The Iliad - 11

Then fierce Tydides stoops; and from the fields
Heaved with vast force, a rocky fragment wields.
Not two strong men the enormous weight could raise,
Such men as live in these degenerate days:[147]
He swung it round; and, gathering strength to throw,
Discharged the ponderous ruin at the foe.
Where to the hip the inserted thigh unites,
Full on the bone the pointed marble lights;
Through both the tendons broke the rugged stone,
And stripp’d the skin, and crack’d the solid bone.
Sunk on his knees, and staggering with his pains,
His falling bulk his bended arm sustains;
Lost in a dizzy mist the warrior lies;
A sudden cloud comes swimming o’er his eyes.
There the brave chief, who mighty numbers sway’d,
Oppress’d had sunk to death’s eternal shade,
But heavenly Venus, mindful of the love
She bore Anchises in the Idaean grove,
His danger views with anguish and despair,
And guards her offspring with a mother’s care.
About her much-loved son her arms she throws,
Her arms whose whiteness match the falling snows.
Screen’d from the foe behind her shining veil,
The swords wave harmless, and the javelins fail;
Safe through the rushing horse, and feather’d flight
Of sounding shafts, she bears him from the fight.
Nor Sthenelus, with unassisting hands,
Remain’d unheedful of his lord’s commands:
His panting steeds, removed from out the war,
He fix’d with straiten’d traces to the car,
Next, rushing to the Dardan spoil, detains
The heavenly coursers with the flowing manes:
These in proud triumph to the fleet convey’d,
No longer now a Trojan lord obey’d.
That charge to bold Deipylus he gave,
(Whom most he loved, as brave men love the brave,)
Then mounting on his car, resumed the rein,
And follow’d where Tydides swept the plain.
Meanwhile (his conquest ravished from his eyes)
The raging chief in chase of Venus flies:
No goddess she, commission’d to the field,
Like Pallas dreadful with her sable shield,
Or fierce Bellona thundering at the wall,
While flames ascend, and mighty ruins fall;
He knew soft combats suit the tender dame,
New to the field, and still a foe to fame.
Through breaking ranks his furious course he bends,
And at the goddess his broad lance extends;
Through her bright veil the daring weapon drove,
The ambrosial veil which all the Graces wove;
Her snowy hand the razing steel profaned,
And the transparent skin with crimson stain’d,
From the clear vein a stream immortal flow’d,
Such stream as issues from a wounded god;[148]
Pure emanation! uncorrupted flood!
Unlike our gross, diseased, terrestrial blood:
(For not the bread of man their life sustains,
Nor wine’s inflaming juice supplies their veins:)
With tender shrieks the goddess fill’d the place,
And dropp’d her offspring from her weak embrace.
Him Phœbus took: he casts a cloud around
The fainting chief, and wards the mortal wound.
Then with a voice that shook the vaulted skies,
The king insults the goddess as she flies:
“Ill with Jove’s daughter bloody fights agree,
The field of combat is no scene for thee:
Go, let thy own soft sex employ thy care,
Go, lull the coward, or delude the fair.
Taught by this stroke renounce the war’s alarms,
And learn to tremble at the name of arms.”
Tydides thus. The goddess, seized with dread,
Confused, distracted, from the conflict fled.
To aid her, swift the winged Iris flew,
Wrapt in a mist above the warring crew.
The queen of love with faded charms she found.
Pale was her cheek, and livid look’d the wound.
To Mars, who sat remote, they bent their way:
Far, on the left, with clouds involved he lay;
Beside him stood his lance, distain’d with gore,
And, rein’d with gold, his foaming steeds before.
Low at his knee, she begg’d with streaming eyes
Her brother’s car, to mount the distant skies,
And show’d the wound by fierce Tydides given,
A mortal man, who dares encounter heaven.
Stern Mars attentive hears the queen complain,
And to her hand commits the golden rein;
She mounts the seat, oppress’d with silent woe,
Driven by the goddess of the painted bow.
