Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/201

557—605 Urge thou the slaughter, while I seize the steeds."

Pallas, this said, her hero's bosom warms,

Breathed in his heart, and strung his nervous arms;

Where'er he passed, a purple stream pursued;

His thirsty faulchion, fat with hostile blood,

Bathed all his footsteps, dyed the fields with gore,

And a low groan remurmured through the shore.

So the grim lion, from his nightly den,

O'erleaps the fences, and invades the pen;

On sheep or goats, resistless in his way,

He falls, and foaming rends the guardless prey.

Nor stopped the fury of his vengeful hand,

Till twelve lay breathless of the Thracian band.

Ulysses following as his partner slew,

Back by the foot each slaughtered warrior drew;

The milk-white coursers studious to convey

Safe to the ships, he wisely cleared the way;

Lest the fierce steeds, not yet to battles bred,

Should start and tremble at the heaps of dead.

Now twelve despatched, the monarch last they found;

Tydides' faulchion fixed him to the ground.

Just then a dreadful dream Minerva sent;

A warlike form appeared before his tent,

Whose visionary steel his bosom tore:

So dreamed the monarch, and awaked no more.

Ulysses now the snowy steeds detains,

And leads them fastened by the silver reins;

These, with his bow unbent, he lashed along;

The scourge, forgot, on Rhesus' chariot hung.

Then gave his friend the signal to retire;

But him new dangers, new achievements, fire;

Doubtful he stood, or with his reeking blade

To send more heroes to the infernal shade,

Drag off the car where Rhesus' armour lay,

Or heave with manly force, and lift away.

While unresolved the son of Tydeus stands,

Pallas appears, and thus her chief commands:

"Enough, my son: from farther slaughter cease,

Regard thy safety, and depart in peace;

Haste to the ships, the gotten spoils enjoy,

Nor tempt too far the hostile gods of Troy."

The voice divine confessed the martial Maid;

In haste he mounted, and her word obeyed;

The coursers fly before Ulysses' bow,

Swift as the wind, and white as winter snow.

Not unobserved they passed: the god of light

Had watched his Troy, and marked Minerva's flight,

Saw Tydeus' son with heavenly succour blessed,

And vengeful anger filled his sacred breast.