The Iliad - 07

Long had he lived the scorn of every Greek,
Vex’d when he spoke, yet still they heard him speak.
Sharp was his voice; which in the shrillest tone,
Thus with injurious taunts attack’d the throne.
“Amidst the glories of so bright a reign,
What moves the great Atrides to complain?
’Tis thine whate’er the warrior’s breast inflames,
The golden spoil, and thine the lovely dames.
With all the wealth our wars and blood bestow,
Thy tents are crowded and thy chests o’erflow.
Thus at full ease in heaps of riches roll’d,
What grieves the monarch? Is it thirst of gold?
Say, shall we march with our unconquer’d powers
(The Greeks and I) to Ilion’s hostile towers,
And bring the race of royal bastards here,
For Troy to ransom at a price too dear?
But safer plunder thy own host supplies;
Say, wouldst thou seize some valiant leader’s prize?
Or, if thy heart to generous love be led,
Some captive fair, to bless thy kingly bed?
Whate’er our master craves submit we must,
Plagued with his pride, or punish’d for his lust.
Oh women of Achaia; men no more!
Hence let us fly, and let him waste his store
In loves and pleasures on the Phrygian shore.
We may be wanted on some busy day,
When Hector comes: so great Achilles may:
From him he forced the prize we jointly gave,
From him, the fierce, the fearless, and the brave:
And durst he, as he ought, resent that wrong,
This mighty tyrant were no tyrant long.”
Fierce from his seat at this Ulysses springs,[87]
In generous vengeance of the king of kings.
With indignation sparkling in his eyes,
He views the wretch, and sternly thus replies:
“Peace, factious monster, born to vex the state,
With wrangling talents form’d for foul debate:
Curb that impetuous tongue, nor rashly vain,
And singly mad, asperse the sovereign reign.
Have we not known thee, slave! of all our host,
The man who acts the least, upbraids the most?
Think not the Greeks to shameful flight to bring,
Nor let those lips profane the name of king.
For our return we trust the heavenly powers;
Be that their care; to fight like men be ours.
But grant the host with wealth the general load,
Except detraction, what hast thou bestow’d?
Suppose some hero should his spoils resign,
Art thou that hero, could those spoils be thine?
Gods! let me perish on this hateful shore,
And let these eyes behold my son no more;
If, on thy next offence, this hand forbear
To strip those arms thou ill deserv’st to wear,
Expel the council where our princes meet,
And send thee scourged and howling through the fleet.”
He said, and cowering as the dastard bends,
The weighty sceptre on his back descends.[88]
On the round bunch the bloody tumours rise:
The tears spring starting from his haggard eyes;
Trembling he sat, and shrunk in abject fears,
From his vile visage wiped the scalding tears;
While to his neighbour each express’d his thought:
“Ye gods! what wonders has Ulysses wrought!
What fruits his conduct and his courage yield!
Great in the council, glorious in the field.
Generous he rises in the crown’s defence,
To curb the factious tongue of insolence,
Such just examples on offenders shown,
Sedition silence, and assert the throne.”
’Twas thus the general voice the hero praised,
Who, rising, high the imperial sceptre raised:
The blue-eyed Pallas, his celestial friend,
(In form a herald,) bade the crowds attend.
The expecting crowds in still attention hung,
To hear the wisdom of his heavenly tongue.
Then deeply thoughtful, pausing ere he spoke,
His silence thus the prudent hero broke:
“Unhappy monarch! whom the Grecian race
With shame deserting, heap with vile disgrace.
Not such at Argos was their generous vow:
Once all their voice, but ah! forgotten now:
Ne’er to return, was then the common cry,
Till Troy’s proud structures should in ashes lie.
Behold them weeping for their native shore;
What could their wives or helpless children more?
What heart but melts to leave the tender train,
And, one short month, endure the wintry main?
Few leagues removed, we wish our peaceful seat,
When the ship tosses, and the tempests beat:
Then well may this long stay provoke their tears,
The tedious length of nine revolving years.
