Iliad of Homer, Rendered into English Blank Verse — Book 16 Part 2

Thus she; the Sire of Gods and men complied: But to the ground some drops of blood let fall, In honour of his son, whom fate decreed, Far from his country, on the fertile plains Of Troy to perish by Patroclus’ hand.

As near the champions drew, Patroclus first His weapon hurl’d, and Thrasymedes brave, The faithful follower of Sarpedon, struck Below the waist, and slack’d his limbs in death.

Thrown in his turn, Sarpedon’s glitt’ring spear Flew wide; and Pedasus, the gallant horse, Through the right shoulder wounded; with a scream He fell, and in the dust breath’d forth his life, As, shrieking loud, his noble spirit fled.

This way and that his two companions swerv’d;

Creak’d the strong yoke, and tangled were the reins, As in the dust the prostrate courser lay.

Automedon the means of safety saw;

And drawing from beside his brawny thigh His keen-edg’d sword, with no uncertain blow Cut loose the fallen horse; again set straight, The two, extended, stretch’d the tightened rein.

Again in mortal strife the warriors clos’d: Once more Sarpedon hurl’d his glitt’ring spear In vain; above Patroclus’ shoulder flew The point, innocuous; from his hand in turn The spear not vainly thrown, Sarpedon struck Where lies the diaphragm, below the heart.

He fell; as falls an oak, or poplar tall, Or lofty pine, which on the mountain top For some proud ship the woodman’s axe hath hewn: So he, with death-cry sharp, before his car Extended lay, and clutch’d the blood-stain’d soil.

As when a lion on the herd has sprung, And, ’mid the heifers seiz’d, the lordly bull Lies bellowing, crush’d between the lion’s jaws;

So by Patroclus slain, the Lycian chief, Undaunted still, his faithful comrade call’d: “Good Glaucus, warrior tried, behoves thee now Thy spearmanship to prove, and warlike might.

Welcome the fray; put forth thine utmost speed;

Call on the Lycian chiefs, on ev’ry side, To press around, and for Sarpedon fight;

Thou too thine arms for my protection wield;

For I to thee, through all thy future days, Shall be a ceaseless scandal and reproach, If me, thus slain before the Grecian ships, The Greeks be suffer’d of my arms to spoil: But stand thou fast, and others’ courage raise.

” Thus as he spoke, the shades of death o’erspread His eyes and nostrils; then with foot firm-set Upon his chest, Patroclus from the corpse Drew, by main force, the fast-adhering spear;

The life forth issuing with the weapon’s point.

Loos’d from the royal car, the snorting steeds, Eager for flight, the Myrmidons detain’d. Deep-grieving, Glaucus heard his voice: and chafed His spirit within him, that he lacked the power To aid his comrade; with his hand he grasp’d His wounded arm, in torture from the shaft By Teucer shot, to save the Greeks from death, As on he pressed to scale the lofty wall: Then to Apollo thus address’d his pray’r: “Hear me, great King, who, as on Lycia’s plains, Art here in Troy; and hear’st in ev’ry place Their voice who suffer, as I suffer now.

A grievous wound I bear, and sharpest pangs My arm assail, nor may the blood he stanch’d: The pain weighs down my shoulder; and my hand Hath lost its pow’r to fight, or grasp my spear.

Sarpedon, bravest of the brave, is slain, The son of Jove; yet Jove preserv’d him not.

But thou, O King, this grievous wound relieve;

Assuage the pain, and give me strength to urge My Lycian comrades to maintain the war, And fight myself to guard the noble dead.

” Thus as he pray’d, his pray’r Apollo heard, Assuag’d his pains, and from the grievous wound Stanch’ d the dark blood, and fill’d his soul with strength.

Glaucus within himself perceiv’d, and knew, Rejoicing, that the God had heard his pray’r. The Lycian leaders first on ev’ry side He urg’d to hasten for their King to fight: Then ’mid the Trojans went with lofty step, And first to Panthous’ son, Polydamas, To brave Agenor and Æneas next;

Then Hector of the brazen helm himself Approaching, thus with winged words address’d: “Hector, forgett’st thou quite thy brave allies, Who freely in thy cause pour forth their lives, Far from their home and friends?

but they from thee No aid receive; Sarpedon lies in death, The leader of the buckler’d Lycian bands, Whose justice and whose pow’r were Lycia’s shield;

Him by Patroclus’ hand hath Mars subdued.

