Book XVII

The Seventh Battle

Contest for the body of Patroclus, which is guarded by Menelaus⁠—Death of Euphorbus⁠—Retreat of Menelaus, and his return with Ajax, after which Hector is obliged to give way⁠—Hector reproved for this by Glaucus⁠—He puts on the armor of Patroclus, and renews the contest, driving back the Greeks⁠—Rally of the Greeks by Ajax⁠—Bravery of Aeneas⁠—Flight of Automedon with the horses and chariot of Patroclus⁠—The defenders of the body of Patroclus involved in darkness, which is dispelled at the prayer of Ajax⁠—A message sent to Achilles informing him of the death of Patroclus, whose body is rescued and borne off by Menelaus and Meriones.

The warlike Menelaus, Atreus’ son,

Beheld Patroclus fall by Trojan hands,

And came in glittering armor to the van

To guard the body of the slain. As walks

A heifer moaning round her new-born young,

So fair-haired Menelaus stalked around

The body of Patroclus, holding forth

His spear and great round shield, intent to slay

Whoever came against him. But the son

Of Panthoüs, mighty spearman, not the less

Intent to spoil the illustrious dead, drew near,

And spake to warlike Menelaus thus:⁠—

“Atrides Menelaus, reared by Jove,

And leader of thy host, give way and leave

The dead, and quit to me his bloody spoil;

For none of our brave Trojans and allies

Smote him in deadly combat with the spear,

Before me. Leave me therefore to receive

The glory due me from the sons of Troy,

Else will I smite thee too, and thou wilt lose

Thy precious life!” Indignant at the word,

The fair-haired Menelaus answered him:⁠—

“O Father Jove! Unseemly boasts are these!

For not the panther’s nor the lion’s might,

Nor that of the fierce forest-boar whose rage

Is heightened into fury, is as great

As that which these distinguished spearmen, sons

Of Panthoüs, utter with their lips. And yet

The horseman Hyperenor did not long

Enjoy his youth when he with insolent words

Assailed me, and withstood me⁠—when he said

That I was the most craven wretch who bore

Arms in the Grecian host. He never turned,

I think, his footsteps homeward to delight

His reverend parents and beloved wife;

And I, like his, will take thy life, if thou

Oppose me. Heed my counsel, and withdraw

Among the crowd, and so avoid my stroke

Before thou come to harm. He is a fool

Who only sees the mischiefs that are past.”

He said: Euphorbus, heeding not his words

Of warning, spake again: “Now is my time,

Jove-nurtured Menelaus, to avenge

My brother, slain by thee, and over whom

Thou utteredst such swelling words, whose wife

In her new bridal chamber thou hast made

A widow, and upon her parents brought

Mourning and endless sorrow. It may make

The sorrow less, should I into the hands

Of Panthoüs and the noble Phrontis give

Thy head and armor. Let us now delay

The strife no longer: it will show with whom

The valor dwells, and who is moved by fear.”

He spake, and smote his enemy’s round shield,

But pierced it not; the stubborn metal turned

The weapon’s point. Then Menelaus, son

Of Atreus, with a prayer to Jupiter,

Struck, as Euphorbus made a backward step,

His throat, and drave the weapon with strong hand

Through the soft neck. He fell with clashing arms.

His locks, which were like those the Graces wear,

And ringlets, bound with gold and silver bands,

Were drenched with blood. As when some husbandman

Rears in a lonely and well-watered spot

An olive-tree with widely spreading boughs,

Beautiful with fresh shoots, and putting forth

White blossoms, gently waved by every wind,

A sudden blast descends with mighty sweep

And tears it from its bed, and lays it prone

Upon the earth⁠—so lay Euphorbus, skilled

To wield the spear and son of Panthoüs, slain

And spoiled by Menelaus, Atreus’ son.

As when a lion of the mountain wilds,

Fearless and strong, bears from the browsing herd

The fairest of the kine, and breaks her neck

With his strong teeth, and, tearing her, devours

The bloody entrails, while a clamorous throng

Of dogs and herdsmen, with incessant cries,

Gather around him, yet approach him not,

Withheld by fear, so of the warriors round so

The gallant Menelaus none could find

The courage to encounter him; and then

Atrides easily had borne away

The sumptuous armor worn by Panthoüs’ son,

If envious Apollo had not moved

Hector to meet him. Putting on the form

Of Mentes, chief of the Ciconian band,

He said to him aloud, with wingèd words:⁠—

“Hector, thou art pursuing what thy feet

Will never overtake, the steeds which draw

The chariot of Achilles. Hard it were

For mortal man to tame them or to guide,

Save for Achilles, goddess-born. Meanwhile

Hath warlike Menelaus, Atreus’ son,

Guarding the slain Patroclus, overthrown

Euphorbus, bravest of the Trojan host,

A son of Panthoüs; he will fight no more.”

