canst save the city and the state.For henceforth will no Lycian fight for TroyAgainst the Greeks; this conflict without endHas never earned them thanks. Inglorious chief!How wilt thou be the shield of humbler men,If thou canst leave Sarpedon, who has beenThy comrade and thy guest, to be the preyAnd spoil of the Greek warriors? While he lived,Great was the aid he brought thy cause and thee,And now thou dost not seek to drive awayThe dogs from his neglected corpse. For this,If any of the Lycians heed my words,They will go home, and imminent will beThe ruin of thy city. If that firmAnd resolute valor lived in Trojan heartsWhich they should cherish who in the defenceOf their own country bear the toils and faceThe dangers of the field, we might this hourDrag off the slain Patroclus into Troy.And should we bear him from the thick of fightTo the great city of Priam, soon the GreeksWould let us ransom the rich armor wornBy our Sarpedon, and bring back his corpse;For he lies slain who was the bosom friendOf the most valiant chieftain at the fleetOf Greece and leader of her bravest men.But thou, when great-souled Ajax fixed his eyeUpon thee, didst not venture to remainAnd fight with him; he is more brave than thou.”

The crested Hector frowned and thus replied:—“Why, Glaucus, should a warrior such as thouUtter such violent words? My friend, I deemedThat thou wert wise above all other menOf fertile Lycia, but I now must blameThy judgment when thou say’st I shrink to meetThe mighty Ajax. I do neither dreadThe battle’s fury nor the rush of steeds;But all prevailing are the purposesOf aegis-bearing Jove, who makes the braveTo flee, and takes from him the victory,And then again impels him to the fight.Come then, my friend, stand by me; see if ISkulk this time from the conflict, as thou say’st,Or tame the courage of whatever Greek,The bravest, who defends Patroclus slain.”

He spake, and, shouting, cheered the Trojans on:“Trojans and Lycians and Dardanians, trainedTo combat hand to hand, let it be seen,My friends, that ye are men, and still retainYour ancient valor; while I buckle onThe glorious armor of the illustrious sonOf Peleus, taken from Patroclus slain.”

So spake the crested Hector, and withdrewFrom the fierce conflict, and with rapid stepsO’ertook his comrades as they bore awayTownward the glorious arms of Peleus’ son.There from that deadly strife apart he stood,And changed his coat of mail. He gave his ownTo his companions, to be carried thenceTo sacred Ilium, and he buckled onThe immortal armor of Achilles, sonOf Peleus, which the gods of heaven bestowedUpon his father, who in his old ageConsigned them to Achilles; but the sonWas never in that armor to grow old.

And when the Cloud-compeller Jove beheldHector apart, accoutred in the armsOf Peleus’ godlike son, he shook his head,And to himself he said: “Unhappy man!Death even now is near to thee, and yetIs not in all thy thoughts. Thou puttest onThe heavenly armor of the terrible chief,Before whom others tremble; thou hast slainHis friend, the brave and gentle, and hast stripped,To do him shame, the armor from his limbs.Yet will I for the moment give to theeFresh triumphs, since Andromache shall ne’erReceive, when thou returnest from the field,The armor of Pelides from thy hands.”

The son of Saturn spake, and gave the nodWith his dark brows. Well did that coat of mailSuit Hector’s form. Meantime the god of warIn all his fierceness entered Hector’s breast:Fresh vigor filled and nerved his frame; he wentAlong the ranks of his renowned alliesWith shouts; that glittering armor made him seemThe large-souled son of Peleus. To them allHe spake in turn, encouraging their hearts—To Mesthles, Glaucus, and Thersilochus,Medon, Deisenor, and Hippothoüs,Asteropaeus, Phorcys, Chromius,And Ennomus the Augur; these the chiefExhorted to the fight with wingèd words:—

“Hear me, ye mighty throng of our allies,Dwellers of nations round us! Not to makeOur army vast in numbers did I sendTo summon you, each from his native town,But that your willing valor might defendThe wives and children of the sons of TroyFrom the assailing Greeks. I therefore giveMost freely of our substance in large giftsAnd banquets, that ye all may be content;And now let some of you move boldly onTo do or die, which is the chance of war.To him who from the field will drag and bringThe slain Patroclus to the Trojan knights,Compelling Ajax to give way—to himI yield up half the spoil; the other halfI keep, and let his glory equal mine.”

