The stunning stroke his stubborn nerves unbound:
Loud o'er the fields his ringing arms resound:
The scornful dame her conquest views with smiles,
And glorying, thus the prostrate god reviles:
Hast thou not yet, insatiate fury! known
How far Minerva's force transcends thy own?
Juno, whom thou, rebellious, darest withstand,
Corrects thy folly thus by Pallas' hand;
Thus meets thy broken faith with just disgrace,
And partial aid to Troy's perfidious race.
The goddess spoke and turn'd her eyes away,
That beaming round diffused celestial day.
Jove's Cyprian daughter stooping on the land,
Lent to the wounded god her tender hand :
Slowly he rises, scarcely breathes with pain,
And propp'd on her fair arm, forsakes the plain.
This the bright empress of the heavens survey'd
And, scoffing, thus to war's victorious maid:
To their own hands commit the frantic scene,
Nor mix immortals in a cause so mean.
Then turns his face, far beaming heavenly fires,
And from the senior power submiss retires :
Him, thus retreating, Artemis upbraids,
The quiver'd huntress of the sylvan shades:
And is it thus the youthful Phoebus flies,
And yields to ocean's hoary sire the prize?
How vain that martial pomp and dreadful show
Of pointed arrows and the silver bow!
Now boast no more in yon celestial bower,
Thy force can match the great earth-shaking power.
Silent he heard the queen of woods upbraid:
Not so Saturnia bore the vaunting maid:
But furious thus: What insolence has driven
Thy pride to face the majesty of heaven?
What though, by Jove the female plague design'd,
Fierce to the feeble raçe of woman-kind,
The wretched matron feels thy piercing dart;
Thy sex's tyrant with a tiger's heart?
What though tremendous, in the woodland chase,
Thy certain arrows pierce the savage race?
How dares thy rashness on the powers divine
Employ those arms, or match thy force with mine?
Learn hence no more unequal war to wage-
She said, and seized her wrists with eager rage:
500 These in her left hand lock'd, her right untied,
The bow, the quiver, and its plumy pride.
About her temples flies the busy bow;
Lo! what an aid on Mars's side is seen!
The smiles' and loves' unconquerable queen!
Mark with what insolence, in open view,
She moves: let Pallas, if she dares, pursue.
Minerva smiling heard, the pair o'ertook,
And slightly on her breast the wanton struck :
She unresisting fell, (her spirits fled;)
On earth together lay the lovers spread.
And like these heroes be the fate of all
(Minervia cries) who guard the Trojan wall!
To Grecian gods such let the Phrygians be,
So dread, so fierce, as Venus is to me;
Then from the lowest stone shall Troy be moved.
Thus she; and Juno with a smile approved.
Meantime to mix in more than mortal fight,
The god of ocean dares the god of light.
What sloth has seized us when the fields around
Ring with conflicting powers, and heaven returns the
sound?
Now here, now there, she winds her from the blow:
The scattering arrows rattle from the case,
Drop round, and idly mark the dusty place.
Swift from the field the baffled huntress flies,
And scarce restrains the torrent in her eyes:
So when the falcon wings her way above,
To the cleft cavern speeds the gentle dove,
(Not fated yet to die) there safe retreats,
510 Yet still her heart against the marble beats.
To her Latona hastes with tender care,
Whom Hermes, viewing thus declines the war: 580
How shall I face the dame who gives delight
To him whose thunders blacken heaven with night?
Go matchless goddess! triumph in the skies,
And boast my conquest while I yield the prize.
Shall, ignominous, we with shame retire,
No deed perform'd, to our Olympian sire?
Come, prove thy arm! for first the war to wage,
Suits not my greatness or superior age;
Rash as thou art to prop the Trojan throne
(Forgetful of my wrongs and of thy own,)
And guard the race of proud Laomedon!
Hast thou forgot how, at the monarch's prayer,
We shared the lengthen'd labours of a year?
Troy's walls I raised (for such were Jove's commands.)
And yon proud bulwarks grew beneath my hands:
Thy task it was to feed the bellowing droves 521
Along fair Ida's vales and pendent groves.
