Book XIV

The Fraud Practised on Jupiter by Juno

Consultation of Agamemnon with Nestor, Diomed, and Ulysses⁠—Proposal of Agamemnon to withdraw from Troy by night opposed by Ulysses⁠—Visit made by these wounded chiefs to the battlefield, in order to encourage the army⁠—The cestus of Venus borrowed by Juno, who decoys Jupiter to her chamber, where he falls asleep⁠—Neptune meanwhile actively aids the Greeks, who commit great slaughter⁠—Hector wounded by Ajax.

The mighty uproar was not unperceived

By Nestor’s ear, who, sitting at the wine,

Addressed the son of Aesculapius thus:⁠—

“Noble Machaon, what will happen now?

Bethink thee: for the clamor grows more loud

From our young warriors at the ships. Stay here

And drink the purple wine, while for thy limbs

The fair-haired Hecamede warms the bath

And washes the dark blood away, and I

Will climb the watch-tower, and will know the worst.

He spake, and took a buckler, fairly wrought,

Glittering with brass, and left within the tent

By Thrasymedes, his own knightly son,

Who to the war had borne his father’s shield;

He grasped a ponderous spear, with brazen blade,

And stood without the tent, and saw a sight

Of shame⁠—the routed Greeks, and close behind

The haughty Trojans putting them to flight,

And the Greek wall o’erthrown. As when the face

Of the great deep grows dark with weltering waves,

That silently forbode the swift descent

Of the shrill blast, the yet uncertain seas

Roll not to either side, till from the seat

Of Jupiter comes down the violent wind⁠—

So paused the aged chief, uncertain yet

Of purpose⁠—whether he should join the throng

Of Greeks, with their swift coursers, or repair

To sovereign Agamemnon, Atreus’ son.

This to his thought seemed wiser, and he went

To seek Atrides. Meantime both the hosts

Urged on the work of slaughter; still they fought,

And still the solid brass upon their limbs

Rang, smitten with the swords and two-edged spears.

Then, coming from the fleet, the wounded kings,

Nurslings of Jove, met Nestor; toward him came

Tydides, and Ulysses, and the son

Of Atreus, Agamemnon. On the beach

Of the gray deep their ships were ranged afar

From that fierce conflict. There the Greeks had drawn,

To the plain’s edge, the first that touched the land,

And built a rampart at their sterns. Though long

The shore-line, it sufficed not to contain

The galleys, and the host had scanty room;

Wherefore they drew the galleys up in rows,

Row behind row, and filled the shore’s wide mouth

Between the promontories. There the kings

Walked, leaning on their lances, to behold

The tumult and the fight, and inly grieved.

The sight of aged Nestor startled them,

And thus the royal Agamemnon spake:⁠—

“Neleian Nestor, glory of the Greeks,

Why hast thou left the murderous fray, and why

Come hither? Much I fear the fiery chief,

Hector, will make the menace good which once

He uttered, speaking to the men of Troy⁠—

Not to return to Ilium from the fleet

Till he had burned our ships with fire, and slain

Us also; thus he spake, and now fulfils

His menace. O ye gods! The other Greeks,

And not Achilles only, cherish hate

Against me in their hearts, and now refuse

To combat even where our galleys lie.”

And Nestor, the Gerenian knight, replied:⁠—

“Thus is the threat accomplished, nor can Jove

The Thunderer reverse the event. The wall

In which we trusted as impregnable,

Our fleet’s defence and ours, is overthrown;

But obstinately still the Greeks maintain

The combat at the ships, nor couldst thou now

Distinguish with thy sharpest sight where most

The ranks are routed, so confusedly

They fall, and the wild uproar reaches heaven.

Meantime consult we what may yet be done,

If counsel aught avail; yet can I not

Advise to mingle in the strife again.

It is not meet that wounded men should fight.”