He spake, and all that mighty multitudeWith lifted lances threw themselves againstThe Grecian ranks. They hoped to bear awayThe dead from Ajax, son of Telamon.Ah, idle hope! that hero o’er the deadTook many a Trojan’s life. Then Ajax thusTo Menelaus, great in battle, spake:—

“O friend, O Menelaus, reared by Jove,No longer now I hope our safe returnFrom battle. Not the greatest of my fearsIs for Patroclus, whom the dogs of TroyAnd birds of prey full quickly will devour,But for my life and thine. That cloud of war,Hector, o’ershadows all, and over usImpends the doom of death. Yet let us callOur mighty men, if they perchance may hear.”

He spake, and Menelaus, great in war,Obeyed his wish and shouted to the Greeks:—

“O friends, the princes and the chiefs of Greece,Who at the public feasts with Atreus’ sons—King Agamemnon and his brother chief—Drink wine—who each command a host, and holdYour honors and your state from Jove—my eyesCannot discern you in the thick of fight;But some of you, who cannot bear to leavePatroclus to the dogs of Troy, draw near!”

He spake; Oilean Ajax, swift of foot,Heard and came forward, hastening through the fight;And after him Idomeneus, who broughtMeriones, his armor-bearer, fierceAs the man-slayer Mars. But who could tellThe names of all the other Greeks that sprangTo mingle in the strife? The Trojans madeThe first assault, and Hector led them on.

As at the mouth of some great river, swol’nBy rains from Jove, the mighty ocean-waveMeets it with roaring, and the cliffs aroundRebellow, while the surges toss without,With such a clamor came the Trojans on,While round Patroclus closed, with one accord,The Greeks, protected by their brazen shields,And o’er their shining helmets Saturn’s sonPoured darkness. For when MenoetiadesYet lived, attendant upon Peleus’ son,Jove looked on him with no unkind regard,And now he would not that his corse should feedThe enemy’s dogs, and therefore moved his friendsTo rescue him. At first the Trojans draveThe dark-eyed Greeks before them; back they fellAnd left the dead; yet, fiercely as they came,The Trojans slew no man, but dragged awayThe dead. A moment, and no more, the GreeksFell back; for Ajax quickly rallied them—Ajax, who, next to Peleus’ valiant son,Excelled them all in form and feats of war;He through the foremost warriors brake, as strongAs a wild bear that on the mountain’s sideBreaks through the shrubs, and scatters with a boundA band of youths and dogs. The illustrious sonOf honored Telamon thus put to routThe Trojan phalanxes environingPatroclus, in the hope to bear him thenceTownward with glory. There Hippothoüs, sonOf Lethus the Pelasgian, having boundA thong about the sinewy ankle, toiledTo drag away the slain man by the footFrom that fierce strife—a grateful spectacleTo Hector and the Trojans. Yet on himA vengeance which no friendly arm could wardFell suddenly. The son of TelamonRushed through the crowd, and in close combat smoteHis helmet’s brazen cheek. That plumèd helmWas cleft by the huge spear and vigorous hand,And where the weapon struck Hippothoüs,Mingled with blood the brain gushed forth; the lifeForsook his limbs; he dropped from nerveless handsThe foot of brave Patroclus, and besideThe corpse fell headlong—far from the rich fieldsOf his Larissa, never to repayWith gentle cares in their old age the loveOf his dear parents; for his life was short,Slain by the spear of Ajax, large of soul.

Then Hector aimed again his shining spearAt Ajax, who perceived it as it came,And just avoided it. The weapon struckSchedius, the valiant son of Iphitus,And bravest of the Phocians, whose abodeWas Panopeus the famous, where he ruledO’er many men. Beneath the collar-boneIt pierced him, and passed through; the brazen pointCame out upon the shoulder; to the groundHe fell, his armor clashing with his fall.Then Ajax smote the valiant Phorcys, sonOf Phoenops, in the navel. Through the mailThe brazen weapon broke, and roughly toreThe entrails. In the dust he fell, and clenchedThe earth with dying hands. The foremost ranks,Led by illustrious Hector, at the sightYielded the ground; the Greeks with fearful shoutsDragged off the bodies of HippothoüsAnd Phorcys, and despoiled them of their arms.

