Book XI

The Third Battle, and Exploits of Agamemnon

Renewal of the fight by Agamemnon⁠—His prowess⁠—Hector warned by Iris not to fight till Agamemnon is wounded⁠—Agamemnon disabled⁠—Hector makes great havoc till checked by Ulysses and Diomed⁠—Diomed wounded by Paris, and rescued by Ajax, who rallies the Greeks⁠—Machaon wounded⁠—Conversations of Nestor and Patroclus.

Now did the Morning from her couch beside

Renowned Tithonus rise, that she might bring

The light to gods and men, when Jupiter

To the swift galleys of the Grecian host

Sent baleful Strife, who bore in hand aloft

War’s ensigns. On the huge black ship that brought

Ulysses, in the centre of the fleet,

She stood, where she might shout to either side⁠—

To Telamonian Ajax in his tents

And to Achilles, who had ranged their ships

At each extreme of the Achaian camp,

Relying on their valor and strong arms.

Loud was the voice, and terrible, in which

She shouted from her station to the Greeks,

And into every heart it carried strength

And the resolve to combat manfully

And never yield. The battle now to them

Seemed more to be desired than the return

To their dear country in their roomy ships.

Atrides called aloud, exhorting them

To gird themselves for battle. Then he clad

Himself in glittering brass. First to his thighs

He bound the beautiful greaves with silver clasps,

Then fitted to his chest the breastplate given

By Cinyras, a pledge of kind intent;⁠—

For, when he heard in Cyprus that the Greeks

Were bound for Ilium in their ships, he sent

This gift, a homage to the king of men;⁠—

Ten were its bars of tawny bronze, and twelve

Were gold, and twenty tin; and on each side

Were three bronze serpents stretching toward the neck,

Curved like the colored bow which Saturn’s son

Sets in the clouds, a sign to men. He hung

His sword, all glittering with its golden studs,

About his shoulders. In a silver sheath

It nestled, which was slung on golden rings.

And then he took his shield, a mighty orb,

And nobly wrought and strong and beautiful,

Bound with ten brazen circles. On its disk

Were twenty bosses of white tin, and one

Of tawny bronze just in the midst, where glared

A Gorgon’s-head with angry eyes, round which

Were sculptured Fear and Flight. Along its band

Of silver twined a serpent wrought in bronze,

With three heads springing from one neck and formed

Into an orb. Upon his head he placed

A helmet rough with studs on every side,

And with four bosses, and a horse-hair plume

That nodded fearfully on high. He took

In hand two massive spears, brass-tipped and sharp,

That shone afar and sent their light to heaven,

Where Juno and Minerva made a sound

Like thunder in mid-sky, as honoring

The sovereign of Mycenae rich in gold.

Each chief gave orders to his charioteer

To stay his horses firmly by the trench,

While they rushed forth in arms. At once arose,

Ere yet the sun was up, a mighty din.

They marshalled by the trench the men on foot;

The horse came after, with short space between.

The son of Saturn sent among their ranks

Confusion, and dropped down upon the host

Dews tinged with blood, in sign that he that day

Would send to Hades many a valiant chief.

The Trojans, on their side, in the mid-plain

Drew up their squadrons on a hill, around

The mighty Hector, and Polydamas

The blameless, and Aeneas, who among

The sons of Troy was honored like a god,

And three sons of Antenor, who were named

Agenor and the noble Polybus

And the young Acamas of godlike bloom,

There Hector in the van uplifted bore

His broad round shield. As some portentous star

Breaks from the clouds and shines, and then again

Enters their shadow, Hector thus appeared

Among the foremost, issuing his commands,

Then sought the hindmost. All in brass, he shone

Like lightnings of the Aegis-bearer, Jove.

As when two lines of reapers, face to face,

In some rich landlord’s field of barley or wheat

Move on, and fast the severed handfuls fall,

So, springing on each other, they of Troy

And they of Argos smote each other down,

And neither thought of ignominious flight.

They met each other man to man; they rushed

Like wolves to combat. Cruel Strife looked on

Rejoicing; she alone of all the gods

Was present in the battle; all the rest,

Far off, sat quiet in their palaces,

The glorious mansions built for them along

The summits of Olympus. Yet they all

Blamed Saturn’s son that he should honor thus

The Trojans. The All-Father heeded not

Their murmurings, but, seated by himself

Apart, exulting in his sovereignty,

Looked on the city of Troy, the ships of Greece,

The gleam of arms, the slayers, and the slain.

While yet ’twas morn, and still the holy light

Of day was brightening, fast the weapons smote

On either side, and fast the people fell;

But at the hour when on the mountain-slope

The wood cutter makes ready his repast,

Weary with felling lofty trees, and glad

To rest, and eager for the grateful meal,

The Greeks, encouraging each other, charged

And broke the serried phalanxes of Troy.

First Agamemnon, springing forward, slew

The shepherd of his people and their chief,

Bienor, and his trusty comrade next⁠—

The charioteer Oileus, who had leaped

Down from his chariot to confront the king.

Him Agamemnon with his trenchant spear

Smote in the forehead as he came. The helm

Of massive brass was vain to stay the blow:

The weapon pierced it and the bone, and stained

The brain with blood; it felled him rushing on.

The monarch stripped the slain, and, leaving them

With their white bosoms bare, went on to slay

Isus and Antiphus, King Priam’s sons⁠—

One born in wedlock, one of baser birth⁠—

Both in one chariot. Isus held the reins

While Antiphus, the high-born brother, fought.