And then the royal Agamemnon said:⁠—

“Since at our ships, beneath their very sterns,

The combat rages; since the wall we built

Avails not, nor the trench, at which the Greeks

Labored and suffered, hoping it might be

A sure defence for us and for our fleet,

Certain it is that to Almighty Jove

It hath seemed good that here the Greeks, afar

From Argos, should be shamefully cut off;

For well was I aware when he designed

To aid the Greeks, and well can I perceive

That he is honoring now the men of Troy

Like to the blessed gods, and fettering

Our valor and our hands. Hear my advice,

And follow it. Let us draw down the ships

Nearest the sea, and launch them on the deep,

And moor them, anchored, till the lonely night

Shall come, when, if the Trojans pause from war,

Haply we may draw down the other barques;

For he who flees from danger, even by night,

Deserves no blame; and better is his fate

Who flees from harm than his whom harm o’ertakes.”

Then wise Ulysses, with stern look, replied:⁠—

“What words, Atrides, have escaped thy lips?

Unhappy man, thou shouldst have held command

O’er some effeminate army, and not ours⁠—

Ours to whom Jupiter, from youth to age,

Hath granted to accomplish difficult wars,

Until we pass away. And wouldst thou then

Depart from Troy, the city of broad streets,

For which we have endured so much and long?

Nay, be thou silent, lest the other Greeks

Hear words that never should be said by one

Who knows to speak with wisdom, and who bears

The sceptre, and who rules so many Greeks

As thou dost. I contemn with my whole soul

The counsel thou hast given, commanding us,

While yet the battle rages, to draw down

Our good ships to the sea, that so the foe

May see his wish more easily fulfilled,

Even in the hour of triumph, and our fate

Be certain ruin; for the Greeks no more

Will combat when they draw their galleys down,

But, looking backward to the shore, will leave

The battle there; and thus, O king of men!

Will mischief flow from what thou counsellest.”

And Agamemnon, king of men, rejoined:⁠—

“Thou touchest me, Ulysses, to the heart

With thy harsh censure; yet I did not give

Command to drag our good ships to the sea,

Against the will of the Greeks. And would there were

Some other, young or old, to counsel them

More prudently, for that would please me well.”

Then spake the great in battle, Diomed:⁠—

“The man is here, nor have ye far to look

If ye will be persuaded, and refrain

To blame me angrily, because my years

Are fewest midst you all. I too can boast

Of noble birth; my father, Tydeus, lies

Buried beneath a mound of earth at Thebes.

To Portheus three illustrious sons were born,

Who dwelt in Pleuron, and in Calydon

The lofty⁠—Agrius, Melas, and the knight,

My father’s father, Oeneus, eminent

Among the rest for valor; he remained

At home, but, wandering thence, my father went

To Argos, for the will of Jove was such⁠—

Jove and the other gods. He wedded there

A daughter of Adrastus, and he dwelt

Within a mansion filled with wealth; broad fields

Fertile in corn were his, and many rows

Of trees and vines around him; large his flocks,

And great his fame as one expert to wield,

Beyond all other Greeks, the spear in war.

This should ye know, for this is true; nor yet

Contemn my counsel given with careful thought

And for your good, nor deem it comes from one

Unwarlike and low-born. Now let us join

The battle, wounded as we are, for much

It needs our presence, keeping carefully

Beyond the reach of weapons, to avoid

Wound upon wound, and, cheering on the rest,

Send back into the combat those who stand

Apart, indulgent to their weariness.”

He spake: they hearkened, and with hasty steps

Went on, King Agamemnon at their head.

Nor was the glorious power that shakes the earth

Unmindful of his charge. He went among

The warriors in the semblance of a man

Stricken in years, and, seizing the right hand

Of Agamemnon, spake these wingèd words:⁠—

“O son of Atreus, the revengeful heart

Of Peleus’ son must leap within his breast

For joy, to see the slaughter and the rout

Of the Achaians, since with him there dwells

No touch of pity. May he perish too,

Like us, and may some god o’erwhelm his name

With infamy. With thee the blessed gods

Are not so far incensed, and thou shalt see

The Trojan chiefs and princes of their host

Raising the dust-clouds on the spacious plain

In fleeing from our ships and tents to Troy.”