Then would the Trojans have been put to flightBefore the warlike Greeks, and, craven like,Gone up to Troy, and great had been the fameGained by the might and courage of the Greeks,Beyond what Jupiter designed to give,Had not Apollo brought Aeneas forthBy putting on the form of Periphas,The herald and the son of Epytus,Who in that office as a prudent friendAnd counsellor had served, till he grew old,The father of Aeneas. In his shapeThus spake Apollo, son of Jupiter:—

“Aeneas, ye might even hold the towersOf lofty Ilium safe against a god,Were ye to act as some whom I have seen—Valiant, and confident in their own mightAnd multitude of dauntless followers.And now Jove favors us and offers usThe victory o’er the Greeks, and yet ye fleeIn abject terror, and refuse to fight.”

He spake; Aeneas, looking at him, knewThe archer-god, and with a mighty voiceCalled out to Hector: “Hector! Thou and allWho lead the troops of Troy, and our allies,Great shame it were if we were put to routBefore the warlike Greeks, and beaten backTo Troy like cowards. Standing by my side,One of the gods already hath declaredThat Jupiter, All-wise, is our allyIn battle. Let us therefore boldly fallUpon the Greeks, nor suffer them to bearPatroclus unmolested to their fleet.”

He spake, and, springing to the foremost ranksStood firm; the Trojans also turned and facedThe Achaians. Then Aeneas with his spearStruck down Leocritus, the gallant friendOf Lycomedes and Arisbas’ son.The warlike Lycomedes saw his fallWith grief, and came and cast his shining spearAt Apisaon, son of Hippasus,A shepherd of the people. UnderneathThe midriff, through the liver went the spear,And he fell lifeless. He had come to TroyFrom rich Pseonia, and was great in war,Next to Asteropaeus. As he sawHis comrade fall, Asteropaeus, movedBy grief, advanced to combat with the Greeks,But could not; for the group that stood aroundPatroclus showed a fence of shields, and heldTheir spears before them. Ajax moved amongThe warriors, charging them that none should leaveThe corpse, and none should step beyond the restTo strike the foe, but stay to guard the dead,And combat hand to hand. Such was the chargeOf mighty Ajax. All the earth aroundWas steeped with blood, and many a corpse was heapedOn corpse of Trojans and their brave allies,And of the Greeks, for even on their sideThe strife was not unbloody, though of GreeksThere perished fewer; each was on the watchTo ward the battle’s dangers from the rest.

Then did they fight like fire. You could not sayThe sun was safe, nor yet the moon, so thickA darkness gathered over the brave menAround the corpse of Menoetiades.The other Trojans and the well-armed GreeksFought freely under the clear sky; the sunShed o’er them his full brightness; not a cloudShadowed the earth, or rested on the hills.From time to time they paused, and warilyThey shunned each other’s cruel darts, and keptFar from each other, while in the mid-warStruggled the combatants in darkness, galledBy the remorseless weapons of their foes.Yet Thrasymedes and Antilochus,Two famous Grecian warriors, had not learnedThat excellent Patroclus was no more,But thought that, still alive, he led the warAgainst the Trojans, fighting in the van.They watched the flight and slaughter of the Greeks,And fought apart, for Nestor so enjoined,Who sent them to the battle from the fleet.

But they who held the middle space aroundThe friend of swift Aeacides, maintainedA desperate strife all day; the knees, the thighs,The feet, the hands, the eyes of those who foughtWere faint with weariness and foul with sweat.As when an ample ox-hide, steeped in fat,Is given to workmen to be stretched, they standAround it in a circle, pulling it,Till forth the moisture issues, and the oilEnters the skin, and by that constant strainFrom many hands the hide is duly stretched,So in small space the warriors drew the deadHither and thither; they of Ilium stroveTo drag it to the city, they of GreeceTo bear it to the fleet. The tumult thenWas terrible, and neither Mars himself,The musterer of hosts, nor Pallas, rousedTo her intensest wrath, had they been nearThe struggle, would have seen it with disdain.Such deadly strife of steeds and men was heldO’er slain Patroclus by the will of Jove.

The great Achilles knew not yet the fateOf his Patroclus, for the warriors foughtFar from the fleet, beside the wall of Troy.He never thought of him as one whose deathWas near, but trusted that, when once he reachedThe Trojan wall, he would return alive;Nor ever deemed he that without his aid,Or even with it, would Patroclus sackThe city. This was what he oft had heardFrom Thetis, who disclosed to him apartThe counsel of Almighty Jupiter.Yet had his mother never once revealedThe present evil—that the one whom mostHe loved of all his friends should perish thus.