Not for their grief the Grecian host I blame;
But vanquish’d! baffled! oh, eternal shame!
Expect the time to Troy’s destruction given.
And try the faith of Chalcas and of heaven.
What pass’d at Aulis, Greece can witness bear,[89]
And all who live to breathe this Phrygian air.
Beside a fountain’s sacred brink we raised
Our verdant altars, and the victims blazed:
’Twas where the plane-tree spread its shades around,
The altars heaved; and from the crumbling ground
A mighty dragon shot, of dire portent;
From Jove himself the dreadful sign was sent.
Straight to the tree his sanguine spires he roll’d,
And curl’d around in many a winding fold;
The topmost branch a mother-bird possess’d;
Eight callow infants fill’d the mossy nest;
Herself the ninth; the serpent, as he hung,
Stretch’d his black jaws and crush’d the crying young;
While hovering near, with miserable moan,
The drooping mother wail’d her children gone.
The mother last, as round the nest she flew,
Seized by the beating wing, the monster slew;
Nor long survived: to marble turn’d, he stands
A lasting prodigy on Aulis’ sands.
Such was the will of Jove; and hence we dare
Trust in his omen, and support the war.
For while around we gazed with wondering eyes,
And trembling sought the powers with sacrifice,
Full of his god, the reverend Chalcas cried,[90]
‘Ye Grecian warriors! lay your fears aside.
This wondrous signal Jove himself displays,
Of long, long labours, but eternal praise.
As many birds as by the snake were slain,
So many years the toils of Greece remain;
But wait the tenth, for Ilion’s fall decreed:’
Thus spoke the prophet, thus the Fates succeed.
Obey, ye Grecians! with submission wait,
Nor let your flight avert the Trojan fate.”
He said: the shores with loud applauses sound,
The hollow ships each deafening shout rebound.
Then Nestor thus—“These vain debates forbear,
Ye talk like children, not like heroes dare.
Where now are all your high resolves at last?
Your leagues concluded, your engagements past?
Vow’d with libations and with victims then,
Now vanish’d like their smoke: the faith of men!
While useless words consume the unactive hours,
No wonder Troy so long resists our powers.
Rise, great Atrides! and with courage sway;
We march to war, if thou direct the way.
But leave the few that dare resist thy laws,
The mean deserters of the Grecian cause,
To grudge the conquests mighty Jove prepares,
And view with envy our successful wars.
On that great day, when first the martial train,
Big with the fate of Ilion, plough’d the main,
Jove, on the right, a prosperous signal sent,
And thunder rolling shook the firmament.
Encouraged hence, maintain the glorious strife,
Till every soldier grasp a Phrygian wife,
Till Helen’s woes at full revenged appear,
And Troy’s proud matrons render tear for tear.
Before that day, if any Greek invite
His country’s troops to base, inglorious flight,
Stand forth that Greek! and hoist his sail to fly,
And die the dastard first, who dreads to die.
But now, O monarch! all thy chiefs advise:[91]
Nor what they offer, thou thyself despise.
Among those counsels, let not mine be vain;
In tribes and nations to divide thy train:
His separate troops let every leader call,
Each strengthen each, and all encourage all.
What chief, or soldier, of the numerous band,
Or bravely fights, or ill obeys command,
When thus distinct they war, shall soon be known
And what the cause of Ilion not o’erthrown;
If fate resists, or if our arms are slow,
If gods above prevent, or men below.”
To him the king: “How much thy years excel
In arts of counsel, and in speaking well!
O would the gods, in love to Greece, decree
But ten such sages as they grant in thee;
Such wisdom soon should Priam’s force destroy,
And soon should fall the haughty towers of Troy!
But Jove forbids, who plunges those he hates
In fierce contention and in vain debates:
Now great Achilles from our aid withdraws,
By me provoked; a captive maid the cause:
If e’er as friends we join, the Trojan wall
Must shake, and heavy will the vengeance fall!