He spake, and, shouting, strode across the field.

As loud a cry as from nine thousand men,

Or from ten thousand hurrying to engage

In battle, such the cry that ocean’s king

Uttered from his deep lungs. It woke anew

Invincible resolve in every heart

Among the Greeks to combat to the end.

Now, Juno of the golden throne beheld

As, standing on the Olympian height, she cast

Downward her eyes to where her brother moved,

Bearing his part with glory in the fray;

And inly she rejoiced. She also saw

Jove on the peak of Ida, down whose side

Glide many brooks, and greatly was displeased.

Then the majestic goddess with large eyes

Mused how to occupy the mind of him

Who bears the aegis. This at length seemed best:

To deck herself in fair array, and haste

To Ida, that the God might haply yield

To amorous desire, and in that hour

Her hand might pour into his lids, and o’er

His watchful mind, a soft and pleasant sleep.

She went to her own chamber, which her son

Vulcan had framed, with massive portals made

Fast to the lintels by a secret bolt,

Which none but she could draw. She entered in

And closed the shining doors; and first she took

Ambrosial water, washing every stain

From her fair limbs, and smoothed them with rich oil,

Ambrosial, soft, and fragrant, which, when touched

Within Jove’s brazen halls, perfumed the air

Of earth and heaven. When thus her shapely form

Had been anointed, and her hands had combed

Her tresses, she arranged the lustrous curls,

Ambrosial, beautiful, that clustering hung

Round her immortal brow. And next she threw

Around her an ambrosial robe, the work

Of Pallas, all its web embroidered o’er

With forms of rare device. She fastened it

Over the breast with clasps of gold, and then

She passed about her waist a zone which bore

Fringes an hundred-fold, and in her ears

She hung her three-gemmed ear-rings, from whose gleam

She won an added grace. Around her head

The glorious goddess drew a flowing veil,

Just from the loom, and shining like the sun;

And, last, beneath her bright white feet she bound

The shapely sandals. Gloriously arrayed

In all her ornaments, she left her bower,

And calling Venus to herself, apart

From all the other gods, addressed her thus:⁠—

“Wilt thou, dear child, comply with what I ask?

Or, angered that I aid the Greeks, while thou

Dost favor Troy, wilt thou deny my suit?”

And thus Jove’s daughter, Venus, made reply:⁠—

“O Juno, whom I reverence, speak thy thought,

Daughter of mighty Saturn! For my heart

Commands me to obey thy wish in all

That I can do, and all that can be done.”

And thus imperial Juno, planning guile,

Rejoined: “Give me the charm and the desire

With which thou overcomest gods and men.

I go to the far end of this green earth,

To visit Ocean, father of the gods,

And Mother Tethys, who, receiving me

From Rhea, cherished me, and brought me up

In their abodes, when Jove the Thunderer

Cast Saturn down to lie beneath the earth

And barren sea. I go to visit them,

And end their hateful quarrel. For too long

Have they been strangers to the marriage-bed.

But if my words persuade them, and bring back

Their hearts to their old love, my name will be

Honored by them, and dear throughout all time.”

And laughter-loving Venus answered thus:⁠—

“What thou desirest should not be denied,

And shall not, for thou sleepest in the arms

Of Jupiter, the mightiest of the gods.”

She spake, and from her bosom drew the zone,

Embroidered, many-colored, and instinct

With every winning charm⁠—with love, desire,

Dalliance, and gentle speech⁠—that stealthily

O’ercomes the purpose of the wisest mind,

And, placing it in Juno’s hands, she said:⁠—

“This many-colored zone, and all that dwells

Within it, take, and in thy bosom hide,

And thou, I deem, wilt not return and leave

Thy purpose unfulfilled.” As thus she spake,

The large-eyed stately Juno smiled and took,

And, smiling, in her bosom placed the zone,

While Venus, daughter of the Thunderer,

Went to the palace. Juno took her way

From high Olympus o’er Pieria’s realm

And rich Emathia, o’er equestrian Thrace,

With snowy peaks exceeding high; her feet

Touched not the ground. From Athos suddenly

She stooped upon the tossing deep, and came

To Lemnos, seat of Thoas the divine.