Still round the dead they fought with their keen spears,And slew each other. Then of the mailed GreeksSomeone would say: “O friends, it were disgraceShould we fall back upon our roomy ships.First let the dark earth swallow us; for thisWere better than to let the Trojan knightsDrag off the dead in triumph to their town.”

And some among the large-souled sons of TroyWould say: “O friends, though all of us should fallBeside this corpse, let no one turn and flee.”Thus they, encouraging each other, spake,And thus the fight went on. The iron dinRose through the waste air to the brazen heaven.

Meantime aloof from battle stood the steedsOf Peleus’ son, and sorrowed when they knewThat he who guided them lay stretched in dustBy Hector’s slaughtering hand. Automedon,The brave son of Diores, often triedThe lash, and gentle words as oft, and oftShouted forth threats; yet neither would they moveToward the broad Hellespont, where lay the fleet,Nor toward the Greeks in combat, but remainedMotionless as a funeral column, rearedTo mark a man’s or woman’s tomb. So stoodThe coursers yoked to that magnificent car,With drooping heads, and tears that from their lidsFlowed hot, for sorrow at the loss of himWho was their charioteer, and their fair manes,Sweeping the yoke below, were foul with dust.The son of Saturn saw their grief, and shookHis head in pity, saying to himself:—

“Why did the gods bestow you, luckless pair,On Peleus—on a king of mortal birth—You who shall never feel old age or death?Was it that ye might share with human-kindTheir sorrows? for the race of mortal menOf all that breathe and move upon the earthIs the most wretched. Yet of this be sure—That ye shall never in that sumptuous carBear Hector. Is it not enough that heShould wear that armor, uttering idle boasts?And now will I infuse into your limbsSpirit and strength, that ye may safely bearAutomedon across the battle-fieldTo where the roomy galleys lie. I yetMust give more glory to the men of Troy,And they must slay until they come againTo the good ships of Greece—until the sunGoes down and sacred darkness covers all.”

So spake the god, and breathed into the steedsNew life and vigor. From their manes they shookThe dust, and flew with that swift car amongThe Greeks and Trojans. With the Trojan throng,Automedon, though mourning his slain friend,Maintained the fight; he rushed upon their ranks,A vulture pouncing on a flock of geese.Swiftly he passed from out the Trojan throng;Swiftly again he charged their phalanxesIn fierce pursuit. Yet slew he none of thoseWhom he pursued; he could not guide at onceThe steeds and cast the spear, when seated thusAlone within that sacred car. At lastA friend, the valorous Alcimedon,Laërces’ son, of Aemon’s line, beheldHis plight, and, standing near his chariot, said:—

“What god, Automedon, hath prompted theeTo these mad acts, and stolen thy better sense,Fighting alone among the foremost ranksOf Trojan warriors, thy companion slain,And Hector in the field, who boastfullyStalks in the armor of Aeacides?”

And thus Automedon, Diores’ son,Made answer: “Who is there among the GreeksAble like thee, Alcimedon, to reinAnd curb the spirit of immortal steeds?None were there save Patroclus while he lived,Wise as a god in council. Death and fateNow hold him. To thy hand I give the lashAnd shining reins, while I descend and fight.”

He spake, and into his swift chariot sprangAlcimedon, and took the lash and reins.Automedon leaped down. As Hector saw,He thus bespake Aeneas at his side:—

“Aeneas, leader of the men of Troy,Equipped in brazen armor, I have seenThose coursers of the swift AeacidesDriven through the battle by unwarlike hands,And ’tis my hope, if thou wilt give thine aid,To seize them. They who guide them will not dareTo stand and face us when we make the charge.”

He spake; Anchises’ valiant son complied,And, sheltered by their shields of tough ox-hide,Well dried and firm, and strong with plates of brass,The twain went forward. With them at their sideWent Chromius and Aretus, nobly formed,In hope to lead away the high-necked steeds,Their guardians slain. Vain dreamers! They were doomedNot without bloody penance to returnFrom that encounter with Automedon,Who prayed to Father Jove, and whose faint heartWas strengthened and made bold. And thus the chiefSaid to his faithful friend Alcimedon:—

“Keep not the steeds thou guidest far from me,Alcimedon, but let them ever breatheUpon my shoulders. Hector, Priam’s son,I think, will not give over this assaultBefore he either slays us, and ascendsThe car to which these steeds with flowing manesAre yoked, and puts to flight the phalanxesOf Argive warriors, or himself is slain.”

