Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/321

170—218 A feast for dogs and all the fowls of air.

On my command if any Lycian wait,

Hence let him march, and give up Troy to fate.

Did such a spirit as the gods impart

Impel one Trojan hand, or Trojan heart,

Such as should burn in every soul that draws

The sword for glory, and his country's cause,

E'en yet our mutual arms we might employ,

And drag yon carcass to the walls of Troy.

Oh! were Patroclus ours, we might obtain

Sarpedon's arms, and honoured corse, again!

Greece with Achilles' friend should be repaid,

And thus due honours purchased to his shade.

But words are vain. Let Ajax once appear,

And Hector trembles and recedes with fear;

Thou dar'st not meet the terrors of his eye;

And, lo! already thou prepar'st to fly."

The Trojan chief with fierce resentment eyed

The Lycian leader, and sedate replied:

"Say, is it just, my friend, that Hector's ear

From such a warrior such a speech should hear?

I deemed thee once the wisest of thy kind,

But ill this insult suits a prudent mind.

I shun great Ajax? I desert my train?

'Tis mine to prove the rash assertion vain;

I joy to mingle where the battle bleeds,

And hear the thunder of the sounding steeds.

But Jove's high will is ever uncontrolled,

The strong he withers, and confounds the bold:

Now crowns with fame the mighty man, and now

Strikes the fresh garland from the victor's brow.

Come, through yon squadrons let us hew the way,

And thou be witness if I fear to-day;

If yet a Greek the sight of Hector dread,

Or yet their hero dare defend the dead."

Then, turning to the martial hosts, he cries,

"Ye Trojans, Dardans, Lycians, and allies!

Be men, my friends, in action as in name,

And yet be mindful of your ancient fame;

Hector in proud Achilles' arms shall shine,

Torn from his friend, by right of conquest mine."

He strode along the field as thus he said;

The sable plumage nodded o'er his head:

Swift through the spacious plain he sent a look;

One instant saw, one instant overtook

The distant band, that on the sandy shore

The radiant spoils to sacred Ilion bore.

There his own mail unbraced the field bestrewed;

His train to Troy conveyed the massy load.