The lash resounds, the rapid chariot flies,
And in a moment scales the lofty skies:
They stopp’d the car, and there the coursers stood,
Fed by fair Iris with ambrosial food;
Before her mother, love’s bright queen appears,
O’erwhelmed with anguish, and dissolved in tears:
She raised her in her arms, beheld her bleed,
And ask’d what god had wrought this guilty deed?

[Illustration: ] VENUS, WOUNDED IN THE HAND, CONDUCTED BY IRIS TO MARS

Then she: “This insult from no god I found,
An impious mortal gave the daring wound!
Behold the deed of haughty Diomed!
’Twas in the son’s defence the mother bled.
The war with Troy no more the Grecians wage;
But with the gods (the immortal gods) engage.”
Dione then: “Thy wrongs with patience bear,
And share those griefs inferior powers must share:
Unnumber’d woes mankind from us sustain,
And men with woes afflict the gods again.
The mighty Mars in mortal fetters bound,[149]
And lodged in brazen dungeons underground,
Full thirteen moons imprison’d roar’d in vain;
Otus and Ephialtes held the chain:
Perhaps had perish’d had not Hermes’ care
Restored the groaning god to upper air.
Great Juno’s self has borne her weight of pain,
The imperial partner of the heavenly reign;
Amphitryon’s son infix’d the deadly dart,[150]
And fill’d with anguish her immortal heart.
E’en hell’s grim king Alcides’ power confess’d,
The shaft found entrance in his iron breast;
To Jove’s high palace for a cure he fled,
Pierced in his own dominions of the dead;
Where Paeon, sprinkling heavenly balm around,
Assuaged the glowing pangs, and closed the wound.
Rash, impious man! to stain the bless’d abodes,
And drench his arrows in the blood of gods!

[Illustration: ] OTUS AND EPHIALTES HOLDING MARS CAPTIVE

“But thou (though Pallas urged thy frantic deed),
Whose spear ill-fated makes a goddess bleed,
Know thou, whoe’er with heavenly power contends,
Short is his date, and soon his glory ends;
From fields of death when late he shall retire,
No infant on his knees shall call him sire.
Strong as thou art, some god may yet be found,
To stretch thee pale and gasping on the ground;
Thy distant wife, Ægialé the fair,[151]
Starting from sleep with a distracted air,
Shall rouse thy slaves, and her lost lord deplore,
The brave, the great, the glorious now no more!”
This said, she wiped from Venus’ wounded palm
The sacred ichor, and infused the balm.
Juno and Pallas with a smile survey’d,
And thus to Jove began the blue-eyed maid:
“Permit thy daughter, gracious Jove! to tell
How this mischance the Cyprian queen befell,
As late she tried with passion to inflame
The tender bosom of a Grecian dame;
Allured the fair, with moving thoughts of joy,
To quit her country for some youth of Troy;
The clasping zone, with golden buckles bound,
Razed her soft hand with this lamented wound.”
The sire of gods and men superior smiled,
And, calling Venus, thus address’d his child:
“Not these, O daughter are thy proper cares,
Thee milder arts befit, and softer wars;
Sweet smiles are thine, and kind endearing charms;
To Mars and Pallas leave the deeds of arms.”
Thus they in heaven: while on the plain below
The fierce Tydides charged his Dardan foe,
Flush’d with celestial blood pursued his way,
And fearless dared the threatening god of day;
Already in his hopes he saw him kill’d,
Though screen’d behind Apollo’s mighty shield.
Thrice rushing furious, at the chief he strook;
His blazing buckler thrice Apollo shook:
He tried the fourth: when, breaking from the cloud,
A more than mortal voice was heard aloud.
“O son of Tydeus, cease! be wise and see
How vast the difference of the gods and thee;
Distance immense! between the powers that shine
Above, eternal, deathless, and divine,
And mortal man! a wretch of humble birth,
A short-lived reptile in the dust of earth.”