He spake, and called to both the AjaxesAnd Menelaus: “Ye who lead the Greeks,”He said, and named the chieftains, “give in chargeThe dead to your best warriors, to surroundAnd guard the corpse, and drive away the foe;But hasten to avert the evil dayFrom us who are alive. For even nowHector comes rushing through the deadly fight,And brings Aeneas; these are the most braveOf all the Trojan army. On the kneesOf the great gods the issue rests. I tooWill cast the spear, and leave the rest to Jove.”

He spake, and lifting his huge spear he smoteThe round shield of Aretus. There the bladeStopped not, but, entering, pierced him through the belt.As, when a vigorous youth with a keen axeStrikes a wild bull behind the horns, and thereSevers the sinews, forward leaps the beastAnd falls—Aretus, springing forward thus,Fell headlong. In the Trojan’s entrails stillQuivered the spear, and life forsook his limbs.

Then Hector aimed, to smite Automedon,His shining spear. The Greek beheld and stooped,And shunned the brazen weapon. Down it came,And plunged into the earth, and stood, its stemStill shaken with the blow, and spent its force.Now would the twain have turned, and hand to handFought with their swords, when suddenly came upThe warriors Ajax, hastening, at the callOf their companion, through the crowd, and stayedThe combat. Hector and Aeneas then,And Chromius, of the godlike form, withdrewThrough caution, leaving on the battle-fieldAretus lying mangled. The fierce chiefAutomedon despoiled the dead, and spakeBoastfully: “Somewhat lighter on my heartLies now my grief for Menoetiades,Though I have slain a man of meaner note.”

As thus he spake, he threw the bloody spoilsInto his chariot, mounting to the seat,His feet and hands all crimson with the blood,As when a lion has devoured an ox.Then round Patroclus raged the strife again,Murderous and sad to see; for Pallas thereInflamed the strife, sent down from heaven by Jove,To rouse the courage of the Greeks, since suchWas now his will. As when the god displaysTo men a purple rainbow in the skies,A sign of war or of a bitter storm,Which drives the laborer from his task, and makesThe cattle droop, so, in a purple cloudConcealed, she went among the Greeks, and filledTheir hearts with valor. Taking first the formOf Phoenix, and his clear, unwearied voice,She spake in stirring words to Atreus’ son,The gallant Menelaus, standing near:“Shame and dishonor will it be to thee,O Menelaus, if, beneath the wallsOf Troy, the hungry dogs should tear the corpseOf him who was in life the faithful friendOf great Achilles. Fight thou therefore onBravely, and bid the other Greeks be brave.”

And Menelaus, great in war, rejoined:“O Phoenix, aged father, who wert bornIn days long past, would but Minerva giveThe needed strength, and ward from me the strokeOf weapons, then would I stand by and guardPatroclus, for his death hath filled my heartWith grief. But Hector’s rage is like the rageOf fire; he ceases not to slay; for JoveGives to his spear the glory of the day.”

He spake, and well was blue-eyed Pallas pleasedThat first to her of all the deitiesHe prayed; and therefore did she nerve his chestAnd knees with strength, and put into his heartThe daring of the fly, that, often drivenFrom man, returns and bites, and finds how sweetIs human blood. Such resolute zeal she wokeIn his stern soul, as quickly he approachedPatroclus, and sent forth his shining spear.Among the Trojans was Eëtion’s son,Podes, the rich and brave, whom Hector heldIn highest honor, choosing him to beCompanion of his feasts. Him in the waistThe fair-haired Menelaus, as he fled,Smote, driving home the weapon. With a clashHe fell to earth, and Menelaus drewThe slain away among the Grecian ranks.Then came Apollo, putting on the formOf Phaenops, son of Asius, whose abodeWas in Abydos, and whom Hector mostEsteemed of all his guests. The archer-godDrew near to Hector, and bespake him thus:—

“Hector, what other Greek will fear thee now,Since thou dost shrink from Menelaus, deemedEffeminate in war? Behold, he dragsAway a warrior from thy host; his handHath slain thy faithful friend, Eëtion’s son,Brave Podes, fighting in the foremost ranks.”

