Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/241

116—164 The heroes thus their mutual warmth expressed.

Neptune meanwhile the routed Greeks inspired;

Who, breathless, pale, with length of labours tired,

Pant in the ships, while Troy to conquest calls,

And swarms victorious o'er their yielding walls:

Trembling before the impending storm they lie,

While tears of rage stand burning in their eye;

Greece sunk they thought, and this their fatal hour;

But breathe new courage as they feel the power.

Teucer and Leitus first his words excite;

Then stern Peneleus rises to the fight;

Thoas, Deipyrus, in arms renowned,

And Merion next, the impulsive fury found;

Last Nestor's son the same bold ardour takes,

While thus the god the martial fire awakes:

"Oh lasting infamy, oh dire disgrace

To chiefs of vigorous youth, and manly race!

I trusted to the gods and you, to see

Brave Greece victorious, and her navy free:

Ah no—the glorious combat you disclaim,

And one black day clouds all her former fame.

Heavens! what a prodigy these eyes survey,

Unseen, unthought, till this amazing day!

Fly we at length from Troy's oft-conquered bands?

And falls our fleet by such inglorious hands?

A rout undisciplined, a straggling train,

Not born to glories of the dusty plain;

Like frighted fawns from hill to hill pursued,

A prey to every savage of the wood;

Shall these, so late who trembled at your name,

Invade your camps, involve your ships in flame?

A change so shameful, say, what cause has wrought?

The soldiers' baseness, or the general's fault?

Fools! will ye perish for your leader's vice?

The purchase infamy, and life the price!

'Tis not your cause, Achilles' injured fame:

Another's is the crime, but yours the shame.

Grant that our chief offend through rage or lust,

Must you be cowards, if your king's unjust?

Prevent this evil, and your country save:

Small thought retrieves the spirits of the brave.

Think, and subdue! on dastards dead to fame

I waste no anger, for they feel no shame:

But you, the pride, the flower of all our host,

My heart weeps blood to see your glory lost!

Nor deem this day, this battle, all you lose:

A day more black, a fate more vile, ensues;

Let each reflect, who prizes fame or breath,

On endless infamy, on instant death.