Both golden and in golden vests attired

  Advanced, proportion each showing divine,

  Large, prominent, and such as Gods beseem'd.

  Not such the people, but of humbler size.

  Arriving at the spot for ambush chosen,

  A river's side, where cattle of each kind

  Drank, down they sat, all arm'd in dazzling brass.

  Apart from all the rest sat also down

  Two spies, both looking for the flocks and herds.

  Soon they appear'd, and at their side were seen

  Two shepherd swains, each playing on his pipe

  Careless, and of the danger nought apprized,

  Swift ran the spies, perceiving their approach,

  And intercepting suddenly the herds

  And flocks of silver fleece, slew also those

  Who fed them. The besiegers, at that time

  In council, by the sound alarm'd, their steeds

  Mounted, and hasted, instant, to the place;

  Then, standing on the river's brink they fought

  And push'd each other with the brazen lance.

  There Discord raged, there Tumult, and the force

  Of ruthless Destiny; she now a Chief

  Seized newly wounded, and now captive held

  Another yet unhurt, and now a third

  Dragg'd breathless through the battle by his feet

  And all her garb was dappled thick with blood

  Like living men they traversed and they strove,

  And dragg'd by turns the bodies of the slain.

  He also graved on it a fallow field

  Rich, spacious, and well-till'd. Plowers not few,

  There driving to and fro their sturdy teams,

  Labor'd the land; and oft as in their course

  They came to the field's bourn, so oft a man

  Met them, who in their hands a goblet placed

  Charged with delicious wine. They, turning, wrought

  Each his own furrow, and impatient seem'd

  To reach the border of the tilth, which black

  Appear'd behind them as a glebe new-turn'd,

  Though golden. Sight to be admired by all!

  There too he form'd the likeness of a field

  Crowded with corn, in which the reapers toil'd

  Each with a sharp-tooth'd sickle in his hand.

  Along the furrow here, the harvest fell

  In frequent handfuls, there, they bound the sheaves.

  Three binders of the sheaves their sultry task

  All plied industrious, and behind them boys

  Attended, filling with the corn their arms

  And offering still their bundles to be bound.

  Amid them, staff in hand, the master stood

  Silent exulting, while beneath an oak

  Apart, his heralds busily prepared

  The banquet, dressing a well-thriven ox

  New slain, and the attendant maidens mix'd

  Large supper for the hinds of whitest flour.

  There also, laden with its fruit he form'd

  A vineyard all of gold; purple he made

  The clusters, and the vines supported stood

  By poles of silver set in even rows.

  The trench he color'd sable, and around

  Fenced it with tin. One only path it show'd

  By which the gatherers when they stripp'd the vines

  Pass'd and repass'd. There, youths and maidens blithe

  In frails of wicker bore the luscious fruit,

  While, in the midst, a boy on his shrill harp

  Harmonious play'd, still as he struck the chord

  Carolling to it with a slender voice.

  They smote the ground together, and with song

  And sprightly reed came dancing on behind.

  There too a herd he fashion'd of tall beeves

  Part gold, part tin. They, lowing, from the stalls

  Rush'd forth to pasture by a river-side

  Rapid, sonorous, fringed with whispering reeds.

  Four golden herdsmen drove the kine a-field

  By nine swift dogs attended. Dreadful sprang

  Two lions forth, and of the foremost herd

  Seized fast a bull. Him bellowing they dragg'd,

  While dogs and peasants all flew to his aid.

  The lions tore the hide of the huge prey

  And lapp'd his entrails and his blood. Meantime

  The herdsmen, troubling them in vain, their hounds

  Encouraged; but no tooth for lions' flesh

  Found they, and therefore stood aside and bark'd.

  There also, the illustrious smith divine

  Amidst a pleasant grove a pasture form'd

  Spacious, and sprinkled o'er with silver sheep

  Numerous, and stalls and huts and shepherds' tents.

  To these the glorious artist added next,

  With various skill delineated exact,

  A labyrinth for the dance, such as of old

  In Crete's broad island Dædalus composed

  For bright-hair'd Ariadne. There the youths

  And youth-alluring maidens, hand in hand,

  Danced jocund, every maiden neat-attired

  In finest linen, and the youths in vests

  Well-woven, glossy as the glaze of oil.

  These all wore garlands, and bright falchions, those,

  Of burnish'd gold in silver trappings hung: —

  They with well-tutor'd step, now nimbly ran

  The circle, swift, as when, before his wheel

  Seated, the potter twirls it with both hands

  For trial of its speed, now, crossing quick

  They pass'd at once into each other's place.

  On either side spectators numerous stood

  Delighted, and two tumblers roll'd themselves

  Between the dancers, singing as they roll'd.

  Last, with the might of ocean's boundless flood

  He fill'd the border of the wondrous shield.

  When thus the massy shield magnificent

  He had accomplish'd, for the hero next

  He forged, more ardent than the blaze of fire,

  A corselet; then, a ponderous helmet bright

  Well fitted to his brows, crested with gold,

  And with laborious art divine adorn'd.

