The feventh Battle, for the body of Patroclus: the Acts of Menelaus.
MENELAUS, upon the death of Patroclus, defends his body from the enemy: Euphorbus, who attempts it, is flain. Hector advancing, Menelaus retires; but foon returns with Ajax, and drives him off This Glaucus objects to Hector as a flight; who thereupon puts on the armour he had won from Patroclus, and renews the battle. The Greeks give way, till Ajax rallies them: Æneas fuftains the Trojans. Æneas and Hector attempt the chariot of Achilles, which is borne off by Automedon. The horses of Achilles deplore the lofs of Patroclus: Jupiter covers his body with a thick darkness: the noble prayer of Ajax on that occafion. Menelaus fends Antilochus to Achilles, with the news of Patroclus' death: then returns to the fight, where, though attacked with the utmost fury, he and Meriones, affifted by the Ajaxes, bear off the body to the ships.
The time is the evening of the eight and twentieth day. The fcene lies in the fields before Troy,
ON the cold earth divine Patroclus (pread,
Lies pierc'd with wounds among the vulgar dead.
Great Menelaüs, touch'd with generous woe,
Springs to the front, and guards him from the foe:
Thus round her new-fall'n young the heifer moves, 5
Fruit of her throes, and first-born of her loves;
And anxious (helpless as he lies, and bare)
Turns, and re-turns her, with a mother's care.
Oppos'd to each that near the carcase came,
His broad fhield glimmers, and his lances flame.
The fon of Panthus, fkill'd the dart to fend,
Eyes the dead hero, and infults the friend:
This hand, Atrides, laid Patroclus low;
Warriour defift, nor tempt an equal blow:
To me the spoils my prowess won, resign;
Depart with life, and leave the glory mine.
The Trojan thus: the Spartan monarch burn'd
With generous anguish, and in scorn return'd:
Laugh'st thou not, Jove! from thy fuperior throne,
When mortals boast of prowess not their own?
Not thus the lion glories in his might,
Nor panther braves his spotted foe in fight,
Nor thus the boar (those terrours of the plain)
Man only vaunts his force, and vaunts in vain.
But far the vaineft of the boastful kind
These fons of Panthus vent their haughty mind.
Yet 'twas but late, beneath my conquering fteel
This boaster's brother, Hyperenor, fell;
Against our arm, which rafhly he defy'd,
Vain was his vigour, and as vain his pride.
Thefe eyes beheld him on the duft expiré,
No more to chear his fpoufe, or glad his fire.
Prefumptuous youth! like his shall be thy doom,
Go, wait thy brother to the Stygian gloom;
Or, while thou may'st, avoid the threaten'd fate;
Fools ftay to feel it, and are wife too late.
Unmov'd Euphorbus thus: That action known,
Come, for my brother's blood repay thy own.
His weeping father claims thy deftin'd head,
And spouse, a widow in her bridal bed:
On thefe thy conquer'd spoils I shall bestow,
To foothe a confort's and a parent's woe;
No longer then defer the glorious ftrife,
Let Heaven decide our fortune, fame, and life,
Swift as the word the miffile lance he flings,
The well-aim'd weapon on the buckler rings,
But blunted by the brafs innoxious falls.
On Jove the father, great Atrides calls,
Nor flies the javelin from his arm in vain,
It pierc'd his throat, and bent him to the plain;
Wide through the neck appears the grifly wound,
Prone finks the warriour, and his arms refound.
The fhining circlets of his golden hair,
Which ev'n the Graces might be proud to wear,
Inftarr'd with gems and gold, beftrow the shore,
With dust dishonour'd, and deform'd with gore.
As the young olive, in some sylvan fcene,
Crown'd by fresh fountains with eternal green,,
Lifts the gay head, in fnowy flowerets fair,
And plays and dances to the gentle air;
When lo!: a whirlwind from high heaven invades
The tender plant, and withers all its shades ;
It lies uprooted from its genial bed,
A lovely ruin, now defac'd and dead..
Thus young, thus beautiful, Euphorbus lay-
While the fierce Spartan tore his arms away..
Proud of his deed, and glorious in the prize,
Affrighted Troy the towering victor flies:
Flies, as before fome mountain lion's ire
The village curs and trembling swains retire,.
When o'er the slaughter'd bull they hear him roar,
And fee his jaws diftil with smoking gore;
All pale with fear, at distance scatter'd round,
They fhout inceffant, and the vales refound.
Meanwhile Apollo view'd with envious eyes,
And urg'd great Hector to dispute the prize
(In Mentes' fhape, beneath whose martial care
The rough Ciconians learn'd the trade of war) ::
Forbear, he cry'd, with fruitless speed to chace
Achilles' courfers, of ætheriak race ;,
They stoop not, these, to mortal man's command,
Or ftoop to none but great Achilles' hand.
|