Chapter 23

Thus pondering, like a god the Greek drew nigh; His dreadful plumage nodded from on high; The Pelian* javelin, in his better hand, Shot trembling rays that glitter'd o'er the land; And on his breast the beamy splendor shone, Like Jove's own lightning, o'er the rising sun. As Hector sees, unusual terrors rise; Struck by some god, he fears, recedes, and flies. He leaves the gates, he leaves the wall behind: Achilles follows like the winged wind. Thus at the panting dove a falcon flies (The swiftest racer of the liquid skies), Just when he holds, or thinks he holds his prey, Obliquely wheeling through the aerial way, With open beak and shrilling cries he springs, And aims his claws, and shoots upon his wings: No less fore-right* the rapid chase they held, One urged by fury, one by fear impell'd: Now circling round the walls their course maintain, Where the high watch-tower overlooks the plain; Now where the fig-trees spread their umbrage broad, (A wider compass), smoke along the road. Next by Scamander's* double source they bound, Where two famed fountains burst the parted ground; This hot through scorching clefts is seen to rise, With exhalations streaming to the skies; That the green banks in summer's heat o'erflows, Like crystal clear, and cold as winter snows: Each gushing fount a marble cistern fills, Whose polished bed receives the falling rills; Where Trojan dames (ere yet alarm'd by Greece) Wash'd their fair garments in the days of peace.* By these they pass'd, one chasing, one in flight The mighty fled, pursued by stronger might: Swift was the course; no vulgar prize they play, No vulgar victim must reward the day: Such as in races crown the speedy strife: The prize contended was great Hector's life.

*[Footnote: _Pelian_ is an adjective formed from _Peleus_, the name of the father of Achilles.] *[Footnote: _Fore-right_ means _straight forward_.] *[Footnote: The Scamander was a famous river that flowed near the city of Troy. According to the _Iliad_, its source was two springs, one a cold and one a hot spring.] *[Footnote: It was not, in these very ancient times, thought beneath the dignity of even a princess to wash her linen in some clear river or spring.]

As when some hero's funerals are decreed In grateful honor of the mighty dead;* Where high rewards the vigorous youth inflame (Some golden tripod, or some lovely dame) The panting coursers swiftly turn the goal, And with them turns the raised spectator's soul: Thus three times round the Trojan wall they fly. The gazing gods lean forward from the sky.*

*[Footnote: The favorite way, among the ancients, of doing honor to a man after his death was to hold a sort of a funeral festival, where contests in running, wrestling, boxing, and other feats of strength and skill were held.] *[Footnote: The gods play a very important part in the _Iliad_. 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 compass'd round the field. Oft as to reach the Dardan* gates he bends, And hopes the assistance 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 god, O Muse,* assisted 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 snatch 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 goddesses 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 hell receives the weight.

*[Footnote: Jove, or Jupiter, was the king of gods 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 god 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, goddess 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 _god of light_ was Apollo.]

Her voice divine the chief with joyful mind Obey'd; and rested, on his lance reclined, While like Deïphobus* 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: Deïphobus was one of the brothers of Hector. Minerva assumes 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 noble 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 goddess:* "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 bloody 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 god 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 space 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 noble 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 gods! 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* shield 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 Deïphobus, demands a spear-- In vain, for no Deïphobus was there. All comfortless he stands: then, with a sigh: "'Tis so--Heaven wills it, and my hour is nigh! I deem'd Deïphobus had heard my call, But he secure lies guarded in the wall. A god 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, god of fire.] *[Footnote: This reference is to Apollo.]

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 shield 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* shines 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 space 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. Prone on the field the bleeding warrior lies, While, thus triumphing, stern Achilles cries:

*[Footnote: The eagle was sacred to Jove.] *[Footnote: _Hesper_ was the old name for Venus, the evening star, the brightest of the planets.] *[Footnote: Patroclus was the friend of Achilles, whom Hector had killed. Hector had, after the usual custom, taken possession of the armor of Patroclus, which had originally belonged to Achilles.]

"At last is Hector stretch'd upon the plain, Who fear'd no vengeance for Patroclus slain: Then, prince! you should have fear'd what now you feel; Achilles absent was Achilles still: Yet a short space the great avenger stayed, Then low in dust thy strength and glory laid. Peaceful he sleeps, with all our rites adorn'd, Forever honor'd, and forever mourn'd: While cast to all the rage of hostile power, Thee birds shall mangle, and the dogs' devour."

