Journeys Through Bookland Volume Iv Part 36

Sometimes, as here, they simply watch the struggle from their home above Olympus; sometimes, as in the first lines of this selection, they actually descend to the battlefield and take part in the contest.]

As through the forest, o'er the vale and lawn, The well-breath'd beagle drives the flying fawn, In vain he tries the covert of the brakes, Or deep beneath the trembling thicket shakes; Sure of the vapor* in the tainted dews, The certain hound his various maze pursues.

Thus step by step, where'er the Trojan wheel'd, There swift Achilles compa.s.s'd round the field.

Oft as to reach the Dardan* gates he bends, And hopes the a.s.sistance of his pitying friends, (Whose showering arrows, as he coursed below, From the high turrets might oppress the foe), So oft Achilles turns him to the plain: He eyes the city, but he eyes in vain.

As men in slumbers seem with speedy pace, One to pursue, and one to lead the chase, Their sinking limbs the fancied course forsake, Nor this can fly, nor that can overtake; No less the laboring heroes pant and strain: While that but flies, and this pursues in vain.

*[Footnote: _Vapor_ here means _scent_.]

*[Footnote: _Dardan_ is an old word for _Trojan_.]

What G.o.d, O Muse,* a.s.sisted Hector's force With fate itself so long to hold the course?

Phoebus* it was; who, in his latest hour, Endued his knees with strength, his nerves with power.

And great Achilles, lest some Greek's advance Should s.n.a.t.c.h the glory from his lifted lance, Sign'd to the troops to yield his foe the way, And leave untouch'd the honors of the day.

*[Footnote: The Muses were nine sister G.o.ddesses who inspired poetry and music. No ancient Greek poet ever undertook to write without first seeking the aid of the Muse who presided over the particular kind of poetry that he was writing. Homer here addresses Calliope, the Muse of epic poetry.]

*[Footnote: Phoebus is Apollo, whom at the opening of this selection we found aiding Hector by misleading Achilles.]

Jove* lifts the golden balances, that show The fates of mortal men, and things below: Here each contending hero's lot he tries, And weighs, with equal hand, their destinies.

Low sinks the scale surcharged with Hector's fate; Heavy with death it sinks, and h.e.l.l receives the weight.

*[Footnote: Jove, or Jupiter, was the king of G.o.ds and men.]

Then Phoebus left him. Fierce Minerva* flies To stern Pelides,* and triumphing, cries: "O loved of Jove! this day our labors cease, And conquest blazes with full beams on Greece.

Great Hector falls; that Hector famed so far, Drunk with renown, insatiable of war, Falls by thy hand, and mine! nor force, nor flight, Shall more avail him, nor his G.o.d of light.*

See, where in vain he supplicates above, Roll'd at the feet of unrelenting Jove; Rest here: myself will lead the Trojan on, And urge to meet the fate he cannot shun."

*[Footnote: Minerva, G.o.ddess of wisdom, was the special protector of the Greeks. Throughout the struggle she was anxious to take part against the Trojans, but much of the time Jupiter would not let her fight; he allowed her merely to advise.]

*[Footnote: The ending--_ides_ means _son of_. Thus Pelides means _son of Peleus._]

*[Footnote: The _G.o.d of light_ was Apollo.]

Her voice divine the chief with joyful mind Obey'd; and rested, on his lance reclined, While like Dephobus* the martial dame (Her face, her gesture, and her arms the same), In show and aid, by hapless Hector's side Approach'd, and greets him thus with voice belied:

*[Footnote: Dephobus was one of the brothers of Hector. Minerva a.s.sumes his form, and deceives Hector into thinking that his brother has come to aid him.]

"Too long, O Hector! have I borne the sight Of this distress, and sorrow'd in thy flight: It fits us now a n.o.ble stand to make, And here, as brothers, equal fates partake."

Then he: "O prince! allied in blood and fame, Dearer than all that own a brother's name; Of all that Hecuba* to Priam bore, Long tried, long loved: much loved, but honor'd more!

Since you, of all our numerous race alone Defend my life, regardless of your own."

*[Footnote: _Hecuba_ was the name of Hector's mother.]

Again the G.o.ddess:* "Much my father's prayer, And much my mother's, press'd me to forbear: My friends embraced my knees, adjured my stay, But stronger love impell'd, and I obey.

Come then, the glorious conflict let us try, Let the steel sparkle, and the javelin fly; Or let us stretch Achilles on the field, Or to his arm our b.l.o.o.d.y trophies yield."

*[Footnote: _Spoke_, or _said_, is understood here.]

Fraudful she said; then swiftly march'd before: The Dardan hero shuns his foe no more.

Sternly they met. The silence Hector broke: His dreadful plumage nodded as he spoke;

"Enough, O son of Peleus! Troy has view'd Her walls thrice circled, and her chief pursued But now some G.o.d within me bids me try Thine, or my fate: I kill thee, or I die.