Thus spake the god, and disappeared among

The warring squadrons. Bitter was the grief

That seized the heart of Hector as he looked

Along the ranks and saw the Greek bear off

The sumptuous arms, and saw the Trojan lie

Weltering in blood. At once he made his way

To the front rank, all armed in glittering brass,

And with loud shouts. As terrible he came

As Vulcan’s inextinguishable fires.

The son of Atreus heard that mighty shout,

And thus to his great soul lamenting said:⁠—

“If I abandon these rich spoils and leave

Patroclus, who has perished in my cause,

I fear the Greeks will look upon the act

With indignation. If, through dread of shame,

I fight alone with Hector and his men,

I fear to be o’erwhelmed by multitudes,

For crested Hector leads the whole array

Of Trojans hither. Yet why question thus?

For when a warrior ventures to assault

One whom a god protects, a bitter doom

Is his. Then none of all the Greeks should blame

If I give way to Hector, whom a god

Hath sent against me. Yet could I but hear

The voice of mighty Ajax, we would both

Return, and even against a god renew

The combat, that we haply might restore

Patroclus to Achilles, Peleus’ son.

Such in this choice of evils were the least.”

As thus he mused, the men of Troy came on,

With Hector at their head. The Greek gave way

And left the slain. As when a lion, driven

With pikes and clamor from the herdsman’s stalls

By men and dogs, unwillingly retreats,

His valiant heart still raging in his breast,

So did the fair-haired Menelaus leave

Patroclus. When he reached the Grecian ranks,

He turned and stood and looked about to find

The mighty Ajax, son of Telamon,

And him he soon beheld on the left edge

Of battle, rallying there and heartening

His men; for Phoebus from above had sent

A panic fear among them. To him then

The son of Atreus went in haste and said:⁠—

“Ajax, my friend, come hither where we fight

Around Patroclus. Let us strive at least

To bring Achilles back the hero’s corpse,

Though stripped; for crested Hector hath his arms.”

He spake; the courage of the warlike son

Of Telamon was kindled by his words.

To the front rank he hastened, and with him

Went fair-haired Menelaus. Hector there

Had spoiled Patroclus of his glorious arms,

And now was dragging him apart to hew

The head away with his keen sword, and give

The body to the dogs of Troy. Just then

Came Ajax, bearing, like a tower, his shield,

And Hector mingled with the Trojan ranks,

And leaped into his car; but first he gave

His friends the glittering spoil to bear away

To Troy⁠—a glory to the conqueror;

While Ajax, over Menoetiades

Holding his ample shield, stood firm as stands

A lion o’er his whelps, when, as he comes

Leading them through the wood, the hunters rush

Upon him, and his look is terrible

As his knit eyebrows cover his fierce eyes.

So Ajax moved around the hero’s corpse,

While warlike Menelaus by his side,

The son of Atreus, stood in bitter grief.

Then with a look of anger, Glaucus spake⁠—

Son of Hippolochus, and chief among

The Lycians⁠—thus to Hector: “Though thy form,

Hector, be noble, yet in prowess thou

Art wanting, and thy fame in feats of war

Is not deserved, since thou dost fly the foe.

Think whether thou alone, with others born

In Troy, canst save the city and the state.

For henceforth will no Lycian fight for Troy

Against the Greeks; this conflict without end

Has never earned them thanks. Inglorious chief!

How wilt thou be the shield of humbler men,

If thou canst leave Sarpedon, who has been

Thy comrade and thy guest, to be the prey

And spoil of the Greek warriors? While he lived,

Great was the aid he brought thy cause and thee,

And now thou dost not seek to drive away

The dogs from his neglected corpse. For this,

If any of the Lycians heed my words,

They will go home, and imminent will be

The ruin of thy city. If that firm

And resolute valor lived in Trojan hearts

Which they should cherish who in the defence

Of their own country bear the toils and face

The dangers of the field, we might this hour

Drag off the slain Patroclus into Troy.

And should we bear him from the thick of fight

To the great city of Priam, soon the Greeks

Would let us ransom the rich armor worn

By our Sarpedon, and bring back his corpse;

For he lies slain who was the bosom friend

Of the most valiant chieftain at the fleet

Of Greece and leader of her bravest men.

But thou, when great-souled Ajax fixed his eye

Upon thee, didst not venture to remain

And fight with him; he is more brave than thou.”

The crested Hector frowned and thus replied:⁠—

“Why, Glaucus, should a warrior such as thou

Utter such violent words? My friend, I deemed

That thou wert wise above all other men

Of fertile Lycia, but I now must blame

Thy judgment when thou say’st I shrink to meet

The mighty Ajax. I do neither dread

The battle’s fury nor the rush of steeds;

But all prevailing are the purposes

Of aegis-bearing Jove, who makes the brave

To flee, and takes from him the victory,

And then again impels him to the fight.

Come then, my friend, stand by me; see if I

Skulk this time from the conflict, as thou say’st,

Or tame the courage of whatever Greek,

The bravest, who defends Patroclus slain.”