These had Achilles once on Ida’s height

Made prisoners, as they fed their flocks; he bound

Their limbs with osier bands, but gave them up

For ransom to the Trojans. Now the king

Of men, Atrides Agamemnon, pierced

Isus above the nipple with his spear,

And with his falchion smiting Antiphus

Beside the ear, he hurled him from his car.

Then hastening up, and stripping from the dead

Their shining mail, he knew them; he had seen

Both at the ships to which the fleet of foot,

Achilles, brought them bound from Ida’s side.

As when a lion comes upon the haunt

Of a swift hind, to make an easy prey

Of her young fawns, and, with his powerful teeth

Seizing them, takes their tender lives; while she,

Though nigh, can bring no aid but yields herself

To mortal fear, and, to escape his rage,

Flies swiftly through the wood of close-grown oaks,

With sweaty sides⁠—thus none of all the host

Of Trojans could avert from Priam’s sons

Their fate, but fled in terror from the Greeks.

Next on Pisander and Hippolochus

Atrides rushed⁠—brave warriors both, and sons

Of brave Antimachus, the chief who took

Gold and rich gifts from Paris, and refused

To let the Trojans render Helen back

To fair-haired Menelaus. His two sons,

Both in one car, and reining their fleet steeds,

Atrides intercepted; they let fall

The embroidered reins, dismayed, as, lion-like,

Forward he came; and, cowering, thus they prayed:⁠—

“Take us alive, Atrides, and accept

A worthy ransom, for Antimachus

Keeps in his halls large treasures⁠—brass and gold.

And well-wrought steel; and he will send, from these,

Large ransom, hearing we are at the fleet

Alive.” So prayed they with bland words, and met

Harsh answer: “Since ye call Antimachus

Your father, who in Trojan council once

Proposed that Menelaus, whom we sent

A legate with Ulysses the divine,

Should not return to Greece, but suffer death,

Your blood must answer for your father’s guilt.”

So spake the king, and, striking with his spear

Pisander’s breast, he dashed him from the car.

Prone on the ground he lay. Hippolochus

Leaped down and met the sword. Atrides lopped

His hands and drave the weapon through his neck,

And sent the head to roll among the crowd.

And then he left the dead, and rushed to where

The ranks were in disorder; with him went

His-well-armed Greeks; there they who fought on foot

Slaughtered the flying foot; the horsemen there

Clove horsemen down: the coursers’ trampling feet

Raised the thick dust to shadow all the plain;

While Agamemnon cheered the Achaians on,

And chased and slew the foe. As when a fire

Seizes a thick-grown forest, and the wind

Drives it along in eddies, while the trunks

Fall with the boughs amid devouring flames,

So fell the flying Trojans by the hand

Of Agamemnon. Many high-maned steeds

Dragged noisily their empty cars among

The ranks of battle, never more to bear

Their charioteers, who lay upon the earth

The vulture’s feast, a sorrow to their wives.

But Jove beyond the encountering arms, the dust,

The carnage, and the bloodshed and the din

Bore Hector, while Atrides in pursuit

Was loudly cheering the Achaians on.

Meantime the Trojans fled across the plain

Toward the wild fig-tree growing near the tomb

Of ancient Ilus, son of Dardanus⁠—

Eager to reach the town; and still the son

Of Atreus followed, shouting, and with hands

Blood-stained and dust-begrimed. And when they reached

The Scaean portals and the beechen tree,

They halted, waiting for the rear, like beeves

Chased panting by a lion who has come

At midnight on them, and has put the herd

To flight, and one of them to certain death⁠—

Whose neck he breaks with his strong teeth and then

Devours the entrails, lapping up the blood.

Thus did Atrides Agamemnon chase

The Trojans; still he slew the hindmost; still

They fled before him. Many by his hand

Fell from their chariots prone, for terrible

Beyond all others with the spear was he.

But when he now was near the city-wall,

The Father of immortals and of men

Came down from the high heaven, and took his seat

On many-fountained Ida. In his grasp

He held a thunderbolt, and this command

He gave to Iris of the golden wings:⁠—

“Haste, Iris fleet of wing, and bear my words

To Hector:⁠—While he sees the king of men,

Atrides, in the van and dealing death

Among the ranks of warriors, let him still

Give way, encouraging his men to hold

Unflinching battle with the enemy.

But when Atrides, wounded by a spear

Or arrow, shall ascend his chariot, then

Will I nerve Hector’s arm with strength to slay

Until he come to the good ships of Greece,

And the sun set, and hallowed night come down.”

He spake; and she, whose feet are like the wind

In swiftness, heeded the command, and flew

From Ida’s summit to the sacred town

Of Troy, and found the noble Hector, son

Of warlike Priam, standing mid the steeds

And the strong chariots, and, approaching, said:⁠—

“O Hector, son of Priam, and like Jove

In council! Jove the All-Father bids me say,

As long as thou shalt see the king of men,

Atrides, in the van, and dealing death

Among the ranks of warriors, thou shalt still

Give way, encouraging thy men to hold

Unflinching battle with the enemy;

But when Atrides, wounded by a spear

Or arrow, shall ascend his chariot, then

Will Jove endue thy arm with strength to slay

Until thou come to the good ships of Greece,

And the sun set, and hallowed night come down.”

So the fleet Iris spake, and went her way;

While Hector, leaping from his car in arms,

And wielding his sharp spears, went everywhere

Among the Trojan ranks, exhorting them

To combat, and renewed the stubborn fight.

They rallied and stood firm against the Greeks.

The Greeks, in turn, made strong their phalanxes.

The battle raged again, as front to front

They stood, while Agamemnon eagerly

Pressed forward, proud to lead the van in fight.