But now, ye warriors, take a short repast;
And, well refresh’d, to bloody conflict haste.
His sharpen’d spear let every Grecian wield,
And every Grecian fix his brazen shield,
Let all excite the fiery steeds of war,
And all for combat fit the rattling car.
This day, this dreadful day, let each contend;
No rest, no respite, till the shades descend;
Till darkness, or till death, shall cover all:
Let the war bleed, and let the mighty fall;
Till bathed in sweat be every manly breast,
With the huge shield each brawny arm depress’d,
Each aching nerve refuse the lance to throw,
And each spent courser at the chariot blow.
Who dares, inglorious, in his ships to stay,
Who dares to tremble on this signal day;
That wretch, too mean to fall by martial power,
The birds shall mangle, and the dogs devour.”
The monarch spoke; and straight a murmur rose,
Loud as the surges when the tempest blows,
That dash’d on broken rocks tumultuous roar,
And foam and thunder on the stony shore.
Straight to the tents the troops dispersing bend,
The fires are kindled, and the smokes ascend;
With hasty feasts they sacrifice, and pray,
To avert the dangers of the doubtful day.
A steer of five years’ age, large limb’d, and fed,[92]
To Jove’s high altars Agamemnon led:
There bade the noblest of the Grecian peers;
And Nestor first, as most advanced in years.
Next came Idomeneus,[93] and Tydeus’ son,[94]
Ajax the less, and Ajax Telamon;[95]
Then wise Ulysses in his rank was placed;
And Menelaus came, unbid, the last.[96]
The chiefs surround the destined beast, and take
The sacred offering of the salted cake:
When thus the king prefers his solemn prayer;
“O thou! whose thunder rends the clouded air,
Who in the heaven of heavens hast fixed thy throne,
Supreme of gods! unbounded, and alone!
Hear! and before the burning sun descends,
Before the night her gloomy veil extends,
Low in the dust be laid yon hostile spires,
Be Priam’s palace sunk in Grecian fires.
In Hector’s breast be plunged this shining sword,
And slaughter’d heroes groan around their lord!”
Thus prayed the chief: his unavailing prayer
Great Jove refused, and toss’d in empty air:
The God averse, while yet the fumes arose,
Prepared new toils, and doubled woes on woes.
Their prayers perform’d the chiefs the rite pursue,
The barley sprinkled, and the victim slew.
The limbs they sever from the inclosing hide,
The thighs, selected to the gods, divide.
On these, in double cauls involved with art,
The choicest morsels lie from every part,
From the cleft wood the crackling flames aspire
While the fat victims feed the sacred fire.
The thighs thus sacrificed, and entrails dress’d
The assistants part, transfix, and roast the rest;
Then spread the tables, the repast prepare,
Each takes his seat, and each receives his share.
Soon as the rage of hunger was suppress’d,
The generous Nestor thus the prince address’d.
“Now bid thy heralds sound the loud alarms,
And call the squadrons sheathed in brazen arms;
Now seize the occasion, now the troops survey,
And lead to war when heaven directs the way.”
He said; the monarch issued his commands;
Straight the loud heralds call the gathering bands;
The chiefs inclose their king; the hosts divide,
In tribes and nations rank’d on either side.
High in the midst the blue-eyed virgin flies;
From rank to rank she darts her ardent eyes;
The dreadful ægis, Jove’s immortal shield,
Blazed on her arm, and lighten’d all the field:
Round the vast orb a hundred serpents roll’d,
Form’d the bright fringe, and seem’d to burn in gold,
With this each Grecian’s manly breast she warms,
Swells their bold hearts, and strings their nervous arms,
No more they sigh, inglorious, to return,
But breathe revenge, and for the combat burn.
As on some mountain, through the lofty grove,
The crackling flames ascend, and blaze above;
The fires expanding, as the winds arise,
Shoot their long beams, and kindle half the skies:
So from the polish’d arms, and brazen shields,
A gleamy splendour flash’d along the fields.