So spoke the god who darts celestial fires:
He dreads his fury, and some steps retires.
Then Phœbus bore the chief of Venus’ race
To Troy’s high fane, and to his holy place;
Latona there and Phoebe heal’d the wound,
With vigour arm’d him, and with glory crown’d.
This done, the patron of the silver bow
A phantom raised, the same in shape and show
With great Æneas; such the form he bore,
And such in fight the radiant arms he wore.
Around the spectre bloody wars are waged,
And Greece and Troy with clashing shields engaged.
Meantime on Ilion’s tower Apollo stood,
And calling Mars, thus urged the raging god:
“Stern power of arms, by whom the mighty fall;
Who bathest in blood, and shakest the embattled wall,
Rise in thy wrath! to hell’s abhorr’d abodes
Despatch yon Greek, and vindicate the gods.
First rosy Venus felt his brutal rage;
Me next he charged, and dares all heaven engage:
The wretch would brave high heaven’s immortal sire,
His triple thunder, and his bolts of fire.”
The god of battle issues on the plain,
Stirs all the ranks, and fires the Trojan train;
In form like Acamas, the Thracian guide,
Enraged to Troy’s retiring chiefs he cried:
“How long, ye sons of Priam! will ye fly,
And unrevenged see Priam’s people die?
Still unresisted shall the foe destroy,
And stretch the slaughter to the gates of Troy?
Lo, brave Æneas sinks beneath his wound,
Not godlike Hector more in arms renown’d:
Haste all, and take the generous warrior’s part.
He said;—new courage swell’d each hero’s heart.
Sarpedon first his ardent soul express’d,
And, turn’d to Hector, these bold words address’d:
“Say, chief, is all thy ancient valour lost?
Where are thy threats, and where thy glorious boast,
That propp’d alone by Priam’s race should stand
Troy’s sacred walls, nor need a foreign hand?
Now, now thy country calls her wonted friends,
And the proud vaunt in just derision ends.
Remote they stand while alien troops engage,
Like trembling hounds before the lion’s rage.
Far distant hence I held my wide command,
Where foaming Xanthus laves the Lycian land;
With ample wealth (the wish of mortals) bless’d,
A beauteous wife, and infant at her breast;
With those I left whatever dear could be:
Greece, if she conquers, nothing wins from me;
Yet first in fight my Lycian bands I cheer,
And long to meet this mighty man ye fear;
While Hector idle stands, nor bids the brave
Their wives, their infants, and their altars save.
Haste, warrior, haste! preserve thy threaten’d state,
Or one vast burst of all-involving fate
Full o’er your towers shall fall, and sweep away
Sons, sires, and wives, an undistinguish’d prey.
Rouse all thy Trojans, urge thy aids to fight;
These claim thy thoughts by day, thy watch by night;
With force incessant the brave Greeks oppose;
Such cares thy friends deserve, and such thy foes.”
Stung to the heart the generous Hector hears,
But just reproof with decent silence bears.
From his proud car the prince impetuous springs,
On earth he leaps, his brazen armour rings.
Two shining spears are brandish’d in his hands;
Thus arm’d, he animates his drooping bands,
Revives their ardour, turns their steps from flight,
And wakes anew the dying flames of fight.
They turn, they stand; the Greeks their fury dare,
Condense their powers, and wait the growing war.
As when, on Ceres’ sacred floor, the swain
Spreads the wide fan to clear the golden grain,
And the light chaff, before the breezes borne,
Ascends in clouds from off the heapy corn;
The grey dust, rising with collected winds,
Drives o’er the barn, and whitens all the hinds:
So white with dust the Grecian host appears,
From trampling steeds, and thundering charioteers.
The dusky clouds from labour’d earth arise,
And roll in smoking volumes to the skies.
