For often he had heard his father say
That he himself was present at the fray,
And more than shared the glories of the day.
'Old Chronicle,' he said,' among the rest,
You might have named Alcides at the least:
Is he not worth your praise?' The Pylian prince
Sigh'd ere he spoke, then made this proud de-
'My former woes, in long oblivion drown'd,
I would have lost; but you renew the wound : 710 Better to pass him o'er, than to relate
The cause I have your mighty sire to hate :
His fame has fill'd the world, and reach'd the sky, (Which, O I wish, with truth, I could deny!)
We praise not Hector, though his name, we know, 715 Is great in arms: 'tis hard to praise a foe.
He, your great father, levell'd to the ground
Messenia's towers; nor better fortune found
Elis and Pylos: that a neighboring state,
And this my own; both guiltless of their fate.
'To pass the rest; twelve, wanting one, he slew,
My brethren, who their birth from Neleus drew;
All youths of early promise, had they lived;
By him they perish'd: I alone survived:
The rest were easy conquest: but the fate
Of Periclymenos is wondrous to relate:
To him our common grandsire of the main
Had given to change his form, and changed, resume again.
Varied at pleasure, every shape he tried,
And in all beasts Alcides still defied:
Vanquish'd on earth, at length he soar'd above,
Changed to the bird that bears the bolt of Jove.
The new-dissembled eagle, now endued
With beak and pounces, Hercules pursued,
And cuff'd his manly cheeks, and tore his face,
Then safe retired, and tower'd in empty space.
Alcides bore not long his flying foe,
But bending his inevitable bow,
Reach'd him in air, suspended as he stood,
And in his pinion fix'd the feather'd wood.
Light was the wound; but in the sinew hung
The point, and his disabled wing unstrung.
He wheel'd in air, and stretch'd his vans in vain ;
His vans no longer could his flight sustain ;
For while one gather'd wind, one unsupplied
Hung drooping down, nor poised his other side.
He fell the shaft that slightly was impress'd,
Now from his heavy fall, with weight increased,
Drove through his neck aslant; he spurns the ground,
And the soul issues through the windpipe's wound.
Now brave commander of the Rhodian seas,
What praise is due from me to Hercules?
Silence is all the vengeance I decree
For my slain brothers; but 'tis peace with thee.”
Thus, with a flowing tongue, old Nestor spoke; 755
Then to full bowls each other they provoke:
At length, with weariness and wine oppress'd,
They rise from table, and withdraw to rest.
ACHILLES, having fallen a sacrifice to the hostility of Apollo and the shafts of Paris, Ajax and Ulysses advance their claims to the armor of the deceased hero.
THE sire of Cycnus, monarch of the main,
Meantime laments his son, in battle slain,
And vows the victor's death; nor vows in vain.
For nine long years the smother'd pain he bore
(Achilles was not ripe for fate before):
Then when he saw the promised hour was near,
He thus bespoke the god that guides the year:
'Immortal offspring of my brother Jove,
My brightest nephew, and whom best I love,
Whose hands were join'd with mine, to raise the wall
Of tottering Troy, now nodding to her fall,
Dost thou not mourn our power employ'd in vain, 770
And the defenders of our city slain?
To pass the rest, could noble Hector lie
Unpitied, dragg'd around his native Troy?
And yet the murderer lives: himself by far
A greater plague than all the wasteful war:
He lives, the proud Pelides lives, to boast
Our town destroy'd, our common labor lost.
O, could I meet him! but I wish too late :
To prove my trident is not in his fate!
But let him try (for that's allow'd) thy dart,
And pierce his only penetrable part.'
Apollo bows to the superior throne,
And to his uncle's anger adds his own ;
Then, in a cloud involved, he takes his flight,
Where Greeks and Trojans mix'd in mortal fight, 785
And found out Paris, lurking where he stood,
And stain'd his arrows with plebeian blood:
Phoebus to him alone the god confess'd,
Then to the recreant knight he thus address'd:
'Dost thou not blush, to spend thy shafts in vain 790
On a degenerate and ignoble train?
If fame or better vengeance be thy care,
There aim; and with one arrow end the war."
He said; and show'd from far the blazing shield And sword, which, but Achilles, none could wield, And how he moved a god, and mow'd the standing field.
The deity himself directs aright
The envenom'd shaft, and wings the fatal flight.
Thus fell the foremost of the Grecian name,
And he, the base adulterer, boasts the fame;
A spectacle to glad the Trojan train,
And please old Priam, after Hector slain.
If by a female hand he had foreseen
He was to die, his wish had rather been
The lance and double ax of the fair warrior queen.
And now the terror of the Trojan field,
The Grecian honor, ornament, and shield,
High on a pile the unconquer'd chief is placed;
The god that arm'd him first, consumed at last.
Of all the mighty man, the small remains
A little urn, and scarcely fill'd, contains.
Yet great in Homer, still Achilles lives,
And equal to himself, himself survives.
His buckler owns its former lord, and brings
New cause of strife betwixt contending kings;
Who worthiest after him his sword to wield,
Or wear his armor, or sustain his shield.
Ev'n Diomede sat mute, with downcast eyes,
Conscious of wonted worth to win the prize;
Nor Menelaus presumed these arms to claim;
Nor he, the king of men, a greater name:
Two rivals only rose: Laertes' son,
And the vast bulk of Ajax Telamon.
The king, who cherish'd each with equal love,
And from himself all envy would remove,
Left both to be determined by the laws,
And to the Grecian chiefs transferr'd the cause.
SPEECHES OF AJAX AND ULYSSES.
AJAX and Ulysses lay claim to the armor of Achilles, which is assigned to the latter by the Grecian chiefs.
THE chiefs were set; the soldiers crown'd the field:
To these the master of the seven-fold shield
Upstarted fierce, and kindled with disdain.
Eager to speak, unable to contain
His boiling rage, he roll'd his eyes around
The shore and Grecian galleys haul'd aground;
Then, stretching out his hands, 'O Jove,' he cried,
Must then our cause before the fleet be tried?
And dares Ulysses for the prize contend,
In sight of what he durst not once defend?
But basely fled that memorable day,
When I from Hector's hands redeem'd the flaming
So much 'tis safer at the noisy bar
With words to florish, than engage in war.
By different methods we maintain our right;
Nor am I made to talk, nor he to fight:
In bloody fields I labor to be great;
His arms are a smooth tongue and soft deceit :
Nor need I speak my deeds, for those you see;
The sun and day are witnesses for me:
Let him who fights unseen relate his own,
And vouch the silent stars and conscious moon.
Great is the prize demanded, I confess;
But such an abject rival makes it less:
That gift, those honors, he but hoped to gain,
Can leave no room for Ajax to be vain:
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