Book V: The Exploits of Diomed

Then Pallas to Tydides DiomedGave strength and courage, that he might appearAmong the Achaians greatly eminent,And win a glorious name. Upon his headAnd shield she caused a constant flame to play,Like to the autumnal star that shines in heavenMost brightly when new-bathed in ocean tides.Such light she caused to beam upon his crestAnd shoulders, as she sent the warrior forthInto the thick and tumult of the fight.

Among the Trojans, Dares was the priestOf Vulcan, rich and blameless. His two sonsWere Phegeus and Idaus, trained in allThe arts of war. They left the host and cameTo meet Tydides—on the chariot they,And he on foot; and now, as they drew near,First Phegeus hurled his massive lance. It flewO’er Diomed’s left shoulder and struck not.Tydides cast his spear, and not in vain;It smote the breast of Phegeus in the midst,And dashed him from his seat. Idaeus leapedTo earth, and left the sumptuous car, nor daredTo guard the slain, yet would have met his deathIf Vulcan had not borne him swiftly thenceConcealed in darkness, that he might not leaveThe aged man, his father, desolate.The son of Tydeus took the steeds, and badeHis comrades lead them to the fleet. AghastThe valiant sons of Troy beheld the sonsOf Dares, one in flight, the other slain.

Meantime the blue-eyed Pallas took the handOf Mars, and thus addressed the fiery god:—

“Mars, Mars, thou slayer of men, thou steeped in blood,Destroyer of walled cities! Should we notLeave both the Greeks and Trojans to contend,And Jove to crown with glory whom he will,While we retire, lest we provoke his wrath?”

Thus having said, she led the violent MarsFrom where the battle raged, and made him sitBeside Scamander, on its grassy bank.And then the Achaians put the sons of TroyTo flight: each leader slew a foe; and firstThe king of men, Atrides, from his carStruck down the huge-limbed Hodius, who was chiefAmong the Halizonians. As he turnedTo flee, the Achaian, smiting him betweenThe shoulders, drove the javelin through his breast.Heavily clashed his armor as he fell.

Then by Idomeneus was Phaestus slain,Son of Meonian Borus, who had comeFrom Tarna, rich in harvests. As he sprangInto his car, Idomeneus, expertTo wield the ponderous javelin, thrust its bladeThrough his right shoulder. From the car he fell,And the dark night of death came over him.The Achaian warriors following spoiled the slain.

The son of Atreus, Menelaus, slewWith his sharp spear Scamandrius, the sonOf Strophius, practised in the forest chase,A mighty hunter. Him had Dian taughtTo strike whatever beast the woody wildBreeds on the hills; but now availed him notThe favor of Diana, archer-queen,Nor skill to throw the javelin afar;For Menelaus, mighty with the spear,Followed him as he fled, and in the backSmote him, between the shoulder-blades, and draveThe weapon through. He fell upon the groundHeadlong, his armor clashing as he fell.And then Meriones slew Phereclus,Son of Harmonius, the artificer,Who knew to shape all works of rare device,For Pallas loved him. It was he who builtThe fleet for Paris—cause of many woesTo all the Trojans and to him—for illHe understood the oracles of heaven.Him did Meriones, pursuing long,O’ertake, and, smiting him on the right hip,Pierced through the part beneath the bone and nearThe bladder. On his knees with sad lament soHe fell, and death involved him in its shade.

And then by Meges was Pedseus slain,Antenor’s base-born son, whose noble wife,Theano, reared him with as fond a careAs her own children, for her husband’s sake.And now the mighty spearman, Phyleus’ son,Drew near and smote him with his trenchant lanceWhere meet the head and spine, and pierced the neckBeneath the tongue; and forth the weapon cameBetween the teeth. He fell, and in the fallGnashed with his teeth upon the cold bright blade.

Then did Evaemon’s son EurypylusStrike down Hypsenor, nobly born, the sonOf great Dolopion, Scamander’s priest,Whom all the people honored as a god.Evaemon’s gallant son, o’ertaking himIn flight; with one stroke of his falchion hewedHis brawny arm away. The bloody limbDropped to the ground, and the dark night of deathCame o’er his eyes: so cruel fate decreed.

Thus toiled the heroes in that stubborn fight.Nor would you now have known to which array—Trojan or Greek—Tydides might belong;For through the field he rushed with furious speed,Like a swollen river when its current takesThe torrent’s swiftness, scattering with a sweepThe bridges; nor can massive dikes withstandIts fury, nor embankments raised to screenThe grassy meadows, while the rains of JoveFall heavily, and harvests, late the joyOf toiling youth, are beaten to the ground.Thus by Tydides the close phalanxesOf Troy were scattered, nor could they endure,All numerous as they were, his strong assault.As Pandarus, Lycaon’s eminent son,Beheld Tydides rush athwart the field,Breaking the ranks, he drew his crooked bowAnd smote the chief’s left shoulder as he came,Striking the hollow corselet. The sharp pointBroke through, and blood came gushing o’er the mail.Then called aloud Lycaon’s eminent son:—

“Brave Trojans, great in mastery of steeds,Press on; the bravest of the Grecian hostIs smitten, nor, I think, can long surviveThe grievous wound, if it be true that I,At the command of Phoebus, son of Jove,Have left my home upon the Lycian shore.”

Thus boastfully he spake; but his swift shaftSlew not Tydides, who had now withdrawn.And, standing by his steeds and chariot, spakeTo Sthenelus, the son of Capaneus:—“Haste down, kind Sthenelus, and with thy handDraw the sharp arrow from my shoulder here.”