He spake, and, shouting, cheered the Trojans on:

“Trojans and Lycians and Dardanians, trained

To combat hand to hand, let it be seen,

My friends, that ye are men, and still retain

Your ancient valor; while I buckle on

The glorious armor of the illustrious son

Of Peleus, taken from Patroclus slain.”

So spake the crested Hector, and withdrew

From the fierce conflict, and with rapid steps

O’ertook his comrades as they bore away

Townward the glorious arms of Peleus’ son.

There from that deadly strife apart he stood,

And changed his coat of mail. He gave his own

To his companions, to be carried thence

To sacred Ilium, and he buckled on

The immortal armor of Achilles, son

Of Peleus, which the gods of heaven bestowed

Upon his father, who in his old age

Consigned them to Achilles; but the son

Was never in that armor to grow old.

And when the Cloud-compeller Jove beheld

Hector apart, accoutred in the arms

Of Peleus’ godlike son, he shook his head,

And to himself he said: “Unhappy man!

Death even now is near to thee, and yet

Is not in all thy thoughts. Thou puttest on

The heavenly armor of the terrible chief,

Before whom others tremble; thou hast slain

His friend, the brave and gentle, and hast stripped,

To do him shame, the armor from his limbs.

Yet will I for the moment give to thee

Fresh triumphs, since Andromache shall ne’er

Receive, when thou returnest from the field,

The armor of Pelides from thy hands.”

The son of Saturn spake, and gave the nod

With his dark brows. Well did that coat of mail

Suit Hector’s form. Meantime the god of war

In all his fierceness entered Hector’s breast:

Fresh vigor filled and nerved his frame; he went

Along the ranks of his renowned allies

With shouts; that glittering armor made him seem

The large-souled son of Peleus. To them all

He spake in turn, encouraging their hearts⁠—

To Mesthles, Glaucus, and Thersilochus,

Medon, Deisenor, and Hippothoüs,

Asteropaeus, Phorcys, Chromius,

And Ennomus the Augur; these the chief

Exhorted to the fight with wingèd words:⁠—

“Hear me, ye mighty throng of our allies,

Dwellers of nations round us! Not to make

Our army vast in numbers did I send

To summon you, each from his native town,

But that your willing valor might defend

The wives and children of the sons of Troy

From the assailing Greeks. I therefore give

Most freely of our substance in large gifts

And banquets, that ye all may be content;

And now let some of you move boldly on

To do or die, which is the chance of war.

To him who from the field will drag and bring

The slain Patroclus to the Trojan knights,

Compelling Ajax to give way⁠—to him

I yield up half the spoil; the other half

I keep, and let his glory equal mine.”

He spake, and all that mighty multitude

With lifted lances threw themselves against

The Grecian ranks. They hoped to bear away

The dead from Ajax, son of Telamon.

Ah, idle hope! that hero o’er the dead

Took many a Trojan’s life. Then Ajax thus

To Menelaus, great in battle, spake:⁠—

“O friend, O Menelaus, reared by Jove,

No longer now I hope our safe return

From battle. Not the greatest of my fears

Is for Patroclus, whom the dogs of Troy

And birds of prey full quickly will devour,

But for my life and thine. That cloud of war,

Hector, o’ershadows all, and over us

Impends the doom of death. Yet let us call

Our mighty men, if they perchance may hear.”

He spake, and Menelaus, great in war,

Obeyed his wish and shouted to the Greeks:⁠—

“O friends, the princes and the chiefs of Greece,

Who at the public feasts with Atreus’ sons⁠—

King Agamemnon and his brother chief⁠—

Drink wine⁠—who each command a host, and hold

Your honors and your state from Jove⁠—my eyes

Cannot discern you in the thick of fight;

But some of you, who cannot bear to leave

Patroclus to the dogs of Troy, draw near!”

He spake; Oilean Ajax, swift of foot,

Heard and came forward, hastening through the fight;

And after him Idomeneus, who brought

Meriones, his armor-bearer, fierce

As the man-slayer Mars. But who could tell

The names of all the other Greeks that sprang

To mingle in the strife? The Trojans made

The first assault, and Hector led them on.