He spake: a cloud of sorrow overspreadThe soul of Hector. Armed in glittering brass,He went among the warriors in the van.Then did the son of Saturn lift on highHis fringèd aegis, gleaming; with a cloudHe covered Ida, sent his lightnings down,And thundered terribly, and made the mountShake to its base, and gave the victoryTo Troy, and put to rout the Grecian host.

Peneleus of Bueotia led the fight.A spear that lighted on the shoulder-tip,As he came forward, wounded him. The blade,Hurled by Polydamas in close assault,Entered and grazed the bone. Then Hector piercedThe wrist of Leitus, Alectryon’s son,And made him leave the combat. As he fledHe looked around in fear, nor hoped againTo wield the spear against the men of Troy.As Hector followed Leitus, he metThe long spear of Idomeneus, which struckHis corselet near the pap; the weapon brokeSheer at the socket, and the Trojans raisedA shout, while Hector at IdomeneusLet fly his spear. It missed the chief, but smoteCoeranus, who from pleasant Lyctus came,The friend and follower of Meriones.For on that day Idomeneus had comeFrom his good ships on foot, and great had beenThe triumph of the Trojans at his fall,If Coeranus had not with his swift steedsPassed near and bid him mount. ’Twas thus he cameTo save Idomeneus from death, and yieldTo the man-queller Hector his own life;The javelin entered underneath the ear,By the jaw-bone, where, forcing out the teeth,It cleft the tongue in twain. He fell to earth,And dropped the reins. Meriones stooped downAnd took them from the dust in his own hands,And thus bespake Idomeneus: “Ply wellThe lash, until thy coursers reach the fleet,For thou mayst clearly see that victoryToday is not upon the Grecian side.”

He spake: Idomeneus, fear-smitten, lashedThe long-maned steeds that hurried toward the fleet.Nor now did Menelaus nor his friend,The valiant Ajax, fail to see that JoveHad changed the vantage to the side of Troy.And thus the son of Telamon began:—

“Alas! The feeblest mind can now perceiveThat Father Jove is with the sons of Troy,And gives to them the glory of the day.Their weapons smite, whoever sends them forth,Coward or brave, for Jove directs them all;Ours fall to earth in vain. But let us nowConsult how best to bear the corpse away,And how, returning, we may meet our friendsWith joy; for they are grieved as they beholdOur plight, and fear that we may not withstandThe fiery onset and invincible armOf the man-queller Hector. Would there wereSome comrade who would bear to Peleus’ sonThe tidings of the day! For he, I think,Has not yet heard that his dear friend is slain.None such can I behold of all the Greeks,For they are shrouded all—their steeds and they—In darkness. Father Jove, deliver usFrom darkness; clear the heavens and give our eyesAgain to see. Destroy us if thou wilt,But O destroy us in the light of day!”

He spake: the All-Father saw him shedding tears,And pitied him, and bade the shadows flee,And swept away the cloud. The sun looked forth,And all the battle lay in light. Then thusTo warlike Menelaus Ajax said:—

“O Menelaus, foster-child of Jove,Look round and see if yet Antilochus,The large-souled son of Nestor, is alive,And bid him bear the tidings in all hasteTo the great son of Peleus, that the oneOf all his friends whom most he loved is slain.”

He spake, and Menelaus, great in war,Complied, and hastened forth, as from a foldA lion stalks away, that long has keptIn fear the hounds and herdsmen, who all nightHave watched to drive him from their well-fed beeves,While, eager for his prey, he rushes oftAgainst them, but in vain, for many a spearIs hurled at him, and many a blazing brand,Which, fierce for ravin as he is, he dreads,Till sullenly at early morn he goes.So from Patroclus went unwillinglyThe valiant Menelaus, for he fearedLest, panic-struck, the Greeks should leave his corpseThe enemy’s prey. Thus earnestly he prayedThe warriors Ajax and Meriones:—