He spake, and Sthenelus at once leaped down,Stood by his side, and from his shoulder drewThe wingèd arrow deeply fixed within.The blood flowed forth upon the twisted ringsOf mail, while Diomed, the valiant, prayed:—

“Hear me, O child of aegis-bearing Jove,Goddess invincible! If ever thouDidst aid me or my father in the heatOf battle, aid me, Pallas, yet again.Give me to slay this Trojan; bring him near,Within my javelin’s reach, who wounded me,And now proclaims—the boaster—that not longShall I behold the brightness of the sun.”

So prayed he, and Minerva heard his prayerAnd lightened all his limbs—his feet, his hands—And, standing near him, spake these wingèd words:—

“War boldly with the Trojans, Diomed;For even now I breathe into thy frameThe ancestral might and fearless soul that dweltIn Tydeus, peerless with the steed and shield.Lo! I remove the darkness from thine eyes,That thou mayst well discern the gods from men;And if a god should tempt thee to the fight,Beware to combat with the immortal race;Only, should Venus, child of Jupiter,Take part in battle, wound her with thy spear.”

The blue-eyed Pallas spake, and disappeared;And Diomed went back into the fieldAnd mingled with the warriors. If beforeHis spirit moved him fiercely to engageThe men of Troy, a threefold courage nowInspired him. As a lion who has leapedInto a fold—and he who guards the flockHas wounded but not slain him—feels his rageWaked by the blow;—the affrighted shepherd thenVentures not near, but hides within the stalls,And the forsaken sheep are put to flight,And, huddling, slain in heaps, till o’er the fenceThe savage bounds into the fields again;—Such was Tydides midst the sons of Troy.Astynoüs first he slew, Hypenor next,The shepherd of the people. One he piercedHigh on the bosom with his brazen spear,And smote the other on the collar-boneWith his good sword, and hewed from neck and spineThe shoulder. There he left the dead, and rushedTo Abas and to Polyeidus, sonsOf old Eurydamas, interpreterOf visions. Ill the aged man had readHis visions when they joined the war. They died,And Diomed, the valiant, spoiled the slain.Xanthus and Thoön he encountered next,The sons of Phaenops, born in his old age.No other child had he, to be his heir,And he was worn with length of years. These twoTydides smote and took their lives, and leftGrief to their father and regretful cares,Since he no more should welcome their returnFrom war, and strangers should divide his wealth.Then smote he Chromius and Echemon, sonsOf Dardan Priam, in one chariot both.As on a herd of beeves a lion springsWhile midst the shrubs they browse, and breaks their necks—Heifer or ox—so sprang he on the twainAnd struck them, vainly struggling, from their car,And spoiled them of their arms, and took their steeds,And bade his comrades lead them to the fleet.

Aeneas, who beheld him scattering thusThe embattled ranks before him, straightway wentThrough the thick fight, amid encountering spears,In search of godlike Pandarus. He foundLycaon’s blameless and illustrious son,And stood before him, and addressed him thus:—

“Where is thy bow, O Pandarus, and whereThy wingèd arrows? Where the old renownIn which no warrior here can vie with thee,And none upon the Lycian shore can boastThat he excels thee? Hasten, and lift upThy hands in prayer to Jupiter, and sendAn arrow at this man, whoe’er he be,Who thus prevails, and thus afflicts our host,And makes the knees of many a strong man weak.Strike him—unless he be some god incensedAt Troy for sacrifice withheld, since hardIt is to bear the anger of a god.”

Lycaon’s son, the far-renowned, replied:—“Aeneas, leader of the Trojans mailedIn brass, to me this man in all things seemsLike warlike Diomed. I know his shield,High helm, and steeds, and yet I may not sayThat this is not a god. But if he beThe chief of whom I speak, the warlike sonOf Tydeus, not thus madly would he fight,Without some god to aid him. By his sideIs one of the immortals, with a cloudAbout his shoulders, turning from its aimThe swiftly flying arrow. ’Twas but lateI aimed a shaft that pierced the hollow mailOn his left shoulder, and I thought him sentTo Pluto, but I slew him not. Some godMust be offended with me. I have hereNo steeds or car to mount. Far off at homeThere stand within Lycaon’s palace-wallsEleven chariots, fair and fresh and new:Each has an ample cover, and by eachAre horses yoked in pairs, that champ their oatsAnd their white barley. When I left my home,Lycaon, aged warrior, counselled me,Within his sumptuous halls, that with my steedsAnd chariot I should lead the sons of TroyIn the fierce battle. I obeyed him not:Far better if I had. I wished to spareMy horses, lest, so largely fed at home,They might want food in the beleaguered town.So, leaving them, I came on foot to Troy,Confiding in my bow, which yet was doomedTo avail me little, for already IHave smitten with my arrows the two chiefs,Tydides and Atrides, and from bothDrew the red blood, but only made their rageTo flame the fiercer. In an evil hourI took my bow and quiver from the wallAnd came to lead the Trojans for the sakeOf Hector. But if ever I returnTo see my native country and my wifeAnd my tall spacious mansion, may some foeStrike off my head if with these hands I failTo break my bow in pieces, casting itInto the flames, a useless weapon now.”

The Trojan chief Aeneas, answering, said:—“Nay, talk not so; it cannot but be thus,Until upon a chariot, and with steeds,We try our prowess with this man in war.Haste, mount my chariot here, and thou shalt seeHow well are Trojan horses trained to rangeThe field of battle, in the swift pursuitHither and thither, or in rapid flight;And they shall bring us safely to the townShould Jove a second time bestow the meedOf glory on Tydides. Haste, and takeThe lash and well-wrought reins, while I descendTo fight on foot; or haply thou wilt waitThe foe’s advance while I direct the steeds.”

Then spake again Lycaon’s eminent son:—“Keep thou the reins, Aeneas, and still guideThe horses. With their wonted charioteer,The better shall they bear away the carShould we be forced to fly before the armOf Diomed; lest, taking flight, they rangeUnmastered when they hear thy voice no more,Nor bear us from the combat, and the sonOf Tydeus, having slain us, shall lead thenceThy firm-hoofed coursers. Therefore guide them still,Them and the chariot, while, with this keen spear,I wait the Greek, as he is rushing on.”