Then Hector, fainting at the approach of death: By thy own soul! by those who gave thee breath! By all the sacred prevalence of prayer; Oh, leave me not for Grecian dogs to tear! The common rites of sepulture bestow, To soothe a father's and a mother's woe: Yet their large gifts procure an urn at least, And Hector's ashes in his county rest."

"No, wretch accursed!" relentless he replies (Flames, as he spoke, shot flashing from his eyes); "Not those who gave me breath should bid me spare, For all the sacred prevalence of prayer, Would I myself the bloody banquet join! So--to the dogs that carcase I resign. Should Troy, to bribe me, bring forth all her store, And giving thousands, offer thousands more; Should Dardan Priam, and his weeping dame, Drain their whole realm to buy one funeral flame: Their Hector on the pile they should not see. Nor rob the vultures of one limb of thee."

Then thus the chief his dying accents drew: "Thy rage, implacable! too well I knew: The Furies* that relentless breast have steel'd, And cursed thee with a heart that cannot yield. Yet think, a day will come, when fate's decree And angry gods shall wreak this wrong on thee; Phoebus and Paris shall avenge my fate, And stretch thee here before the Scaean gate."

*[Footnote: The Furies were three hideous sisters who sometimes drove people mad with rage and remorse.]

He ceased. The Fates suppress'd his laboring breath, And his eyes stiffen'd at the hand of death; To the dark realm the spirit wings its way (The manly body left a load of clay), And plaintive glides along the dreary coast, A naked, wandering, melancholy ghost!

Achilles, musing as he roll'd his eyes O'er the dead hero, thus unheard, replies. "Die thou the first! When Jove and heaven ordain, I follow thee."--He said, and stripp'd the slain. Then forcing backward from the gaping wound The reeking javelin, cast it on the ground. The thronging Greeks behold with wondering eyes His manly beauty and superior size; While some, ignobler, the great dead deface With wounds ungenerous, or with taunts disgrace.

"How changed that Hector, who like Jove of late Sent lightning on our fleets, and scatter'd fate!"

High o'er the slain the great Achilles stands, Begirt with heroes and surrounding bands; And thus aloud, while all the host attends: "Princes and leaders! countrymen and friends! Since now at length the powerful will of heaven The dire destroyer to our arm has given, Is not Troy fallen already? Haste, ye powers! See, if already their deserted towers Are left unmann'd; or if they yet retain The souls of heroes, their great Hector slain. But what is Troy, or glory what to me? Or why reflects my mind on aught but thee, Divine Patroclus! Death hath seal'd his eyes; Unwept, unhonor'd, uninterr'd he lies! Can his dear image from my soul depart, Long as the vital spirit moves my heart? If in the melancholy shades below, The flames of friends and lovers cease to glow, Yet mine shall sacred last; mine, undecay'd, Burn on through death, and animate my shade. Meanwhile, ye sons of Greece, in triumph bring The corpse of Hector, and your paeans sing. Be this the song, slow-moving toward the shore, Hector is dead, and Ilion is no more."

Then his fell soul a thought of vengeance bred (Unworthy of himself, and of the dead); The nervous* ancles bored, his feet he bound With thongs inserted through the double wound; These fix'd up high behind the rolling wain, His graceful head was trail'd along the plain. Proud on his car the insulting victor stood, And bore aloft his arms, distilling blood. He smites the steeds; the rapid chariot flies; The sudden clouds of circling dust arise. Now lost is all that formidable air; The face divine, and long-descending hair, Purple the ground, and streak the sable sand; Deform'd, dishonor'd, in his native land, Given to the rage of an insulting throng, And, in his parents' sight, now dragg'd along!

*[Footnote: _Nervous_ here means _strong, sinewy_.]

The mother first beheld with sad survey; She rent her tresses, venerable gray, And cast, far off, the regal veils away. With piercing shrieks his bitter fate she moans, While the sad father answers groans with groans. Tears after tears his mournful cheeks o'erflow, And the whole city wears one face of woe: No less than if the rage of hostile fires, From her foundations curling to her spires, O'er the proud citadel at length should rise, And the last blaze send Ilion to the skies.

