Book VIII: The Second Battle

Now morn in saffron robes had shed her lightO’er all the earth, when Jove the ThundererSummoned the gods to council on the heightsOf many-peaked Olympus. He addressedThe assembly, and all listened as he spake:—

“Hear, all ye gods and all ye goddesses!While I declare the thought within my breast.Let none of either sex presume to breakThe law I give, but cheerfully obey,That my design may sooner be fulfilled.Whoever, stealing from the rest, shall seekTo aid the Grecian cause, or that of Troy,Back to Olympus, scourged and in disgrace,Shall he be brought, or I will seize and hurlThe offender down to rayless Tartarus,Deep, deep in the great gulf below the earth,With iron gates and threshold forged of brass,As far beneath the shades as earth from heaven.Then shall he learn how greatly I surpassAll other gods in power. Try if ye will,Ye gods, that all may know: suspend from heavenA golden chain; let all the immortal hostCling to it from below: ye could not draw,Strive as ye might, the all-disposing JoveFrom heaven to earth. And yet, if I should chooseTo draw it upward to me, I should lift,With it and you, the earth itself and seaTogether, and I then would bind the chainAround the summit of the Olympian mount,And they should hang aloft. So far my powerSurpasses all the power of gods and men.”

He spake; and all the great assembly, hushedIn silence, wondered at his threatening words,Until at length the blue-eyed Pallas said:—

“Our Father, son of Saturn, mightiest asAmong the potentates, we know thy powerIs not to be withstood, yet are we movedWith pity for the warlike Greeks, who bearAn evil fate and waste away in war.If such be thy command, we shall refrainFrom mingling in the combat, yet will aidThe Greeks with counsel which may be their guide,Lest by thy wrath they perish utterly.”

The Cloud-compeller Jove replied, and smiled:—“Tritonia, daughter dear, be comforted.I spake not in the anger of my heart,And I have naught but kind intents for thee.”

He spake, and to his chariot yoked the steeds,Fleet, brazen-footed, and with flowing manesOf gold, and put his golden armor on,And took the golden scourge, divinely wrought,And, mounting, touched the coursers with the lashTo urge them onward. Not unwillinglyFlew they between the earth and starry heaven,Until he came to Ida, moist with springsAnd nurse of savage beasts, and to the heightOf Gargarus, where lay his sacred field,And where his fragrant altar fumed. He checkedTheir course, and there the Father of the godsAnd men released them from the yoke and causedA cloud to gather round them. Then he sat,Exulting in the fullness of his might,Upon the summit, whence his eye beheldThe towers of Ilium and the ships of Greece.

Now in their tents the long-haired Greeks had sharedA hasty meal, and girded on their arms.The Trojans, also, in their city armedThemselves for war, as eager for the fight,Though fewer; for a hard necessityForced them to combat for their little onesAnd wives. They set the city-portals wide,And forth the people issued, foot and horseTogether, and a mighty din arose.And now, when host met host, their shields and spearsWere mingled in disorder; men of mightEncountered, cased in mail, and bucklers clashedTheir bosses; loud the clamor: cries of painAnd boastful shouts arose from those who fellAnd those who slew, and earth was drenched with blood.

While yet ’twas morning, and the holy lightOf day grew bright, the men of both the hostsWere smitten and were slain; but when the sunStood high in middle heaven, the All-Father tookHis golden scales, and in them laid the fatesWhich bring the sleep of death—the fate of thoseWho tamed the Trojan steeds, and those who warredFor Greece in brazen armor. By the midstHe held the balance, and, behold, the fateOf Greece in that day’s fight sank down untilIt touched the nourishing earth, while that of TroyRose and flew upward toward the spacious heaven.With that the Godhead thundered terriblyFrom Ida’s height, and sent his lightnings downAmong the Achaian army. They beheldIn mute amazement and grew pale with fear.