And there she met Death’s brother, Sleep, and took

His hand in hers, and thus accosted him:⁠—

“O Sleep, whose sway is over all the gods

And all mankind, if ever thou didst heed

My supplication, hearken to me now,

And I shall be forever grateful. Close

The glorious eyes of Jove beneath his lids

Midst our embracings, and for thy reward

Thou shalt possess a sumptuous throne of gold

Imperishable. Vulcan, my lame son,

Shall forge it for thee, and adorn its sides,

And place below a footstool, upon which

Thy shining feet shall rest in banqueting.”

Then gentle Sleep made answer, speaking thus:⁠—

“Great Saturn’s daughter, Juno the august,

On any other of the deathless gods

Could I bring slumber⁠—even on the tides

Of the swift Ocean, parent of them all;

Yet may I not approach Saturnian Jove

If he command me not. Already once

He made me quail with fright before his threats,

When his magnanimous son, Alcides, sailed

From Troy, which he had ravaged. Then I lulled

The senses of the Aegis-bearer, Jove,

Wrapping myself around him, while thy mind

Was planning mischiefs for his son, and thou

Didst wake the blasts of all the bitter winds

To sweep the ocean, and to bear away

The hero on its billows from his friends

To populous Cos. When Jupiter awoke

His anger rose; he seized and flung the gods

Hither and thither; me he chiefly sought,

And would have cast me to destruction, down

From the great heavens into the deep, if Night,

Whose power o’ercomes the might of gods and men,

Had not preserved me, fleeing to her shade.

So Jove refrained, indignant as he was,

For much he feared to offend the swift-paced Night.

And now thou bid’st me tempt my fate again.”

Imperial, large-eyed Juno thus rejoined:⁠—

“Why rise such thoughts, O Sleep, within thy heart?

Deem’st thou that Jove the Thunderer favors Troy

As much as he was angered for the sake

Of Hercules, his son? Do what I ask,

And thou shalt have from me a wedded spouse.

One of the younger Graces shall be thine⁠—

Pasithea, whom thou hast desired so long.”

She spake, and Sleep, delighted, answered thus:⁠—

“Swear now to me, O goddess, by the Styx,

The inviolable river. Lay one hand

Upon the food-producing earth, and place

The other on the glimmering; sea, that all

The gods below, round Saturn, may attest

Thy promise⁠—that thou wilt bestow on me

One of the younger Graces for my bride⁠—

Pasithea, whom I have desired so long.”

He spake, and white-armed Juno willingly

Complied; she took the oath, and called on all

The gods who dwell in Tartarus below,

And bear the name of Titans. When the oath

Was taken, and the accustomed rites performed,

From Lemnos and from Imbrus forth they went,

Shrouded in mist; and swiftly moving on

Toward Ida, seamed with rivulets and nurse

Of savage beasts, they came to Lectos first,

And there they left the sea. Their way was now

Over the land, and underneath their feet

The forest summits shook. Sleep halted there

Ere yet the eye of Jupiter descried

His coming, and upon a lofty fir,

The tallest growing on the Idaean mount,

High in the air among the clouds of heaven,

Springing from earth, he took his perch within

The screen of branches, like the shrill-voiced bird,

Called Chalcis by the immortals, and by men

Cymindis, haunting the high mountain-side.

And Juno hastened on to Gargarus,

The peak of lofty Ida. Jupiter,

The Cloud-compeller, saw her, and at once

Love took possession of his mighty heart,

As when they first were wedded, and withdrew

From their dear parents’ sight. The God drew near

And stood before her, and addressed her thus:⁠—

“Why art thou hastening from Olympus thus,

And whither; yet without thy steeds and car?”