But, friends, stand by me now!

with just revenge Inspir’d, determine that the Myrmidons Shall not, how griev’d soe’er for all the Greeks Who by our spears beside the ships have fall’n, Our dead dishonour, and his arms obtain.

” He said; and through the Trojans thrill’d the sense Of grief intolerable, unrestrain’d;

For he, though stranger-born, was of the State A mighty pillar; and his followers A num’rous host; and he himself in fight Among the foremost; so, against the Greeks, With fiery zeal they rush’d, by Hector led, Griev’d for Sarpedon’s loss; on th’ other side Patroclus’ manly heart the Greeks arous’d, And to th’ Ajaces first, themselves inflamed With warlike zeal, he thus address’d his speech: “Ye sons of Ajax, now is come the time Your former fame to rival, or surpass: The man hath fall’n, who first o’erleap’d our wall, Sarpedon; now remains, that, having slain, We should his corpse dishonour, and his arms Strip off; and should some comrade dare attempt His rescue, him too with our spears subdue.

” He said; and they, with martial ardour fir’d, Rush’d to the conflict.

When on either side The reinforc’d battalions were array’d, Trojans and Lycians, Myrmidons and Greeks Around the dead in sternest combat met, With fearful shouts; and loud their armour rang.

Then, to enhance the horror of the strife Around his son, with darkness Jove o’erspread The stubborn fight: the Trojans first drove back The keen-ey’d Greeks; for first a warrior fell, Not of the meanest ’mid the Myrmidons, Epegeus, son of valiant Agacles;

Who in Budaeum’s thriving state bore rule Erewhile; but flying for a kinsman slain, To Peleus and the silver-footed Queen He came a suppliant; with Achilles thence To Ilium sent, to join the war of Troy.

Him, as he stretch’d his hand to seize the dead, Full on the forehead with a massive stone Great Hector smote; within the pond’rous helm The skull was split in twain; prone on the corpse He fell, by life-destroying death subdued.

Griev’d was Patroclus for his comrade slain;

Forward he darted, as a swift-wing’d hawk, That swoops amid the starlings and the daws;

So swift didst thou, Patroclus, car-borne chief, Upon the Trojans and the Lycians spring, Thy soul with anger for thy comrade fill’d. A pond’rous stone he hurl’d at Sthenelas, Son of Ithaemenes; the mighty mass Fell on his neck, and all the muscles crush’d. Back drew great Hector and the chiefs of Troy;

Far as a jav’lin’s flight, in sportive strife, Or in the deadly battle, hurl’d by one His utmost strength exerting; back so far The Trojans drew, so far the Greeks pursued.

Glaucus, the leader of the Lycian spears, First turning, slew the mighty Bathycles, The son of Chalcon; he in Hellas dwelt, In wealth surpassing all the Myrmidons.

Him, as he gain’d upon him in pursuit, Quick turning, Glaucus through the breast transfix’d;

Thund’ring he fell; deep grief possess’d the Greeks At loss of one so valiant; fiercely joy’d The Trojans, and around him crowded thick;

Nor of their wonted valour were the Greeks Oblivious, but still onward held their course.

Then slew Meriones a crested chief, The bold Laogonus, Onetor’s son;

Onetor, of Idaean Jove the priest, And by the people as a God rever’d. Below the ear he struck him; from his limbs The spirit fled, and darkness veil’d his eyes.

Then at Meriones Æneas threw His brazen spear, in hopes beneath his shield To find a spot unguarded; he beheld, And downward stooping, shunn’d the brazen death;

Behind him far, deep in the soil infix’d, The weapon stood; there Mars its impulse stay’d;

So, bootless hurl’d, though by no feeble hand, Æneas’ spear stood quiv’ring in the ground;

Then thus in wrath he cried: “Meriones, Had it but struck thee, nimble as thou art, My spear had brought thy dancing to a close.

” To whom the spearman skill’d, Meriones: “Brave as thou art, Æneas, ’tis too much For thee to hope the might of all to quell, Who dare confront thee; thou art mortal too!

