Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/271

456—504 Both armies join; earth thunders, ocean roars.

Not half so loud the bellowing deeps resound,

When stormy winds disclose the dark profound;

Less loud the winds that from the Æolian hall

Roar through the woods, and make whole forests fall;

Less loud the woods, when flames in torrents pour,

Catch the dry mountain and its shades devour;

With such a rage the meeting hosts are driven,

And such a clamour shakes the sounding heaven.

The first bold javelin, urged by Hector's force,

Direct at Ajax' bosom winged its course;

But there no pass the crossing belts afford,

One braced his shield, and one sustained his sword.

Then back the disappointed Trojan drew,

And cursed the lance that unavailing flew:

But 'scaped not Ajax; his tempestuous hand

A ponderous stone up-heaving from the sand,

Where heaps, laid loose beneath the warrior's feet,

Or served to ballast, or to prop the fleet,

Tossed round and round, the missive marble flings;

On the raised shield the falling ruin rings;

Full on his breast and throat with force descends;

Nor deadened there its giddy fury spends,

But, whirling on, with many a fiery round,

Smokes in the dust, and ploughs into the ground.

As when the bolt, red-hissing from above,

Darts on the consecrated plant of Jove,

The mountain-oak in flaming ruin lies,

Black from the blow, and smokes of sulphur rise:

Stiff with amaze the pale beholders stand,

And own the terrors of the almighty hand!

So lies great Hector prostrate on the shore;

His slackened hand deserts the lance it bore;

His following shield the fallen chief o'erspread;

Beneath his helmet dropped his fainting head;

His load of armour, sinking to the ground,

Clanks on the field: a dead and hollow sound.

Loud shouts of triumph fill the crowded plain;

Greece sees, in hope, Troy's great defender slain:

All spring to seize him: storms of arrows fly,

And thicker javelins intercept the sky.

In vain an iron tempest hisses round:

He lies protected and without a wound.

Polydamas, Agenor the divine,

The pious warrior of Anchises' line,

And each bold leader of the Lysian band,

With covering shields, a friendly circle, stand.

His mournful followers, with assistant care,

The groaning hero to his chariot bear;