Then neither dared Idomeneus remain,Nor Agamemnon, on the ground, nor stayedThe chieftains Ajax, ministers of Mars.Gerenian Nestor, guardian of the Greeks,Alone was left behind, and he remainedUnwillingly. A steed of those that drewHis car was sorely wounded by a shaftWhich Alexander, fair-haired Helen’s spouse,Sent from his bow. It pierced the forehead whereThe mane begins, and where a wound is death.The arrow pierced him to the brain; he rearedAnd whirled in torture with the wound, and scaredHis fellow-coursers. While the aged manHastened to sever with his sword the thongsThat bound him to the car, the rapid steedsOf Hector bore their valiant master onWith the pursuing crowd. The aged chiefHad perished then, if gallant DiomedHad not perceived his plight. He lifted upHis voice, and, shouting to Ulysses, said:—

“High-born Ulysses, man of subtle shifts,Son of Laertes, whither dost thou flee?Why like a coward turn thy back? Beware,Lest there some weapon smite thee. Stay and guardThis aged warrior from his furious foe.”

So spake he; but the much-enduring man,Ulysses, heard not the reproof, and passedRapidly toward the hollow ships of Greece.Tydides, single-handed, made his wayAmong the foremost warriors, till he stoodBefore the horses of the aged sonOf Neleus, and in wingèd accents said:—

“The younger warriors press thee sore, old chief!Thy strength gives way; the weariness of ageIs on thee; thy attendant is not strong;Thy steeds are slow. Mount, then, my car, and seeWhat Trojan horses are; how rapidlyThey turn to right and left, and chase and flee.I took them from the terror of the field,Aeneas. To our servants leave thine own,While we with these assault the Trojan knights,And teach even Hector that the spear I wieldCan make as furious havoc as his own.”

He spake; and Nestor, the Gerenian knight,Complied. The two attendants, valiant men—Sthenelus and the good Eurymedon—Took charge of Nestor’s steeds. The chieftains climbedThe car of Diomed, and Nestor tookInto his hand the embroidered reins and lashedThe horses with the scourge. They quickly cameTo Hector. As the Trojan hastened on,The son of Tydeus hurled a spear; it missed,But spared not Eniopeus, him who heldThe reins, the hero’s charioteer, and sonOf brave Thebaeus. In the breast betweenThe paps it smote him; from the car he fell,And the swift horses started back; his soulAnd strength passed from him. Hector bitterlyGrieved for his death, yet left him where he fell,And sought another fitting charioteer.Nor had the fiery coursers long to waitA guide, for valiant Archeptolemus,The son of Iphitus, was near at hand.And him he caused to mount the chariot drawnBy his fleet steeds, and gave his hand the reins.

Then great had been the slaughter; fearful deedsHad then been done; the Trojans had been scaredInto their town like lambs into the fold—Had not the Father of the immortal godsAnd mortal men beheld, and from on highTerribly thundered, sending to the earthA bolt of fire. He flung it down beforeThe car of Diomed; and fiercely glaredThe blazing sulphur; both the frightened steedsCowered trembling by the chariot. Nestor’s handLet fall the embroidered reins; his spirit sankWith fear, and thus he said to Diomed:—

“Tydides, turn thy firm-paced steeds, and flee.Dost thou not see that victory from JoveAttends thee not? Today doth Saturn’s sonAward the glory to the Trojan chief.Hereafter he will make it ours, if suchBe his good pleasure. No man, though he beThe mightiest among men, can thwart the willOf Jupiter, with whom abides all power.”

The great in battle, Diomed, replied:—“Truly, O ancient man, thou speakest well;But this it is that grieves me to the heart—That Hector to the Trojan host will say,‘I put to flight Tydides, and he soughtShelter among his ships.’ Thus will he boastHereafter; may earth open then for me!”

And Nestor, the Gerenian knight, rejoined:—“What, son of warlike Tydeus, hast thou said?Though Hector call thee faint of heart and weak,The Trojans and Dardanians, and the wivesOf the stout-hearted Trojans armed with shields,Whose husbands in their youthful prime thy handHath laid in dust, will not believe his words.”

