Her secret offspring to her sire she bare;
Her sire caress'd him with a parent's care.
Pisander follow'd; matchless in his art
To wing the spear or aim the distant dart;
No hand so sure of all the Emathian line,
Or if a surer, great Patroclus! thine.

|Lo, to the dangers of the fighting field! The best, the dearest of my friends, I yield: 230 Though still determined, to my ships confined; Patroclus gone, I stay but half behind. Oh! be his guard thy providential care, Confirm his heart, and string his arm to war:

The fourth by Phoenix' grave command was graced; Pressed by his single force let Hector see Laurces' valiant offspring led the last.

250

Lo there the Trojans! bathe your swords in gore!
This day shall give you all your soul demands;
Glut all you hearts! and weary all your hands!
Thus while he roused the fire in every breast,
Close, and more close, the listening cohorts press'd;
Ranks wedged in ranks; of arms a steely ring
Still grows, and spreads, and thickens round the king.
As when a circling wall the builder forms,
Of strength defensive against winds and storms,
Compacted stones the thickening work compose,
And round him wide the rising structure grows:
So helm to helm, and crest to crest they throng, 260
Shield urged on shield, and man drove man along;
Thick, undistinguish'd plumes, together join'd,
Float in one sea, and wave before the wind.

270|

Far o'er the rest, in glittering pomp appear
There bold Automedon, Patroclus here;
Brothers in arms, with equal fury fired;
Two friends, two bodies with one soul inspired.
But mindful of the gods, Achilles went
To the rich coffer in his shady tent;
There lay on heaps his various garments roll'd,
And costly furs, and carpets stiff with gold,
(The presents of the silver-footed dame.)
From thence he took a bowl of antique frame,
Which never man had stain'd with ruddy wine,
Nor raised in offerings to the powers divine,
But Peleus' son, and Peleus' son to none
Had raised in offerings, but to Jove alone.
This tinged with sulphur, sacred first to flame,
He purged; and wash'd it in the running stream:
Then cleansed his hands; and fixing for a space 280
His eyes on heaven, his feet upon the place
Of sacrifice, the purple draught he pour'd
Forth in the midst; and thus the god implored:
Oh thou Supreme! high throned all height above!
Oh great Pelasgic, Dodonæan Jove!

Who 'midst surrounding frosts, and vapours chill,
Presidest on bleak Dodona's vocal hill,

(Whose groves, the Selli, race austere ! surround,
Their feet unwash'd, their slumbers on the ground;
Who hear, from rustling oaks, thy dark decrees; 290
And catch the fates, low-whisper'd in the breeze :)
Hear, as of old! Thou gavest, at Thetis' prayer,
Glory to me, and to the Grecks despair.

His fame in arms not owing all to me.

But when the fleets are saved from foes and fire,
Let him with conquest and renown retire;
Preserve his arms, preserve his social train,
And safe return him to these eyes again!

300

310

Great Jove consents to half the chief's request,
But heaven's eternal doom denies the rest:
To free the fleet was granted to his prayer;
His safe return the winds dispersed in air.
Back to his tent the stern Achilles flies,
And waits the combat with impatient eyes.
Meanwhile the troops, beneath Patroclus' care,
Invade the Trojans, and commence the war.
As wasps, provoked by children in their play,
Pour from their mansions by the broad highway
In swarms the guiltless traveller engage,
Whet all their stings, and call forth all their rage;
All rise in arms, and with a general cry
Assert their waxen domes and buzzing progeny:
Thus from the tents the fervent legion swarms, 330
So loud their clamour, and so keen their arms.
Their rising rage Patroclus' breath inspires,
Who thus inflames them with heroic fires:

Oh warriors, partners of Achilles' praise!
Be mindful of your deeds in ancient days:
Your godlike master let your acts proclaim,
And add new glories to his mighty name.
Think your Achilles sees you fight: be brave,
And humble the proud monarch whom you save.
Joyful they heard, and kindling as he spoke, 330
Flew to the fleet, involved in fire and smoke.
From shore to shore the doubling shouts resound,
The hollow ships return a deeper sound.
The war stood still, and all around trem gazed,
When great Achilles' shining armour blazed:
Troy saw,
and thought the dread Achilles nigh;
At once they see, they tremble, and they fly.
Then first thy spear, divine Patroclus! flew,
Where the war raged, and where the tumult grew:
Close to the stern of that famed ship, which bore 340
Unbless'd Protesilaus to Ilion's shore,
The great Paonian, bold Pyræchmes, stood
(Who led his bands from Axius' winding flood;)
His shoulder-blade receives the fatal wound:
The groaning warrior pants upon the ground.
His troops, that see their country's glory slain,
Fly divers, scatter'd o'er the distant plain.
Patroclus' arm forbids the spreading fires,
And from the half-burn'd ship proud Troy retires:
Clear'd from the smoke the joyful navy lies;
In heaps on heaps the foe tumultuous flies;
Triumphant Greece her rescued decks ascends,
And loud acclaim the starry region rends.
So when thick clouds inwrap the mountain's head,
O'er heaven's expanse like one black ceiling spread;
Sudden, the Thunderer, with a flashing ray,
Bursts through the darkness, and lets down the day:
The hills shine out, the rocks in prospect rise,
And streams, and vales, and forests, strike the eyes:
The smiling scene wide opens to the sight, 360
And all the unmeasured æther flames with light.

350

But Troy repulsed, and scatter'd o'er the plains,
Forced from the navy, yet the fight maintains;
Now every Greek some hostile hero slew;
But still the foremost bold Patroclus flew :
As Areïlycus had turn'd him round,

Sharp in his thigh he felt the piercing wound;
The brazen-pointed spear, with vigour thrown,
The thigh transfix'd, and broke the brittle bone:
Headlong he fell Next, Thaos, was thy chance, 370
Thy breast unarm'd, received the Spartan lance.
Phylides' dart (as Amphiclus drew nigh)
His blow prevented, and transpierced his thigh,
Tore all the brawn, and rent the nerves away;
In darkness and in death the warrior lay.

In equal arms two sons of Nestor stand,
And two bold brothers of the Lycian band:
By great Antilochus, Atymnius dies,

Pierced in the flank, lamented youth! he lies.
Kind Maris, bleeding in his brother's wound,
Defends the breathless carcass on the ground.
Furious he flies, his murderer to engage,
But godlike Thrasymed prevents his rage;
Between his arm and shoulder aims a blow;
His arm falls spouting on the dust below:
He sinks, with endless darkness cover'd o'er;
And vents his soul, effused with gushing gore.
Slain by two brothers, thus two brothers bleed,
Sarpedon's friends, Amisodarus' seed;
Amisodarus, who, by Furies led,

The bane of men, abhorr'd Chimæra bred;
Skill'd in the dart in vain, his sons expire,
And pay the forfeit of their guilty sire.
Stopp'd in the tumult Cleobolus lies,
Beneath Oïleus' arm, a living prize,
A living prize not long the Trojan stood,
The thirsty falchion drank his reeking blood:
Plunged in his throat the smoking weapon lies;
Black death, and fate unpitying, seal his eyes.
Amid the ranks, with mutual thirst of fame,
Lycon the brave, and fierce Peneleus came;
In vain their javelins at each other flew,
Now, met in arms, their eager swords they drew.
On the plumed crest of his Baotian foe,
The daring Lycon aim'd a noble blow;

Observed the storm of darts the Grecians pour, 430
And on his buckler caught the ringing shower.
He sees for Greece the scale of conquest rise,
Yet stops, and turns, and saves his loved allies.
As when the hand of Jove a tempest forms,
And rolls the cloud to blacken heaven with storms,
Dark o'er the fields the ascending vapour flies,
And shades the sun, and blots the golden skies:
So from the ships, along the dusky plain,
Dire Flight and Terror drove the Trojan train.
E'en Hector fled; through heaps of disarray
The fiery coursers forced their lord away:
While far behind his Trojans fall confused;
Wedged in the trench, in one vast carnage bruised;
Chariots on chariots roll; the clashing spokes
Shook; while the madding steeds break short their
yokes:

In vain they labour up the steepy mound;
380 Their charioteers lie foaming on the ground.