They spake, and, climbing the magnificent car,Turned toward Tydides the swift-footed steeds.The noble son of Capaneus beheld,And said in wingèd words to Diomed:—

“Tydides Diomed, most dear of men!I see two warriors, strong, immensely strong,Coming to combat with thee. PandarusIs one, the skilled in archery, who boastsTo be Lycaon’s son; and by his sideThere comes Aeneas, glorying that he sprangFrom the large-souled Anchises—borne to himBy Venus. Mount we now our car and leaveThe ground, nor in thy fury rush alongThe van of battle, lest thou lose thy life.”

The brave Tydides, with a frown, replied:—“Speak not of flight; thou canst not yet persuadeMy mind to that. To skulk or shrink with fearIn battle ill becomes me, and my strengthIs unexhausted yet. It suits me notTo mount the chariot; I will meet the foeJust as I am. Minerva will not letMy spirit falter. Ne’er shall those swift steedsBear the two warriors hence—if even oneEscapes me. One thing more have I to say;And keep it well in mind. Should Pallas deign—The wise, forecasting Pallas—to bestowOn me the glory of o’ercoming both,Stop thy swift horses, and tie fast the reinsTo our own chariot, and make haste to seizeThe horses of Aeneas, guiding themHence from the Trojan to the Grecian host;For they are of the stock which JupiterThe Thunderer gave to Tros. It was the priceHe paid for Ganymede, and they, of allBeneath the eye of morning and the sun,Are of the choicest breed. The king of men,Anchises, stealthily and unobserved,Brought to the coursers of LaomedonHis brood-mare, and obtained the race. Six colts,Their offspring, in his courts were foaled. Of these,Four for himself he kept, and in his stallsReared them, and two of them, both apt for war,He gave Aeneas. If we make them ours,The exploit will bring us honor and renown.”

Thus they conferred. Meantime their foes drew near,Urging their fiery coursers on, and firstLycaon’s eminent son addressed the Greek:—

“My weapon, swift and sharp, the arrow, failedTo slay thee; let me try the javelin now,And haply that, at least, may reach its mark.”

He spake, and, brandishing his massive spear,Hurled it against the shield of Diomed.The brazen point broke through, and reached the mail.Then shouted with loud voice Lycaon’s son:—

“Ha! Thou art wounded in thy flank; my spearBites deep; nor long, I think, canst thou survive,And great will be my glory gained from thee.”

But thus the valiant Diomed replied.Incapable of fear: “Thy thought is wrong.I am not wounded, and I well perceiveThat ye will never give the conflict o’erTill one of you, laid low amid the dust,Pour out his blood to glut the god of war.”

He spake, and cast his spear. Minerva keptThe weapon faithful to its aim. It struckThe nose, and near the eye; then passing onBetwixt the teeth, the unrelenting edgeCleft at its root the tongue; the point came outBeneath the chin. The warrior from his carFell headlong; his bright armor, fairly wrought,Clashed round him as he fell; his fiery steedsStarted aside with fright; his breath and strengthWere gone at once, Aeneas, with his shieldAnd his long spear, leaped down to guard the slain,That the Achaians might not drag him thence.There, lion-like, confiding in his strength,He stalked around the corpse, and over itHeld his round shield and lance, prepared to slayWhoever came, and shouting terribly.

Tydides raised a stone—a mighty weight,Such as no two men living now could lift;But he, alone, could swing it round with ease.With this he smote Aeneas on the hip,Where the thigh joins its socket. By the blowHe brake the socket and the tendons twain,And tore the skin with the rough, jagged stone.The hero fell upon his knees, but stayedHis fall with his strong palm upon the ground;And o’er his eyes a shadow came like night.

Then had the king of men, Aeneas, died,But for Jove’s daughter, Venus, who perceivedHis danger instantly—his mother, sheWho bore him to Anchises when he keptHis beeves, a herdsman. Round her son she castHer white arms, spreading over him in foldsHer shining robe, to be a fence againstThe weapons of the foe, lest some Greek knightShould at his bosom aim the steel to takeHis life. And thus the goddess bore awayFrom that fierce conflict her beloved son.

Nor did the son of Capaneus forgetThe bidding of the warlike Diomed,But halted his firm-footed steeds apartFrom the great tumult, with the long reins stretchedAnd fastened to the chariot. Next, he sprangTo seize the horses with fair-flowing manes,That drew the chariot of Aeneas. TheseHe drave away, far from the Trojan host,To the well-greaved Achaians, giving themIn charge, to lead them to the hollow ships,To his beloved friend Deipylus,Whom he of all his comrades honored most,As likest to himself in years and mind.And then he climbed his car and took the reins,And, swiftly drawn by his firm-footed steeds,Followed Tydides, who with cruel steelSought Venus, knowing her unapt for war,And all unlike the goddesses who guideThe battles of mankind, as Pallas does,Or as Bellona, ravager of towns.O’ertaking her at last, with long pursuit,Amid the throng of warring men, the sonOf warlike Tydeus aimed at her his spear,And wounded in her hand the delicate oneWith its sharp point. It pierced the ambrosial robe,Wrought for her by the Graces, at the spotWhere the palm joins the wrist, and broke the skin,And drew immortal blood—the ichor—suchAs from the blessed gods may flow; for theyEat not the wheaten loaf, nor drink dark wine;And therefore they are bloodless, and are calledImmortal. At the stroke the goddess shrieked,And dropped her son. Apollo in his armsReceived and in a dark cloud rescued him,Lest any of the Grecian knights should aimA weapon at his breast to take his life.Meantime the brave Tydides cried aloud:—

“Leave wars and battle, goddess. Is it notEnough that thou delude weak womankind?Yet, if thou ever shouldst return, to bearA part in battle, thou shalt have good causeTo start with fear, when war is only named.”