Thus having said, he turned the firm-paced steedsRearward, and mingled with the flying crowd.And now the Trojans and their leader gaveA mighty cry, and poured on them a stormOf deadly darts, and crested Hector raisedHis thundering voice and shouted after them:—

“O son of Tydeus! The swift-riding GreeksHave honored thee beyond all other men,At banquets, with high place and delicate meatsAnd flowing cups. They will despise thee now,For thou art like a woman. Timorous girl!Take thyself hence, and never think that IShall yield to thee, that thou mayst climb our towersAnd bear away our women in thy ships;For I shall give thee first the doom of death.”

He spake; and Diomed, in doubtful mood,Questioned his spirit whether he should turnHis steeds and fight with Hector. Thrice the thoughtArose within his mind, and thrice on highUttered the all-forecasting JupiterHis thunder from the Idaean mount, a signOf victory changing to the Trojan side.Then Hector to the Trojans called aloud:—

“Trojans and Lycians all, and ye who closeIn deadly fight, the sons of Dardanus!Acquit yourselves like men, my friends; recallYour fiery valor now, for I perceiveThe son of Saturn doth award to meVictory and vast renown, and to the GreeksDestruction. Fools! who built this slender wallWhich we contemn, which cannot stand beforeThe strength I bring; our steeds can overleapThe trench they digged. When I shall reach their fleet,Remember the consuming power of fire,That I may give their vessels to the flames,And hew the Achaians down beside their prows,While they are wrapped in the bewildering smoke.”

He spake; and then he cheered his coursers thus:—“Xanthus, Podargus, Lampus nobly bred,And Aethon, now repay the generous care,The pleasant grain which my Andromache,Daughter of great Eëtion, largely gives.She mingles wine that ye may drink at willEre yet she ministers to me, who boastTo be her youthful husband. Let us nowPursue with fiery haste, that we may seizeThe shield of Nestor, the great fame of whichHas reached to heaven—an orb of massive goldEven to the handles. Let us from the limbsOf Diomed, the tamer of fleet steeds,Strip off the glorious mail that Vulcan forged:This done, our hope may be that all the GreeksWill climb their galleys and depart tonight.”

So boasted he; but queenly Juno’s ireWas kindled, and she shuddered on her throneTill great Olympus trembled. Thus she spakeTo Neptune, mighty ruler of the deep:—

“Earth-shaker! Thou who rulest far and wide!Is there no pity for the perishing GreeksWithin that breast of thine? They bring to theeAt Helicè and Aegae costly giftsAnd many, wherefore thy desire should beThat they may win the victory. If the godsWho favor the Achaians should combineTo drive the Trojans back, and hold in checkHigh-thundering Jupiter, the God would sitIn sullen grief on Ida’s top alone.”

Earth-shaking Neptune answered in disdain:—“O Juno, rash in speech! What words are these?Think not that I can wish to join the godsIn conflict with the monarch Jupiter,The son of Saturn, mightier than we all.”

So held they colloquy. Meanwhile the spaceBetwixt the galleys and the trench and wallWas crowded close with steeds and shielded men;For Hector, son of Priam, terribleAs Mars the lightning-footed, drave them onBefore him. Jove decreed him such renown.And now would he have given that noble fleetTo the consuming flame, if Juno, queenOf heaven, had not beheld, and moved the heartOf Agamemnon to exhort the GreeksThat they should turn and combat. With quick stepsHe passed beside the fleet, among the tents,Bearing in his strong hand his purple robe,And climbed the huge black galley which had broughtUlysses to the war—for in the midstIt lay, and thence the king might send his voiceTo either side, as far as to the tentsOf Ajax and Achilles, who had mooredTheir galleys at the different extremesOf the long camp, confiding in their mightOf arm and their own valor. Thence he called,With loud, clear utterance, to the Achaian host:—

“O Greeks! Shame on ye! Cravens who excelIn form alone! Where now are all the boastsOf your invincible valor—the vain wordsYe uttered pompously when at the feastIn Lemnos sitting ye devoured the fleshOf hornèd beeves, and drank from bowls of wine,Flower-crowned, and bragged that each of you would beA match for fivescore Trojans, or for twiceFivescore? And now we all are not a matchFor Hector singly, who will give our fleetSoon to consuming flames. O Father Jove,Was ever mighty monarch visitedBy thee with such affliction, or so robbedOf high renown! And yet in my good ship,Bound to this luckless coast, I never passedBy thy fair altars that I did not burnThe fat and thighs of oxen, with a prayerThat I might sack the well-defended Troy.Now be at least one wish of mine fulfilled—That we may yet escape and get us hence;Nor let the Trojans thus destroy the Greeks.”