Say, Muses, dwellers of Olympus! Who

First of the Trojans or their brave allies

Encountered Atreus’ son? Iphidamas,

Son of Antenor, strong and daring, bred

On the rich soil of Thrace, the nurse of flocks.

His grandsire Cisseus, from whose loins the fair

Theano sprang, had reared him from a child

Within his palace; and, when he attained

Youth’s glorious prime, still kept him, giving him

His child to wife. He wedded her, but left

At once the bridal chamber when he heard

Of the Greek war on Ilium, and set sail

With twelve beaked galleys. These he afterward

Left at Percope⁠—marching on to Troy.

And he it was who came to meet the son

Of Atreus. As the heroes now drew near

Each other, Agamemnon missed his aim;

His thrust was parried. Then Iphidamas

Dealt him beneath the breastplate on the belt

A vigorous blow, and urged the spear with all

His strength of arm; yet through the plated belt

It could not pierce, for there it met a plate

Of silver, and its point was turned like lead.

With lion strength, Atrides seized and drew

The weapon toward him, plucked it from the hand

That held it, and let fall his falchion’s edge

Upon the Trojan’s neck and laid him dead.

Unhappy youth! He slept an iron sleep⁠—

Slain fighting for his country, far away

From the young virgin bride yet scarcely his,

For whom large marriage-gifts he made⁠—of beeves

A hundred⁠—and had promised from the flocks

That thronged his fields a thousand sheep and goats.

Atrides Agamemnon spoiled the slain,

And bore his glorious armor off among

The Argive host. Antenor’s elder son,

Illustrious Coön, saw, and bitter grief

For his slain brother dimmed his eyes. He stood

Aside, with his spear couched, while unaware

The noble Agamemnon passed, and pierced

The middle of the monarch’s arm below

The elbow; through the flesh the shining point

Passed to the other side. The king of men,

Atrides, shuddered, yet refrained not then

From combat; but with his wind-seasoned spear

He rushed on Coön, who, to drag away

His father’s son Iphidamas, had seized

The body by the feet, and called his friends,

The bravest, to his aid. Atrides thrust

His brazen spear below the bossy shield,

And slew him as he drew the corpse, and o’er

The dead Iphidamas struck off his head.

Thus were Antenor’s sons⁠—their doom fulfilled⁠—

Sent by Atrides to the realm of death.

And then he ranged among the enemy’s ranks

With wielded lance and sword and ponderous stones,

While yet the warm blood issued from his wound.

But when the wound grew dry, and ceased to flow

With blood, keen anguish seized his vigorous frame

As when a woman feels the piercing pangs

Of travail brought her by the Ilythian maids,

Daughters of Juno, who preside at births,

And walk the ministers of bitter pains⁠—

Such anguish seized on Agamemnon’s frame;

And, leaping to his chariot-seat, he bade

The guider of the steeds make haste to reach

The roomy ships, for he was overcome

With pain; but first he shouted to the Greeks:⁠—

“O friends, the chiefs and princes of the Greeks!

Yours is the duty to drive back the war

From our good ships, since all-disposing Jove

Forbids me, for this day, to lead the fight.”

He spake. The charioteer applied the lash,

And not unwillingly the long-maned steeds

Flew toward the hollow ships; upon their breasts

Gathered the foam; beneath their rapid feet

Arose the dust, as from the battle’s din

They bore the wounded warrior. Hector saw

The flight of Agamemnon, and aloud

Called to the Trojans and the Lycians thus:⁠—

“Trojan and Lycian warriors, and ye sons

Of Dardanus, who combat hand to hand,

Be men; be mindful of your fame in war.

Our mightiest foe withdraws; Saturnian Jove

Crowns me with glory. Urge your firm-paced steeds

On the brave Greeks, and win yet nobler fame.”

He spake. His words gave courage and new strength

To every heart. As when a hunter cheers

His white-toothed dogs against some lioness

Or wild boar from the forest, Hector thus,

The son of Priam, terrible as Mars

The slayer of men, cheered on the gallant sons

Of Troy against the Greeks. Himself, inspired

With fiery valor, rushed among the foes

In the mid-battle foremost, like a storm

That swoops from heaven, and on the dark-blue sea

Falls suddenly, and stirs it to its depths.

Who then was slain the first, and who the last,

By Hector, Priam’s son, whom Jove designed

To honor? First, Asaeus; Uolops, son

Of Clytis; and Autonoüs; and then

Opites and Opheltius; next to whom

Aesymnus, Agelaus, Orus fell,

And resolute Hipponous the last.

All these, the princes of the Greeks, he slew,

Then smote the common crowd. As when a gale

Blows from the west upon the mass of cloud

Piled up before the south-wind’s powerful breath,

And tears it with a mighty hurricane,

While the swol’n billows tumble, and their foam

Is flung on high before the furious blast,

So by the sword of Hector fell the heads

Of the Greek soldiery; and there had been

Ruin and ravage not to be repaired,

And the defeated Greeks had flung themselves

Into their ships, had not Ulysses then

Exhorted thus Tydides Diomed:⁠—

“Tydides! What has quenched within our hearts

Their fiery valor? Come, my friend, and take

Thy stand beside ma: foul disgrace were ours

Should crested Hector make our fleet his prize.”

And thus the valiant Diomed replied:⁠—

“Most willingly I stand, and bear my part

In battle; but with little hope, for Jove,

The God of storms, awards the day to Troy.”

He spake, and pierced Thymbraeus with his spear

Through the left breast, and dashed him from his car.