And if my aim be true, and should my spear But strike thee fair, all valiant as thou art, And confident, yet me thy fall shall crown With triumph, and thy soul to Hades send.

” He said; and him Menoetius’ noble son Address’d with grave rebuke: “Meriones, Brave warrior, why thus waste the time in words?

Trust me, good friend, ’tis not by vaunting speech, Unseconded by deeds, that we may hope To scare away the Trojans from the slain: Hands are for battle, words for council meet;

Boots it not now to wrangle, but to fight.

” He said, and led the way; him follow’d straight The godlike chief; forthwith, as loudly rings, Amid the mountain forest’s deep recess, The woodman’s axe, and far is heard the sound;

So from the wide-spread earth their clamour rose, As brazen arms, and shields, and tough bull’s-hide Encounter’d swords and double-pointed spears.

Nor might the sharpest sight Sarpedon know, From head to foot with wounds and blood and dust Disfigur’d; thickly round the dead they swarm’d. As when at spring-tide in the cattle-sheds Around the milk-cans swarm the buzzing flies, While the warm milk is frothing in the pail;

So swarm’d they round the dead; nor Jove the while Turn’d from the stubborn fight his piercing glance;

But still look’d down with gaze intent, and mus’d Upon Patroclus’ coming fate, in doubt, If he too there beside Sarpedon slain, Should perish by illustrious Hector’s hand, Spoil’d of his arms; or yet be spared awhile To swell the labours of the battle-field.

He judg’d it best at length, that once again The gallant follower of Peleus’ son Should tow’rd the town with fearful slaughter drive The Trojans, and their brazen-helmed chief.

First Hector’s soul with panic fear he fill’d;

Mounting his car, he fled, and urg’d to flight The Trojans; for he saw the scales of Jove.

Then nor the valiant Lycians held their ground;

All fled in terror, as they saw their King Pierc’d through the heart, amid a pile of dead;

For o’er his body many a warrior fell, When Saturn’s son the conflict fierce inflam’d. Then from Sarpedon’s breast they stripp’d his arms, Of brass refulgent; these Menoetius’ son Sent by his comrades to the ships of Greece.

To Phoebus then the Cloud-compeller thus: “Hie thee, good Phoebus, from amid the spears Withdraw Sarpedon, and from all his wounds Cleanse the dark gore; then bear him far away, And lave his body in the flowing stream;

Then with divine ambrosia all his limbs Anointing, clothe him in immortal robes.

To two swift bearers give him then in charge, To Sleep and Death, twin brothers, in their arms To bear him safe to Lycia’s wide-spread plains: There shall his brethren and his friends perform His fun’ral rites, and mound and column raise, The fitting tribute to the mighty dead.

” He said; obedient to his father’s words, Down to the battle-field Apollo sped From Ida’s height; and from amid the spears Withdrawn, he bore Sarpedon far away, And lav’d his body in the flowing stream;

Then with divine ambrosia all his limbs Anointing, cloth’d him in immortal robes;

To two swift bearers gave him then in charge, To Sleep and Death, twin brothers; in their arms They bore him safe to Lycia’s wide-spread plains.

Then to Automedon Patroclus gave His orders, and the flying foe pursued.

Oh much deceiv’d, insensate!

had he now But borne in mind the words of Peleus’ son, He might have ’scap’d the bitter doom of death.

But still Jove’s will the will of man o’errules: Who strikes with panic, and of vict’ry robs The bravest; and anon excites to war;

Who now Patroclus’ breast with fury fill’d. Whom then, Patroclus, first, whom slew’st thou last, When summon’d by the Gods to meet thy doom?

Adrastus, and Autonous, Perimus The son of Meges, and Echeclus next;

Epistor, Melanippus, Elasus, And Mulius, and Pylartes; these he slew;

The others all in flight their safety found.

Then had the Greeks the lofty-gated town Of Priam captur’d by Patroclus’ hand, So forward and so fierce he bore his spear;

But on the well-built tow’r Apollo stood, On his destruction bent, and Troy’s defence The jutting angle of the lofty wall Patroclus thrice assail’d; his onset thrice Apollo, with his own immortal hands Repelling, backward thrust his glitt’ring shield.

