Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/314

312 To the dark shades the soul unwilling glides,

While the proud victor thus his fall derides:

"Good heavens! what active feats yon artist shews!

What skilful divers are our Phrygian foes!

Mark with what ease they sink into the sand!

Pity, that all their practice is by land!"

Then rushing sudden on his prostrate prize,

To spoil the carcass fierce Patroclus flies:

Swift as a lion, terrible and bold,

That sweeps the fields, depopulates the fold;

Pierced through the dauntless heart, then tumbles slain;

And from his fatal courage finds his bane.

At once bold Hector, leaping from his car,

Defends the body, and provokes the war.

Thus for some slaughtered hind, with equal rage,

Two lordly rulers of the wood engage;

Stung with fierce hunger each the prey invades,

And echoing roars rebellow through the shades.

Stern Hector fastens on the warrior's head,

And by the foot Patroclus drags the dead;

While all around, confusion, rage, and fright

Mix the contending hosts in mortal fight.

So, pent by hills, the wild winds roar aloud

In the deep bosom of some gloomy wood;

Leaves, arms, and trees, aloft in air are blown,

The broad oaks crackle, and the Sylvans groan;

This way and that the rattling thicket bends,

And the whole forest in one crash descends.

Not with less noise, with less tumultuous rage,

In dreadful shock the mingled hosts engage.

Darts showered on darts now round the carcass ring;

Now flights of arrows bounding from the string:

Stones follow stones; some clatter on the fields,

Some, hard and heavy, shake the sounding shields.

But where the rising whirlwind clouds the plains,

Sunk in soft dust the mighty chief remains,

And, stretched in death, forgets the guiding reins!

Now, flaming from the zenith, Sol had driven

His fervid orb through half the vault of heaven;

While on each host with equal tempest fell

The showering darts, and numbers sunk to hell.

But when his evening wheels o'erhung the main,

Glad conquest rested on the Grecian train.

Then, from amidst the tumult and alarms,

They draw the conquered corse and radiant arms.

Then rash Patroclus with new fury glows,

And, breathing slaughter, pours amid the foes.

Thrice on the press like Mars himself he flew,

And thrice three heroes at each onset slew.

There ends thy glory I there the fates untwine