Not less their number than the embodied cranes,
Or milk-white swans in Asius’ watery plains.
That, o’er the windings of Cayster’s springs,[97]
Stretch their long necks, and clap their rustling wings,
Now tower aloft, and course in airy rounds,
Now light with noise; with noise the field resounds.
Thus numerous and confused, extending wide,
The legions crowd Scamander’s flowery side;[98]
With rushing troops the plains are cover’d o’er,
And thundering footsteps shake the sounding shore.
Along the river’s level meads they stand,
Thick as in spring the flowers adorn the land,
Or leaves the trees; or thick as insects play,
The wandering nation of a summer’s day:
That, drawn by milky steams, at evening hours,
In gather’d swarms surround the rural bowers;
From pail to pail with busy murmur run
The gilded legions, glittering in the sun.
So throng’d, so close, the Grecian squadrons stood
In radiant arms, and thirst for Trojan blood.
Each leader now his scatter’d force conjoins
In close array, and forms the deepening lines.
Not with more ease the skilful shepherd-swain
Collects his flocks from thousands on the plain.
The king of kings, majestically tall,
Towers o’er his armies, and outshines them all;
Like some proud bull, that round the pastures leads
His subject herds, the monarch of the meads,
Great as the gods, the exalted chief was seen,
His strength like Neptune, and like Mars his mien;[99]
Jove o’er his eyes celestial glories spread,
And dawning conquest played around his head.
Say, virgins, seated round the throne divine,
All-knowing goddesses! immortal nine![100]
Since earth’s wide regions, heaven’s umneasur’d height,
And hell’s abyss, hide nothing from your sight,
(We, wretched mortals! lost in doubts below,
But guess by rumour, and but boast we know,)
O say what heroes, fired by thirst of fame,
Or urged by wrongs, to Troy’s destruction came.
To count them all, demands a thousand tongues,
A throat of brass, and adamantine lungs.
Daughters of Jove, assist! inspired by you
The mighty labour dauntless I pursue;
What crowded armies, from what climes they bring,
Their names, their numbers, and their chiefs I sing.
THE CATALOGUE OF THE SHIPS.[101]

[Illustration: ] NEPTUNE

The hardy warriors whom Bœotia bred,
Penelius, Leitus, Prothoënor, led:
With these Arcesilaus and Clonius stand,
Equal in arms, and equal in command.
These head the troops that rocky Aulis yields,
And Eteon’s hills, and Hyrie’s watery fields,
And Schoenos, Scholos, Græa near the main,
And Mycalessia’s ample piny plain;
Those who in Peteon or Ilesion dwell,
Or Harma where Apollo’s prophet fell;
Heleon and Hylè, which the springs o’erflow;
And Medeon lofty, and Ocalea low;
Or in the meads of Haliartus stray,
Or Thespia sacred to the god of day:
Onchestus, Neptune’s celebrated groves;
Copæ, and Thisbè, famed for silver doves;
For flocks Erythræ, Glissa for the vine;
Platea green, and Nysa the divine;
And they whom Thebé’s well-built walls inclose,
Where Mydè, Eutresis, Coronè, rose;
And Arnè rich, with purple harvests crown’d;
And Anthedon, Bœotia’s utmost bound.
Full fifty ships they send, and each conveys
Twice sixty warriors through the foaming seas.[102]
To these succeed Aspledon’s martial train,
Who plough the spacious Orchomenian plain.
Two valiant brothers rule the undaunted throng,
Iälmen and Ascalaphus the strong:
Sons of Astyochè, the heavenly fair,
Whose virgin charms subdued the god of war:
(In Actor’s court as she retired to rest,
The strength of Mars the blushing maid compress’d)
Their troops in thirty sable vessels sweep,
With equal oars, the hoarse-resounding deep.
The Phocians next in forty barks repair;
Epistrophus and Schedius head the war:
From those rich regions where Cephisus leads
His silver current through the flowery meads;
From Panopëa, Chrysa the divine,
Where Anemoria’s stately turrets shine,
Where Pytho, Daulis, Cyparissus stood,
And fair Lilæ views the rising flood.