He spake, and wept. The All-Father, pitying him,Consented that his people should escapeThe threatened ruin. Instantly he sentHis eagle, bird of surest augury,Which, bearing in his talons a young fawn,The offspring of a nimble-footed roe,Dropped it at the fair altar where the GreeksPaid sacrifice to Panomphaean Jove.

And they, when they beheld, and knew that JoveHad sent the bird, took courage, rallying,And rushed against the Trojans. Then no chiefOf all the Greeks—though many they—could boastThat he before Tydides urged his steedsTo sudden speed and drave them o’er the trench,And mingled in the combat. First of allHe struck down Agelaus, Phradmon’s son,Armed as he was, who turned his car to fly,And as he turned, Tydides with his spearTransfixed his back between the shoulder-blades,And drave the weapon through his breast. He fellTo earth, his armor clashing with his fall.Then Agamemnon followed, and with himHis brother Menelaus; after theseThe chieftains Ajax, fearful in their strength;Idomeneus, and he who bore his arms—Meriones, like Mars in battle-field; asEurypylus, Evaemon’s glorious son;And ninthly Teucer came, who bent his bowBeneath the shield of Ajax Telamon—For Ajax moved his shield from side to side,And thence the archer looked abroad, and aimedHis arrows thence. Whoever in the throngWas struck fell lifeless. Teucer all the while,As hides a child behind his mother’s robe,Sheltered himself by Ajax, whose great shieldConcealed the chief from sight. What Trojan firstDid faithful Teucer slay? Orsilochus,Daetor, and Ophelestes, Ormenus,Chromius, and Lycophontes nobly born,And Hamopaon, Polyremon’s son,And Melanippus—one by one the shaftsOf Teucer stretched them on their mother earth.Then Agamemnon, king of men, rejoicedAs he beheld him, with his sturdy bow,Breaking the serried phalanxes of Troy;And came, and, standing near, bespake him thus:—

“Beloved Teucer! Son of Telamon,Prince of the people! Ever be thy shaftsAimed thus, and thou shalt be the light and prideOf Greece, and of thy father Telamon,Who reared thee from a little child with careIn his own halls, though spurious was thy birth.Go on to do him honor, though he nowBe far away. And here I say to thee—And I will keep my word—if JupiterThe Aegis-bearer and Minerva deignTo let me level the strong walls of Troy,To thee will I assign the noblest prizeAfter my own—a tripod, or two steedsAnd chariot, or a wife to share thy bed.”

And thus the blameless Teucer made reply:—“Why, glorious son of Atreus, wouldst thou thusAdmonish me, while yet I do my best,And pause not in the combat? From the timeWhen we began to drive the enemy backTo Ilium, I have smitten and have slainTheir warriors with my bow. Eight barbed shaftsI sent, and each has pierced some warlike youth;But this fierce wolf-dog have I failed to strike.”

He spake, and sent another arrow forthAt Hector with an eager aim. It missedIts mark, but struck Gorgythion down, the braveAnd blameless son of Priam; through his breastThe arrow went. Fair Castianira broughtThe warrior forth—a dame from Aesyma,Beautiful as a goddess. As withinA garden droops a poppy to the ground,Bowed by its weight and by the rains of spring,So drooped his head within the heavy casque.