Mars hovers o’er them with his sable shield,
And adds new horrors to the darken’d field:
Pleased with his charge, and ardent to fulfil,
In Troy’s defence, Apollo’s heavenly will:
Soon as from fight the blue-eyed maid retires,
Each Trojan bosom with new warmth he fires.
And now the god, from forth his sacred fane,
Produced Æneas to the shouting train;
Alive, unharm’d, with all his peers around,
Erect he stood, and vigorous from his wound:
Inquiries none they made; the dreadful day
No pause of words admits, no dull delay;
Fierce Discord storms, Apollo loud exclaims,
Fame calls, Mars thunders, and the field’s in flames.
Stern Diomed with either Ajax stood,
And great Ulysses, bathed in hostile blood.
Embodied close, the labouring Grecian train
The fiercest shock of charging hosts sustain.
Unmoved and silent, the whole war they wait
Serenely dreadful, and as fix’d as fate.
So when the embattled clouds in dark array,
Along the skies their gloomy lines display;
When now the North his boisterous rage has spent,
And peaceful sleeps the liquid element:
The low-hung vapours, motionless and still,
Rest on the summits of the shaded hill;
Till the mass scatters as the winds arise,
Dispersed and broken through the ruffled skies.
Nor was the general wanting to his train;
From troop to troop he toils through all the plain,
“Ye Greeks, be men! the charge of battle bear;
Your brave associates and yourselves revere!
Let glorious acts more glorious acts inspire,
And catch from breast to breast the noble fire!
On valour’s side the odds of combat lie,
The brave live glorious, or lamented die;
The wretch who trembles in the field of fame,
Meets death, and worse than death, eternal shame!”
These words he seconds with his flying lance,
To meet whose point was strong Deicoon’s chance:
Æneas’ friend, and in his native place
Honour’d and loved like Priam’s royal race:
Long had he fought the foremost in the field,
But now the monarch’s lance transpierced his shield:
His shield too weak the furious dart to stay,
Through his broad belt the weapon forced its way:
The grisly wound dismiss’d his soul to hell,
His arms around him rattled as he fell.
Then fierce Æneas, brandishing his blade,
In dust Orsilochus and Crethon laid,
Whose sire Diocleus, wealthy, brave and great,
In well-built Pheræ held his lofty seat:[152]
Sprung from Alpheus’ plenteous stream, that yields
Increase of harvests to the Pylian fields.
He got Orsilochus, Diocleus he,
And these descended in the third degree.
Too early expert in the martial toil,
In sable ships they left their native soil,
To avenge Atrides: now, untimely slain,
They fell with glory on the Phrygian plain.
So two young mountain lions, nursed with blood
In deep recesses of the gloomy wood,
Rush fearless to the plains, and uncontroll’d
Depopulate the stalls and waste the fold:
Till pierced at distance from their native den,
O’erpowered they fall beneath the force of men.
Prostrate on earth their beauteous bodies lay,
Like mountain firs, as tall and straight as they.
Great Menelaus views with pitying eyes,
Lifts his bright lance, and at the victor flies;
Mars urged him on; yet, ruthless in his hate,
The god but urged him to provoke his fate.
He thus advancing, Nestor’s valiant son
Shakes for his danger, and neglects his own;
Struck with the thought, should Helen’s lord be slain,
And all his country’s glorious labours vain.
Already met, the threatening heroes stand;
The spears already tremble in their hand:
In rush’d Antilochus, his aid to bring,
And fall or conquer by the Spartan king.
These seen, the Dardan backward turn’d his course,
Brave as he was, and shunn’d unequal force.
The breathless bodies to the Greeks they drew,
Then mix in combat, and their toils renew.
First, Pylæmenes, great in battle, bled,
Who sheathed in brass the Paphlagonians led.
Atrides mark’d him where sublime he stood;
Fix’d in his throat the javelin drank his blood.