But when the circling seasons in their train
He spoke and pass'd: Latona, stooping low,
Collects the shatter'd shafts and fallen bow,
That glittering on the dust, lay here and there;
Dishonour'd relics of Diana's war.
Then swift pursued her to her bless'd abode,
Where all confused, she sought the sovereign god; 500
Weeping she grasp'd his knees: the ambrosial vest
Brought back the grateful day that crown'd our pain, Shook with her sighs, and panted on her breast.
With menace stern the fraudful king defied
Our latent godhead, and the prize denied:
Mad as he was he threaten'd servile bands,
And doom'd us exiles far in barbarous lands.
Incensed we heavenward fled with swiftest wing,
And destined vengeance on the perjured king.
Dost thou for this afford proud Ilion grace,..
And not like us infest the faithless race;
Like us, their present, future sons destroy,
And from its deep foundations heave their Troy?
Apollo thus: To combat for mankind,
Ill suits the wisdom of celestial mind:
For what is man? Calamitous by birth,
They owe their life and nourishment to earth;
Like yearly leaves, that now with beauty crown'd,
Smile on the sun; now wither on the ground.
The sire superior smiled; and bade her show
What heavenly hand had caused his daughter's woe.
Abash'd she names his own imperial spouse;
And the pale crescent fades upon her brows.
Thus they above: while swiftly gliding down,
530 Apollo enters Dion's sacred town:
The guardian god now trembled for her wall,
And fear'd the Greeks, though Fate forbade her fall.
Back to Olympus from the war's alarms
Return'd-the shining bands of gods in arms :
Some proud in triumphs, some with rage on fire;
And take their thrones around the ethereal sire.
Through blood through death, Achilles still proceeds
O'er slaughter'd heroes, and o'er rolling steeds.
As when avenging flames with fury driven
540 On guilty towns, exert the wrath of Heaven;
The pale inhabitants, some fall, some fly;
And the red vapours purple all the sky:
So raged Achilles: death and dire dismay,
And toils, and terrors, fill'd the dreadful day.
High on a turret hoary Priam stands,
And marks the waste of his destructive hands;
Views from his arms the Trojan's scatter'd flight,
And the near hero rising on his sight!
No stop, no check, no aid! With feeble pace,
And settled sorrow on his aged face,
Fast as he could he sighing quits the walls;
And thus, descending, on the guards he calls:-
You to whose care our city gates belong,
Set wide your portals to the flying throng:
For lo! he comes with unresisted sway;
He comes, and desolation marks his way!
One only soul informs that dreadful frame,
610 And Jove's sole favour gives him all his fame.
He said, and stood collected in his might;
And all his beating bosom claim'd the fight.
So from some deep-grown wood a panther starts,
Roused from his thicket by a storm of darts:
Untaught to fear or fly, he hears the sounds
Of shouting hunters and of clamorous hounds;
Though struck, though wounded, scarce perceives
the pain,
And the barb'd javelin stings his breast in vain:
620 On their whole war untamed the savage flies;
And tears his hunter, or beneath him dies.
Not less resolved, Antenor's valiant heir
Confronts Achilles, and awaits the war,
Disdainful of retreat: high-held before,
His shield (a broad circumference) he bore
Then graceful as he stood in act to throw
But when within the walls our troops take breath,
Lock fast the brazen bars, and shut out death.
Thus charged the reverend monarch: wide were The lifted javelin, thus bespoke the foe:
How proud Achilles glories in his fame!
And hopes this day to sink the Trojan name
Beneath her ruins! Know, that hope is vain:
630 A thousand woes, a thousand toils remain.
The opening folds: the sounding hinges rung.
Phoebus rush'd forth the flying bands to meet;
Struck slaughter back, and cover'd the retreat.
On heaps the Trojans crowd to gain the gate,
And gladsome see their last escape from Fate.
Thither, all parch'd with thirst, a heartless train,
Hoary with dust they beat the hollow plain;
And gasping, panting, fainting, labour on,
With heavier strides that lengthen'd toward the
Enraged Achilles follows with his spear,
Wild with revenge, insatiable of war.