  He also made him greaves of molten tin.

  The armor finish'd, bearing in his hand

  The whole, he set it down at Thetis' feet.

  She, like a falcon from the snowy top

  Stoop'd of Olympus, bearing to the earth

  The dazzling wonder, fresh from Vulcan's hand.

  * * *

  BOOK XIX.

  * * *

  ARGUMENT OF THE NINETEENTH BOOK.

  Achilles is reconciled to Agamemnon, and clothed in new armor forged by Vulcan, leads out the Myrmidons to battle.

  * * *

  BOOK XIX.

  Now rose the morn in saffron vest attired

  From ocean, with new day for Gods and men,

  When Thetis at the fleet of Greece arrived,

  Bearing that gift divine. She found her son

  All tears, and close enfolding in his arms

  Patroclus, while his Myrmidons around

  Wept also; she amid them, graceful, stood,

  And seizing fast his hand, him thus bespake.

  Although our loss be great, yet, oh my son!

  Leave we Patroclus lying on the bier

  To which the Gods ordain'd him from the first.

  Receive from Vulcan's hands these glorious arms,

  Such as no mortal shoulders ever bore.

  So saying, she placed the armor on the ground

  Before him, and the whole bright treasure rang.

  A tremor shook the Myrmidons; none dared

  Look on it, but all fled. Not so himself.

  In him fresh vengeance kindled at the view,

  And, while he gazed, a splendor as of fire

  Flash'd from his eyes. Delighted, in his hand

  He held the glorious bounty of the God,

  And, wondering at those strokes of art divine,

  His eager speech thus to his mother turn'd.

  The God, my mother! hath bestow'd in truth

  Such armor on me as demanded skill

  Like his, surpassing far all power of man.

  Now, therefore, I will arm. But anxious fears

  Trouble me, lest intrusive flies, meantime,

  Breed worms within the spear-inflicted wounds

  Of Menœtiades, and fill with taint

  Of putrefaction his whole breathless form.

  But him the silver-footed Goddess fair

  Thus answer'd. Oh, my son! chase from thy mind

  All such concern. I will, myself, essay

  To drive the noisome swarms which on the slain

  In battle feed voracious. Should he lie

  The year complete, his flesh shall yet be found

  Untainted, and, it may be, fragrant too.

  But thou the heroes of Achaia's host

  Convening, in their ears thy wrath renounce

  Against the King of men, then, instant, arm

  For battle, and put on thy glorious might.

  So saying, the Goddess raised his courage high.

  Then, through the nostrils of the dead she pour'd

  Ambrosia, and the ruddy juice divine

  Of nectar, antidotes against decay.

  And now forth went Achilles by the side

  Of ocean, calling with a dreadful shout

  To council all the heroes of the host.

  Then, even they who in the fleet before

  Constant abode, helmsmen and those who held

  In stewardship the food and public stores,

  All flock'd to council, for that now at length

  After long abstinence from dread exploits

  Of war, Achilles had once more appear'd.

  Two went together, halting on the spear,

  (For still they felt the anguish of their wounds)

  Noble Ulysses and brave Diomede,

  And took an early seat; whom follow'd last

  The King of men, by Coön in the field

  Of furious battle wounded with a lance.

  The Grecians all assembled, in the midst

  Upstood the swift Achilles, and began.

  Atrides! we had doubtless better sped

  Both thou and I, thus doing, when at first

  With cruel rage we burn'd, a girl the cause.

  I would that Dian's shaft had in the fleet

  Slain her that self-same day when I destroy'd

  Lyrnessus, and by conquest made her mine!

  Then had not many a Grecian, lifeless now,

  Clench'd with his teeth the ground, victim, alas!

  Of my revenge; whence triumph hath accrued

  To Hector and his host, while ours have cause

  For long remembrance of our mutual strife.

  But evils past let pass, yielding perforce

  To sad necessity. My wrath shall cease

  Now; I resign it; it hath burn'd too long.

  Thou therefore summon forth the host to fight,

  That I may learn meeting them in the field,

  If still the Trojans purpose at our fleet

  To watch us this night also. But I judge

  That driven by my spear to rapid flight,

  They shall escape with weary limbs at least.

  He ended, and the Grecians brazen-greaved

  Rejoiced that Peleus' mighty son had cast

  His wrath aside. Then not into the midst

  Proceeding, but at his own seat, upstood

  King Agamemnon, and them thus bespake.

  Friends! Grecian heroes! Ministers of Mars!

  Arise who may to speak, he claims your ear;

  All interruption wrongs him, and distracts,

  Howe'er expert the speaker. Who can hear

  Amid the roar of tumult, or who speak?

  The clearest voice, best utterance, both are vain

  I shall address Achilles. Hear my speech

  Ye Argives, and with understanding mark.

  I hear not now the voice of your reproach

  First; ye have oft condemn'd me. Yet the blame

  Rests not with me; Jove, Destiny, and she

  Who roams the shades, Erynnis, caused the offence.

  She fill'd my soul with fury on that day

  In council, when I seized Achilles' prize.