And then did Teucer send another shaftAt Hector, eager still to smite. It missedIts aim again, for Phoebus turned asideThe arrow, but it struck the charioteerOf Hector, Archeptolemus the brave,When rushing to the fight, and pierced his breastClose to the nipple; from the car he fell,The swift steeds started back, and from his limbsThe life and strength departed. A deep griefFor his slain charioteer came darkly o’erThe mind of Hector, yet, though sorrowing,He left him where he fell, and straightway calledCebriones, his brother, who was near,To mount and take the reins. CebrionesHeard and obeyed. Then from the shining carLeaped Hector with a mighty cry, and seizedA ponderous stone, and, bent to crush him, ranAt Teucer, who had from his quiver drawnOne of his sharpest arrows, placing itUpon the bowstring. As he drew the bow,The strong-armed Hector hurled the jagged stone,And smote him near the shoulder, where the neckAnd breast are sundered by the collar bone—A fatal spot. The bowstring brake; the armFell nerveless; on his knees the archer sank,And dropped the bow. Then did not Ajax leaveHis fallen brother to the foe, but walkedAround him, sheltering him beneath his shield,Till two dear friends of his—Menestheus, sonOf Echius, and Alastor nobly born—Approached, and took him up and carried him,Heavily groaning, to the hollow ships.

Then did Olympian Jove again inspireThe Trojan host with valor, and they draveThe Achaians backward to the yawning trench.Then Hector came, with fury in his eyes,Among the foremost warriors. As a hound,Sure of his own swift feet, attacks behindThe lion or wild boar, and tears his flank,Yet warily observes him as he turns,So Hector followed close the long-haired Greeks,And ever slew the hindmost as they fled.Yet now, when they in flight had crossed againThe trench and palisades, and many a oneHad died by Trojan hands, they made a haltBefore their ships, and bade each other stand,And lifted up their hands and prayed aloud asTo all the gods; while Hector, urging onHis long-maned steeds, and with stern eyes that seemedThe eyes of Gorgon or of murderous Mars,Hither and thither swept across the field.

The white-armed Juno saw, and, sorrowing,Addressed Minerva with these wingèd words:—“Ah me! Thou daughter of the God who bearsThe aegis, shall we not descend to aidThe perishing Greeks in their extremity?A cruel doom is theirs, to fall, destroyedBy one man’s rage—the terrible assaultOf Hector, son of Priam, who has madeInsufferable havoc in the field.”

And thus in turn the blue-eyed Pallas spake:—“That warrior long ere this had lost his life,Slain by the Greeks on his paternal soil,But that my father’s mind is warped by wrath.Unjust to me and harsh, he thwarts my aims,Forgetting all I did for Hercules,His son—how often, when Eurystheus setA task too hard for him, I saved his life.To heaven he raised his eyes and wept, and JoveDespatched me instantly to succor him.And yet if I, in my forecasting mind,Had known all this when he was bid to bringFrom strong-walled Erebus the dog of hell,He had not safely crossed the gulf of Styx.But now Jove hates me; now he grants the wishOf Thetis, who hath kissed his knees and touchedHis beard caressingly, and prayed that heWould crown the overthrower of walled towns,Achilles, with great honor. Well, the timeWill come when he shall call me yet againHis dear Minerva. Hasten now to yokeFor us thy firm-paced steeds, while in the hallsOf aegis-bearing Jupiter I braceMy armor on for war—and I shall seeIf Hector of the beamy helm, the sonOf Priam, will rejoice when we appearUpon the field again. AssuredlyThe men of Troy shall die, to feast the birdsOf prey and dogs beside the Grecian fleet.”

She ended, and the white-armed deityJuno obeyed her. Juno the august,The mighty Saturn’s daughter, hastilyCaparisoned the golden-bitted steeds.Meanwhile, Minerva on the palace-floorOf Jupiter let drop the gorgeous robeOf many hues, which her own hands had wrought,And, putting on the Cloud-compeller’s mail,Stood armed for cruel war. And then she climbedThe glorious car, and took in hand the spear—Huge, heavy, strong—with which she overthrowsThe serried phalanxes of valiant menWhene’er this daughter of the Almighty OneIs angered. Juno bore the lash, and urgedThe coursers to their speed. The gates of heavenOpened before them of their own accord—Gates guarded by the Hours, on whom the careOf the great heaven and of Olympus rests,To open or to close the wall of cloud.Through these they guided their impatient steeds.