Parents and children our just arms employ,
And strong and many are the sons of Troy.
Great as thou art, e'en thou may'st stain with gore
These Phrygian fields, and press a foreign shore.
He said: with matchless force the javelin flung
Smote on his knee; the hollow cuishes rung
Beneath the pointed steel: but safe from harms
He stands impassive in ethereal arms.
Then fiercely rushing on the daring foe,
His lifted arm prepares the fatal blow:
640 But jealous of his fame, Apollo shrouds
The godlike Trojan in a veil of clouds.
Safe from pursuit, and shut from mortal view,
Dismiss'd with fame the favour'd youth withdrew.
Meanwhile the god, to cover their escape,
Assumes Agenor's habit, voice, and shape,
Flies from the furious chief in this disguise;"
The furious chief still follows where he flies.
Now o'er the fields they stretch with lengthen'd
strides,
650 Now urge the course where swift Scamander glides ;
The god now distant scarce a stride before,
Tempts his pursuit, and wheels about the shore;
While all the flying troops their speed employ,
And pour on heaps into the walls of Troy :
No stop, no stay; no thought to ask, or tell
Who 'scaped by flight, or who by battle fell.
"Twas tumult all, and violence of flight;
And sudden joy confused, and mix'd affright:
Pale Troy against Achilles shuts her gate;
660 And nations breathe deliver'd from their fate.
Then had the Greeks eternal praise acquired,
And Troy inglorious to her walls retired :
But he, the god who darts ethereal flame,*
Shot down to save her, and redeem her fame.
To young Agenor force divine he
gave
(Antenor's offspring, haughty, bold and brave :)
In aid of him beside the beach he sate,
And wrapp'd in clouds restrain'd the hand of Fate.
When now the generous youth Achilles spies,
Thick beats his heart, the troubled motions rise;
(So ere a storm the waters heave and roll;)
He stops, and questions thus his mighty soul:
What! shall I fly this terror of the plain!
Like others fly, and be like others slain?
Vain hope to shun him by the self-same road
Yon line of slaughter'd Trojans lately trod !
No! with the common heap I scorn to fall-
What if they pass'd me to the Trojan wall,
While I decline to yonder path that leads
To Ida's forests and surrounding shades?
So may I reach conceal'd the cooling flood,
From my tired body wash the dirt and blood;
As soon as night her dusky veil extends,
Return in safety to my Trojan friends.
What if? But wherefore all this vain debate?
Stand I to doubt within the reach of Fate?
E'en now perhaps, ere yet I turn the wall,
The fierce Achilles sees me, and I fall:
Such is his swiftness, 'tis in vain to fly,
And such his valour that who stands must die.
Howe'er, 'tis better fighting for the state,
Here, and in public view, to meet my fate.
Yet sure he too is mortal! he may feel
(Like all the sons of earth) the force of steel;
BOOK XXII.
ARGUMENT.
The Death of Hector.
The Trojans being safe within the walls, Hector only stays to oppose Achilles. Priam is struck at his ap670 proach, and tries to persuade his son to re-enter the town. Hecuba joins her entreaties, but in vain. Hector consults within himself what measures to take; but at the advance of Achilles, his resolution fails him, and he flies: Achilles pursues him thrice round the walls of Troy. The gods debate concerning the fate of
Hector; at length Minerva descends to the aid of (Implacable Achilles! might'st thou be Achilles. She deludes Hector in the shape of Deipho-To all the gods no dearer than to me! bus; he stands the combat, and is slain. Achilles The vultures wild should scatter round the shore, drags the dead body at his chariot, in the sight of And bloody dogs grow fiercer from thy gore. Priam and Hecuba. Their lamentations, tears, and valiant sons I late enjoy'd, despair. Their cries reach the ears of Andromache, who, ignorant of this, was retired into the inner part Valiant in vain! by thy' cursed arm destroy'd: of the palace; she mounts up to the walls, and beholds Or worse than slaughter'd, sold in distant isles her dead husband. She swoons at the spectacle. Her To shameful bondage and unworthy toils. excess of grief and lamentations. Two while I speak my eyes in vain explore, The thirtieth day still continues. The scene lies under Two from one mother sprung, my Polydore, the walls, and on the battlements of Troy.