Meanwhile Ulysses struck Molion down,

The prince’s stately comrade. These they left

Never to fight again, and made their way

Through the thick squadrons, carrying, as they went,

Confusion with them. As two fearless boars

Rush on the hounds, so, mingling in the war,

They bore the foe before them, and the Greeks

Welcomed a respite from the havoc made

By noble Hector. Next they seized a car

Which bore two chiefs, the bravest of their host⁠—

Sons of Percosian Merops, who was skilled

Beyond all men in portents. He enjoined

His sons to keep aloof from murderous war.

Yet did they not obey him, for the fate

That doomed the twain to death impelled them on;

And Diomed, the mighty with the spear,

Spoiled them of life, and bore their armor off,

A glittering prize. Meantime Ulysses slew

Hippodamus, and next Hypirochus.

The son of Saturn looked from Ida’s height,

And bade the battle rage on either side

With equal fury: both the encountering hosts

Slew and were slain. Tydides with his spear

Smote on the hip the chief Agastrophus,

The son of Paeon, thoughtless wretch, whose steeds

Were not at hand for flight; his charioteer

Held them at distance, while their master rushed

Among the foremost warriors till he fell.

Hector perceived his fall, as through the files

He looked, and straightway hastened to the spot

With shouts; and after him came rapidly

The phalanxes of Trojans. Diomed,

The great in battle, shuddered as he saw,

And thus addressed Ulysses, who was near:⁠—

“Lo! The destroyer, furious Hector, comes!

Let us stand firm, and face and drive him back.”

He said, and cast his brandished lance, nor missed

The mark: it smote the helm on Hector’s head.

The brass glanced from the brass; it could not pierce

To the fair skin; the high and threefold helm⁠—

A gift from Phoebus⁠—turned the point aside.

The chief fell back, and, mingling with the throng,

Dropped on one knee, and yet upheld himself

With one broad palm upon the ground, while night

Darkened his eyes. The son of Tydeus sprang

To seize his spear, which now stood fixed in earth

Among the foremost warriors. In that time

Did Hector breathe again, and, having leaped

Into his chariot, he avoided death,

By mingling with the crowd; while, spear in hand,

Brave Diomed pursued him, shouting thus:⁠—

“This time, thou cur, hast thou escaped thy doom,

Though it was nigh thee. Phoebus rescues thee⁠—

The god to whom thou dost address thy prayers⁠—

Whene’er thou venturest mid the clash of spears.

Yet will I surely slay thee when we meet,

If any god be on my side; and now

I go to strike where’er I find a foe.”

He spake, and struck the son of Paeon down,

Skilful to wield the spear. But now the spouse

Of fair-haired Helen⁠—Alexander⁠—stood

Leaning against a pillar by the tomb

Of the Dardanian Ilus, who had been

An elder of the people; and he bent

His bow against the monarch Diomed,

Who at that moment knelt to strip the slain

Of the rich breastplate, and the shield that hung

Upon his shoulders, and the massive casque.

The Trojan drew the bow’s elastic horn,

And sent an arrow that not vainly flew,

But, striking the right foot, pierced through, and reached

The ground beneath. Then Paris, with a laugh,

Sprang from his ambush, shouting boastfully:⁠—

“Lo, thou art smitten! Not in vain my shaft

Has flown; and would that it had pierced thy groin

And slain thee! Then the Trojans had obtained

Reprieve from slaughter⁠—they who dread thee now

As bleating goats a lion.” Undismayed,

The valiant Diomed made answer thus:⁠—

“Archer and railer! Proud of thy smart bow,

And ogler of the women! Wouldst thou make

Trial of valor hand to hand with me,

Thy bow should not avail thee, nor thy sheaf

Of many arrows. Thou dost idly boast

That thou hast hit my foot. I heed it not.

It is as if a woman or a child

Had struck me. Lightly falls the weapon-stroke

Of an unwarlike weakling. ’Tis not so

With me, for when one feels my weapon’s touch,

It passes through him, and he dies; his wife

Tears with her hands her cheeks; his little ones

Are orphans; earth is crimsoned with his blood;

And flocking round his carcass in decay,

More numerous than women, are the birds.”

He spake. Ulysses, mighty with the spear,

Came near and stood before him while he sat

Concealed, and drew the arrow from his foot.

Keen was the agony that suddenly

Shot through his frame: he leaped into his car,

And bade his charioteer make haste to reach

The roomy ships: the pain had reached his heart.

Ulysses, the great spearman, now was left

Alone, no Greek remaining by his side;

For fear had seized them all. With inward grief

The hero thus addressed his mighty soul:⁠—

“What will become of me? A great disgrace

Will overtake me if I flee in fear

Before this multitude; and worse will be

My fate if I am taken here alone,

While Jove has driven away the other Greeks

In terror. Why these questions, since I know

That cowards skulk from combat, while the brave,

Wounded or wounding others, keeps his ground?”

While thus he reasoned with himself, the ranks

Of Trojans armed with bucklers came and closed

Around their dreaded enemy. As when

A troop of vigorous dogs and youths assail

From every side a wild boar issuing forth

From a deep thicket, whetting the white tusks

Within his crooked jaws; they press around,

And hear his gnashings, yet beware to come

Too nigh the terrible animal⁠—so rushed

The Trojans round Ulysses, the beloved

Of Jupiter. Then first the hero smote

Deïopites on the shoulder-blade,

And next struck Thoön down, and Ennomus,

And in the navel pierced Chersidamas

With his sharp spear, below the bossy shield,

When leaping from his chariot. In the dust

He fell, and grasped the earth with dying hands.