From Ida Jupiter beheld, in wrath,And summoned Iris of the golden wings,And bade her do this errand: “Speed thee hence,Fleet Iris! Turn them back; allow them notThus to defy me: it is not for themTo engage with me in war. I give my word—Nor shall it lack fulfilment—I will makeThe swift steeds lame that draw their car, and hurlThe riders down, and dash the car itselfTo fragments. Ten long years shall wear awayBefore they cease to suffer from the woundsMade by the thunderbolt. Minerva thusMay learn the fate of those who strive with Jove.With Juno I am less displeased, for sheIs ever bent to thwart my purposes.”

He spake; and Iris, with the tempest’s speedDeparting, bore the message from the heightsOf Ida to the great Olympus, where,Among the foremost passes of the mount,All seamed with hollow vales, she met and stayedThe pair, delivering thus the word of Jove:—

“Now whither haste ye? What strange madness firesYour breasts? The son of Saturn suffers notThat ye befriend the Greeks. He threatens thus—And will fulfil his threat—that he will makeThe coursers lame that draw your car, and hurlThe riders down, and dash the car itselfTo fragments, and that ten long years must passEre ye shall cease to suffer from the woundsMade by the thunderbolt. So shalt thou learn,O Pallas! what it is to strive with Jove.With Juno is he less displeased, for sheIs ever bent to thwart his purposes;But thou, he says, art guilty above all,And shameless as a hound, if thou dare liftThy massive spear against thy father Jove.”

So spake fleet-footed Iris, and withdrew;And thus again to Pallas Juno said:—

“Child of the Aegis-bearer! Let us striveWith Jove no longer for the sake of men,But let one perish and another live,As chance may rule the hour, and let the God,Communing with his secret mind, mete outTo Greeks and Trojans their just destiny.”

She spake, and turned the firm-paced coursers back,The coursers with fair-flowing manes. The HoursUnyoked them, bound them to the ambrosial stalls,And leaned against the shining walls the car;While Juno and Minerva went amongThe other deities and took their placeUpon their golden seats, though sad at heart.Then with his steeds, and in his bright-wheeled car,Came Jove from Ida to the dwelling-placeOf gods upon Olympus. There did heWho shakes the islands loose the steeds and bringThe chariot to its place, and o’er it spreadIts covering of lawn. The ThundererSeated himself upon his golden throne,The great Olympus trembling as he stepped;While Juno and Minerva sat apartTogether, nor saluted him, nor askedOf aught; but he perceived their thoughts and said:—

“Juno and Pallas! Why so sad? Not longYe toiled in glorious battle to destroyThe Trojans, whom ye hold in bitter hate:This strength of mine, and this invincible armNot all the gods upon the Olympian mountCan turn to flight, while your fair limbs were seizedWith trembling ere ye entered on the shockAnd havoc of the war. Now let me say—And well the event would have fulfilled my words—That, smitten with the thunder from my hand,Your chariots never would have brought you backTo this Olympus and the abode of gods.”

He spake; while Pallas and the queen of heavenRepined with close-pressed lips, and in their heartsDevised new mischiefs for the Trojan race.Silent Minerva sat, nor dared express asThe anger that she bore her father Jove;But Juno could not curb her wrath, and spake:—

“What words, austere Saturnius, hast thou said?Thou art, we know, invincible in might;Yet must we sorrow for the heroic Greeks,Who, by a cruel fate, are perishing.We stand aloof from war, if thou require;Yet would we counsel the Achaian host,Lest by thy wrath they perish utterly.”