THUS to their bulwarks, smit with panic fear,
The herded Ilians rush like driven deer;
There safe they wipe the briny drops away,
And drown in bowls the labour of the day.
Close to the walls advancing o'er the fields
Beneath one roof of well-compacted shields,
March bending on the Greeks' embodied powers,
Far-stretching in the shade of Trojan towers.
Great Hector singly staid; chain'd down by Fate,
There fix'd he stood before the Scaan gate;
Still his bold arms determined to employ,
The guardian still of long-defended Troy.
Apollo now to tired Achilles turns;
(The power confess'd in all his glory burns.)
And what (he cries) has Peleus son in view,
With mortal speed a godhead to pursue?
For not to thee to know the gods is given,
Unskill'd to trace the latent marks of Heaven.
What boots thee now, that Troy forsook the plain?
Vain thy past labour, and thy present vain :
Safe in her walls are now her troops bestow'd,
While here thy frantic rage attacks a god.
The chief incensed-Too partíal god of day!
To check my conquest in the middle way;
How few in Ilion else had refuge found!
What gasping numbers now had bit the ground!
Thou robb'st me of a glory justly mine,
Powerful of godhead, and of fraud divine:
Mean fame, alas! for one of heavenly strain,
To cheat a mortal who repines in vain.
And loved Lycaon: now perhaps no more!
Oh! if in yonder hostile camp they live,
What heaps of gold, what treasures would I give!
(Their grandsire's wealth by right of birth their own,
Consign'd his daughter with Lelegia's throne:)
But if (which Heaven forbid) already lost,
All pale they wander on the Stygian coast,
What sorrows then must their sad mother know!
What anguish I! unutterable woe!
Yet less that anguish, less to her, to me,
Less to all Troy, if not deprived of thee.
Yet shun Achilles! enter yet the wall;
And spare thyself, thy father, spare us all!
10 Save thy dear life; or if a soul so brave
Neglect that thought, thy dearer glory save.
Pity, while yet I live, these silver hairs!
While yet thy father feels the woes he bears,
Yet cursed with sense! a wretch, whom, in his rage
(All trembling on the verge of helpless age)
Great Jove has placed, sad spectacle of pain!
The bitter dregs of Fortune's cup to drain:
To fill with scenes of death his closing eyes,
And number all his days by miseries;
20 My heroes slain, my bridal bed o'erturn'd,
My daughters ravish'd, and my city burn'd,
My bleeding infants dash'd against the floor;
These I have yet to see, perhaps yet more!
Perhaps e'en I, reserved by angry Fate
The last sad relic of my ruin'd state,
(Dire pomp of sovereign wretchedness!) must fall,
And stain the pavement of my regal hall;
Where famish'd dogs, late guardians of my door,
Shall lick their man, led master's spatter'd gore.
30 Yet for my sons I thank ye, gods! 'twas well:
Well have they perish'd, for in fight they fell.
Who dies in youth and vigour dies the best,
Struck through with wounds, all honest on the breast.
But when the Fates, in fulness of their rage,
Spurn the hoar head of mresisting age,
In dust the reverend lineaments deform,
And pour to dogs the life blood scarcely warm:
This, this is misery! the last, the worst,
That man can feel; man, fated to be cursed!
Then to the city, terrible and strong,
With high and haughty steps he tower'd along.
So the proud courser, victor of the prize,
To the near goal with double ardour flies.
Him, as he blazing shot across the field,
The careful eyes of Priam first beheld.
Not half so dreadful rises to the sight,
Through the thick gloom of some tempestuous night,
Orion's dog (the year when autumn weighs,)
And o'er the feeble stars exerts his rays:
Terrific glory! for his burning breath
Taints the red air with fevers, plagues, and death.
So flamed his fiery mail. Then wept the sage;
He strikes his reverend head now white with age:
He lifts his wither'd arms; obtests the skies;
He calls his much-loved son with feeble cries:
The son resolved Achilles force to dare,
Full at the Scæan gate expects the war :
While the sad father on the rampart stands,
And thus adjures him with extended hands:
Ah stay not, stay not! guardless and alone;
Hector! my loved, my dearest, bravest son!