These, ranged in order on the floating tide,
Close, on the left, the bold Bœotians’ side.
Fierce Ajax led the Locrian squadrons on,
Ajax the less, Oïleus’ valiant son;
Skill’d to direct the flying dart aright;
Swift in pursuit, and active in the fight.
Him, as their chief, the chosen troops attend,
Which Bessa, Thronus, and rich Cynos send;
Opus, Calliarus, and Scarphe’s bands;
And those who dwell where pleasing Augia stands,
And where Boägrius floats the lowly lands,
Or in fair Tarphe’s sylvan seats reside:
In forty vessels cut the yielding tide.
Eubœa next her martial sons prepares,
And sends the brave Abantes to the wars:
Breathing revenge, in arms they take their way
From Chalcis’ walls, and strong Eretria;
The Isteian fields for generous vines renown’d,
The fair Caristos, and the Styrian ground;
Where Dios from her towers o’erlooks the plain,
And high Cerinthus views the neighbouring main.
Down their broad shoulders falls a length of hair;
Their hands dismiss not the long lance in air;
But with protended spears in fighting fields
Pierce the tough corslets and the brazen shields.
Twice twenty ships transport the warlike bands,
Which bold Elphenor, fierce in arms, commands.
Full fifty more from Athens stem the main,
Led by Menestheus through the liquid plain.
(Athens the fair, where great Erectheus sway’d,
That owed his nurture to the blue-eyed maid,
But from the teeming furrow took his birth,
The mighty offspring of the foodful earth.
Him Pallas placed amidst her wealthy fane,
Adored with sacrifice and oxen slain;
Where, as the years revolve, her altars blaze,
And all the tribes resound the goddess’ praise.)
No chief like thee, Menestheus! Greece could yield,
To marshal armies in the dusty field,
The extended wings of battle to display,
Or close the embodied host in firm array.
Nestor alone, improved by length of days,
For martial conduct bore an equal praise.
With these appear the Salaminian bands,
Whom the gigantic Telamon commands;
In twelve black ships to Troy they steer their course,
And with the great Athenians join their force.
Next move to war the generous Argive train,
From high Trœzenè, and Maseta’s plain,
And fair Ægina circled by the main:
Whom strong Tyrinthe’s lofty walls surround,
And Epidaure with viny harvests crown’d:
And where fair Asinen and Hermoin show
Their cliffs above, and ample bay below.
These by the brave Euryalus were led,
Great Sthenelus, and greater Diomed;
But chief Tydides bore the sovereign sway:
In fourscore barks they plough the watery way.
The proud Mycenè arms her martial powers,
Cleonè, Corinth, with imperial towers,[103]
Fair Aræthyrea, Ornia’s fruitful plain,
And Ægion, and Adrastus’ ancient reign;
And those who dwell along the sandy shore,
And where Pellenè yields her fleecy store,
Where Helicè and Hyperesia lie,
And Gonoëssa’s spires salute the sky.
Great Agamemnon rules the numerous band,
A hundred vessels in long order stand,
And crowded nations wait his dread command.
High on the deck the king of men appears,
And his refulgent arms in triumph wears;
Proud of his host, unrivall’d in his reign,
In silent pomp he moves along the main.
His brother follows, and to vengeance warms
The hardy Spartans, exercised in arms:
Phares and Brysia’s valiant troops, and those
Whom Lacedæmon’s lofty hills inclose;
Or Messé’s towers for silver doves renown’d,
Amyclæ, Laäs, Augia’s happy ground,
And those whom Œtylos’ low walls contain,
And Helos, on the margin of the main.
These, o’er the bending ocean, Helen’s cause,
In sixty ships with Menelaus draws:
Eager and loud from man to man he flies,
Revenge and fury flaming in his eyes;
While vainly fond, in fancy oft he hears
The fair one’s grief, and sees her falling tears.