As at the mouth of some great river, swol’n

By rains from Jove, the mighty ocean-wave

Meets it with roaring, and the cliffs around

Rebellow, while the surges toss without,

With such a clamor came the Trojans on,

While round Patroclus closed, with one accord,

The Greeks, protected by their brazen shields,

And o’er their shining helmets Saturn’s son

Poured darkness. For when Menoetiades

Yet lived, attendant upon Peleus’ son,

Jove looked on him with no unkind regard,

And now he would not that his corse should feed

The enemy’s dogs, and therefore moved his friends

To rescue him. At first the Trojans drave

The dark-eyed Greeks before them; back they fell

And left the dead; yet, fiercely as they came,

The Trojans slew no man, but dragged away

The dead. A moment, and no more, the Greeks

Fell back; for Ajax quickly rallied them⁠—

Ajax, who, next to Peleus’ valiant son,

Excelled them all in form and feats of war;

He through the foremost warriors brake, as strong

As a wild bear that on the mountain’s side

Breaks through the shrubs, and scatters with a bound

A band of youths and dogs. The illustrious son

Of honored Telamon thus put to rout

The Trojan phalanxes environing

Patroclus, in the hope to bear him thence

Townward with glory. There Hippothoüs, son

Of Lethus the Pelasgian, having bound

A thong about the sinewy ankle, toiled

To drag away the slain man by the foot

From that fierce strife⁠—a grateful spectacle

To Hector and the Trojans. Yet on him

A vengeance which no friendly arm could ward

Fell suddenly. The son of Telamon

Rushed through the crowd, and in close combat smote

His helmet’s brazen cheek. That plumèd helm

Was cleft by the huge spear and vigorous hand,

And where the weapon struck Hippothoüs,

Mingled with blood the brain gushed forth; the life

Forsook his limbs; he dropped from nerveless hands

The foot of brave Patroclus, and beside

The corpse fell headlong⁠—far from the rich fields

Of his Larissa, never to repay

With gentle cares in their old age the love

Of his dear parents; for his life was short,

Slain by the spear of Ajax, large of soul.

Then Hector aimed again his shining spear

At Ajax, who perceived it as it came,

And just avoided it. The weapon struck

Schedius, the valiant son of Iphitus,

And bravest of the Phocians, whose abode

Was Panopeus the famous, where he ruled

O’er many men. Beneath the collar-bone

It pierced him, and passed through; the brazen point

Came out upon the shoulder; to the ground

He fell, his armor clashing with his fall.

Then Ajax smote the valiant Phorcys, son

Of Phoenops, in the navel. Through the mail

The brazen weapon broke, and roughly tore

The entrails. In the dust he fell, and clenched

The earth with dying hands. The foremost ranks,

Led by illustrious Hector, at the sight

Yielded the ground; the Greeks with fearful shouts

Dragged off the bodies of Hippothoüs

And Phorcys, and despoiled them of their arms.

Then would the Trojans have been put to flight

Before the warlike Greeks, and, craven like,

Gone up to Troy, and great had been the fame

Gained by the might and courage of the Greeks,

Beyond what Jupiter designed to give,

Had not Apollo brought Aeneas forth

By putting on the form of Periphas,

The herald and the son of Epytus,

Who in that office as a prudent friend

And counsellor had served, till he grew old,

The father of Aeneas. In his shape

Thus spake Apollo, son of Jupiter:⁠—

“Aeneas, ye might even hold the towers

Of lofty Ilium safe against a god,

Were ye to act as some whom I have seen⁠—

Valiant, and confident in their own might

And multitude of dauntless followers.

And now Jove favors us and offers us

The victory o’er the Greeks, and yet ye flee

In abject terror, and refuse to fight.”

He spake; Aeneas, looking at him, knew

The archer-god, and with a mighty voice

Called out to Hector: “Hector! Thou and all

Who lead the troops of Troy, and our allies,

Great shame it were if we were put to rout

Before the warlike Greeks, and beaten back

To Troy like cowards. Standing by my side,

One of the gods already hath declared

That Jupiter, All-wise, is our ally

In battle. Let us therefore boldly fall

Upon the Greeks, nor suffer them to bear

Patroclus unmolested to their fleet.”

He spake, and, springing to the foremost ranks

Stood firm; the Trojans also turned and faced

The Achaians. Then Aeneas with his spear

Struck down Leocritus, the gallant friend

Of Lycomedes and Arisbas’ son.

The warlike Lycomedes saw his fall

With grief, and came and cast his shining spear

At Apisaon, son of Hippasus,

A shepherd of the people. Underneath

The midriff, through the liver went the spear,

And he fell lifeless. He had come to Troy

From rich Pseonia, and was great in war,

Next to Asteropaeus. As he saw

His comrade fall, Asteropaeus, moved

By grief, advanced to combat with the Greeks,

But could not; for the group that stood around

Patroclus showed a fence of shields, and held

Their spears before them. Ajax moved among

The warriors, charging them that none should leave

The corpse, and none should step beyond the rest

To strike the foe, but stay to guard the dead,

And combat hand to hand. Such was the charge

Of mighty Ajax. All the earth around

Was steeped with blood, and many a corpse was heaped

On corpse of Trojans and their brave allies,

And of the Greeks, for even on their side

The strife was not unbloody, though of Greeks

There perished fewer; each was on the watch

To ward the battle’s dangers from the rest.

Then did they fight like fire. You could not say

The sun was safe, nor yet the moon, so thick

A darkness gathered over the brave men

Around the corpse of Menoetiades.