Methinks already I behold thee slain,
And stretch'd beneath that fury of the plain.
He said, and acting what no words could say,
Rent from his head the silver locks away.
With him the mournful mother bears a part;
Yet all their sorrows turn not Hector's heart:
The zone unbraced, her bosom she display'd;
And thus, fast falling the salt tears, she said:
Have mercy on me, O my son! revere
The words of age; attend a parent's prayer!
If ever thee in these fond arms I press'd,
Or still'd thy infant clamours at this breast;
50 Ah! do not thus our helpless years forego,
But by our walls secured repel the foe.
Against his rage if singly thou proceed,
Shouldst thou (but Heaven avert it!) shouldst thou
bleed,
Nor must thy corse lie honour'd on the bier,
Nor spouse nor mother grace thee with a tear;
Far from our pious rites, those dear remains
Must feast the vultures on the naked plains.
So they, while down their cheeks the torrents
roll;
But fix'd remains the purpose of his soul:
Resolved he stands, and with a fiery glance
Expects the hero's terrible advance.
No less fore-right the rapid chase they held
One urged by fury, one by fear impell'd;
Now circling round the walls their course maintain,
Where the high watch-tower overlooks the plain :
Now where the fig-trees spread their umbrage broad,
(A wider compass,) smoke along the road.
Next by Scamander's double source they bound,
Where two famed fountains burst the parted ground;
This hot through scorching clefts is seen to rise,
130 With exhalations steaming to the skies;
That the green banks in summer's heat o'erflows,
Like crystal clear, and cold as winter snows.
Each gushing fount a marble cistern fills,
Whose polish'd bed receives the falling rills;
Where Trojan dames (ere yet alarm'd by Greece)
Wash'd their fair garments in the days of peace.
By these they pass'd, one chasing, one in flight:
|(The mighty fled, pursued by stronger might.)
Swift was the course; no vulgar prize they play,
No vulgar victim must reward the day,
(Such as in races crown the speedy strife,)
The prize contended was great Hector's life.
As when some hero's funerals are decreed
In grateful honour of the mighty dead;
Where high rewards the vigorous youth inflame
(Some golden tripod, or some lovely dame ;)
The panting coursers swiftly turn the goal,
And with them turns the raised spectator's soul:
Thus three times round the Trojan wall they fly:
The gazing gods lean forward from the sky;
To whom, while eager on the chase they look,
The sire of mortals and immortals spoke :
So roll'd up in his den, the swelling snake
Beholds the traveller approach the brake;
When fed with noxious herbs his turgid veins
Have gather'd half the poisons of the plains;
He burns, he stiffens with collected ire,
And his red eye-balls glare with living fire.
Beneath a turret, on his shield reclined,
He stood, and question'd thus his mighty mind:
Where lies my way? To enter in the wall?
Honour and shame the ungenerous thought recall:
Shall proud Polydamas before the gate
Proclaim his counsels are obey'd too late,
Which timely follow'd but the former night,
What numbers had been saved by Hector's flight?
That wise advice rejected with disdain,
I feel my folly in my people slain.
Methinks my suffering country's voice I hear,
But most her worthless sons insult my ear,
On my rash courage charge the chance of war,
And blame those virtues which they cannot share.
No-If I e'er return, return I must
Glorious, my country's terror laid in dust:
Or if I perish, let her see me fall
Unworthy sight! the man beloved of Heaven,
Behold, inglorious round yon city driven !
My heart partakes the generous Hector's pain;
Hector, whose zeal whole hecatombs has slain,
Whose grateful fumes the gods received with joy,
From Ida's summits and the towers of Troy:
Now see him flying! to his fears resign'd,
160 And Fate and fierce Achilles close behind.
Consult, ye powers! ('tis worthy your debate)
Whether to snatch him from impending Fate, 230
Or let him bear, by stern Pelides slain,
(Good as he is,) the lot imposed on man?
In field at least, and fighting for her wall.
