Yet great in Homer, ftill Achilles lives;
And, equal to himself, himself furvives.
His buckler owns its former lord; and brings
New cause of strife betwixt contending kings ;
Who worthieft, after him, his sword to wield,
Or wear his armour, or sustain his shield.
Ev'n Diomede fat mute, with down-cast eyes;
Conscious of wanted worth to win the prize :
Nor Menelaus prefum'd these arms to claim,
Nor he the king of men, a greater name.
Two rivals only rose: Laertes' son,
And the vast bulk of Ajax Telamon.
The king, who cherish'd each with equal love,
And from himself all envy would remove,
Left both to be determined by the laws;
And to the Grecian chiefs transferr'd the caufe.
From the THIRTEENTH BOOK of
HE chiefs were fet, the foldiers crown'd the field:
To these the mafter of the fevenfold shield
Upftarted fierce and kindled with disdain,
Eager to speak, unable to contain
His boiling rage, he roll'd his eyes around
The fhore, and Grecian gallies haul'd a-ground.
Then stretching out his hands, O Jove, he cry'd,
Muft then our cause before the fleet be try'd?
And dares Ulyffes for the prize contend,
In fight of what he durft not once defend?
But basely fled that memorable day,
When I from Hector's hands redeem'd the flaming prey,
So much 'tis fafer at the noisy bar
With words to flourish, than engage in war.
By different methods we maintain'd our right,
Nor am I made to talk, nor he to fight,
In bloody fields I labour to be great ;
His arms are a smooth tongue, and foft deceit.
Nor need I speak my deeds, for those you see;
The fun and day are witnesses for me.
Let him who fights unfeen relate his own,
And vouch the filent ftars, and confcious moon.
Great is the prize demanded, I confess,
But fuch an abject rival makes it lefs.
That gift, those honours, he but hop'd to gain,
Can leave no room for Ajax to be vain :
Lofing he wins, because his name will be
Ennobled by defeat, who durft contend with me.
Were mine own valour question'd, yet my blood
Without that plea would make my title good:
My fire was Telamon, whose arms, employ'd
With Hercules, thefe Trojan walls destroy'd;
And who before, with Jafon, fent from Greece,
In the first ship brought home the golden fleece:
Great Telamon from Æacus derives
His birth (th' inquifitor of guilty lives
In fhades below; where Sifyphus, whose fon
This thief is thought, rolls up the restless heavy stone),
Juft acus the king of Gods above
Begot: thus Ajax is the third from Jove.
Nor should I feek advantage from my line,
Unless, Achilles, it were mix'd with thine:
As next of kin Achilles' arms I claim;
This fellow would ingraft a foreign name
Upon our stock, and the Sifyphian feed
By fraud and theft afferts his father's breed.
Then muft I lofe thefe arms, because I came
To fight uncall'd, a voluntary name?
Nor fhunn'd the cause, but offer'd you my aid,
While he long lurking was to war betray'd:
Forc'd to the field he came, but in the rear;
And feign'd distraction to conceal his fear :
Till one more cunning caught him in the fnare,
(Ill for himself) and dragg'd him into war.
Now let a hero's arms a coward veft,
And he, who shunn'd all honours, gain the best;
And let me ftand excluded from my right,
Robb'd of my kinsman's arms, who first appear'd in fight.
Better for us, at home he had remain'd,
Had it been true the madness which he feign'd,
Or fo believ'd; the lefs had been our shame,
The lefs his counsel'd crime, which brands the Gre
Nor Philoctetes had been left inclos'd
In a bare ifle, to wants and pains expos'd,
Where to the rocks, with folitary groans,
His fufferings and our baseness he bemoans;
And wishes (fo may heaven his wish fulfil)
The due reward to him who eaus'd his ill.
Now he, with us to Troy's destruction fworn,
Our brother of the war, by whom are borne
Alcides' arrows, pent in narrow bounds,
With cold and hunger pinch'd, and pain`d with wounds,
To find him food and cloathing, must employ
Against the birds the shafts due to the fate of Troy.
Yet ftill he lives, and lives from treafon free,
Because he left Ulyffes' company:
Poor Palamede might wish, so void of aid
Rather to have been left, than fo to death betray'd.
The coward bore the man immortal spite,
Who fham'd him out of madness into fight:
Nor, daring otherwise to vent his hate,
Accus'd him first of treafon to the state;
And then for proof produc'd the golden ftore
Himself had hidden in his tent before :
Thus of two champions he depriv'd our host,
By exile one, and one by treafon loft.
Thus fights Ulysses, thus his fame extends,
A formidable man, but to his friends:
Great, for what greatness is in words and found :
Ev'n faithful Neftor less in both is found:
But that he might without a rival reign,
He left his faithful Neftor on the plain;
For fook his friend ev'n at his utmost need,
Who tir'd and tardy, with his wounded steed,
Cry'd out for aid, and call'd him by his name;
But cowardice has neither ears nor fhame :
Thus fled the good old man, bereft of aid,
And, for as much as lay in him, betray'd.
That this is not a fable forg'd by me,
Like one of his, an Ulyffean lye,
I vouch ev'n Diomede, who, though his friend,
Cannot that act excuse, much lefs defend :
He call'd him back aloud, and tax'd his fear;
And fure enough he heard, but durft not hear.
|