The faithful Mydon, as he turn’d from fight
His flying coursers, sunk to endless night;
A broken rock by Nestor’s son was thrown:
His bended arm received the falling stone;
From his numb’d hand the ivory-studded reins,
Dropp’d in the dust, are trail’d along the plains:
Meanwhile his temples feel a deadly wound;
He groans in death, and ponderous sinks to ground:
Deep drove his helmet in the sands, and there
The head stood fix’d, the quivering legs in air,
Till trampled flat beneath the coursers’ feet:
The youthful victor mounts his empty seat,
And bears the prize in triumph to the fleet.
Great Hector saw, and, raging at the view,
Pours on the Greeks: the Trojan troops pursue:
He fires his host with animating cries,
And brings along the furies of the skies,
Mars, stern destroyer! and Bellona dread,
Flame in the front, and thunder at their head:
This swells the tumult and the rage of fight;
That shakes a spear that casts a dreadful light.
Where Hector march’d, the god of battles shined,
Now storm’d before him, and now raged behind.
Tydides paused amidst his full career;
Then first the hero’s manly breast knew fear.
As when some simple swain his cot forsakes,
And wide through fens an unknown journey takes:
If chance a swelling brook his passage stay,
And foam impervious ’cross the wanderer’s way,
Confused he stops, a length of country pass’d,
Eyes the rough waves, and tired, returns at last.
Amazed no less the great Tydides stands:
He stay’d, and turning thus address’d his bands:
“No wonder, Greeks! that all to Hector yield;
Secure of favouring gods, he takes the field;
His strokes they second, and avert our spears.
Behold where Mars in mortal arms appears!
Retire then, warriors, but sedate and slow;
Retire, but with your faces to the foe.
Trust not too much your unavailing might;
’Tis not with Troy, but with the gods ye fight.”
Now near the Greeks the black battalions drew;
And first two leaders valiant Hector slew:
His force Anchialus and Mnesthes found,
In every art of glorious war renown’d;
In the same car the chiefs to combat ride,
And fought united, and united died.
Struck at the sight, the mighty Ajax glows
With thirst of vengeance, and assaults the foes.
His massy spear with matchless fury sent,
Through Amphius’ belt and heaving belly went;
Amphius Apæsus’ happy soil possess’d,
With herds abounding, and with treasure bless’d;
But fate resistless from his country led
The chief, to perish at his people’s head.
Shook with his fall his brazen armour rung,
And fierce, to seize it, conquering Ajax sprung;
Around his head an iron tempest rain’d;
A wood of spears his ample shield sustain’d:
Beneath one foot the yet warm corpse he press’d,
And drew his javelin from the bleeding breast:
He could no more; the showering darts denied
To spoil his glittering arms, and plumy pride.
Now foes on foes came pouring on the fields,
With bristling lances, and compacted shields;
Till in the steely circle straiten’d round,
Forced he gives way, and sternly quits the ground.
While thus they strive, Tlepolemus the great,[153]
Urged by the force of unresisted fate,
Burns with desire Sarpedon’s strength to prove;
Alcides’ offspring meets the son of Jove.
Sheathed in bright arms each adverse chief came on.
Jove’s great descendant, and his greater son.
Prepared for combat, ere the lance he toss’d,
The daring Rhodian vents his haughty boast:
“What brings this Lycian counsellor so far,
To tremble at our arms, not mix in war!
Know thy vain self, nor let their flattery move,
Who style thee son of cloud-compelling Jove.
How far unlike those chiefs of race divine,
How vast the difference of their deeds and thine!
Jove got such heroes as my sire, whose soul
No fear could daunt, nor earth nor hell control.
Troy felt his arm, and yon proud ramparts stand
Raised on the ruins of his vengeful hand:
With six small ships, and but a slender train,
He left the town a wide-deserted plain.
But what art thou, who deedless look’st around,
While unrevenged thy Lycians bite the ground!
Small aid to Troy thy feeble force can be;
But wert thou greater, thou must yield to me.
Pierced by my spear, to endless darkness go!
I make this present to the shades below.”