And then the Cloud-compeller, answering, said:—“O Juno, large-eyed and august, if thouLook forth tomorrow, thou shalt then beholdThe all-powerful son of Saturn laying wasteWith greater havoc still the mighty hostOf warlike Greeks. For Hector, great in war,Shall pause not from the conflict, till he rouseThe swift-paced son of Peleus at the ships,When, pent in narrow space, the armies fightFor slain Patroclus: such the will of fate.As for thyself, I little heed thy rage:Not even shouldst thou wander to the realmWhere earth and ocean end, where Saturn sitsBeside Iapetus, and neither lightOf overgoing suns nor breath of windRefreshes them, but gulfs of TartarusSurround them—shouldst thou even thither bendThy way, I shall not heed thy rage, who artBeyond all others shamelessly perverse.”

He ceased; but white-armed Juno answered not.And now into the sea the sun’s bright lightWent down, and o’er the foodful earth was drawnNight’s shadow. Most unwillingly the sonsOf Troy beheld the sunset. To the GreeksEagerly wished the welcome darkness came.

Then from the fleet illustrious Hector ledThe Trojans, and beside the eddying stream,In a clear space uncumbered by the slain,Held council. There, alighting from their cars,They listened to the words that Hector spake—Hector, beloved of Jove. He held a spear,In length eleven cubits, with a bladeOf glittering brass, bound with a ring of gold.On this he leaned, and spake these wingèd words:—

“Hear me, ye Trojans, Dardans, and allies.But now I thought that, having first destroyedThe Achaian host and fleet, we should returnThis night to wind-swept Ilium. To their aidThe darkness comes, and saves the Greeks, and savesTheir galleys ranged along the ocean-side.Obey we, then, the dark-browed night; prepareOur meal; unyoke the steeds with flowing manes,And set their food before them. Bring at onceOxen and fatlings of the flock from town,And from your dwellings bread and pleasant wine.And let us gather store of wood, to feedA multitude of blazing fires all night,Till Morning, daughter of the Dawn, appear—Fires that shall light the sky, lest in the hoursOf darkness with their ships the long-haired GreeksAttempt escape across the mighty deep.And, that they may not climb their decks unharmed.Let every foeman bear a wound to cureAt home—an arrow-wound or gash of spear,Given as he leaps on board. So other foesShall dread a conflict with the knights of Troy.And let the heralds, dear to Jove, commandThat all grown youths and hoary-headed menKeep watch about the city in the towersBuilt by the gods; and let the feebler sexKindle large fires upon their hearths at home;And let the guard be strengthened, lest the foeShould steal into the city while its sonsAre all abroad. Thus let it be till morn,Brave Trojans! I but speak of what the timeRequires, and on the morrow I shall speakOf what the Trojan knights have then to do.My prayer to Jove and to the other gods,And my hope is, that I may drive awayThese curs, brought hither by an evil fateIn their black ships. All night will we keep watch,And, arming, with the early morn renewThe desperate conflict at the hollow ships.Then shall I see if valiant DiomedTydides has the power to make me leaveThe Grecian galleys for the city-walls,Or whether I shall slay him with my spearAnd take his bloody spoils. Tomorrow’s sunWill make his valor known, if he withstandThe assault of this my weapon. Yet I thinkThe sunrise will behold him slain amongThe first, with many comrades lying round.Would that I knew myself as certainlySecure from death and the decays of age,And to be held in honor like the godsApollo and Minerva, as I knowThis day will bring misfortune to the Greeks!”

So Hector spake, and all the Trojan hostApplauded; from the yoke forthwith they loopedThe sweaty steeds, and bound them to the carsWith halters; to the town they sent in hasteFor oxen and the fatlings of the flock,And to their homes for bread and pleasant wine,And gathered fuel in large store. The windsBore up the fragrant fumes from earth to heaven.

So, high in hope, they sat the whole night throughIn warlike lines, and many watch-fires blazed.As when in heaven the stars look brightly forthRound the clear-shining moon, while not a breezeStirs in the depths of air, and all the starsAre seen, and gladness fills the shepherd’s heart,So many fires in sight of Ilium blazed,Lit by the sons of Troy, between the shipsAnd eddying Xanthus: on the plain there shoneA thousand; fifty warriors by each fireSat in its light. Their steeds beside the cars—Champing their oats and their white barley—stood,And waited for the golden morn to rise.