The other Trojans and the well-armed Greeks

Fought freely under the clear sky; the sun

Shed o’er them his full brightness; not a cloud

Shadowed the earth, or rested on the hills.

From time to time they paused, and warily

They shunned each other’s cruel darts, and kept

Far from each other, while in the mid-war

Struggled the combatants in darkness, galled

By the remorseless weapons of their foes.

Yet Thrasymedes and Antilochus,

Two famous Grecian warriors, had not learned

That excellent Patroclus was no more,

But thought that, still alive, he led the war

Against the Trojans, fighting in the van.

They watched the flight and slaughter of the Greeks,

And fought apart, for Nestor so enjoined,

Who sent them to the battle from the fleet.

But they who held the middle space around

The friend of swift Aeacides, maintained

A desperate strife all day; the knees, the thighs,

The feet, the hands, the eyes of those who fought

Were faint with weariness and foul with sweat.

As when an ample ox-hide, steeped in fat,

Is given to workmen to be stretched, they stand

Around it in a circle, pulling it,

Till forth the moisture issues, and the oil

Enters the skin, and by that constant strain

From many hands the hide is duly stretched,

So in small space the warriors drew the dead

Hither and thither; they of Ilium strove

To drag it to the city, they of Greece

To bear it to the fleet. The tumult then

Was terrible, and neither Mars himself,

The musterer of hosts, nor Pallas, roused

To her intensest wrath, had they been near

The struggle, would have seen it with disdain.

Such deadly strife of steeds and men was held

O’er slain Patroclus by the will of Jove.

The great Achilles knew not yet the fate

Of his Patroclus, for the warriors fought

Far from the fleet, beside the wall of Troy.

He never thought of him as one whose death

Was near, but trusted that, when once he reached

The Trojan wall, he would return alive;

Nor ever deemed he that without his aid,

Or even with it, would Patroclus sack

The city. This was what he oft had heard

From Thetis, who disclosed to him apart

The counsel of Almighty Jupiter.

Yet had his mother never once revealed

The present evil⁠—that the one whom most

He loved of all his friends should perish thus.

Still round the dead they fought with their keen spears,

And slew each other. Then of the mailed Greeks

Someone would say: “O friends, it were disgrace

Should we fall back upon our roomy ships.

First let the dark earth swallow us; for this

Were better than to let the Trojan knights

Drag off the dead in triumph to their town.”

And some among the large-souled sons of Troy

Would say: “O friends, though all of us should fall

Beside this corpse, let no one turn and flee.”

Thus they, encouraging each other, spake,

And thus the fight went on. The iron din

Rose through the waste air to the brazen heaven.

Meantime aloof from battle stood the steeds

Of Peleus’ son, and sorrowed when they knew

That he who guided them lay stretched in dust

By Hector’s slaughtering hand. Automedon,

The brave son of Diores, often tried

The lash, and gentle words as oft, and oft

Shouted forth threats; yet neither would they move

Toward the broad Hellespont, where lay the fleet,

Nor toward the Greeks in combat, but remained

Motionless as a funeral column, reared

To mark a man’s or woman’s tomb. So stood

The coursers yoked to that magnificent car,

With drooping heads, and tears that from their lids

Flowed hot, for sorrow at the loss of him

Who was their charioteer, and their fair manes,

Sweeping the yoke below, were foul with dust.

The son of Saturn saw their grief, and shook

His head in pity, saying to himself:⁠—

“Why did the gods bestow you, luckless pair,

On Peleus⁠—on a king of mortal birth⁠—

You who shall never feel old age or death?

Was it that ye might share with human-kind

Their sorrows? for the race of mortal men

Of all that breathe and move upon the earth

Is the most wretched. Yet of this be sure⁠—

That ye shall never in that sumptuous car

Bear Hector. Is it not enough that he

Should wear that armor, uttering idle boasts?

And now will I infuse into your limbs

Spirit and strength, that ye may safely bear

Automedon across the battle-field

To where the roomy galleys lie. I yet

Must give more glory to the men of Troy,

And they must slay until they come again

To the good ships of Greece⁠—until the sun

Goes down and sacred darkness covers all.”

So spake the god, and breathed into the steeds

New life and vigor. From their manes they shook

The dust, and flew with that swift car among

The Greeks and Trojans. With the Trojan throng,

Automedon, though mourning his slain friend,

Maintained the fight; he rushed upon their ranks,

A vulture pouncing on a flock of geese.

Swiftly he passed from out the Trojan throng;

Swiftly again he charged their phalanxes

In fierce pursuit. Yet slew he none of those

Whom he pursued; he could not guide at once

The steeds and cast the spear, when seated thus

Alone within that sacred car. At last

A friend, the valorous Alcimedon,

Laërces’ son, of Aemon’s line, beheld

His plight, and, standing near his chariot, said:⁠—

“What god, Automedon, hath prompted thee

To these mad acts, and stolen thy better sense,

Fighting alone among the foremost ranks

Of Trojan warriors, thy companion slain,

And Hector in the field, who boastfully

Stalks in the armor of Aeacides?”