And yet suppose these measures I forego,
Approach unarm'd and parley with the foe,
The warrior-shield, the helm, and lance, lay down,
And treat on terms of peace to save the town:
The wife withheld, the treasure ill-detain'd
(Cause of the war, and grievance of the land,)
With honourable justice to restore;
And add half Ilion's yet remaining store,
Which Troy shall sworn produce; that injured Greece
May share our wealth, and leave our walls in peace.
But why this thought? Unarm'd if I should go,
What hope of mercy from this vengeful foe,
But woman-like to fall, and fall without a blow?
We greet not here as man conversing man,
Met at an oak, or journeying o'er a plain;
No season now for calm familiar talk,
Like youths and maidens in an evening walk;
War is our business, but to whom is given
To die or triumph, that determine Heaven!
Thus pondering, like a god the Greek drew nigh,
His dreadful plumage nodded from on high;
The Pelian javelin in his better hand
Then Pallas thus: Shall he whose vengeance forms
The forky bolt, and blackens heaven with storms,
Shall he prolong one Trojan's forfeit breath?
A man, a mortal, pre-ordain'd to death?
And will no murmurs fill the courts above?
170 No gods indignant blame their partial Jove?
Shot trembling rays that glitter'd o'er the land;
And on his breast the beamy splendours shone,
Like Jove's own lightning or the rising sun.
As Hector secs, unusual terrors rise,
Struck by some god, he fears, recedes, and flies; 180
He leaves the gates, he leaves the walls behind:
Achilles follows like the winged wind.
Thus at the panting dove a falcon flies
(The swiftest racer of the liquid skies;)
Just when he holds or thinks he holds his prey,
Obliquely wheeling through the aërial way,
With open beak and shrilling cries he springs,
And aims his claws and shoots upon his wings;
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As through the forest o'er the vale and lawn,
The well-breathed beagle drives the flying fawn;
In vain he tries the covert of the brakes,
Or deep beneath the trembling thicket shakes;
Sure of the vapour in the tainted dews,
The certain hound his various maze pursues:
Thus step by step, where'er the Trojan wheel'd,
There swift Achilles compass'd round the field. 250
Oft as to reach the Dardan gates he bends,
And hopes the assistance of his pitying friends
(Whose showering arrows, as he coursed below,
From the high turrets might oppress the foe,)
So oft Achilles turns him to the plain :
He eyes the city, but he eyes in vain.
As men in slumber seem with speedy pace
One to pursue and one to lead the chase,
Their sinking limbs the fancied course forsake,
Nor this can fly, nor that can overtake:
No less the labouring heroes pant and strain,
While that but flies, and this pursues in vain.
Let heaven's high power be call'd to arbitrate
The just conditions of this stern debate
(Eternal witnesses of all below,
260 And faithful guardians of the treasured vow!)
To them I swear; if, victor in the strife,
Jove by these hands shall shed thy noble life,
No vile dishonour shall thy corse pursue;
Stripp'd of its arms alone (the conqueror's due) 330
The rest to Greece uninjured I'll restore :
Now plight thy mutual oath, I ask no more.
What god, O muse! assisted Hector's force,
With Fate itself so long to hold the course?
Phœbus it was; who in its latest hour
Endued his knees with strength, his nerves with
power:
And great Achilles, lest some Greek's advance
Should snatch the glory from his lifted lance,
Sign'd to the troops to yield his foe the way,
And leave untouch'd the honours of the day.
Jove lifts the golden balances that show
The fates of mortal men and things below;
Here each contending hero's lot he tries,
And weighs with equal hand their destinies.
Low sinks the scale surcharged with Hector's fate;
Heavy with death it sinks, and hell receives the weight.
Then Phoebus left him. Fierce Minerva flies
To stern Pelides, and triumphing cries:
Oh, loved of Jove! this day our labours cease,
And conquest blazes with full beams on Greece.
Great Hector falls: that Hector famed so far,
Drunk with renown, insatiable of war,
Falls by thy hand and mine; nor force nor flight
Shall more avail him, nor his god of light.
See where in vain he supplicates above,
Roll'd at the feet of unrelenting Jove!