The son of Hercules, the Rhodian guide,
Thus haughty spoke. The Lycian king replied:
“Thy sire, O prince! o’erturn’d the Trojan state,
Whose perjured monarch well deserved his fate;
Those heavenly steeds the hero sought so far,
False he detain’d, the just reward of war.
Nor so content, the generous chief defied,
With base reproaches and unmanly pride.
But you, unworthy the high race you boast,
Shall raise my glory when thy own is lost:
Now meet thy fate, and by Sarpedon slain,
Add one more ghost to Pluto’s gloomy reign.”
He said: both javelins at an instant flew;
Both struck, both wounded, but Sarpedon’s slew:
Full in the boaster’s neck the weapon stood,
Transfix’d his throat, and drank the vital blood;
The soul disdainful seeks the caves of night,
And his seal’d eyes for ever lose the light.
Yet not in vain, Tlepolemus, was thrown
Thy angry lance; which piercing to the bone
Sarpedon’s thigh, had robb’d the chief of breath;
But Jove was present, and forbade the death.
Borne from the conflict by his Lycian throng,
The wounded hero dragg’d the lance along.
(His friends, each busied in his several part,
Through haste, or danger, had not drawn the dart.)
The Greeks with slain Tlepolemus retired;
Whose fall Ulysses view’d, with fury fired;
Doubtful if Jove’s great son he should pursue,
Or pour his vengeance on the Lycian crew.
But heaven and fate the first design withstand,
Nor this great death must grace Ulysses’ hand.
Minerva drives him on the Lycian train;
Alastor, Cronius, Halius, strew’d the plain,
Alcander, Prytanis, Noëmon fell:[154]
And numbers more his sword had sent to hell,
But Hector saw; and, furious at the sight,
Rush’d terrible amidst the ranks of fight.
With joy Sarpedon view’d the wish’d relief,
And, faint, lamenting, thus implored the chief:
“O suffer not the foe to bear away
My helpless corpse, an unassisted prey;
If I, unbless’d, must see my son no more,
My much-loved consort, and my native shore,
Yet let me die in Ilion’s sacred wall;
Troy, in whose cause I fell, shall mourn my fall.”
He said, nor Hector to the chief replies,
But shakes his plume, and fierce to combat flies;
Swift as a whirlwind, drives the scattering foes;
And dyes the ground with purple as he goes.
Beneath a beech, Jove’s consecrated shade,
His mournful friends divine Sarpedon laid:
Brave Pelagon, his favourite chief, was nigh,
Who wrench’d the javelin from his sinewy thigh.
The fainting soul stood ready wing’d for flight,
And o’er his eye-balls swam the shades of night;
But Boreas rising fresh, with gentle breath,
Recall’d his spirit from the gates of death.
The generous Greeks recede with tardy pace,
Though Mars and Hector thunder in their face;
None turn their backs to mean ignoble flight,
Slow they retreat, and even retreating fight.
Who first, who last, by Mars’ and Hector’s hand,
Stretch’d in their blood, lay gasping on the sand?
Tenthras the great, Orestes the renown’d
For managed steeds, and Trechus press’d the ground;
Next Œnomaus and OEnops’ offspring died;
Oresbius last fell groaning at their side:
Oresbius, in his painted mitre gay,
In fat Bœotia held his wealthy sway,
Where lakes surround low Hylè’s watery plain;
A prince and people studious of their gain.
The carnage Juno from the skies survey’d,
And touch’d with grief bespoke the blue-eyed maid:
“Oh, sight accursed! Shall faithless Troy prevail,
And shall our promise to our people fail?
How vain the word to Menelaus given
By Jove’s great daughter and the queen of heaven,
Beneath his arms that Priam’s towers should fall,
If warring gods for ever guard the wall!
Mars, red with slaughter, aids our hated foes:
Haste, let us arm, and force with force oppose!”
She spoke; Minerva burns to meet the war:
And now heaven’s empress calls her blazing car.