  For what could I? All things obey the Gods.

  Ate, pernicious Power, daughter of Jove,

  By whom all suffer, challenges from all

  Reverence and fear. Delicate are her feet

  Which scorn the ground, and over human heads

  She glides, injurious to the race of man,

  Of two who strive, at least entangling one.

  She injured, on a day, dread Jove himself

  Most excellent of all in earth or heaven,

  When Juno, although female, him deceived,

  What time Alcmena should have brought to light

  In bulwark'd Thebes the force of Hercules.

  Then Jove, among the gods glorying, spake.

  Hear all! both Gods and Goddesses, attend!

  That I may make my purpose known. This day

  Birth-pang-dispensing Ilithya brings

  An hero forth to light, who, sprung from those

  That sprang from me, his empire shall extend

  Over all kingdoms bordering on his own.

  To whom, designing fraud, Juno replied.

  Thou wilt be found false, and this word of thine

  Shall want performance. But Olympian Jove!

  Swear now the inviolable oath, that he

  Who shall, this day, fall from between the feet

  Of woman, drawing his descent from thee,

  Shall rule all kingdoms bordering on his own.

  She said, and Jove, suspecting nought her wiles,

  The great oath swore, to his own grief and wrong.

  At once from the Olympian summit flew

  Juno, and to Achaian Argos borne,

  There sought the noble wife of Sthenelus,

  Offspring of Perseus. Pregnant with a son

  Six months, she now the seventh saw at hand,

  But him the Goddess premature produced,

  And check'd Alcmena's pangs already due.

  Then joyful to have so prevail'd, she bore

  Herself the tidings to Saturnian Jove.

  Lord of the candent lightnings! Sire of all!

  I bring thee tidings. The great prince, ordain'd

  To rule the Argive race, this day is born,

  Eurystheus, son of Sthenelus, the son

  Of Perseus; therefore he derives from thee,

  Nor shall the throne of Argos shame his birth.

  She spake; then anguish stung the heart of Jove

  Deeply, and seizing by her glossy locks

  The Goddess Ate, in his wrath he swore

  That never to the starry skies again

  And the Olympian heights he would permit

  The universal mischief to return.

  Then, whirling her around, he cast her down

  To earth. She, mingling with all works of men,

  Caused many a pang to Jove, who saw his son

  Laborious tasks servile, and of his birth

  Unworthy, at Eurystheus' will enjoin'd.

  So when the hero Hector at our ships

  Slew us, I then regretted my offence

  Which Ate first impell'd me to commit.

  But since, infatuated by the Gods

  I err'd, behold me ready to appease

  With gifts of price immense whom I have wrong'd.

  Thou, then, arise to battle, and the host

  Rouse also. Not a promise yesternight

  Was made thee by Ulysses in thy tent

  On my behalf, but shall be well perform'd.

  Or if it please thee, though impatient, wait

  Short season, and my train shall bring the gifts

  Even now; that thou may'st understand and know

  That my peace-offerings are indeed sincere.

  To whom Achilles, swiftest of the swift.

  Atrides! Agamemnon! passing all

  In glory! King of men! recompense just

  By gifts to make me, or to make me none,

  That rests with thee. But let us to the fight

  Incontinent. It is no time to play

  The game of rhetoric, and to waste the hours

  In speeches. Much remains yet unperform'd.

  Achilles must go forth. He must be seen

  Once more in front of battle, wasting wide

  With brazen spear, the crowded ranks of Troy.

  Mark him — and as he fights, fight also ye.

  To whom Ulysses ever-wise replied.

  Nay — urge not, valiant as thou art thyself,

  Achaia's sons up to the battlements

  Of Ilium, by repast yet unrefresh'd,

  Godlike Achilles! — For when phalanx once

  Shall clash with phalanx, and the Gods with rage

  Both hosts inspire, the contest shall not then

  Prove short. Bid rather the Achaians take

  Both food and wine, for they are strength and might.

  To stand all day till sunset to a foe

  Opposed in battle, fasting, were a task

  Might foil the best; for though his will be prompt

  To combat, yet the power must by degrees

  Forsake him; thirst and hunger he must feel,

  And his limbs failing him at every step.

  But he who hath his vigor to the full

  Fed with due nourishment, although he fight

  All day, yet feels his courage unimpair'd,

  Nor weariness perceives till all retire.

  Come then — dismiss the people with command

  That each prepare replenishment. Meantime

  Let Agamemnon, King of men, his gifts

  In presence here of the assembled Greeks

  Produce, that all may view them, and that thou

  May'st feel thine own heart gladden'd at the sight.

  Let the King also, standing in the midst,

  Swear to thee, that he renders back the maid

  A virgin still, and strange to his embrace,

  And let thy own composure prove, the while,

  That thou art satisfied. Last, let him spread

  A princely banquet for thee in his tent,

  That thou may'st want no part of just amends.

  Thou too, Atrides, shalt hereafter prove

  More just to others; for himself, a King,

  Stoops not too low, soothing whom he hath wrong'd.

 

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