But when again, with more than mortal force He made his fourth attempt, with awful mien And threat’ning voice the Far-destroyer spoke: “Back, Heav’n-born chief, Patroclus!

not to thee Hath fate decreed the triumph to destroy The warlike Trojans’ city; no, nor yet To great Achilles, mightier far than thou.

” Thus as he spoke, Patroclus backward stepp’d, Shrinking before the Far-destroyer’s wrath.

Still Hector kept before the Scaean gates His coursers; doubtful, if again to dare The battle-throng, or summon all the host To seek the friendly shelter of the wall.

Thus as he mus’d, beside him Phoebus stood, In likeness of a warrior stout and brave, Brother of Hecuba, the uncle thence Of noble Hector, Asius, Dymas’ son;

Who dwelt in Phrygia, by Saugarius’ stream;

His form assuming, thus Apollo spoke: “Hector, why shrink’st thou from the battle thus?

It ill beseems thee!

Would to Heav’n that I So far thy greater were, as thou art mine;

Then sorely shouldst thou rue this abstinence.

But, forward thou!

against Patroclus urge Thy fiery steeds, so haply by his death Apollo thee with endless fame may crown.

” This said, the God rejoin’d the strife of men;

And noble Hector bade Cebriones Drive ’mid the fight his car; before him mov’d Apollo, scatt’ring terror ’mid the Greeks, And lustre adding to the arms of Troy.

All others Hector pass’d unnotic’d by, Nor stay’d to slay; Patroclus was the mark At which his coursers’ clatt’ring hoofs he drove.

On th’ other side, Patroclus from his car Leap’d to the ground: his left hand held his spear;

And in the right a pond’rous mass he bore Of rugged stone, that fill’d his ample grasp: The stone he hurl’d; not far it miss’d its mark, Nor bootless flew; but Hector’s charioteer It struck, Cebriones, a bastard son Of royal Priam, as the reins he held.

Full on his temples fell the jagged mass, Drove both his eyebrows in, and crush’d the bone;

Before him in the dust his eyeballs fell;

And, like a diver, from the well-wrought car Headlong he plung’d; and life forsook his limbs.

O’er whom Patroclus thus with bitter jest: “Heav’n!

what agility!

how deftly thrown That somersault!

if only in the sea Such feats he wrought, with him might few compete, Diving for oysters, if with such a plunge He left his boat, how rough soe’er the waves, As from his car he plunges to the ground: Troy can, it seems, accomplish’d tumblers boast.

” Thus saying, on Cebriones he sprang, As springs a lion, through the breast transfix’d, In act the sheepfold to despoil, and dies The victim of his courage; so didst thou Upon Cebriones, Patroclus, spring.

Down from his car too Hector leap’d to earth.

So, o’er Cebriones, oppos’d they stood;

As on the mountain, o’er a slaughter’d stag, Both hunger-pinch’d, two lions fiercely fight, So o’er Cebriones two mighty chiefs, Menoetius’ son and noble Hector, strove, Each in the other bent to plunge his spear.

The head, with grasp unyielding, Hector held;

Patroclus seiz’d the foot; and, crowding round, Trojans and Greeks in stubborn conflict clos’d. As when, encount’ring in some mountain-glen, Eurus and Notus shake the forest deep, Of oak, or ash, or slender cornel-tree, Whose tap’ring branches are together thrown, With fearful din, and crash of broken boughs;

So mix’d confus’dly, Greeks and Trojans fought, No thought of flight by either entertain’d. Thick o’er Cebriones the jav’lins flew, And feather’d arrows, bounding from the string;

And pond’rous stones that on the bucklers rang, As round the dead they fought; amid the dust That eddying rose, his art forgotten all, A mighty warrior, mightily he lay.