And thus Automedon, Diores’ son,

Made answer: “Who is there among the Greeks

Able like thee, Alcimedon, to rein

And curb the spirit of immortal steeds?

None were there save Patroclus while he lived,

Wise as a god in council. Death and fate

Now hold him. To thy hand I give the lash

And shining reins, while I descend and fight.”

He spake, and into his swift chariot sprang

Alcimedon, and took the lash and reins.

Automedon leaped down. As Hector saw,

He thus bespake Aeneas at his side:⁠—

“Aeneas, leader of the men of Troy,

Equipped in brazen armor, I have seen

Those coursers of the swift Aeacides

Driven through the battle by unwarlike hands,

And ’tis my hope, if thou wilt give thine aid,

To seize them. They who guide them will not dare

To stand and face us when we make the charge.”

He spake; Anchises’ valiant son complied,

And, sheltered by their shields of tough ox-hide,

Well dried and firm, and strong with plates of brass,

The twain went forward. With them at their side

Went Chromius and Aretus, nobly formed,

In hope to lead away the high-necked steeds,

Their guardians slain. Vain dreamers! They were doomed

Not without bloody penance to return

From that encounter with Automedon,

Who prayed to Father Jove, and whose faint heart

Was strengthened and made bold. And thus the chief

Said to his faithful friend Alcimedon:⁠—

“Keep not the steeds thou guidest far from me,

Alcimedon, but let them ever breathe

Upon my shoulders. Hector, Priam’s son,

I think, will not give over this assault

Before he either slays us, and ascends

The car to which these steeds with flowing manes

Are yoked, and puts to flight the phalanxes

Of Argive warriors, or himself is slain.”

He spake, and called to both the Ajaxes

And Menelaus: “Ye who lead the Greeks,”

He said, and named the chieftains, “give in charge

The dead to your best warriors, to surround

And guard the corpse, and drive away the foe;

But hasten to avert the evil day

From us who are alive. For even now

Hector comes rushing through the deadly fight,

And brings Aeneas; these are the most brave

Of all the Trojan army. On the knees

Of the great gods the issue rests. I too

Will cast the spear, and leave the rest to Jove.”

He spake, and lifting his huge spear he smote

The round shield of Aretus. There the blade

Stopped not, but, entering, pierced him through the belt.

As, when a vigorous youth with a keen axe

Strikes a wild bull behind the horns, and there

Severs the sinews, forward leaps the beast

And falls⁠—Aretus, springing forward thus,

Fell headlong. In the Trojan’s entrails still

Quivered the spear, and life forsook his limbs.

Then Hector aimed, to smite Automedon,

His shining spear. The Greek beheld and stooped,

And shunned the brazen weapon. Down it came,

And plunged into the earth, and stood, its stem

Still shaken with the blow, and spent its force.

Now would the twain have turned, and hand to hand

Fought with their swords, when suddenly came up

The warriors Ajax, hastening, at the call

Of their companion, through the crowd, and stayed

The combat. Hector and Aeneas then,

And Chromius, of the godlike form, withdrew

Through caution, leaving on the battle-field

Aretus lying mangled. The fierce chief

Automedon despoiled the dead, and spake

Boastfully: “Somewhat lighter on my heart

Lies now my grief for Menoetiades,

Though I have slain a man of meaner note.”

As thus he spake, he threw the bloody spoils

Into his chariot, mounting to the seat,

His feet and hands all crimson with the blood,

As when a lion has devoured an ox.

Then round Patroclus raged the strife again,

Murderous and sad to see; for Pallas there

Inflamed the strife, sent down from heaven by Jove,

To rouse the courage of the Greeks, since such

Was now his will. As when the god displays

To men a purple rainbow in the skies,

A sign of war or of a bitter storm,

Which drives the laborer from his task, and makes

The cattle droop, so, in a purple cloud

Concealed, she went among the Greeks, and filled

Their hearts with valor. Taking first the form

Of Phoenix, and his clear, unwearied voice,

She spake in stirring words to Atreus’ son,

The gallant Menelaus, standing near:

“Shame and dishonor will it be to thee,

O Menelaus, if, beneath the walls

Of Troy, the hungry dogs should tear the corpse

Of him who was in life the faithful friend

Of great Achilles. Fight thou therefore on

Bravely, and bid the other Greeks be brave.”

And Menelaus, great in war, rejoined:

“O Phoenix, aged father, who wert born

In days long past, would but Minerva give

The needed strength, and ward from me the stroke

Of weapons, then would I stand by and guard

Patroclus, for his death hath filled my heart

With grief. But Hector’s rage is like the rage

Of fire; he ceases not to slay; for Jove

Gives to his spear the glory of the day.”

