Part 52 (1/2)
He faints: the soul unwilling wings her way, (The beauteous body left a load of clay) Flits to the lone, uncohost!
Then Hector pausing, as his eyes he fed On the pale carcase, thus address'd the dead:
”Fro speech, the stern decree Of death denounced, or why denounced to iven To Hector's lance? Who knows the will of heaven?”
Pensive he said; then pressing as he lay His breathless bosom, tore the lance away; And upwards cast the corse: the reeking spear He shakes, and charges the bold charioteer
But swift Automedon with loosen'd reins Rapt in the chariot o'er the distant plains, Far froe the iift of Jove
[Illustration: aeSCULAPIUS]
aeSCULAPIUS
BOOK XVII
ARGUMENT
THE SEVENTH BATTLE, FOR THE BODY OF PATROCLUS--THE ACTS OF MENELAUS
Menelaus, upon the death of Patroclus, defends his body from the ene, Menelaus retires; but soon returns with Ajax, and drives hiht, who thereupon puts on the armour he had won froive way, till Ajax rallies them: Aeneas sustains the Trojans Aeneas and Hector Attempt the chariot of Achilles, which is borne off by Automedon The horses of Achilles deplore the loss of Patroclus: Jupiter covers his body with a thick darkness: the noble prayer of Ajax on that occasion Menelaus sends Antilochus to Achilles, with the news of Patroclus' death: then returns to the fight, where, though attacked with the utmost fury, he and Meriones, assisted by the Ajaces, bear off the body to the shi+ps
The tiht-and-twentieth day The scene lies in the fields before Troy
On the cold earth divine Patroclus spread, Lies pierced ounds aenerous woe, Springs to the front, and guards hi the heifer moves, Fruit of her throes, and first-born of her loves; And anxious (helpless as he lies, and bare) Turns, and re-turns her, with a mother's care, Opposed to each that near the carcase calimmers, and his lances flame
The son of Panthus, skill'd the dart to send, Eyes the dead hero, and insults the friend
”This hand, Atrides, laid Patroclus low; Warrior! desist, nor ten: Depart with life, and leave the glory enerous anguish, and in scorn return'd: ”Laugh'st thou not, Jove! from thy superior throne, When mortals boast of prowess not their own?
Not thus the lion glories in his ht, Nor thus the boar (those terrors of the plain;) Man only vaunts his force, and vaunts in vain
But far the vainest of the boastful kind, These sons of Panthus vent their haughtysteel This boaster's brother, Hyperenor, fell; Against our arour, and as vain his pride
These eyes beheld hilad his sire
Presumptuous youth! like his shall be thy dooloom; Or, while thou may'st, avoid the threaten'd fate; Fools stay to feel it, and are wise too late”
Unmoved, Euphorbus thus: ”That action known, Co father claims thy destined head, And spouse, ain her bridal bed
On these thy conquer'd spoils I shall bestow, To soothe a consort's and a parent's woe
No longer then defer the glorious strife, Let heaven decide our fortune, fame, and life”
Swift as the word the s; The well-ais, But blunted by the brass, innoxious falls
On Jove the father great Atrides calls, Nor flies the javelin from his arm in vain, It pierced his throat, and bent hirisly wound, prone sinks the warrior, and his arolden hair, Which even the Graces old, bestrow the shore, With dust dishonour'd, and defor olive, in soreen, Lifts the gay head, in snowy flowerets fair, And plays and dances to the gentle air; When lo! a ind froh heaven invades The tender plant, and withers all its shades; It lies uprooted froenial bed, A lovely ruin now defaced and dead: Thus young, thus beautiful, Euphorbus lay, While the fierce Spartan tore his arlorious in the prize, Affrighted Troy the towering victor flies: Flies, as before so swains retire, When o'er the slaughter'd bull they hear hiore: All pale with fear, at distance scatter'd round, They shout incessant, and the vales resound
Meanwhile Apollo vieith envious eyes, And urged great Hector to dispute the prize; (In Mentes' shape, beneath whose h Ciconians learn'd the trade of war;)(247) ”Forbear (he cried) with fruitless speed to chase Achilles' coursers, of ethereal race; They stoop not, these, to reat Achilles' hand
Too long amused with a pursuit so vain, Turn, and behold the brave Euphorbus slain; By Sparta slain! for ever now suppress'd The fire which burn'd in that undaunted breast!”
Thus having spoke, Apollo wing'd his flight, And ht: His words infix'd unutterable care Deep in great Hector's soul: through all the war He darts his anxious eye; and, instant, view'd The breathless hero in his blood i from the wound, as prone he lay) And in the victor's hands the shi+ning prey
Sheath'd in bright ar ranks he flies, And sends his voice in thunder to the skies: Fierce as a flood of flame by Vulcan sent, It flew, and fired the nations as it went