And Juno answered with dissembled guile:⁠—

“To the far ends of the green earth I go,

To visit Ocean, father of the gods,

And Mother Tethys, in whose palace halls

They nourished me, and brought me up. I go

To end their hateful quarrels, for too long

Have they been strangers to the marriage-bed,

Incensed against each other. Now my steeds,

Waiting to bear me over land and sea,

Stand at the foot of Ida seamed with rills,

And now I come to thee, lest thou perchance

Be wroth if I unknown to thee repair

To where old Ocean dwells amid his deeps.”

The Cloud-compeller, Jupiter, rejoined:⁠—

“Hereafter, Juno, there will be a time

For such a journey; meantime let us give

This hour to rest and dalliance. Never yet

Did love of goddess or of mortal maid

Possess and overcome my heart as now;

Not even when I loved Ixion’s dame,

Who bore Pirithoüs, prudent as a god

Among the counsellors; nor when I loved

Acrisius’ daughter with the dainty feet,

Danae, who brought forth Perseus, eminent

Above the other warrior-chiefs; nor when

I carried off from Phoenix the renowned

His daughter, who bore Minos afterward,

And Rhadamanthus. Never so I loved

Semele, nor Alcmena who in Thebes

Brought forth to me the great-souled Hercules,

My valiant son, while Bacchus, the delight

Of men, was born of Semele; nor yet

So loved I Ceres, fair-haired queen, nor yet

Latona, gloriously beautiful,

Nor even thee, as now I love, and yield

My spirit to the sweetness of desire.”

Imperial Juno artfully replied:⁠—

“Importunate Saturnius, what is this

That thou hast said? If on this summit height

Of Ida we recline, where all around

Is open to the sight, how will it be

Should any of the ever-living gods

Behold us sleeping, and to all the rest

Declare it? I could never, rising thence,

Enter again thy palace, save with shame.

Yet if thou truly speakest thy desire,

Thou hast a marriage-chamber of thine own,

Which Vulcan, thy beloved son, for thee

Framed, fitting to its posts the solid doors;

And thither let us go to take our rest

Within it, since thou hast declared thy will.”

Then spake again the Cloud-compeller Jove:⁠—

“O Juno! Fear thou not that any god

Or man will look upon us. I shall throw

A golden cloud around us, which the Sun

Himself cannot look through, although his eye

Is piercing, far beyond all other eyes.”

The son of Saturn spake, and took his wife

Into his arms, while underneath the pair

The sacred Earth threw up her freshest herbs⁠—

The dewy lotus, and the crocus-flower,

And thick and soft the hyacinth. All these

Upbore them from the ground. Upon this couch

They lay, while o’er them a bright golden cloud

Gathered, and shed its drops of glistening dew.

So slumbered on the heights of Gargarus

The All-Father, overcome by sleep and love,

And held his consort in his arms. Meanwhile

The gentle Sleep made haste to seek the fleet

Of Greece. He bore a message to the god

Neptune, who shakes the shores, and, drawing near,

He thus accosted him with wingèd words:⁠—

“Now, Neptune, give the Greeks thy earnest aid,

And though it be but for a little space,

While Jupiter yet slumbers, let them win

The glory of the day; for I have wrapt

His senses in a gentle lethargy,

To which he is betrayed by Juno’s wiles.”

He spake, and took his way, departing thence

Among the tribes of men. These words inflamed

The god’s desire to aid the Greeks; he sprang

Far on among the foremost, and exclaimed:⁠—

“O Greeks! Do ye again submit to yield

The victory to Hector, Priam’s son.

That he may seize our fleet and bear away

The glory of the day? This is his hope,

And this his boast, since now Achilles lies

Inactive at his ships, in sullen wrath.

Yet little should we need him, if the rest

Stood bravely by each other. Hear me now,

And do what I advise. Let all of us,

The best and bravest, bearing shields, and capped

With glittering helms, and wielding in our hands

The longest spears, advance, and I will lead

The charge; nor do I think that Hector, son

Of Priam, daring as he seems, will yet

Abide our onset. Who so has the heart

To make a stand with me, and yet who bears

A narrow shield, let it be given to one

Less warlike, and a broader shield be found.”