440

450

Fierce on the rear, with shouts, Patroclus flies;
Tumultuous clamour fills the fields and skies;
Thick drifts of dust involve their rapid flight;
Clouds rise on clouds, and heaven is snatch'd from
sight.

The affrighted steeds, their dying lords cast down,
Scour o'er the fields, and stretch to reach the town.
Loud o'er the rout was heard the victor's cry,
Where the war bleeds, and where the thickest die,
390 Where horse, and arms, and chariots, lie o'erthrown,
And bleeding heroes under axles groan.

No stop, no check, the steeds of Peleus knew;
From bank to bank the immortal coursers flew,
High-bounding o'er the fosse: the whirling car 460
Smokes through the ranks, o'ertakes the flying war,
And thunders after Hector: Hector flies;
Patroclus shakes his lance; but Fate denies.

470

Not with less noise, with less impetuous force,
The tide of Trojans urge their desperate course,
400 Than when in autumn Jove his fury pours,
And earth is loaden with incessant showers
(When guilty mortals break the eternal laws,
Or judges bribed betray the righteous cause ;)
From their deep beds he bids the rivers rise,
And opens all the flood-gates of the skies:
The impetuous torrents from their hills obey,
Whole fields are drown'd, and mountains swept away;
Loud roars the deluge till it meets the main ;
And trembling man sees all his labours vain.
And now the chief (the foremost troops repell'd)
Back to the ships his destined progress held,
Bore down half Troy in his resistless way,
And forced the routed ranks to stand the day.
Between the space where silver Simoïs flows,
Where lay the fleets, and where the rampires rose,
All grim in dust and blood, Patroclus stands,
And turns the slaughter on the conquering bands.
First Pronous died beneath his fiery dart,

410

The sword broke short; but his, Peneleus sped
Full on the juncture of the neck and head.
The head, divided by a stroke so just,
Hung by the skin: the body sunk to dust.
O'ertaken Neamas by Merion bleeds,
Pierced through the shoulder as he mounts his steeds:
Back from the car he tumbles to the ground;
His swimming eyes eternal shades surround.
Next Erymas was doom'd his fate to feel:
His open mouth received the Cretan steel:
Beneath the brain the point a passage tore,
Crash'd the thin bones, and drown'd the teeth in gore:
His mouth, his eyes, his nostrils, pour a flood;
He sobs his soul out in the gush of blood.

As when the flocks, neglected by the swain
(Or kids, or lambs,) lie scatter'd o'er the plain,
A troop of wolves the unguarded charge survey,
And rend the trembling, unresisting prey:
Thus on the foe the Greeks impetuous came;
Troy fled, unmindful of her former fame.

But still at Hector godlike Ajax aim'd,
Still pointed at his breast, his javelin flamed.
The Trojan chief experienced in the field,
O'er his broad shoulders spread the massy shield,

480

490

Which pierced below the shield his valiant heart.
420 Thestor was next who saw the chief appear,
And fell a victim of his coward fear;
Shrunk up he sat, with wild and haggard eye,
Nor stood to combat, nor had force to fly:
Patroclus mark'd him as he shunn'd the war,
And with unmanly tremblings shook the car,
And dropp'd the flowing reins. Him 'twixt the jaws
The javelin sticks, and from the chariot draws.
As on a rock that overhangs the main,
An angler, studious of the line and cane,

Now met in arms, the combatants appear;
Each heaved the shield, and poised the lifted spear:
From strong Patroclus' hand the javelin fled,
And pass'd the groin of valiant Thrasymed;
500 The nerves unbraced, no more his bulk sustain,
He falls, and falling bites the bloody plain.
Two sounding darts the Lycian leader threw; 570
The first aloof with erring fury flew,

And his eyes darken'd with the shades of death.
The insulting victor with disdain bestrode
The prostrate prince, and on his bosom trod;
Then drew the weapon from his panting heart,
The reeking fibres clinging to the dart;
From the wide wound gush'd out a stream of blood,
And the soul issued in the purple flood.
His flying steeds the Myrmidons detain,
Unguided now, their mighty master slain,
All-impotent of aid, transfix'd with grief,

Far from the Lycian shores, his happy native reign. Unhappy Glaucus heard the dying chief.