In ninety sail, from Pylos’ sandy coast,
Nestor the sage conducts his chosen host:
From Amphigenia’s ever-fruitful land,
Where Æpy high, and little Pteleon stand;
Where beauteous Arene her structures shows,
And Thryon’s walls Alpheus’ streams inclose:
And Dorion, famed for Thamyris’ disgrace,
Superior once of all the tuneful race,
Till, vain of mortals’ empty praise, he strove
To match the seed of cloud-compelling Jove!
Too daring bard! whose unsuccessful pride
The immortal Muses in their art defied.
The avenging Muses of the light of day
Deprived his eyes, and snatch’d his voice away;
No more his heavenly voice was heard to sing,
His hand no more awaked the silver string.
Where under high Cyllenè, crown’d with wood,
The shaded tomb of old Æpytus stood;
From Ripè, Stratie, Tegea’s bordering towns,
The Phenean fields, and Orchomenian downs,
Where the fat herds in plenteous pasture rove;
And Stymphelus with her surrounding grove;
Parrhasia, on her snowy cliffs reclined,
And high Enispè shook by wintry wind,
And fair Mantinea’s ever-pleasing site;
In sixty sail the Arcadian bands unite.
Bold Agapenor, glorious at their head,
(Ancæus’ son) the mighty squadron led.
Their ships, supplied by Agamemnon’s care,
Through roaring seas the wondering warriors bear;
The first to battle on the appointed plain,
But new to all the dangers of the main.
Those, where fair Elis and Buprasium join;
Whom Hyrmin, here, and Myrsinus confine,
And bounded there, where o’er the valleys rose
The Olenian rock; and where Alisium flows;
Beneath four chiefs (a numerous army) came:
The strength and glory of the Epean name.
In separate squadrons these their train divide,
Each leads ten vessels through the yielding tide.
One was Amphimachus, and Thalpius one;
(Eurytus’ this, and that Teätus’ son;)
Diores sprung from Amarynceus’ line;
And great Polyxenus, of force divine.
But those who view fair Elis o’er the seas
From the blest islands of the Echinades,
In forty vessels under Meges move,
Begot by Phyleus, the beloved of Jove:
To strong Dulichium from his sire he fled,
And thence to Troy his hardy warriors led.
Ulysses follow’d through the watery road,
A chief, in wisdom equal to a god.
With those whom Cephalenia’s line inclosed,
Or till their fields along the coast opposed;
Or where fair Ithaca o’erlooks the floods,
Where high Neritos shakes his waving woods,
Where Ægilipa’s rugged sides are seen,
Crocylia rocky, and Zacynthus green.
These in twelve galleys with vermilion prores,
Beneath his conduct sought the Phrygian shores.
Thoas came next, Andræmon’s valiant son,
From Pleuron’s walls, and chalky Calydon,
And rough Pylene, and the Olenian steep,
And Chalcis, beaten by the rolling deep.
He led the warriors from the Ætolian shore,
For now the sons of Œneus were no more!
The glories of the mighty race were fled!
Œneus himself, and Meleager dead!
To Thoas’ care now trust the martial train,
His forty vessels follow through the main.
Next, eighty barks the Cretan king commands,
Of Gnossus, Lyctus, and Gortyna’s bands;
And those who dwell where Rhytion’s domes arise,
Or white Lycastus glitters to the skies,
Or where by Phæstus silver Jardan runs;
Crete’s hundred cities pour forth all her sons.
These march’d, Idomeneus, beneath thy care,
And Merion, dreadful as the god of war.
Tlepolemus, the son of Hercules,
Led nine swift vessels through the foamy seas,
From Rhodes, with everlasting sunshine bright,
Jalyssus, Lindus, and Camirus white.
His captive mother fierce Alcides bore
From Ephyr’s walls and Sellè’s winding shore,
Where mighty towns in ruins spread the plain,
And saw their blooming warriors early slain.