He spake, and well was blue-eyed Pallas pleased

That first to her of all the deities

He prayed; and therefore did she nerve his chest

And knees with strength, and put into his heart

The daring of the fly, that, often driven

From man, returns and bites, and finds how sweet

Is human blood. Such resolute zeal she woke

In his stern soul, as quickly he approached

Patroclus, and sent forth his shining spear.

Among the Trojans was Eëtion’s son,

Podes, the rich and brave, whom Hector held

In highest honor, choosing him to be

Companion of his feasts. Him in the waist

The fair-haired Menelaus, as he fled,

Smote, driving home the weapon. With a clash

He fell to earth, and Menelaus drew

The slain away among the Grecian ranks.

Then came Apollo, putting on the form

Of Phaenops, son of Asius, whose abode

Was in Abydos, and whom Hector most

Esteemed of all his guests. The archer-god

Drew near to Hector, and bespake him thus:⁠—

“Hector, what other Greek will fear thee now,

Since thou dost shrink from Menelaus, deemed

Effeminate in war? Behold, he drags

Away a warrior from thy host; his hand

Hath slain thy faithful friend, Eëtion’s son,

Brave Podes, fighting in the foremost ranks.”

He spake: a cloud of sorrow overspread

The soul of Hector. Armed in glittering brass,

He went among the warriors in the van.

Then did the son of Saturn lift on high

His fringèd aegis, gleaming; with a cloud

He covered Ida, sent his lightnings down,

And thundered terribly, and made the mount

Shake to its base, and gave the victory

To Troy, and put to rout the Grecian host.

Peneleus of Bueotia led the fight.

A spear that lighted on the shoulder-tip,

As he came forward, wounded him. The blade,

Hurled by Polydamas in close assault,

Entered and grazed the bone. Then Hector pierced

The wrist of Leitus, Alectryon’s son,

And made him leave the combat. As he fled

He looked around in fear, nor hoped again

To wield the spear against the men of Troy.

As Hector followed Leitus, he met

The long spear of Idomeneus, which struck

His corselet near the pap; the weapon broke

Sheer at the socket, and the Trojans raised

A shout, while Hector at Idomeneus

Let fly his spear. It missed the chief, but smote

Coeranus, who from pleasant Lyctus came,

The friend and follower of Meriones.

For on that day Idomeneus had come

From his good ships on foot, and great had been

The triumph of the Trojans at his fall,

If Coeranus had not with his swift steeds

Passed near and bid him mount. ’Twas thus he came

To save Idomeneus from death, and yield

To the man-queller Hector his own life;

The javelin entered underneath the ear,

By the jaw-bone, where, forcing out the teeth,

It cleft the tongue in twain. He fell to earth,

And dropped the reins. Meriones stooped down

And took them from the dust in his own hands,

And thus bespake Idomeneus: “Ply well

The lash, until thy coursers reach the fleet,

For thou mayst clearly see that victory

Today is not upon the Grecian side.”

He spake: Idomeneus, fear-smitten, lashed

The long-maned steeds that hurried toward the fleet.

Nor now did Menelaus nor his friend,

The valiant Ajax, fail to see that Jove

Had changed the vantage to the side of Troy.

And thus the son of Telamon began:⁠—

“Alas! The feeblest mind can now perceive

That Father Jove is with the sons of Troy,

And gives to them the glory of the day.

Their weapons smite, whoever sends them forth,

Coward or brave, for Jove directs them all;

Ours fall to earth in vain. But let us now

Consult how best to bear the corpse away,

And how, returning, we may meet our friends

With joy; for they are grieved as they behold

Our plight, and fear that we may not withstand

The fiery onset and invincible arm

Of the man-queller Hector. Would there were

Some comrade who would bear to Peleus’ son

The tidings of the day! For he, I think,

Has not yet heard that his dear friend is slain.

None such can I behold of all the Greeks,

For they are shrouded all⁠—their steeds and they⁠—

In darkness. Father Jove, deliver us

From darkness; clear the heavens and give our eyes

Again to see. Destroy us if thou wilt,

But O destroy us in the light of day!”

He spake: the All-Father saw him shedding tears,

And pitied him, and bade the shadows flee,

And swept away the cloud. The sun looked forth,

And all the battle lay in light. Then thus

To warlike Menelaus Ajax said:⁠—

“O Menelaus, foster-child of Jove,

Look round and see if yet Antilochus,

The large-souled son of Nestor, is alive,

And bid him bear the tidings in all haste

To the great son of Peleus, that the one

Of all his friends whom most he loved is slain.”

He spake, and Menelaus, great in war,

Complied, and hastened forth, as from a fold

A lion stalks away, that long has kept

In fear the hounds and herdsmen, who all night

Have watched to drive him from their well-fed beeves,

While, eager for his prey, he rushes oft

Against them, but in vain, for many a spear

Is hurled at him, and many a blazing brand,

Which, fierce for ravin as he is, he dreads,

Till sullenly at early mom he goes.