J

And round his son confounds the warring hosts, 630 His fate ennobling with a crowd of ghosts.

His painful arm, yet useless with the smart
Inflicted late by Teucer's deadly dart,
Supported on his better hand he stay'd;
To Phœbus then ('twas all he could) he pray'd:
All-seeing monarch! whether Lycia's coast,
Or sacred Ilion, thy bright presence boast,
Powerful alike to ease the wretch's smart;
Oh hear me ! god of every healing art!
Lo! stiff with clotted blood, and pierced with pain,
That thrills my arm, and shoots through every vein;
I stand unable to sustain the spear,

And sigh, at distance from the glorious war.
Low in the dust is great Sarpedon laid,

Nor Jove vouchsafed his hapless offspring aid.
But thou, O god of health! thy succour lend,
To guard the reliques of my slaughter'd friend:
For thou, though distant, canst restore my might,
To head my Lycians, and support the fight.

Now Greece gives way, and great Epigeus falls;
Agacleus' son, from Budium's lofty walls: 700
Who chased for murder thence, a suppliant came
To Peleus and the silver-footed dame;
Now sent to Troy, Achilles' arms to aid,
He pays due vengeance to his kinsman's shade.
Soon as his luckless hand had touch'd the dead,
A rock's large fragment thunder'd on his head;
Hurl'd by Hectorian force, it cleft in twain
640 His shatter'd helm, and stretch'd him o'er the slain.
Fierce to the van of fight Patroclus came;
And, like an eagle darting at his game,
Sprung on the Trojan and the Lycian band.
What grief thy heart, what fury urged thy han
Oh generous Greek! when, with full vigour thrown,
At Stenelaus flew the weighty stone,

710

Which sunk him to the dead; when Troy, too near
That arm, drew back; and Hector learn'd to fear.
Far as an able hand a lance can throw,

650 Or at the lists, or at the fighting foe,

Apollo heard; and, suppliant as he stood,
His heavenly hand restrain'd the flux of blood:
He drew the dolours from the wounded part,
And breathed a spirit in his rising heart.
Renew'd by art divine, the hero stands,
And owns the assistance of immortal hands.
First to the fight his native troops he warms,
Then loudly calls on Troy's vindictive arms:
With ample strides he stalks from place to place;
Now fires Agenor, now Polydamas !
Eneas next, and Hector he accosts;
Inflaming thus the rage of all their hosts:
What thoughts, regardless chief! thy breast employ?
Oh too forgetful of the friends of Troy ! 660
Those generous friends, who, from their country far,
Breathe their brave souls out in another's war.
See! where in dust the great Sarpedon lies,
In action valiant, and in council wise,
Who guarded right, and kept his people free:
To all his Lycians lost, and lost to thee!
Stretch'd by Patroclus' arm on yonder plains;
Oh save from hostile rage his loved remains!
Ah! let not Greece his conquer'd trophies boast,
Nor on his corse revenge her heroes lost.

720

So far the Trojans from their lines retired;
Till Glaucus, turning, all the rest inspired.
Then Bathyclæus fell beneath his rage,
The only hope of Chalcon's trembling age:
Wide o'er the land was stretch'd his large domain,
With stately seats and riches bless'd in vain.
Him, bold with youth, and eager to pursue
The flying Lycians, Glaucus met, and slew
Pierced through the bosom with a sudden wound,
He fell, and, falling, made the fields resound.
The Achaians sorrow for their hero slain;
With conquering shouts the Trojans shake the plain,
And crowd to spoil the dead: the Greeks oppose,
An iron circle round the carcass grows.