He spake; they hearkened and obeyed. The kings

Tydides, and Ulysses, and the son

Of Atreus, Agamemnon, though their wounds

Still galled them, marshalled and reviewed the ranks,

And changed their arms; they made the braver wear

The better armor, and the worse they gave

To the less warlike. Now, when o’er their breasts

The burnished mail was girded, they began

Their march; the great earth-shaker, Neptune, led

The onset, grasping in his sinewy hand

A sword of fearful length and flashing blade,

Like lightning. No man dared encounter it

In combat; every arm was stayed by fear.

Right opposite, illustrious Hector ranged

His Trojans. Dark-haired Neptune and the son

Of Priam now engaged in desperate strife,

One on the side of Troy, and one for Greece.

The sea swelled upward toward the Grecian tents

And fleet, while both the armies flung themselves

Against each other with a loud uproar.

Not with such noise the ocean-billows lash

The mainland, when the violent north wind

Tumbles them shoreward; not with such a noise

Roar the fierce flames within the mountain glen,

When leaping upward to consume the trees;

And not so loudly howls the hurricane

Among the lofty branches of the oaks

When in its greatest fury, as now rose

The din of battle from the hosts that rushed

Against each other with terrific cries.

At Ajax glorious Hector cast his spear,

As face to face they stood. It missed him not,

But struck him where two belts upon his breast

O’erlapped each other⁠—that which held the shield

And that which bore the silver-studded sword.

These saved the tender muscles. Hector, vexed

That thus his weapon should have flown in vain,

Retreated toward his comrades, shunning death.

As he drew back, the Telamonian hurled

A stone⁠—for stones in multitude, that propped

The galleys, lay around, and rolled among

The feet of those who struggled. One of these

He lifted, smiting Hector on the breast,

Above the buckler’s orb and near the neck.

He sent it spinning like a top; it fell

And whirled along the ground. As when beneath

The stroke of Father Jupiter an oak

Falls broken at the root, and from it fumes

A stifling smell of sulphur, and the heart

Of him who stands and sees it sinks with dread⁠—

For fearful is the bolt of mighty Jove⁠—

So dropped the valiant Hector to the earth

Amid the dust; his hand let fall the spear;

His shield and helm fell with him, and his mail

Of shining brass clashed round him. Then the Greeks

Rushed toward him, yelling fiercely, for they hoped

To drag him thence; and many a lance they cast;

But none by javelin or by thrust could wound

The shepherd of the people, for there came

Around him all the bravest of his host⁠—

Polydamas, Aeneas, and the great

Agenor, and Sarpedon, he who led

The Lycian bands, and Glaucus the renowned;

These flung themselves into the strife, while none

Of all the rest refrained, but firmly held

Their broad round shields before him. Then his friends

Lifted him in their arms, and bore him off,

Out of the conflict, to his fiery steeds

That waited for him in the battle’s rear,

With charioteer and sumptuous car; and these

Bore him to Ilium, sorely suffering.

But when they now had reached the crossing-place

Of Xanthus, full of eddies, pleasant stream,

The progeny of ever-living Jove,

They lifted out the hero from the car,

And laid him on the ground, and on him poured

Water, at which his breath and sight returned.

He sat upon his knees, and from his throat

Gave forth the purple blood, and then he fell

Back to the ground, and darkness veiled his eyes,

For still his senses felt the stunning blow.

The Greeks saw Hector leave the field, and pressed

The foe more hotly, and bethought themselves

Of their old valor. Then the swift of foot,

Oilean Ajax, darted to the van,

And with his fir-tree spear smote Satnius, son

Of Enops, whom a Naiad eminent

For beauty among all the nymphs brought forth

To Enops, when on Satnio’s banks he kept

His flocks. Oileus’ son, expert to wield

The spear, drew near, and pierced him in the flank.