Ulysses left them there, and with his spear

He wounded Charops, son of Hippasus,

And brother of brave Socus. Socus saw,

And hastened to his aid, and, standing near,

The godlike chief bespake Ulysses thus:⁠—

“Renowned Ulysses! of whose arts and toils

There is no end, thou either shalt today

Boast to have slain two sons of Hippasus,

Brave as they are, and stripped them of their arms,

Or, smitten by my javelin, lose thy life.”

He spake, and smote the Grecian’s orbèd shield.

The swift spear, passing through the shining disk,

And fixed in the rich breastplate, tore the skin

From all his side; yet Pallas suffered not

The blade to reach the inner parts. At once

The chief perceived that Socus had not given

A mortal wound, and, falling back a step,

Thus spake: “Unhappy youth, thy doom will soon

O’ertake thee. Though thou forcest me to pause

From combat with the Trojans, I declare,

This day thou sufferest the black doom of death.

Thou, smitten by my spear, shalt bring to me

Increase of glory, and shalt yield thy soul

To the grim horseman Pluto.” Thus he spake,

While Socus turned to flee; and as he turned,

Ulysses with the spear transfixed his back,

And drave the weapon through his breast: he fell,

With armor clashing, to the earth, while thus

The great Ulysses gloried over him:⁠—

“O Socus! son of warlike Hippasus

The horseman! Death has overtaken thee,

And thou couldst not escape. Unhappy one!

Now thou art dead thy father will not come

To close thy eyes, nor she, the honored one

Who gave thee birth; but birds of prey shall flap

Their heavy wings above thee, and shall tear

Thy flesh, while I in dying shall receive

Due funeral honors from the noble Greeks.”

He spake, and from his wounded side drew forth,

And from his bossy shield, the ponderous spear

Which warlike Socus threw. A gush of blood

Followed, and torturing pain. Now, when they saw

Ulysses bleed, the gallant sons of Troy

Called to each other, rushing in a crowd

To where he stood. Retreating as they came,

He shouted to his comrades. Thrice he raised

His voice as loud as human lungs could shout;

Thrice warlike Menelaus heard the cry,

And spake at once to Ajax at his side:⁠—

“Most noble Ajax, son of Telamon,

Prince of thy people! To my ear is brought

The cry of that unconquerable man,

Ulysses, seemingly as if the foe

Had hemmed him round alone, and pressed him sore

In combat. Break we through the crowd, and bring

Succor, lest harm befall him, though so brave⁠—

Fighting among the Trojans thus alone⁠—

And lest the Greeks should lose their mighty chief.”

He spake, and led the way; his godlike friend

Followed. They found Ulysses, dear to Jove⁠—

The Trojans thronging round him like a troop

Of ravening jackals round an antlered stag

Which one who hunts upon the mountain-side

Hath stricken with an arrow from his bow:

By flight the stag escapes, while yet the blood

Is warm and easily the limbs are moved;

But when at last the shaft hath quelled his strength,

The hungry jackals in the forest shade

Among the hills attack him, till by chance

The dreaded lion comes; alarmed, they flee,

And he devours the prey. So in that hour,

Many and brave, the sons of Troy pursued

Ulysses, skilled in war and wiles; while he

Wielded the spear and warded off the day

Of death. Then Ajax, coming near him, stood,

With his tall buckler, like a tower of strength

Beside him, and the Trojans fled in fear

On all sides. Warlike Menelaus took

Ulysses by the hand, and led him forth

From the thronged spot, while his attendant brought

The chariot near him. Ajax sprang upon

The Trojans, slaying Doryclus, a son

Of Priam basely born. Then Pandorus

He wounded; next he struck Lysander down,

Pyrasus and Pylartes. As a stream,

Swol’n to a torrent by the showers of Jove

Sweeps down, from hill to plain, dry oaks and pines,

And pours into the sea a muddy flood,

So mighty Ajax routed and pursued

The Trojans o’er the plain, and cut his way

Through steeds and warriors. Hector knew not this.

He fought where, on the battle’s left, beside

The Xanthus, fastest fell the slain, and round

Great Nestor and the brave Idomeneus

Arose a mighty tumult. In that throng

Did Hector mingle with his spear and steeds,

Performing feats of valor, and laid waste

The ranks of youthful warriors. Yet the Greeks

Would not have yielded ground, if Paris, spouse

Of fair-haired Helen, had not forced the chief

Machaon, fighting gallantly, to pause;

For with an arrow triple-barbed he pierced

The chiefs right shoulder, and the valiant Greeks

Feared lest the battle turn and he be slain.

And thus Idomeneus to Nestor said:⁠—

“Neleian Nestor, glory of the Greeks,

Haste, mount thy chariot; let Machaon take

A place beside thee; urge thy firm-paced steeds

Rapidly toward the fleet; a leech like him,

Who cuts the arrow from the wound and soothes

The pain with balms, is worth a host to us.”

He spake; and the Gerenian knight obeyed,

And climbed the car in haste. Machaon, son

Of Aesculapius the peerless leech,

Mounted beside him; Nestor lashed the steeds,

And toward the roomy ships, which well they knew,

And longed to reach, they flew with eager speed.

Meantime Cebriones, who had his seat

By Hector in the chariot, saw the ranks

Of Troy disordered, and addressed the chief:⁠—

“While we, O Hector, here are mid the Greeks

Just in the skirts of the tumultuous fray,

The other Trojans, men and steeds, are thrown

Into confusion where the warriors throng,

For Telamonian Ajax puts their ranks

To rout; I know him well by that broad shield

Borne on his shoulders. Thither let us drive

Our steeds and chariot, where in desperate strife

Meet horse and foot and hew each other down,

And a perpetual clamor fills the air.”