The brave Laogonus resign'd his breath,
Dispatch'd by Merion to the shades of death:
On Ida's holy hill he made abode,

The priest of Jove, and honour'd like his god.
Between the jaw and ear the javelin went :
670 The soul, exhaling, issued at the vent.

He spoke each leader in his grief partook ;
Troy, at the loss, through all her legions shook;
Transfix'd with deep regret, they view o'erthrown
At once his country's pillar, and their own;
A chief, who led to Troy's beleaguer'd wall
A host of heroes, and outshined them all.
Fired, they rush on; first Hector seeks the foes,
And with superior vengeance greatly glows.

But o'er the dead the fierce Patroclus stands,
And, rousing Ajax, roused the listening bands;
Heroes, be men! be what you were before;
Or weigh the great occasion, and be more.
The chief who taught our lofty walls to yield,
Lies pale in death, extended on the field;
To guard his body, Troy in numbers flies;
'Tis half the glory to maintain our prize.

739

742

His spear Æneas at the victor threw,
Who stooping forward from the death withdrew;
The lance hiss'd harmless o'er his covering shield,
And trembling struck, and rooted in the field:
There yet scarce spent, it quivers on the plain,
Sent by the great Eneas' arm in vain.
Swift as thou art (the raging hero cries,)
And skill'd in dancing to dispute the prize,
My spear, the destined passage had it found,
680 Had fix'd thy active vigour to the ground.
Oh valiant leader of the Dardan host!
(Insulted Merion thus retorts the boast)
Strong as you are, 'tis mortal force you trust,
An arm as strong may stretch thee in the dust.
And if to this my lance thy fate be given,
Vain are thy vaunts; success is still from heaven:

Haste, strip his arms, the slaughter round him spread, This instant sends thee down to Pluto's coast;

And send the living Lycians to the dead.
The heroes kindle at his fierce command;
The martial squadrons close on either hand :
Here Troy and Lycia charge with loud alarms,
Thessalia there and Greece oppose their arms.
With horrid shouts they circle round the slain;
The clash of armour rings o'er all the plain.
Great Jove, to swell the horrors of the fight,
O'er the fierce armies pours pernicious night,

Mine is the glory, his thy parting ghost.

750

840

Received Sarpedon, at the god's command,
And in a moment reach'd the Lycian land;
The corse amidst his weeping friends they laid,
Where endless honours wait the sacred shade.
Meanwhile Patroclus pours along the plains,
770 With foaming coursers, and with loosen'd reins.
Fierce on the Trojan and the Lycian crew,
Ah blind to fate; thy headlong fury flew:
Against what fate and powerful Jove ordain,
Vain was thy friend's command, thy courage vain.
For he, the god, whose counsels uncontroll'd,
Dismay the mighty, and confound the bold;
The god who gives, resumes, and orders all,
He urged thee on, and urged thee on to fall.
Who first, brave hero! by that arm was slain,
780 Who last, beneath thy vengeance press'd the plain,
When heaven itself thy fatal fury led,

Shields, helmets rattle, as the warriors close;
And thick and heavy sounds the storm of blows.
As through the shrilling vale, or mountain ground,
The labours of the woodman's axe resound:
Blows following blows are heard re-echoing wide,
While crackling forests fall on every side,
Thus echo'd all the fields with loud alarms,
So fell the warriors, and so rung their arms.
Now great Sarpedon on the sandy shore,
His heavenly form defaced with dust and gore,
And stuck with darts by warring heroes shed,
Lies undistinguish'd from the vulgar dead.
His long disputed corse the chiefs enclose,
On every side the busy combat grows;
Thick as beneath some shepherd's thatch'd abode
(The pails high foaming with a milky flood)
The buzzing flies, a persevering train,
Incessant swarm, and chased return again.