At her command rush forth the steeds divine;
Rich with immortal gold their trappings shine.
Bright Hebe waits; by Hebe, ever young,
The whirling wheels are to the chariot hung.
On the bright axle turns the bidden wheel
Of sounding brass; the polished axle steel.
Eight brazen spokes in radiant order flame;
The circles gold, of uncorrupted frame,
Such as the heavens produce: and round the gold
Two brazen rings of work divine were roll’d.
The bossy naves of sold silver shone;
Braces of gold suspend the moving throne:
The car, behind, an arching figure bore;
The bending concave form’d an arch before.
Silver the beam, the extended yoke was gold,
And golden reins the immortal coursers hold.
Herself, impatient, to the ready car,
The coursers joins, and breathes revenge and war.
Pallas disrobes; her radiant veil untied,
With flowers adorn’d, with art diversified,
(The laboured veil her heavenly fingers wove,)
Flows on the pavement of the court of Jove.
Now heaven’s dread arms her mighty limbs invest,
Jove’s cuirass blazes on her ample breast;
Deck’d in sad triumph for the mournful field,
O’er her broad shoulders hangs his horrid shield,
Dire, black, tremendous! Round the margin roll’d,
A fringe of serpents hissing guards the gold:
Here all the terrors of grim War appear,
Here rages Force, here tremble Flight and Fear,
Here storm’d Contention, and here Fury frown’d,
And the dire orb portentous Gorgon crown’d.
The massy golden helm she next assumes,
That dreadful nods with four o’ershading plumes;
So vast, the broad circumference contains
A hundred armies on a hundred plains.
The goddess thus the imperial car ascends;
Shook by her arm the mighty javelin bends,
Ponderous and huge; that when her fury burns,
Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o’erturns.
Swift at the scourge the ethereal coursers fly,
While the smooth chariot cuts the liquid sky.
Heaven’s gates spontaneous open to the powers,[155]
Heaven’s golden gates, kept by the winged Hours;[156]
Commission’d in alternate watch they stand,
The sun’s bright portals and the skies command,
Involve in clouds the eternal gates of day,
Or the dark barrier roll with ease away.
The sounding hinges ring, on either side
The gloomy volumes, pierced with light, divide.
The chariot mounts, where deep in ambient skies,
Confused, Olympus’ hundred heads arise;
Where far apart the Thunderer fills his throne,
O’er all the gods superior and alone.
There with her snowy hand the queen restrains
The fiery steeds, and thus to Jove complains:
“O sire! can no resentment touch thy soul?
Can Mars rebel, and does no thunder roll?
What lawless rage on yon forbidden plain,
What rash destruction! and what heroes slain!
Venus, and Phœbus with the dreadful bow,
Smile on the slaughter, and enjoy my woe.
Mad, furious power! whose unrelenting mind
No god can govern, and no justice bind.
Say, mighty father! shall we scourge this pride,
And drive from fight the impetuous homicide?”
To whom assenting, thus the Thunderer said:
“Go! and the great Minerva be thy aid.
To tame the monster-god Minerva knows,
And oft afflicts his brutal breast with woes.”
He said; Saturnia, ardent to obey,
Lash’d her white steeds along the aerial way.
Swift down the steep of heaven the chariot rolls,
Between the expanded earth and starry poles.
Far as a shepherd, from some point on high,[157]
O’er the wide main extends his boundless eye,
Through such a space of air, with thundering sound,
At every leap the immortal coursers bound
Troy now they reach’d and touch’d those banks divine,
Where silver Simois and Scamander join.
There Juno stopp’d, and (her fair steeds unloosed)
Of air condensed a vapour circumfused:
For these, impregnate with celestial dew,
On Simois’ brink ambrosial herbage grew.
Thence to relieve the fainting Argive throng,
Smooth as the sailing doves they glide along.
The best and bravest of the Grecian band
(A warlike circle) round Tydides stand.