While in mid Heav’n the sun pursued his course, Thick flew the shafts, and fast the people fell On either side; but when declining day Brought on the hour that sees the loosen’d steers, The Greeks were stronger far; and from the darts And Trojan battle-cry Cebriones They drew, and from his breast his armour stripp’d. Fiercely Patroclus on the Trojans fell: Thrice he assail’d them, terrible as Mars, With fearful shouts; and thrice nine foes he slew: But when again, with more than mortal force His fourth assault he made, thy term of life, Patroclus, then approach’d its final close;

For Phoebus’ awful self encounter’d thee, Amid the battle-throng, of thee unseen, For thickest darkness shrouded all his form: He stood behind, and with extended palm Dealt on Patroclus’ neck and shoulders broad A mighty buffet; dizzy swam his eyes, And from his head Apollo snatch’d the helm;

Clank’d, as it roll’d beneath the horses’ feet, The visor’d helm; the horsehair plume with blood And dust polluted; never till that day Was that proud helmet so with dust defil’d, That wont to deck a godlike chief, and guard Achilles’ noble head, and graceful brow: Now by the will of Jove to Hector giv’n. Now death was near at hand; and in his grasp His spear was shiver’d, pond’rous, long, and tough, Brass-pointed; with its belt, the ample shield Fell from his shoulders; and Apollo’s hand, The royal son of Jove, his corslet loos’d. Then was his mind bewilder’d; and his limbs Gave way beneath him; all aghast he stood: Him, from behind, a Dardan, Panthous’ son, Euphorbus, peerless ’mid the Trojan youth, To hurl the spear, to run, to drive the car, Approaching close, between the shoulders stabb’d;

He, train’d to warfare, from his car, ere this A score of Greeks had from their chariots hurl’d: Such was the man who thee, Patroclus, first Wounded, but not subdued; the ashen spear He, in all haste, withdrew; nor dar’d confront Patroclus, though disarm’d, in deadly strife.

Back to his comrades’ shelt’ring ranks retir’d, From certain death, Patroclus: by the stroke Of Phoebus vanquish’d, and Euphorbus’ spear: But Hector, when Patroclus from the fight He saw retreating, wounded, through the ranks Advancing, smote him through the flank; right through The brazen spear was driv’n; thund’ring he fell;

And deeply mourn’d his fall the Grecian host.

As when a lion hath in fight o’erborne A tusked boar, when on the mountain top They two have met, in all their pride of strength, Both parch’d with thirst, around a scanty spring;

And vanquish’d by the lion’s force, the boar Hath yielded, gasping; so Menoetius’ son, Great deeds achiev’d, at length beneath the spear Of noble Hector yielded up his life;

Who o’er the vanquish’d, thus exulting, spoke: “Patroclus, but of late thou mad’st thy boast To raze our city walls, and in your ships To bear away to your far-distant land, Their days of freedom lost, our Trojan dames: Fool that thou wast!

nor knew’st, in their defence, That Hector’s flying coursers scour’d the plain;

From them, the bravest of the Trojans, I Avert the day of doom; while on our shores Thy flesh shall glut the carrion birds of Troy.

Poor wretch!

though brave he be, yet Peleus’ son Avail’d thee nought, when, hanging back himself, With sage advice he sent thee forth to fight: ‘Come not to me, Patroclus, car-borne chief, Nor to the ships return, until thou bear The warrior-slayer Hector’s bloody spoils, Torn from his body;’ such were, I suppose, His counsels; thou, poor fool, becam’st his dupe.

” To whom Patroclus thus in accents faint: “Hector, thou boastest loudly now, that Jove, With Phoebus join’d, hath thee with vict’ry crown’d: They wrought my death, who stripp’d me of my arms.

Had I to deal with twenty such as thee, They all should perish, vanquish’d by my spear: Me fate hath slain, and Phoebus; and, of men, Euphorbus; thou wast but the third to strike.

This too I say, and bear it in thy mind;

Not long shalt thou survive me; death e’en now And final doom hangs o’er thee, by the hand Of great Achilles, Peleus’ matchless son.

” Thus as he spoke, the gloom of death his eyes O’erspread, and to the shades his spirit fled, Mourning his fate, his youth and strength cut off.

To whom, though dead, the noble Hector thus: “Patroclus, why predict my coming fate?

Or who can say but fair-hair’d Thetis’ son, Achilles, by my spear may first be slain?

” He said, and planting firm his foot, withdrew The brazen spear, and backward drove the dead From off the weapon’s point; then, spear in hand, Intent to slay, Automedon pursued, The godlike follower of Æacides: But him in safety bore th’ immortal steeds, The noble prize the Gods to Peleus gave.

ARGUMENT.