He spake; and with the whistling lash he struck

The long-maned steeds, and, as they felt the stroke,

Forward they flew with the swift car among

The Greeks and Trojans, trampling in their way

Corpses and shields. The axle underneath

Was steeped in blood; the rim of the chariot-seat

Was foul with the red drops which from their hoofs

The coursers sprinkled and the wheels threw up.

Then Hector strove, by rushing on the crowd,

To pierce it and break through it. To the Greeks

His coming brought destruction and dismay;

And well his spear was wielded. Through the ranks

Of other warriors with the spear he ranged,

With sword and ponderous stones; yet warily

He shunned the fight with Ajax Telamon.

Then Father Jove Almighty touched with fear

The heart of Ajax. All amazed he stood,

And cast his sevenfold buckler of bull’s-hide

Upon his back, and, terrified, withdrew.

Now casting glances like a beast of prey

From side to side, he turned to right and left,

And, slowly yielding, moved knee after knee.

As when the rustics with their hounds drive off

A hungry lion from their stalls of kine,

Whom, watching all the night, they suffer not

To make their herd a prey; but he, intent

On ravin, rushes forward, yet in vain;

For many a javelin flies from daring hands

Against him, many a blazing torch is swung,

At which, though fierce, he trembles, and at morn

Stalks off in sullen mood;⁠—so Ajax, sad

At heart, and fearing for the Grecian fleet,

Unwillingly fell back before the foe.

And as, when entering in a field, an ass

Slow-paced, whose flanks have broken many a shaft

To splinters, crops the harvest as it grows,

And boys attack him with their rods⁠—though small

Their strength⁠—but scarce, till he has browsed his fill,

Can drive him forth⁠—so did the gallant sons

Of Troy, and their allies from distant lands,

Continually pursue the mighty son

Of Telamon, and hurl their spears against

The centre of his shield. And now he wheeled,

As conscious of great valor, and repulsed

The crowding phalanxes; and now again

He turned to flee. And thus he kept the foe

From reaching the swift galleys, while he stood

Between the Greeks and Trojans, terrible

In wrath. The javelins hurled by daring hands

Against him⁠—some hung fixed in his broad shield;

And many, ere they came to his fair skin,

Fell midway⁠—eager though they were to pierce

The warrior’s side⁠—and plunged into the earth.

Eurypylus, Evaemon’s noble son,

Saw Ajax sorely pressed with many darts,

And came and stood beside him, taking aim

With his bright spear, and in the liver smote,

Beneath the midriff, Apisaon, son

Of Phausias, and a prince among his tribe.

His knees gave way, and down he sank in death.

But godlike Alexander, who beheld

The slayer stripping Apisaon’s corpse

Of armor, at that moment bent his bow,

And pierced Eurypylus in the right thigh.

The reed brake in the wound. He writhed with pain,

And mingled with his fellows in the ranks,

Avoiding death, yet shouting to the Greeks:⁠—

“O friends, the chiefs and leaders of the Greeks,

Rally and keep your ground; ward off the fate

Of death from Ajax, who is sorely pressed

With darts, and, much I fear, may not escape

Safe from this stormy conflict. Stand ye firm

Around the mighty son of Telamon.”

So spake the wounded warrior; while his friends

Rallied around him, with their shields inclined

Against their shoulders, and with lifted spears.

And Ajax came and joined them; then he turned,

And firmly faced the foe. The Greeks renewed

The combat with a rage like that of fire.

Now meantime the Neleian coursers, steeped

In sweat, were bearing Nestor and the prince

Machaon from the battle. On the prow

Of his great ship, Achilles, swift of foot,

Looked forth, and, gazing on the hard-fought fray

And the sad rout, beheld them. Then he called

His friend Patroclus, shouting from the ship.

Patroclus heard, within the tent, and came,

Glorious as Mars;⁠—yet with that day began

His woes. The gallant Menoetiades

Made answer thus: “Why callest thou my name,

Achilles, and what needest thou of me?”

And thus rejoined Achilles, swift of foot:⁠—

“Son of Menoetius, nobly born, and well

Beloved by me, the Greeks, I deem, will soon

Be at my knees, imploring aid; for now

A hard necessity besets their host.

But go, Patroclus, dear to Jove, and ask

Of Nestor who it is that he hath brought

Thus wounded from the field. Seen from behind,

His form was like Machaon⁠—wholly like

That son of Aesculapius; but the face

I saw not, as the rapid steeds flew by.”

He spake. Patroclus hearkened to his friend,

And hastened to the Grecian tents and ships.

Now when they reached the tent of Neleus’ son,

The warriors in the chariot set their feet

Upon the nourishing earth. Eurymedon,

The old man’s charioteer, took from the mares

Their harness; while the chieftains cooled themselves,

And dried their sweaty garments in the breeze,

Facing the border of the sea, and then,

Entering the tent of Nestor, sat them down

On couches. Hecamede, bright of hair,

Prepared for them a mingled draught; the maid,

A daughter of the great Arsinoüs, came

From Tenedos with Nestor, when the town

Was ravaged by Achilles, and the Greeks

Gave her to Nestor, chosen from the rest

For him, as wisest of their counsellors.

First she drew forth a table fairly wrought,

Of polished surface, and with steel-blue feet,

And on it placed a brazen tray which bore

A thirst-provoking onion, honeycomb,

And sacred meal of wheat. Near these she set

A noble beaker which the ancient chief

Had brought from home, embossed with studs of gold.