He spake; and she departed, wild with pain,For grievously she suffered. InstantlyFleet-footed Iris took her by the handAnd led her from the place, her heart oppressedWith anguish and her fair cheek deathly pale.She found the fiery Mars, who had withdrawnFrom that day’s combat to the left, and sat,His spear and his swift coursers hid from sight,In darkness. At his feet she fell, and prayedHer brother fervently, that he would lendHis steeds that stood in trappings wrought of gold:—

“Dear brother, aid me; let me have thy steedsTo bear me to the Olympian mount, the homeOf gods, for grievously the wound I bearAfflicts me. ’Twas a mortal gave the wound—Tydides, who would even fight with Jove.”

She spake; and Mars resigned to her his steedsWith trappings of bright gold. She climbed the car,Still grieving, and, beside her, Iris tookHer seat, and caught the reins and plied the lash.On flew the coursers, on, with willing speed,And soon were at the mansion of the godsOn high Olympus. There the active-limbed,Fleet Iris stayed them, loosed them from the car,And fed them with ambrosial food. Meanwhile,The goddess Venus at Dione’s feetHad cast herself. The mother round her childThrew tenderly her arms, and with her handCaressed her brow, and spake, and thus inquired:—

“Which of the dwellers of the skies, dear child,Has dealt thus cruelly with thee, as oneCaught in the doing of some flagrant wrong?”

And thus did Venus, queen of smiles, reply:—“The son of Tydeus, arrogant Diomed,Wounded me as I sought to bear awayFrom battle’s dangers my beloved sonAeneas, dear beyond all other men:For now no longer does the battle rageBetween the Greeks and Trojans, but the GreeksVenture to combat even with the gods.”

Dione, great among the goddesses,Rejoined: “Submit, my daughter, and endure,Though inly grieved; for many of us who dwellUpon the Olympian mount have suffered muchFrom mortals, and have brought great miseriesUpon each other. First, it was the fateOf Mars to suffer, when Aloëus’ sons,Otus and mighty Ephialtes, madeTheir fetters fast upon his limbs. He layChained thirteen months within a brazen cell;And haply there the god, whose thirst of bloodIs never cloyed, had perished, but for aidWhich Eriboea gave, the beautiful,His step-mother. She made his miseries knownTo Mercury, who set him free by stealth,Withered and weak with long imprisonment.And Juno suffered when Amphitryon’s son,The valiant, dared to plant in her right breastA three-pronged arrow, and she writhed with pain.And Pluto suffered, when the hero-sonOf aegis-bearing Jove, with a swift shaft,Smote him beside the portals of the dead,And left him filled with pain. He took his wayTo high Olympus and the home of Jove,Grieving and racked with pain, for deep the dartHad pierced his brawny shoulder, torturing him.There Paean with his pain-dispelling balmsHealed him, for he was not of mortal race.O daring man and reckless, to make lightOf such impieties and violateThe sacred persons of the Olympian gods!It was the blue-eyed Pallas who stirred upTydides to assail thee thus. The fool!He knew not that the man who dares to meetThe gods in combat lives not long. No childShall prattling call him father when he comesReturning from the dreadful tasks of war.Let then Tydides, valiant though he be,Beware lest a more potent foe than thouEncounter him, and lest the nobly-bornAegialeia, in some night to come—Wise daughter of Adrastus, and the spouseOf the horse-tamer Diomed—call upThe servants of her household from their sleep,Bewailing him to whom in youth she gaveHer maiden troth—the bravest of the Greeks.”

She spake, and wiped the ichor from the handOf Venus; at her touch the hand was healedAnd the pain left it. Meantime Pallas stood,With Juno, looking on, both teasing JoveWith words of sarcasm. Blue-eyed Pallas thusAddressed the god: “O Father Jupiter,Wilt thou be angry at the word I speak?—As Venus, wheedling some Achaian dameTo join the host she loves, the sons of Troy,Caressed the fair, arrayed in gay attire,A golden buckle scratched her tender hand.”

As thus she spake, the Father of the godsAnd mortals, calling golden Venus near,Said, with a smile: “Nay, daughter, not for theeAre tasks of war; be gentle marriage-ritesThy care; the labors of the battle-fieldPertain to Pallas and the fiery Mars.”

Thus with each other talked the gods, while stillThe great in battle, Diomed, pursuedAeneas, though he knew that Phoebus stretchedHis arm to guard the warrior. Small regardHad he for the great god, and much he longedTo strike Aeneas down and bear awayThe glorious arms he wore; and thrice he rushedTo slay the Trojan, thrice Apollo smoteUpon his glittering shield. But when he madeThe fourth assault, as if he were a god,The archer of the skies, Apollo, thusWith menacing words rebuked him: “Diomed,Beware; desist, nor think to make thyselfThe equal of a god. The deathless raceOf gods is not as those who walk the earth.”

He spake; the son of Tydeus, shrinking back,Gave way before the anger of the godWho sends his shafts afar. Then Phoebus boreAeneas from the tumult to the heightOf sacred Pergamus, where stands his fane;And there Latona and the archer-queen,Diana, in the temple’s deep recess,Tended him and brought back his glorious strength.Meantime the bowyer-god, Apollo, formedAn image of Aeneas, armed like him,Round which the Trojans and Achaians throngedWith many a heavy weapon-stroke that fellUpon the huge orbs of their ox-hide shieldsAnd lighter bucklers. Now to fiery MarsApollo spake: “Mars, Mars, thou plague of men,Thou steeped in blood, destroyer of walled towns!Wilt thou not force this man to leave the field?Wilt thou not meet in arms this daring sonOf Tydeus, who would even fight with Jove?Already has he wounded, in close fight,The goddess Venus at the wrist, and sinceAssaulted me as if he were a god.”