So from Patroclus went unwillingly

The valiant Menelaus, for he feared

Lest, panic-struck, the Greeks should leave his corpse

The enemy’s prey. Thus earnestly he prayed

The warriors Ajax and Meriones:⁠—

“Ye warriors Ajax, leaders of the Greeks!

And thou, Meriones! Let each of you

Bear well in mind how kindly was the mood

Of poor Patroclus; gentle in his life

Was he to all, and now is with the dead.”

The fair-haired Menelaus, speaking thus,

Withdrew. He looked around him as he went,

As looks an eagle, bird of sharpest sight⁠—

So men declare⁠—of all the fowls of air,

From which, though high in heaven, the nimble hare

Beneath the thicket is not hid; he stoops,

And takes the creature’s life. Thy piercing eyes,

O Menelaus, thus on every side

Were turned, in eager scrutiny, to find

Among the multitude of Greeks the son

Of Nestor living. Him he soon descried

Upon the battle’s left, where manfully

He cheered his fellows on. The fair-haired son

Of Atreus came and stood by him, and said:⁠—

“Stay, foster-child of Jove, Antilochus!

And listen to the sorrowful news I bring

Of what should ne’er have been. Thou must have well

Perceived, I think, that some divinity

Doth heap disaster on our host, and give

The victory to the Trojans. He is dead⁠—

Patroclus⁠—the most valiant of the Greeks,

And great their sorrow is. Now hasten thou

To the Greek galleys; let Achilles know

The tidings; he may haply bring the corpse,

Stripped as it is, unmangled to the fleet,

For crested Hector has the arms he wore.”

He spake, and at his words Antilochus

Was horror-struck; in grief too great for speech,

Tears filled his eyes, and his clear voice was choked.

Yet heeded he the mandate. Laying off

His arms, he gave them to his blameless friend,

Laodocus, who with his firm-paced steeds

Came toward him. Thus prepared he ran; his feet

Carried him swiftly from the battle-field

To bear the evil news to Peleus’ son.

Yet Menelaus, foster-child of Jove,

Thy spirit did not prompt thee to remain

And aid thy hard-pressed comrades at the spot

Whence thou didst send Antilochus, and where

The Pyleans longed to keep him. Yet he sent

The noble Thrasymedes to their aid,

While he returned to where Patroclus lay,

And stood beside the warriors there, and said:⁠—

“I sent to swift Achilles at the fleet

A messenger, yet think he will not come.

Though royal Hector’s deed hath roused his rage,

Unarmed he cannot meet the sons of Troy.

Consult we then how we may best convey

The body to the ships, and how ourselves

Escape the doom of death by Trojan hands.”

The mighty Ajax, son of Telamon,

Replied: “O Menelaus far-renowned,

Well hast thou spoken. Lift thou now the corse,

Thou and Meriones, and place yourselves

Beneath it, and convey it from the field.

We, following you, will combat with the sons

Of Troy and noble Hector⁠—we who, named

Alike and one in spirit, oft have borne

The fury of the battle side by side.”

He ended, and the warriors in their arms

Raised with main strength the body from the ground.

The Trojans, as they saw it borne away,

Shouted behind them, rushing on like hounds

That spring upon a wounded forest-boar

Before the hunter-youths now pressing close

Upon his flank, to tear him, then again,

Whene’er he turns upon them in his strength,

Retreating in dismay, and put to flight

Hither and thither. Thus, in hot pursuit

And close array, the Trojans following strook

With swords and two-edged spears; but when the twain

Turned and stood firm to meet them, every cheek

Grew pale, and not a single Trojan dared

Draw near the Greeks to combat for the corse.

Thus rapidly they bore away the dead

Toward their good galleys from the battle-field.

Onward with them the furious battle swept,

As spreads a fire that, kindled suddenly,

Seizes a city, and the dwellings sink

In the consuming blaze, and a strong wind

Roars through the flame. Such fearful din of steeds

And warriors followed the retreating Greeks.

As from a mountain summit strong-backed mules

Drag over the rough ways a ponderous beam

Or mast, till weary with the mighty strain

And streaming sweat, so they with resolute toil

Bore off the dead. Behind them as they went

Their two defenders kept the foe aloof.

As when a river-dike o’ergrown with trees

Crosses a plain, and holds the violent course

Of the swol’n stream in check, and, driving back

The waters, spreads them o’er the level fields,

Nor can their fury force a passage through⁠—

So did the warriors Ajax hold in check

The Trojans; yet they followed close, and two

More closely than the rest⁠—Aeneas, son

Of old Anchises, and the illustrious chief,

Hector. As when a company of daws

Or starlings, startled at a hawk’s approach,

The murderous enemy of the smaller birds,

Take wing with piercing cries, so, driven before

The might of Hector and Aeneas, fled

The Greeks with clamorous cries, and thought no more

Of combat. In the trench and near it lay

Many fair weapons, which the fugitive Greeks

Had dropped in haste, and still the war went on.