Four were its handles, and each handle showed

Two golden turtles feeding, while below

Two others formed the base. Another hand

Could scarce have raised that beaker from its place,

But Nestor lifted it with ease. The maid,

Fair as a goddess, mingled Pramnian wine,

And grated o’er it, with a rasp of brass,

A goat’s-milk cheese, and, sprinkling the white flour

Upon it, bade them drink. With this they quenched

Their parching thirst, and then amused the time

With pleasant talk. Patroclus to the door

Meantime, a godlike presence, came, and stood.

The old man, as he saw him, instantly

Rose from his princely seat and seized his hand,

And led him in and bade him sit; but he

Refused the proffered courtesy, and said:⁠—

“Nay, ’tis no time to sit: persuade me not,

Nursling of Jove; for he is to be feared,

And prone to wrath, who sent me to inquire

What wounded man is with thee; but I know⁠—

Now that I see Machaon sitting here,

The shepherd of the people. I must haste

Back to Achilles, bearing my report.

Thou knowest, ancient chief, how quick he is

To take offence and blame the innocent.”

Then Nestor, the Gerenian knight, rejoined:⁠—

“Why does Achilles pity thus the sons

Of Greece when wounded? Little can he know

What sorrow reigns throughout the Grecian host

While, smitten in the close or distant fight,

Our bravest lie disabled in their ships.

The valiant son of Tydeus⁠—Diomed⁠—

Is wounded⁠—wounded Agamemnon lies,

And the great wielder of the javelin,

Ulysses. By an arrow in the thigh

Eurypylus is smitten, and I now

Bring home this warrior with an arrow-wound.

Yet doth Achilles, valiant as he is,

Care nothing for the Greeks. Will he then wait

Till our swift galleys, moored upon the shore,

After a vain defence shall feed the flames

Lit by the enemy’s hand, and we be slain,

And perish, heaps on heaps? My strength is now

Not that which dwelt in these once active limbs.

Would I were strong and vigorous as of yore,

When strife arose between our men and those

Of Elis for our oxen driven away,

And, driving off their beeves in turn, I slew

The Elean chief, the brave Itymoneus,

Son of Hypirochus! For, as he sought

To save his herd, a javelin from my arm

Smote him the first among his band. He fell;

His rustic followers fled on every side;

And mighty was the spoil we took: of beeves

We drave off fifty herds, as many flocks

Of sheep, of swine as many, and of goats

An equal number, and of yellow steeds

Thrice fifty;⁠—these were mares, and by their sides

Ran many a colt. We drave them all within

Neleian Pylos in the night. Well pleased

Was Neleus, that so large a booty fell

To me, who entered on the war so young.

When morning brake, the heralds’ cry was heard

Summoning all the citizens to meet

To whom from fruitful Elis debts were due;

And then the princes of the Pyleans came,

And made division of the spoil. For much

The Epeians owed us: we were yet but few

In Pylos, and had suffered grievously.

The mighty Hercules in former years

Had made us feel his wrath, and of our men

Had slain the bravest: of the twelve who drew

Their birth from Neleus, I alone am left;

The others fell. The Epeians brazen-mailed

Saw this, delighted, and insulted us

And did us wrong. When now the spoil was shared

The old man for himself reserved a herd

Of oxen, and a numerous flock of sheep⁠—

Three hundred, with their shepherds⁠—for to him

Large debts were due in Elis. He had sent

Four horses once, of peerless speed, with cars,

To win a tripod, the appointed prize.

Augeias, king of men, detained them there,

And sent the grieving charioteer away.

My father, angered at the monarch’s words

And acts, took large amends, and gave the rest

To share among the people, that no one

Might leave the ground, defrauded of his right.

All this was justly done, and we performed

Due sacrifices to the gods, throughout

The city;⁠—when the third day came, and brought

The Epeians all at once, in all their strength⁠—

Both men on foot and prancing steeds. With these

Came the Molions twain, well armed, though young

And yet untrained to war. There is a town

Named Thryoëssa, on a lofty hill

Far off beside Alpheius, on the edge

Of sandy Pylos. They beleaguered this,

And sought to overthrow it. As they crossed

The plain, Minerva came, a messenger,

By night from Mount Olympus, bidding us

Put on our armor. Not unwillingly

The Pyleans mustered, but in eager haste

For battle. Yet did Neleus not consent

That I should arm myself⁠—he hid my steeds;

For still he deemed me inexpert in war.

Yet even then, although I fought on foot,

I won great honor even among the knights;

For so had Pallas favored me. A stream

Named Minyeius pours into the sea

Near to Arena, where the Pylean knights

Waited the coming of the holy morn,

While those who fought on foot came thronging

Thence, with our host complete, and all in arms,

We marched, and reached at noon the sacred stream at

Alpheius, where to Jove Omnipotent

We offered chosen victims, and a bull

To the river-god, another to the god

Of ocean, and a heifer yet unbroke

To blue-eyed Pallas. Then we banqueted,

In bands, throughout the army, and lay down

In armor by the river-side to sleep.

Meantime the brave Epeians stood around

The city, resolute to lay it waste.

But first was to be done a mighty work

Of war; for as the glorious sun appeared

Above the earth we dashed against the foe,

Praying to Jove and Pallas. When the fight

Between the Eleans and the Pylean host

Was just begun, I slew a youthful chief⁠—

Mulius⁠—and bore away his firm-paced steeds.