“Ye warriors Ajax, leaders of the Greeks!And thou, Meriones! Let each of youBear well in mind how kindly was the moodOf poor Patroclus; gentle in his lifeWas he to all, and now is with the dead.”The fair-haired Menelaus, speaking thus,Withdrew. He looked around him as he went,As looks an eagle, bird of sharpest sight—So men declare—of all the fowls of air,From which, though high in heaven, the nimble hareBeneath the thicket is not hid; he stoops,And takes the creature’s life. Thy piercing eyes,O Menelaus, thus on every sideWere turned, in eager scrutiny, to findAmong the multitude of Greeks the sonOf Nestor living. Him he soon descriedUpon the battle’s left, where manfullyHe cheered his fellows on. The fair-haired sonOf Atreus came and stood by him, and said:—

“Stay, foster-child of Jove, Antilochus!And listen to the sorrowful news I bringOf what should ne’er have been. Thou must have wellPerceived, I think, that some divinityDoth heap disaster on our host, and giveThe victory to the Trojans. He is dead—Patroclus—the most valiant of the Greeks,And great their sorrow is. Now hasten thouTo the Greek galleys; let Achilles knowThe tidings; he may haply bring the corpse,Stripped as it is, unmangled to the fleet,For crested Hector has the arms he wore.”

He spake, and at his words AntilochusWas horror-struck; in grief too great for speech,Tears filled his eyes, and his clear voice was choked.Yet heeded he the mandate. Laying offHis arms, he gave them to his blameless friend,Laodocus, who with his firm-paced steedsCame toward him. Thus prepared he ran; his feetCarried him swiftly from the battle-fieldTo bear the evil news to Peleus’ son.

Yet Menelaus, foster-child of Jove,Thy spirit did not prompt thee to remainAnd aid thy hard-pressed comrades at the spotWhence thou didst send Antilochus, and whereThe Pyleans longed to keep him. Yet he sentThe noble Thrasymedes to their aid,While he returned to where Patroclus lay,And stood beside the warriors there, and said:—

“I sent to swift Achilles at the fleetA messenger, yet think he will not come.Though royal Hector’s deed hath roused his rage,Unarmed he cannot meet the sons of Troy.Consult we then how we may best conveyThe body to the ships, and how ourselvesEscape the doom of death by Trojan hands.”

The mighty Ajax, son of Telamon,Replied: “O Menelaus far-renowned,Well hast thou spoken. Lift thou now the corse,Thou and Meriones, and place yourselvesBeneath it, and convey it from the field.We, following you, will combat with the sonsOf Troy and noble Hector—we who, namedAlike and one in spirit, oft have borneThe fury of the battle side by side.”

He ended, and the warriors in their armsRaised with main strength the body from the ground.The Trojans, as they saw it borne away,Shouted behind them, rushing on like houndsThat spring upon a wounded forest-boarBefore the hunter-youths now pressing closeUpon his flank, to tear him, then again,Whene’er he turns upon them in his strength,Retreating in dismay, and put to flightHither and thither. Thus, in hot pursuitAnd close array, the Trojans following strookWith swords and two-edged spears; but when the twainTurned and stood firm to meet them, every cheekGrew pale, and not a single Trojan daredDraw near the Greeks to combat for the corse.

Thus rapidly they bore away the deadToward their good galleys from the battle-field.Onward with them the furious battle swept,As spreads a fire that, kindled suddenly,Seizes a city, and the dwellings sinkIn the consuming blaze, and a strong windRoars through the flame. Such fearful din of steedsAnd warriors followed the retreating Greeks.As from a mountain summit strong-backed mulesDrag over the rough ways a ponderous beamOr mast, till weary with the mighty strainAnd streaming sweat, so they with resolute toilBore off the dead. Behind them as they wentTheir two defenders kept the foe aloof.As when a river-dike o’ergrown with treesCrosses a plain, and holds the violent courseOf the swol’n stream in check, and, driving backThe waters, spreads them o’er the level fields,Nor can their fury force a passage through—So did the warriors Ajax hold in checkThe Trojans; yet they followed close, and twoMore closely than the rest—Aeneas, sonOf old Anchises, and the illustrious chief,Hector. As when a company of dawsOr starlings, startled at a hawk’s approach,The murderous enemy of the smaller birds,Take wing with piercing cries, so, driven beforeThe might of Hector and Aeneas, fledThe Greeks with clamorous cries, and thought no moreOf combat. In the trench and near it layMany fair weapons, which the fugitive GreeksHad dropped in haste, and still the war went on.