He said, and on the heights of PergamusSat down, while the destroyer Mars went forthAmong the embattled Trojan ranks, to rouseTheir valor. In the form of Acamus,The gallant Thracian leader, he bespakeThe sons of Jove-descended Priam thus:—

“O sons of Priam, him who claims descentFrom Jupiter! How long will ye submitTo see your people slaughtered by the Greeks?Is it until the battle-storm shall reachYour city’s stately portals? Even nowA hero whom we honor equallyWith the great Hector, our Aeneas, sonOf the large-souled Anchises, is struck down.Haste, let us rescue our beloved friend.”

He spake, and into every heart his wordsCarried new strength and courage. In that hourSarpedon chid the noble Hector thus:—“Where is the prowess, Hector, which was thineSo lately? Thou hast said that thou alone,Thy kindred and thy brothers, could defendThe city, without armies or allies.Now I see none of these; they all, like houndsBefore a lion, crouch and slink away,While the confederates bear the brunt of war.I am but an auxiliar come from far,From Lycia, where the eddying Xanthus runs.There left I a beloved wife, and thereAn infant child, and large possessions, suchAs poor men covet. Yet do I exhortMy Lycians to the combat, and myselfWould willingly engage this foe of Troy,Although I here have nothing which the GreeksMight bear or drive away. Thou standest still,Meanwhile, nor dost thou bid the rest to keepTheir ground and bear the battle for their wives.Yet have a care, lest, as if caught at lengthIn the strong meshes of a mighty net,Ye find yourselves the captives and the preyOf enemies, who quickly will destroyYour nobly-peopled city. These are thoughtsThat should engage thy mind by night and day,And thou shouldst beg the chiefs of thine allies,Called to thy aid from far, that manfullyThey meet the foe, and foil his fierce attack,And take the cause of this reproach away.”

Sarpedon spake; and Hector, all in arms,Stung by his words, and leaping from his car,Brandished his spears, and went among the hostsAnd rallied them to battle. TerribleThe conflict that ensued. The men of TroyMade head against the Greeks: the Greeks stood firm,Nor ever thought of flight. As when the windStrews chaff about the sacred threshing-floorsWhile wheat is winnowed, and before the breezeThe yellow Ceres separates the grainFrom its light husk, which gathers in white heaps—Even so the Greeks were whitened o’er with dustRaised in that tumult by the horses’ hoofsAnd rising to the brazen firmament,As toward the fight the charioteers againUrged on their coursers. Yet the Greeks withstoodThe onset, and struck forward with strong arms.Meantime the furious Mars involved the fieldIn darkness, to befriend the sons of Troy,And went through all the ranks, and well fulfilledThe mandate which Apollo gave the godWho wields the golden falchion, bidding himKindle the courage of the Trojan hostWhene’er he saw the auxiliar of the Greeks,Minerva, leave the combat. Then the godBrought from the sanctuary’s inner shrineAeneas—filling with recovered strengthThat shepherd of the people. He besideHis comrades placed himself, and they rejoicedTo see him living and unharmed and strongAs ever; yet they questioned not; their taskWas different, set them by the god who bearsThe silver bow, and Mars the slayer of men,And raging Strife that never is appeased.

The Ajaces and Ulysses and the sonOf Tydeus roused the Achaians to the fight.For of the strength and clamor of the foeThey felt no fear, but calmly stood, to bideThe assault; as stand in air the quiet cloudsWhich Saturn’s son upon the mountaintopsPiles in still volumes when the north wind sleeps,And every ruder breath of blustering airThat drives the gathered vapors through the sky.Thus calmly waited they the Trojan host,Nor thought of flight. And now Atrides passedIn haste along their ranks, and gave command:—

“O friends, be men, and let your hearts be strong,And let no warrior in the heat of fightDo what may bring him shame in others’ eyes;For more of those who shrink from shame are safeThan fall in battle, while with those who fleeIs neither glory nor reprieve from death.”

So spake the king, and hurled his spear and smoteDeïcoön, the son of Pergasis,A chief, and a companion in the warOf the great-souled Aeneas. He in TroyWas honored as men honored Priam’s sons,For he was ever foremost in the fight.The weapon struck his shield, yet stopped not there,But, breaking through its folds and through the belt,Transfixed the part beneath. The Trojan fellTo earth, his armor clashing with his fall.

Aeneas slew the sons of Diodes—Orsilochus and Crethon, eminent Greeks.Their father dwelt in Pherae nobly built,Amid his riches. From Alpheius heDerived his race—a river whose long streamFlows through the meadows of the Pylian land.Orsilochus was to Alpheius born,Lord over many men, and he becameThe father of great Diocles, to whomTwin sons were born, well trained in all the artsOf warfare—Crethon and Orsilochus.These, in the prime of youth, with their black shipsFollowed the Argives to the coast of TroyFamed for its generous steeds. They left their homeTo vindicate the honor of the sonsOf Atreus—Agamemnon, king of men,And Menelaus—but they found their death.