791

Jove view'd the combat with a stern survey,
And eyes that flash'd intolerable day.
Fix'd on the field his sight, his breast debates
The vengeance due, and meditates the fates:
Whether to urge their prompt effect, and call
The force of Hector to Patroclus' fall,
This instant see his short-lived trophies won,
And stretch him breathless on his slaughter'd son;
Or yet, with many a soul's untimely flight,
Augment the fame and horror of the fight.
To crown Achilles' valiant friend with praise
At length he dooms; and that his last of days
Shall set in glory; bids him drive the foe;
Nor unattended see the shades below.
Then Hector's mind he fills with dire dismay
He mounts his car, and calls his hosts away:
Sunk with Troy's heavy fates, he sees decline
The scales of Jove, and pants with awe divine.
Then, nor before, the hardy Lycians fled,
And left their monarch with the common dead:
Around, in heaps on heaps, a dreadful wall
Of carnage rises, as the heroes fall.

(So Jove decreed !) At length the Greeks obtain
The prize contested, and despoil the slain.
The radiant arms are by Patroclus borne,
Patroclus' ships the glorious spoils adorn.

860

Now Troy had stoop'd beneath his matchless power
But flaming Phoebus kept the sacred tower:
Thrice at the battlements Patroclus struck,
His blazing ægis thrice Apollo shook :
He tried the fourth; when, bursting from the cloud
A more than mortal voice was heard aloud:
Patroclus! cease: this heaven-defended wall
Defies thy lance; not fated yet to fall;
Thy friend, thy greater far, it shall withstand,
Troy shall not stoop, e'en to Achilles' hand.

So spoke the god who darts celestial fires :
800 The Greek obeys him, and with awe retires :
While Hector, checking at the Scæan gates
His panting coursers, in his breast debates,
Or in the field his forces to employ,

811

870

880

Or draw the troops within the walls of Troy.
Thus while he thought, beside him Phœbus stood,
In Asius' shape, who reign'd by Sangar's flood;
(Thy brother, Hecuba! from Dymas sprung,
A valiant warrior, haughty, bold, and young.)
Thus he accosts him: What a shameful sight!
Gods! is it Hector that forbears the fight?
Were thine my vigour, this successful spear
Should soon convince thee of so false a fear.
Turn then, ah turn thee to the field of fame,
And in Patroclus blood efface thy shame.
Perhaps Apollo shall thy arms succeed,
And heaven ordains him by thy lance to bleed.
So spoke the inspiring god; then took his flight,
And plunged amidst the tumult of the fight.
He bids Cebrion drive the rapid car;
820 The lash resounds, the coursers rush to war:
The god the Grecians' sinking souls depress'd,
And pour'd swift spirits through each Trojan breast.
Patroclus lights, impatient for the fight;

Then thus to Phoebus, in the realms above,
Spoke from his throne the cloud-compelling Jove:
Descend, my Phoebus! on the Phrygian plain,
And from the fight convey Sarpedon slain;
Then bathe his body in the crystal flood;
With dust dishonour'd, and deform'd with blood:
O'er all his limbs ambrosial odours shed,
And with celestial robes adorn the dead.
Those rites discharged his sacred corse bequeath
To the soft arms of silent Sleep and Death.
They to his friends the mournful charge shall bear,
His friends a tomb and pyramid shall rear;
What honours mortals after death receive,
Those unavailing honours we may give.

Apollo bows, and from mount Ida's height,
Swift to the field precipitates his flight;
Thence from the war the breathless hero bore,
Veil'd in a cloud, to silver Simoïs shore;
There bathed his honourable wounds, and dress'd
His manly members in the immortal vest;
And with perfumes of sweet ambrosial dews,
Restores his freshness, and his form renews.
Then Sleep and Death, two twins of winged race,
Of matchless swiftness, but of silent pace,

891

A spear his left, a stone employs his right:
With all his nerves he drives it at the foe;
Pointed above, and rough and gross below:
The falling ruin crush'd Cebrion's head,
The lawless offspring of king Priam's bed;
His front, brows, eyes, one undistinguish'd wound;
830 The bursting balls drop sightless to the ground.
The charioteer, while yet he held the rein,
Struck from the car, falls headlong on the plain. 900