The hero, when to manly years he grew,
Alcides’ uncle, old Licymnius, slew;
For this, constrain’d to quit his native place,
And shun the vengeance of the Herculean race,
A fleet he built, and with a numerous train
Of willing exiles wander’d o’er the main;
Where, many seas and many sufferings past,
On happy Rhodes the chief arrived at last:
There in three tribes divides his native band,
And rules them peaceful in a foreign land;
Increased and prosper’d in their new abodes
By mighty Jove, the sire of men and gods;
With joy they saw the growing empire rise,
And showers of wealth descending from the skies.
Three ships with Nireus sought the Trojan shore,
Nireus, whom Agäle to Charopus bore,
Nireus, in faultless shape and blooming grace,
The loveliest youth of all the Grecian race;[104]
Pelides only match’d his early charms;
But few his troops, and small his strength in arms.
Next thirty galleys cleave the liquid plain,
Of those Calydnæ’s sea-girt isles contain;
With them the youth of Nisyrus repair,
Casus the strong, and Crapathus the fair;
Cos, where Eurypylus possess’d the sway,
Till great Alcides made the realms obey:
These Antiphus and bold Phidippus bring,
Sprung from the god by Thessalus the king.
Now, Muse, recount Pelasgic Argos’ powers,
From Alos, Alopé, and Trechin’s towers:
From Phthia’s spacious vales; and Hella, bless’d
With female beauty far beyond the rest.
Full fifty ships beneath Achilles’ care,
The Achaians, Myrmidons, Hellenians bear;
Thessalians all, though various in their name;
The same their nation, and their chief the same.
But now inglorious, stretch’d along the shore,
They hear the brazen voice of war no more;
No more the foe they face in dire array:
Close in his fleet the angry leader lay;
Since fair Briseïs from his arms was torn,
The noblest spoil from sack’d Lyrnessus borne,
Then, when the chief the Theban walls o’erthrew,
And the bold sons of great Evenus slew.
There mourn’d Achilles, plunged in depth of care,
But soon to rise in slaughter, blood, and war.
To these the youth of Phylacè succeed,
Itona, famous for her fleecy breed,
And grassy Pteleon deck’d with cheerful greens,
The bowers of Ceres, and the sylvan scenes.
Sweet Pyrrhasus, with blooming flowerets crown’d,
And Antron’s watery dens, and cavern’d ground.
These own’d, as chief, Protesilas the brave,
Who now lay silent in the gloomy grave:
The first who boldly touch’d the Trojan shore,
And dyed a Phrygian lance with Grecian gore;
There lies, far distant from his native plain;
Unfinish’d his proud palaces remain,
And his sad consort beats her breast in vain.
His troops in forty ships Podarces led,
Iphiclus’ son, and brother to the dead;
Nor he unworthy to command the host;
Yet still they mourn’d their ancient leader lost.
The men who Glaphyra’s fair soil partake,
Where hills incircle Bœbe’s lowly lake,
Where Phære hears the neighbouring waters fall,
Or proud Iölcus lifts her airy wall,
In ten black ships embark’d for Ilion’s shore,
With bold Eumelus, whom Alcestè bore:
All Pelias’ race Alcestè far outshined,
The grace and glory of the beauteous kind,
The troops Methonè or Thaumacia yields,
Olizon’s rocks, or Melibœa’s fields,
With Philoctetes sail’d whose matchless art
From the tough bow directs the feather’d dart.
Seven were his ships; each vessel fifty row,
Skill’d in his science of the dart and bow.
But he lay raging on the Lemnian ground,
A poisonous hydra gave the burning wound;
There groan’d the chief in agonizing pain,
Whom Greece at length shall wish, nor wish in vain.
His forces Medon led from Lemnos’ shore,
Oïleus’ son, whom beauteous Rhena bore.
The Œchalian race, in those high towers contain’d
Where once Eurytus in proud triumph reign’d,
Or where her humbler turrets Tricca rears,
Or where Ithome, rough with rocks, appears,
In thirty sail the sparkling waves divide,