As two young lions, nourished by their damAmid the thickets of some mighty wood,Seizing the beeves and fattened sheep, lay wasteThe stables, till at length themselves are slainBy trenchant weapons in the shepherd’s hand,So by the weapons of Aeneas diedThese twain; they fell as lofty fir-trees fall.But now, when Menelaus saw their fate,The mighty warrior, deeply sorrowing, rushedAmong the foremost, armed in glittering brass,And brandishing his spear; for Mars had rousedHis soul to fury, trusting he would meetAeneas, and would perish by his hand.Antilochus, the generous Nestor’s son,Came also to the van, for anxiouslyHe feared mischance might overtake the king,To make the toils of their long warfare vain;And there he found the combatants preparedFor battle, with their trusty spears in hand,And standing face to face. At once he tookHis stand beside the monarch of the Greeks.At sight of the two warriors side by side,All valiant as he was, Aeneas shunnedThe encounter. They, when they had drawn the deadAmong the Grecian ranks, and to their friendsGiven up the hapless brothers, turned to takeTheir place among the foremost in the fight.Then, too, Pykemenes, a chief like Mars,And leader of the Paphlagonian host—A valiant squadron armed with shields—was slain.Atrides Menelaus, skilled to wieldThe javelin, gave his death-wound. He transfixedThe shoulder at the collar-bone. MeanwhileAntilochus against his charioteer,Mydon, the brave son of Atymnias, hurledA stone that smote his elbow as he wheeledHis firm-paced steeds in flight. He dropped the reins,Gleaming with ivory as they trailed in dust.Antilochus leaped forward, smiting himUpon the temples with his sword. He fellGasping amidst the sand, his head immersedUp to his shoulders—for the sand was deep—And there remained till he was beaten downBefore the horses’ hoofs. Antilochus,Lashing the horses, drave them to the Greeks.

Hector beheld, and, springing with loud shouts,Stood mid the wavering ranks. The phalanxesOf the brave Trojans followed him, for MarsAnd terrible Bellona led them on—Bellona bringing Tumult in her train,And Mars with brandished lance—a mighty weight—Now stalking after Hector, now before.

Him when the valiant Diomed beheld,He trembled; and, as one who, journeyingAlong a way he knows not, having crossedA place of drear extent, before him seesA river rushing swiftly toward the deep,And all its tossing current white with foam,And stops and turns, and measures back his way,So then did Diomed withdraw, and spake:—

“O friends, how greatly must we all admireThis noble Hector, mighty with the spearAnd terrible in war. There is some godForever near him, warding off the strokeOf death; beside him yonder even nowStands Mars in semblance of a mortal man.Yield, then, and with your faces toward the foeFall back, and strive not with the gods of heaven.”

Even as he spake, the Trojan host drew near,And Hector slew two warriors trained to arms—Menesthes and Anchialus—who cameBoth in one chariot to the war. Their fallAjax, the son of Telamon, beheld,And pitied, and drew near, and stood, and hurledHis glittering spear. It smote Ampheius, sonOf Selagus, who, rich in lands and goods,Abode in Paesus. In an evil hourHe joined the cause of Priam and his sons.Him at the belt the spear of Ajax smote,And pierced the bowels. With a crash he fell,Then hastened mighty Ajax to strip offThe armor, but the Trojans at him castTheir pointed spears that glittered as they flew,And many struck his shield. He pressed his heelAgainst the slain, and from the body drewHis brazen spear, but could not from the breastLoose the bright mail, so thick the weapons came,And such the wary dread with which he sawThe bravest of the Trojans closing round,Many and fierce, and all with spears outstretched;And he, though strong and valiant and renowned,Driven from the ground, gave way to mightier force.

So toiled the warriors through that stubborn fight,When cruel fate urged on Tlepoemus,The great and valiant son of Hercules,To meet Sarpedon, mighty as a god.And now as each to each advanced—the sonAnd grandson of the cloud-compeller Jove—Thus first Tlepolemus addressed his foe:—

“Sarpedon, Lycian monarch, what has broughtThee hither, trembling thus, and inexpertIn battle? Lying flatterers are theyThat call thee son of Jupiter who bearsThe aegis; for unlike the heroes thou,Born to the Thunderer in times of old,Nor like my daring father, HerculesThe lion-hearted, who once came to TroyTo claim the coursers of Laomedon.With but six ships, and warriors but a few,He laid the city waste and made its streetsA desolation. Thou art weak of heart,And round thee are thy people perishing;Yet, even wert thou brave, thy presence hereFrom Lycia’s coast would prove of small availTo Troy; for, slain in combat here by me,Thou to the gates of Hades shalt go down.”

Sarpedon, leader of the Lycians, thusMade answer: “True it is, Tlepolemus,That he laid waste the sacred city of TroyFor the base dealings of Laomedon,The monarch who with railing words repaidHis great deservings, and kept back the steedsFor which he came so far. But thou—thy fateIs slaughter and black death from this my spear;And fame will come to me, and one more soulGo down to Hades.” As Sarpedon spake,Tlepolemus upraised his ashen spear,And from the hands of both the chiefs at onceTheir massive weapons flew. Sarpedon smoteFull in the throat his foe; the cruel pointPassed through the neck, and night came o’er his eyes.Tlepolemus, in turn, on the left thighHad struck Sarpedon with his ponderous lance.The weapon, cast with vigorous hand and arm,Pierced deep, and touched the bone; but JupiterAverted from his son the doom of death.

His noble comrades raised and bore awayThe great Sarpedon from the battle-field,Trailing the long spear with them. Bitter painIt gave him; in their haste they marked it not,Nor thought to draw the ashen weapon forth,That he might mount the car; so eagerlyHis anxious bearers hurried from the war.

On the other side the well-armed Greeks took upThe slain Tlepolemus, to bear him thence.The great Ulysses, large of soul, beheld,And felt his spirit moved, as anxiouslyHe pondered whether to pursue the sonOf Jove the Thunderer, or turn and takeThe life of many a Lycian. Yet to slayJove’s mighty son was not his destiny,And therefore Pallas moved him to engageThe crowd of Lycian warriors. Then he slewCoeranus and Alastor, Chromius,Alcander, Halius, and PrytanisNoëmon; and yet more the noble GreekHad slain, if crested Hector, mighty chief,Had not perceived the havoc and, arrayedIn shining armor, hurried to the vanOf battle, carrying terror to the heartsOf the Achaians. As he saw him near,Sarpedon was rejoiced, yet sadly said:—

“O son of Priam, leave me not a preyTo these Achaians. Aid me, let me breatheMy latest breath in Troy, since I no moreCan hope, returning to my native land,To gladden my dear wife and little son.”

