Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/339

168—216 Thy radiant arms the Trojan foe detains.

Insulting Hector bears the spoils on high,

But vainly glories, for his fate is nigh.

Yet, yet, awhile, thy generous ardour stay,

Assured I meet thee at the dawn of day,

Charged with refulgent arms, a glorious load,

Vulcanian arms, the labour of a god."

Then turning to the daughters of the main,

The goddess thus dismissed her azure train:

"Ye sister Nereids! to your deeps descend;

Haste, and our father's sacred seat attend;

I go to find the architect divine,

Where vast Olympus' starry summits shine:

So tell our hoary sire." This charge she gave:

The sea-green sisters plunge beneath the wave:

Thetis once more ascends the blest abodes,

And treads the brazen threshold of the gods.

And now the Greeks, from furious Hector's force,

Urge to broad Hellespont their headlong course:

Nor yet their chiefs Patroclus' body bore

Safe through the tempest, to the tented shore.

The horse, the foot, with equal fury joined,

Poured on the rear, and thundered close behind;

And like a flame through fields of ripened corn,

The rage of Hector o'er the ranks was borne.

Thrice the slain hero by the foot he drew:

Thrice to the skies the Trojan clamours flew;

As oft the Ajaces his assault sustain;

But checked, he turns; repulsed, attacks again.

With fiercer shouts his lingering troops he fires,

Nor yields a step, nor from his post retires:

So watchful shepherds strive to force, in vain,

The hungry lion from a carcass slain.

E'en yet, Patroclus had he borne away,

And all the glories of the extended day;

Had not high Juno, from the realms of air,

Secret despatched her trusty messenger,

The various goddess of the showery bow,

Shot in a whirlwind to the shore below;

To great Achilles at his ships she came,

And thus began the many-coloured dame:

"Rise, son of Peleus I rise, divinely brave!

Assist the combat, and Patroclus save:

For him the slaughter to the fleet they spread,

And fall with mutual wounds around the dead.

To drag him back to Troy the foe contends;

Nor with his death the rage of Hector ends;

A prey to dogs he dooms the corse to lie,

And marks the place to fix his head on high.