Prostrate he fell, and suddenly the Greeks

And Trojans gathered round in desperate fray.

Polydamas, the mighty spearman, son

Of Panthoüs, coming to avenge him, smote

On the right shoulder Prothoenor, son

Of Areilochus. The pitiless spear

Passed through, and falling in the dust he grasped

The earth with dying hands. Polydamas

Shouted aloud, exulting over him:⁠—

“Not vainly, as I think, hath flown the spear

From the strong hand of the magnanimous son

Of Panthoüs. Some Achaian hath received

The weapon in his side, to lean upon

In going down to Pluto’s dim abode.”

He spake; the Achaians chafed to hear his boast,

And most the warlike son of Telamon;

For the slain Greek fell near him. Instantly,

Just as the Trojan moved away, he hurled

His shining lance. Polydamas, to escape

The death-stroke, sprang aside. Archilochus,

Antenor’s son, received the blow: the gods

Had doomed him to be slain. It pierced the spine

Where the head joins the neck, and severed there

The tendons on each side. His head and mouth

And nostrils struck the ground before his knees.

And thus to excellent Polydamas

Did Ajax shout in turn: “Bethink thee now,

And tell me truly, was not this a man

Worthy to die for Prothoenor’s sake?

No man of mean repute or meanly born

He seems, but either brother to the knight

Antenor, or his son; for certainly

His looks declare him of Antenor’s race.”

He spake; but well he knew the slain. Meanwhile

The Trojans heard and grieved. Then Acamas,

Stalking around his fallen brother, slew

Promachus, the Boeotian, with his spear,

While dragging off the dead man by the feet.

Then o’er the fallen warrior, Acamas

Boasted aloud: “O measureless in threats!

Bowmen of Argos! Not to us alone

Shall woe and mourning come; ye also yet

Will perish. See your Promachus o’erthrown,

And by my spear, that so my brother’s death

May not be unrequited. Every man

Should wish a brother left to avenge his fall.”

He ended, and the Greeks were vexed to hear

His boast; the brave Peneleus most of all

Was angered, and he rushed on Acamas,

Who waited not the onset of the king,

And in his stead was Ilioneus slain,

The son of Phorbas, who was rich in flocks,

Whom Mercury, of all the sons of Troy,

Loved most, and gave him ample wealth; his wife

Brought Ilioneus forth, and only him;

And him Peneleus smote beneath the brow

In the eye’s socket, forcing out the ball;

The spear passed through, and reappeared behind.

Down sat the wounded man with arms outstretched,

While, drawing his sharp sword, Peneleus smote

The middle of his neck, and lopped away

The helmèd head, which fell upon the ground,

The spear still in the eye. He lifted it

As one would lift a poppy up, and thus

He shouted, boasting, to the Trojan host:⁠—

“Go now, ye Trojans, and inform from me

The father and the mother of the slain

That they may mourn within their palace walls

Illustrious Ilioneus. After this

Shall the sad wife of Promachus, the son

Of Alegenor, never hasten forth

To meet her husband with glad looks, when we

The Greeks return from Ilium with our fleet.”

He spake; the Trojans all grew pale with fear,

And gazed around for an escape from death.

Say, Muses, ye who on the Olympian height

Inhabit, who was first among the Greeks

To gather bloody spoil, when now the power

That shakes the shores had turned the tide of war.

First, Ajax, son of Telamon, struck down

Hyrtius, the leader of the Mysian band,

And son of Gyrtias, while Antilochus

Spoiled Mermerus and Phalces. Morys next,

Slain by the weapon of Meriones,

Fell with Hippotion. Teucer overthrew

Prothous and Periphoetes. Atreus’ son

Smote Hyperenor, prince among his tribe,

Upon the flank; the trenchant weapon drank

The entrails, and the soul, driven forth, escaped

Through the deep wound, and darkness veiled his eyes.

But Ajax swift of foot, Oileus’ son,

O’erthrew the most, for none could equal him

In swift pursuit when Jove ordained a flight.