He spake, and crested Hector answered not,Still pressing forward, eager to drive backThe Greeks in quick retreat, and take the lifeOf many a foe. Then did the noble bandWho bore the great Sarpedon lay him downBeneath a shapely beech, a tree of JoveThe Aegis-bearer. There stout Pelagon,His well-beloved comrade, from his thighDrew forth the sharp blade of the ashen spear.Then the breath left him, and his eyes were closedIn darkness; but the light came back againAs, breathing over him, the fresh north windRevived the spirit in his laboring breast.

But not for Mars nor Hector mailed in brassFled the Achaians to their fleet; nor yetAdvanced they on the foe, but step by stepGave way before him, for they had perceivedThe god of war was with the sons of Troy.

Whom first, whom last did Hector, Priam’s son,And iron Mars lay low? The godlike chiefTeuthras, and—great among the Grecian knights—Orestes, and the Aetolian Trechus, famedAs spearman, and Oenomaüs, and the sonOf Oenops, Helemes, and after theseBelted Oresbius, who in Hyla madeHis home, intent on gathering wealth besideThe Lake Cephissus, on whose borders dweltBoeotians many, lords of fertile lands.

The white-armed goddess Juno, when she sawThe Argives falling in that cruel fray,Addressed Minerva with these wingèd words:—

“O thou unconquerable goddess, bornTo Jove the Aegis-bearer! What is this?It was an idle promise that we madeTo Menelaus, that he should beholdTroy, with its strong defences, overthrown,And reach his home again, if thus we leaveMars the destroyer to his ravages.Come, let us bring our friends effectual aid.”

So spake she, and her bidding was obeyedBy blue-eyed Pallas. Juno the august,Daughter of mighty Saturn, laid in hasteThe harness, with its ornaments of gold,Upon the horses. Hebe rolled the wheels,Each with eight spokes, and joined them to the endsOf the steel axle—fellies wrought of gold,Bound with a brazen rim to last for aye—A wonder to behold. The hollow navesWere silver, and on gold and silver cordsWas slung the chariot’s seat; in silver hooksRested the reins, and silver was the poleWhere the fair yoke and poitrels, all of gold,Were fastened. Juno, eager for the strife,Led the swift-footed steeds beneath the yoke.

Then Pallas, daughter of the god who bearsThe aegis, on her father’s palace-floorLet fall in dainty folds her flowing robeOf many colors, wrought by her own hand,And, putting on the mail of JupiterThe Cloud-compeller, stood arrayed in armsFor the stern tasks of war. Her shoulder boreThe dreadful aegis with its shaggy brimBordered with Terror. There was Strife, and thereWas Fortitude, and there was fierce Pursuit,And there the Gorgon’s head, a ghastly sight,Deformed and dreadful, and a sign of woeWhen borne by Jupiter. Upon her headShe placed a golden helmet with four crestsAnd fair embossed, of strength that might withstandThe armed battalions of a hundred towns;Then stepped into her shining car, and tookHer massive spear in hand, heavy and huge,With which whole ranks of heroes are o’erthrownBefore the daughter of the Mighty OneIncensed against them. Juno swung the lashAnd swiftly urged the steeds. Before their way,On sounding hinges, of their own accord,Flew wide the gates of heaven, which evermoreThe Hours are watching—they who keep the mountOlympus and the mighty heaven, with powerTo open or to close their cloudy veil.Thus through the gates they drave the obedient steeds,And found Saturnius, where he sat apartFrom other gods, upon the loftiest heightOf many-peaked Olympus. Juno there,The white-armed goddess, stayed her chariot-wheels,And, thus accosting Jove, she questioned him:—

“O Father Jupiter, does not thy wrathRise at those violent deeds of Mars? Thou seestHow many of the Achaians he has slain,And what brave men. Nay, thus it should not be.Great grief is mine; but Venus and the godPhoebus, who bears the silver bow, rejoiceTo see this lawless maniac range the field,And urge him on. O Father Jupiter,Wilt thou be angry with me if I driveMars, sorely wounded, from the battle-field?”

The cloud-compelling Jupiter replied:—“Thou hast my leave; but send to encounter himPallas the spoiler, who has many a timeBrought grievous troubles on the god of war.”

He spake, and white-armed Juno instantlyObeyed him. With the scourge she lashed the steeds,And not unwillingly they flew betweenEarth and the starry heaven. As much of spaceAs one who gazes on the dark-blue deepSees from the headland summit where he sits—Such space the coursers of immortal breedCleared at each bound they made with sounding hoofs;And when they came to Ilium and its streams,Where Simoïs and Scamander’s channels meet,The white-armed goddess Juno stayed their speed,And loosed them from the yoke, and covered themWith darkness. Simoïs ministered, meanwhile,The ambrosial pasturage on which they fed.

On went the goddesses, with step as lightAs timid doves, and hastened toward the fieldTo aid the Achaian army. When they cameWhere fought the bravest warriors in a throngAround the great horse-tamer Diomed,Like ravenous lions or wild boars whose rageIs terrible, the white-armed goddess stood,And called aloud—for now she wore the formOf gallant Stentor, in whose brazen voiceWas heard a shout like that of fifty men:—

“Shame on you, Argives—wretches, who in form,And form alone, are heroes. While we yetHad great Achilles in the war, the menOf Ilium dared not pass beyond their gates,So much they feared his mighty spear; but nowThey push the battle to our hollow ships,Far from the town.” As thus the goddess spake,New strength and courage woke in every breast.