THE WOODEN HORSE

_From VERGIL'S AENEID_

NOTE.--As the _Iliad_ is the greatest of Greek poems, so the _Aeneid_ is the greatest of Latin poems. It was written by Vergil, who lived in the first century B. C., and is one of the classics which every one who studies Latin takes up. References to it are almost as frequent in literature as are references to the _Iliad_, to which it is closely related. The translation from which this selection of the _Wooden Horse_ is taken is by John Conington.

The _Iliad_ deals with the Trojan War (see introductory note to _Death of Hector_), while the _Aeneid_ deals with the wanderings of a Trojan hero after the fall of his city. Aeneas, from whom the _Aeneid_ takes its name, was the son of Anchises and Venus, goddess of love, and was one of the bravest of the Trojan heroes; indeed, he was second only to Hector.

When Troy was taken by the stratagem which Aeneas describes in this selection, he set sail with numerous followers for Italy, where fate had ordained that he should found a great nation. Juno, however, who hated the Trojans, drove the hero from his course, and brought upon him many sufferings. At last in his wanderings he came to the northern shore of Africa, where he found a great city, Carthage. Dido, queen of the Carthaginians, received Aeneas hospitably, and had prepared for him a great feast, at the conclusion of which she besought him to relate to her the story of the fall of Troy. Aeneas objected at first, as he feared he could not endure the pain which the recital would give him, but in the end he complied with her request.

The following selection gives the account of the stratagem by which the Greeks, after thirteen years' siege, finally took Troy.

Torn down by wars, Long beating 'gainst Fate's dungeon-bars, As year kept chasing year,* The Danaan* chiefs, with cunning given. By Pallas,* mountain-high to heaven A giant horse uprear, And with compacted beams of pine The texture of its ribs entwine, A vow for their return they feign: So runs the tale, and spreads amain. There in the monster's cavernous side Huge frames of chosen chiefs they hide, And steel-clad soldiery finds room Within that death-producing womb.

*[Footnote: The Greeks besieged Troy, or Ilium, for nine years without making much head against it, and in the tenth year succeeded in taking the city only by fraud, which Aeneas here describes.] *[Footnote: _Danaans_ is a poetical name for the Greeks.] *[Footnote: Pallas was Minerva, daughter of Jupiter, and one of the most powerful of the goddesses. She favored the Greeks, and longed to take their part against the Trojans, but was forbidden by Jupiter to aid them in any way except by advising them.]

An isle there lies in Ilium's sight, And Tenedos its name, While Priam's fortune yet was bright, Known for its wealth to fame: Now all has dwindled to a bay, Where ships in treacherous shelter stay.

Thither they sail, and hide their host Along its desolated coast. We thought them to Mycenae* flown And rescued Troy forgets to groan. Wide stand the gates: what joy to go The Dorian camp to see, The land disburthened of the foe, The shore from vessels free! There pitched Thessalia's squadron, there Achilles' tent was set: There, drawn on land, their navies were, And there the battle met. Some on Minerva's offering gaze, And view its bulk with strange amaze: And first Thymoetes loudly calls To drag the steed within our walls, Or by suggestion from the foe, Or Troy's ill fate had willed it so. But Capys and the wiser kind Surmised the snare that lurked behind: To drown it in the whelming tide, Or set the fire-brand to its side, Their sentence is: or else to bore Its caverns, and their depths explore. In wild confusion sways the crowd: Each takes his side and all are loud.

*[Footnote: Mycenae was the capital city of Agamemnon, the leader of the Greeks in the Trojan War.]

Girt with a throng of Ilium's sons, Down from the tower Laocoön runs, And, "Wretched countrymen," he cries, "What monstrous madness blinds your eyes? Think you your enemies removed? Come presents without wrong From Danaans? have you thus approved Ulysses,* known so long? Perchance--who knows?--the bulk we see Conceals a Grecian enemy, Or 'tis a pile to o'erlook the town, And pour from high invaders down, Or fraud lurks somewhere to destroy: Mistrust, mistrust it, men of Troy! Whate'er it be, a Greek I fear, Though presents in his hand he bear." He spoke, and with his arm's full force Straight at the belly of the horse His mighty spear he cast: Quivering it stood: the sharp rebound Shook the huge monster; and a sound Through all its caverns passed. And then, had fate our weal designed Nor given us a perverted mind, Then had he moved us to deface The Greeks' accursed lurking-place, And Troy had been abiding still, And Priam's tower yet crowned the hill.

*[Footnote: Ulysses was the craftiest of the Greeks, the man to whom they appealed when in need of wise advice.]