Yet on the verge of battle let us stay, And for a moment's s.p.a.ce suspend the day; Let Heaven's high powers be call'd to arbitrate The just conditions of this stern debate (Eternal witnesses of all below, And faithful guardians of the treasured vow)!

To them I swear; if, victor in the strife, Jove by these hands shall shed thy n.o.ble life, No vile dishonor shall thy corse pursue; Stripp'd of its arms alone (the conqueror's due) The rest to Greece uninjured I'll restore: Now plight thy mutual oath, I ask no more."*

*[Footnote: It meant more to an ancient Greek to have his body given up to his family, that it might be buried with proper rite's, than it does to a modern soldier, for the Greeks believed that the soul could not find rest until the body was properly buried.

This makes the refusal of Achilles to agree to Hector's request seem all the more cruel.]

"Talk not of oaths" (the dreadful chief replies, While anger flash'd from his disdainful eyes), "Detested as thou art, and ought to be, Nor oath nor pact Achilles plights with thee: Such pacts as lambs and rabid wolves combine, Such leagues as men and furious lions join, To such I call the G.o.ds! one constant state Of lasting rancor and eternal hate:

No thought but rage, and never-ceasing strife Till death extinguish rage, and thought, and life.

Rouse then my forces this important hour, Collect thy soul, and call forth all thy power.

No further subterfuge, no further chance; Tis Pallas,* Pallas gives thee to my lance.

Each Grecian ghost, by thee deprived of breath, Now hovers round, and calls thee to thy death."

*[Footnote: _Pallas_ was another name for Minerva.]

He spoke, and launch'd his javelin at the foe; But Hector shunn'd the meditated blow: He stoop'd, while o'er his head the flying spear, Sang innocent, and spent its force in air.

Minerva watch'd it falling on the land, Then drew, and gave to great Achilles' hand, Unseen of Hector, who, elate with joy, Now shakes his lance, and braves the dread of Troy.

"The life you boasted to that javelin given, Prince! you have miss'd. My fate depends on Heaven.

To thee, presumptuous as thou art, unknown, Or* what must prove my fortune, or thy own.

Boasting is but an art, our fears to blind, And with false terrors sink another's mind.

But know, whatever fate I am to try, By no dishonest wound shall Hector die.

I shall not fall a fugitive at least, My soul shall bravely issue from my breast.

But first, try thou my arm; and may this dart End all my country's woes, deep buried in thy heart."

*[Footnote: _Or_ is here used instead of _either_.]

The weapon flew, its course unerring held, Unerring, but the heavenly* s.h.i.+eld repell'd The mortal dart; resulting with a bound From off the ringing orb it struck the ground.

Hector beheld his javelin fall in vain, Nor other lance, nor other hope remain; He calls Dephobus, demands a spear-- In vain, for no Dephobus was there.

All comfortless he stands: then, with a sigh: "'Tis so--Heaven wills it, and my hour is nigh!

I deem'd Dephobus had heard my call, But he secure lies guarded in the wall.

A G.o.d deceived me: Pallas, 'twas thy deed, Death and black fate approach; 'tis I must bleed.

No refuge now, no succor from above.

Great Jove deserts me, and the son of Jove,*

Propitious once, and kind! Then welcome fate!

'Tis true I perish, yet I perish great: Yet in a mighty deed I shall expire, Let future ages hear it, and admire!"

*[Footnote: The armor of Achilles had been made for him by Vulcan, G.o.d of fire.]

*[Footnote: This reference is to Apollo.]

[Ill.u.s.tration: BEFORE HIS BREAST THE FLAMING s.h.i.+ELD HE BEARS]

Fierce, at the word, his weighty sword he drew, And, all collected, on Achilles flew.

So Jove's bold bird,* high balanced in the air, Stoops from the clouds to truss the quivering hare.

Nor less Achilles his fierce soul prepares: Before his breast the flaming s.h.i.+eld he bears Refulgent orb! above his fourfold cone The gilded horse-hair sparkled in the sun, Nodding at every step (Vulcanian frame!): And as he moved, his figure seem'd on flame.

As radiant Hesper* s.h.i.+nes with keener light, Far-beaming o'er the silver host of night, When all the starry train emblaze the sphere: So shone the point of great Achilles' spear.

In his right hand he waves the weapon round, Eyes the whole man, and meditates the wound; But the rich mail Patroclus* lately wore Securely cased the warrior's body o'er.

One s.p.a.ce at length he spies, to let in fate, Where 'twixt the neck and throat the jointed plate Gave entrance: through that penetrable part Furious he drove the well-directed dart: Nor pierced the windpipe yet, nor took the power Of speech, unhappy! from thy dying hour.

p.r.o.ne on the field the bleeding warrior lies, While, thus triumphing, stern Achilles cries: