Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/167

591—639 The navy flaming, and thy Greeks in flight,

E'en till the day, when certain fates ordain

That stern Achilles—his Patroclus slain—

Shall rise in vengeance, and lay waste the plain.

For such is fate, nor canst thou turn its course

With all thy rage, with all thy rebel force.

Fly, if thou wilt, to earth's remotest bound,

Where on her utmost verge the seas resound;

Where cursed Iäpetus and Saturn dwell,

Fast by the brink, within the steams of hell;

No sun e'er gilds the gloomy horrors there,

No cheerful gales refresh the lazy air:

There arm once more the bold Titanian band,

And arm in vain: for what I will shall stand."

Now deep in ocean sunk the lamp of light,

And drew behind the cloudy veil of night:

The conquering Trojans mourn his beams decayed;

The Greeks rejoicing bless the friendly shade.

The victors keep the field; and Hector calls

A martial council near the navy walls:

These to Scamander's bank apart he led,

Where thinly scattered lay the heaps of dead.

The assembled chiefs, descending on the ground,

Attend his order, and their prince surround.

A massy spear he bore of mighty strength,

Of full ten cubits was the lance's length;

The point was brass, refulgent to behold,

Fixed to the wood with circling rings of gold:

The noble Hector on this lance reclined,

And, bending forward, thus revealed his mind:

"Ye valiant Trojans, with attention hear!

Ye Dardan bands, and generous aids, give ear!

This day, we hoped, would wrap in conquering flame

Greece with her ships, and crown our toils with fame:

But darkness now, to save the cowards, falls,

And guards them trembling in their wooden walls.

Obey the night, and use her peaceful hours

Our steeds to forage, and refresh our powers.

Straight from the town be sheep and oxen sought,

And strengthening bread and generous wine be brought.

Wide o'er the field, high blazing to the sky,

Let numerous fires the absent sun supply,

The flaming piles with plenteous fuel raise,

Till the bright morn her purple beam displays:

Lest in the silence and the shades of night,

Greece on her sable ships attempt her flight.

Not unmolested let the wretches gain

Their lofty decks, or safely cleave the main:

Some hostile wound let every dart bestow,