The fair-haired Agamedé, eldest-born

Of King Augeias’ daughters, was his spouse;

And well to her each healing herb was known

That springs from the great earth. As he drew near,

I smote him with my brazen lance: he fell

To earth: I sprang into his car, and stood

Among the foremost warriors; while, around,

The brave Epeians, as they saw him fall⁠—

The leader of their knights, their mightiest

In battle⁠—turned and, panic-stricken, fled,

Each his own way. I followed on their flight

Like a black tempest; fifty cars I took,

And from each car I dashed two warriors down,

Pierced by my spear. And now I should have slain

The young Molions also, Actor’s sons,

Had not their father, he who shakes the earth,

Enshrouded them in mist, and hidden them

From all pursuit. Then with victorious might

Did Jove endue our arms, while we pursued

The foe across a region strewn with shields⁠—

Slaying, and gathering spoil⁠—until our steeds

Came to Buprasium, rich in fields of wheat,

And to the Olenian rock, and to the hill

Alesium in Coloné. Pallas there

Stayed our pursuit, and bade our host return.

There slew I the last man, and left him there.

And then the Achaians, guiding their swift steeds

Homeward to Pylos from Euprasium, gave

Great thanks to Jupiter among the gods,

And Nestor among men. Such was I then

Among the heroes; but Achilles keeps

His valor for himself alone⁠—and yet

Bitterly must he grieve when he beholds

Our people perish. O my friend! How well

Menoetius charged thee when he sent thee forth,

From Phthia, to Atrides! We were both⁠—

The nobly born Ulysses and myself⁠—

Within the palace, and we clearly heard

What he commanded thee. For we had come

To Peleus’ stately dwelling, on our way

Gathering a host in fertile Greece, and saw

The great Menoetius there, and there we found

Achilles with thee. There the aged knight

Peleus was burning, in the palace-court,

A steer’s fat thighs to Jove the Thunderer,

And lifted up a golden cup and poured

Dark wine upon the blazing sacrifice.

And both of you were busy with the flesh

When we were at the threshold. As he saw

Our coming, in surprise Achilles sprang

Toward us, and took our hands and led us in,

Bade us be seated, and before us placed

The generous banquet due to stranger-guests.

Then, having feasted, I began discourse,

Exhorting you to join us. Both of you

At once consented, and your fathers gave

Their admonitions. Aged Peleus charged

His son Achilles to excel the rest

In valor, while Menoetius, in his turn,

The son of Actor, gave thee this command:⁠—

“ ‘My son, Achilles is the nobler born,

But thou art elder. He surpasses thee

By far in warlike might, but thou must prompt

His mind with prudent counsels; thou must warn

And guide him; he will hearken to thy words

Meant for his good.’ The old man charged thee thus.

Thou hast forgotten it. Yet speak thou now

To Peleus’ warlike son; and haply he

May heed thy counsels. Thou perchance mayst bend

His will⁠—who knows?⁠—by thy persuasive words

For wholesome are the warnings of a friend.

Yet, if he shrink from some predicted doom,

Or if his goddess-mother have revealed

Aught of Jove’s counsels to him, then, at least

Let him send thee to war, and let his troop

Of Myrmidons go with thee, so that thou

Mayst carry succor to the Greeks. Yet more⁠—

Let him permit thee in the field to wear

His glorious armor, that the Trojan host,

Beholding thee so like to him, may shun

The combat, and the warlike sons of Greece,

Hard-pressed, may breathe again, and find at length

A respite from the conflict. Ye, who still

Are fresh and vigorous, shall assault and drive

Townward the weary foe from camp and fleet.”

He spake. The spirit of the youth took fire,

And instantly he hastened toward the ships

Of Peleus’ son. But when he came where lay

The galleys of Ulysses the divine,

Where was the assembly-place and judgment-seat,

And where the altars of the immortals stood,

Evaemon’s noble son, Eurypylus,

Met him as from the battle-field he came

Halting, and with an arrow in his thigh.

The sweat ran down his shoulders and his brow,

And the black blood was oozing from his wound,

Yet was his spirit untamed. The gallant youth,

Son of Menoetius, saw with grief, and said:⁠—

“Unhappy chiefs and princes of the Greeks!

Are ye then doomed to feast with your fair limbs

The famished dogs of Ilium, far away

From friends and country? Tell me, child of Jove,

Gallant Eurypylus, will yet the Greeks

Withstand the mighty Hector, or give way

And perish, overtaken by his spear?”

And thus the wise Eurypylus replied:⁠—

“Nursling of Jove, Patroclus! For the Greeks

There is no help, and all at their black ships

Must perish; for within them even now

All those who were our bravest warriors lie,

Wounded in close encounter, or from far,

By Trojan hands, whose strength with every hour

Becomes more terrible. Give now thine aid

And take me to my ship, and cut away

The arrow from my thigh, and from the part

Cleanse with warm water the dark blood, and shed

Soothing and healing balms upon the wound,

As taught thee by Achilles, who had learned

The art from Chiron, righteous in his day

Beyond all other Centaurs. Now the leech

Machaon lies, I think, among the tents,

Wounded, and needs the aid of others’ skill,

And Podalirius out upon the plain

Helps stem the onset of the Trojan host.”

Then spake the valiant Menoetiades:⁠—

“O brave Eurypylus! What yet will be

The end of this, and what are we to do?

Even now I bear a message on my way

From reverend Nestor, guardian of the Greeks,

To the great warrior, Peleus’ son; and yet

I must not leave thee in thine hour of need.”

He spake; and, lifting in his arms the prince,

He bore him to his tent. A servant spread,

Upon his entering, hides to form a couch;

And there Patroclus laid him down and cut

The rankling arrow from his thigh, and shed

Warm water on the wound to cleanse away

The purple blood, and last applied a root

Of bitter flavor to assuage the smart,

Bruising it first within his palms: the pangs

Ceased; the wound dried; the blood no longer flowed.