Then blue-eyed Pallas hastened to the sonOf Tydeus. By his steeds she found the king,And by his chariot, as he cooled the woundMade by the shaft of Pandarus. The sweatBeneath the ample band of his round shieldHad weakened him, and weary was his arm.He raised the band, and from the wounded limbWiped off the clotted blood. The goddess laidHer hand upon the chariot-yoke, and said:—

“Tydeus hath left a son unlike himself;For he, though low in stature, was most brave;And when he went, an envoy and alone,To Thebes, the populous Cadmean town,And I, enjoining him to keep aloofFrom wars and rash encounters, bade him sitQuietly at the feasts in palace-halls,Still, to his valiant temper true, he gaveChallenges to the Theban youths, and wonThe prize with ease in all their games, such aidI gave him. Now I stand by thee in turn,Protect thee, and exhort thee manfullyTo fight against the Trojans; but todayEither the weariness of toil unnervesThy frame, or withering fear besets thy heart.Henceforth we cannot deem thee, as of late,The offspring of Oenides skilled in war.”

And then the valiant Diomed replied:—“I know thee, goddess, daughter of great JoveThe Aegis-bearer; therefore will I speakFreely and keep back nothing. No base fearUnmans me, nor desire of ease; but wellI bear in mind the mandate thou hast given.Thou didst forbid me to contend with gods,Except that if Jove’s daughter, Venus, joinedThe battle, I might wound her with my spear.But now I have withdrawn, and given commandThat all the Greeks come hither; for I seeThat Mars is in the field and leads the war.”

Again the blue-eyed Pallas, answering, said:—“Tydides Diomed, most dear of men,Nay, fear thou nothing from this Mars, nor yetFrom any other of the gods; for IWill be thy sure defence. First urge thy courseFull against Mars, with thy firm-footed steeds.Engage him hand to hand; respect him not,The fiery, frantic Mars, the unnatural plagueOf man, the fickle god, who promised meAnd Juno, lately, to take part with usAgainst the Trojans and befriend the Greeks.Now he forgets, and joins the sons of Troy.”

She spake, and laid her hand on Sthenelus,To draw him from the horses; instantlyHe leaped to earth; the indignant deityTook by the side of Diomed her place;The beechen axle groaned beneath the weightOf that great goddess and that man of might.Then Pallas seized the lash and caught the reins,And, urging the firm-footed coursers, draveFull against Mars, who at that moment slewHuge Periphas, the mightiest one of allThe Aetolian band—Ochesius’ famous son.While bloody-handed Mars was busy yetAbout the slain, Minerva hid her faceIn Pluto’s helmet, that the god might failTo see her. As that curse of humankindBeheld the approach of noble Diomed,He left the corpse of Periphas unspoiledWhere he had fallen, and where he breathed his last,And came in haste to meet the Grecian knight.And now, when they were near, and face to face,Mars o’er the chariot-yoke and horses’ reinsFirst hurled his brazen spear, in hope to takeHis enemy’s life; but Pallas with her handCaught it and turned it, so that it flew byAnd gave no wound. The valiant DiomedMade with his brazen spear the next assault,And Pallas guided it to strike the waistWhere girded by the baldric. In that partShe wounded Mars, and tore the shining skin,And drew the weapon back. The furious godUttered a cry as of nine thousand men,Or of ten thousand, rushing to the fight.The Greeks and Trojans stood aghast with fear,To hear that terrible cry of him whose thirstOf bloodshed never is appeased by blood.

As when, in time of heat, the air is filledWith a black shadow from the gathering cloudsAnd the strong-blowing wind, so furious MarsAppeared to Diomed, as in a cloudHe rose to the broad heaven and to the homeOf gods on high Olympus. Near to JoveHe took his seat in bitter grief, and showedThe immortal blood still dropping from his wound,And thus, with wingèd words, complaining said:—

“O Father Jupiter! Does not thy wrathRise at these violent deeds? ’Tis ever thusThat we, the gods, must suffer grievouslyFrom our own rivalry in favoring man;And yet the blame of all this strife is thine,For thou hast a mad daughter, ever wrong,And ever bent on mischief. All the restOf the immortals dwelling on this mountObey thee and are subject to thy will.Her only thou hast never yet restrainedBy word or act, but dost indulge her freaksBecause the pestilent creature is thy child.And now she moves the insolent DiomedTo raise his hand against the immortal gods.And first he wounded Venus in the wrist,Contending hand to hand; and then he soughtTo encounter me in arms, as if he wereThe equal of a god. My own swift feetCarried me thence, else might I long have lain,In anguish, under heaps of carcasses,Or helplessly been mangled by his sword.”

The Cloud-compeller, Jove, replied, and frowned:“Come not to me, thou changeling, to complain.Of all the gods upon the Olympian mountI like thee least, who ever dost delightIn broils and wars and battles. Thou art likeThy mother Juno, headstrong and perverse.Her I can scarcely rule by strict commands,And what thou sufferest now, I deem, is dueTo her bad counsels. Yet ’tis not my willThat thou shouldst suffer longer, who dost shareMy lineage, whom thy mother bore to me.But wert thou born, destroyer as thou art,To any other god, thou hadst long sinceLain lower than the sons of Uranus.”

So spake he, and to Paeon gave commandTo heal the wound; and Paeon bathed the partWith pain-dispelling balsams, and it healed;For Mars was not to die. As, when the juiceOf figs is mingled with white milk and stirred,The liquid gathers into clots while yetIt whirls with the swift motion, so was healedThe wound of violent Mars. Then Hebe bathedThe god, and robed him richly, and he tookHis seat, delighted, by Saturnian Jove.

Now, having forced the curse of nations, MarsTo pause from slaughter, Argive Juno came,With Pallas, her invincible ally,Back to the mansion of imperial Jove.