Rest here: myself will lead the Trojan on,
And urge to meet the fate he cannot shun.
Talk not of oaths (the dreadful chief replies,
While anger flash'd from his disdainful eyes :)
Detested as thou art, and ought to be,
Nor oath nor pact Achilles plights with thee.
270 Such pacts as lambs and rabid wolves combine,
Such leagues as men and furious lions join,
To such I call the gods! one constant state
Of lasting rancour and eternal hate;
No thought but rage and never-ceasing strife,
Till death extinguish rage, and thought, and life.
Rouse then thy forces this important hour,
Collect thy soul, and call forth all thy power.
No farther subterfuge, no farther chance;
'Tis Pallas, Pallas gives thee to my lance.
280 Each Grecian ghost by thee deprived of breath
Now hovers round, and calls thee to thy death.
He spoke, and launch'd the javelin at the foe:
But Hector shunn'd the meditated blow:
He stoop'd, while o'er his head the flying spear
Sung innocent, and spent its force in air.
Minerva watch'd it falling on the land,
Then drew and gave to great Achilles' hand,
Unseen of Hector, who, elate with joy,
Now shakes his lance, and braves the dread of Troy.
The life you boasted to that javelin given,
Prince! you have miss'd. My fate depends on Heaven.
To thee presumptuous as thou art, unknown
Or what must prove my fortune or thy own.
Boasting is but an art our fears to blind,
And with false terror sink another's mind.
But know, whatever fate I am to try,
By no dishonest wound shall Hector die;
I shall not fall a fugitive at least,
Her voice divine the chief with joyful mind
Obey'd; and rested, on his lance reclined.
While like Deiphobus the martial dame
(Her face, her gesture, and her arms the same)
In show and aid, by hapless Hector's side
Approach'd, and greets him thus with voice belied:
Too long, O Hector, have I borne the sight
Of this distress, and sorrow'd in thy flight:
It fits us now a noble stand to make,
And here as brothers equal fates partake.
Then he: O prince! allied in blood and fame,
Dearer than all that own a brother's name;
Of all that Hecuba to Priam bore,
Long tried, long loved; much loved, but honour'd
more,
Since you of all our numerous race alone
Defend my life regardless of your own.
Again the goddess: Much my father's prayer,
And much my mother's press'd me to forbear:
My friends embraced my knees, adjured my stay,
But stronger love impell'd, and I obey.`
Come then, the glorious conflict let us try,
Let the steel sparkle and the javelin fly :
Or let us stretch Achilles on the field,
Or to his arm our bloody trophies yield.
Fraudful she said; then swiftly march'd before:
The Dardan hero shuns his foe no more.
Sternly they met. The silence Hector broke;
His dreadful plumage nodded as he spoke:
Enough, O son of Peleus! Troy has view'd
Her walls thrice circled, and her chief pursued:
But now some god within me bids me try
Thine, or my fate: I kill thee, or I die.
Yet on the verge of battle let us stay,
And for a moment's space suspend the day;.
My soul shall bravely issue from my breast.
But first try thou my arm! and may this dart
End all my country's woes, deep buried in thy heart!
. The weapon flew, its course unerring held;
Unerring, but the heavenly shield repell'd
The mortal dart; resulting with a bound
From off the ringing orb, it struck the ground.
Hector beheld his javelin fall in vain,
Nor other lance, nor other hope remain;
He calls Deiphobus, demands a spear,
In vain, for no Deiphobus was there.
All comfortless he stands: then, with a sigh,
310 'Tis so-Heaven wills it, and my hour is nigh!
I deem'd Deïphobus had heard my call,
But he secure lies guarded in the wall.
A god deceived me: Pallas, 'twas thy deed:
Death and black Fate approach! 'tis I must bleed.
No refuge now, no succour from above,
Great Jove deserts me, and the son of Jove,
Propitious once, and kind! then welcome Fate!
'Tis true I perish, yet I perish great:
Yet in a mighty deed I shall expire,
320 Let future ages hear it and admire!
Fierce at the word his weighty sword he drew, And all-collected on Achilles flew.
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