His friend obey'd with haste, Through intermingled ships and tents he pass'd; The chiefs descending from their car he found: The panting steeds Eurymedon unbound.
The warriors standing on the breezy shore, To dry their sweat, and wash away the gore, Here paused a moment, while the gentle gale Convey'd that freshness the cool seas exhale; Then to consult on farther methods went, And took their seats beneath the shady tent.
The draught prescribed, fair Hecamede prepares, Arsinous' daughter, graced with golden hairs: (Whom to his aged arms, a royal slave, Greece, as the prize of Nestor's wisdom gave:) A table first with azure feet she placed; Whose ample orb a brazen charger graced; Honey new-press'd, the sacred flour of wheat, And wholesome garlic, crown'd the savoury treat, Next her white hand an antique goblet brings, A goblet sacred to the Pylian kings From eldest times: emboss'd with studs of gold, Two feet support it, and four handles hold; On each bright handle, bending o'er the brink, In sculptured gold, two turtles seem to drink: A massy weight, yet heaved with ease by him, When the brisk nectar overlook'd the brim.
Temper'd in this, the nymph of form divine Pours a large portion of the Pramnian wine; With goat's-milk cheese a flavourous taste bestows, And last with flour the smiling surface strows: This for the wounded prince the dame prepares: The cordial beverage reverend Nestor shares: Salubrious draughts the warriors' thirst allay, And pleasing conference beguiles the day.
Meantime Patroclus, by Achilles sent, Unheard approached, and stood before the tent.
Old Nestor, rising then, the hero led To his high seat: the chief refused and said: "'Tis now no season for these kind delays; The great Achilles with impatience stays.
To great Achilles this respect I owe; Who asks, what hero, wounded by the foe, Was borne from combat by thy foaming steeds?
With grief I see the great Machaon bleeds.
This to report, my hasty course I bend; Thou know'st the fiery temper of my friend." "Can then the sons of Greece (the sage rejoin'd) Excite compassion in Achilles' mind?
Seeks he the sorrows of our host to know?
This is not half the story of our woe.
Tell him, not great Machaon bleeds alone, Our bravest heroes in the navy groan, Ulysses, Agamemnon, Diomed, And stern Eurypylus, already bleed.
But, ah! what flattering hopes I entertain! Achilles heeds not, but derides our pain: Even till the flames consume our fleet he stays, And waits the rising of the fatal blaze.
Chief after chief the raging foe destroys; Calm he looks on, and every death enjoys.
Now the slow course of all-impairing time Unstrings my nerves, and ends my manly prime; Oh! had I still that strength my youth possess'd, When this bold arm the Epeian powers oppress'd, The bulls of Elis in glad triumph led, And stretch'd the great Itymonaeus dead! Then from my fury fled the trembling swains, And ours was all the plunder of the plains: Fifty white flocks, full fifty herds of swine, As many goats, as many lowing kine: And thrice the number of unrivall'd steeds, All teeming females, and of generous breeds.
These, as my first essay of arms, I won; Old Neleus gloried in his conquering son.
Thus Elis forced, her long arrears restored, And shares were parted to each Pylian lord.
The state of Pyle was sunk to last despair, When the proud Elians first commenced the war: For Neleus' sons Alcides' rage had slain; Of twelve bold brothers, I alone remain! Oppress'd, we arm'd; and now this conquest gain'd, My sire three hundred chosen sheep obtain'd.
(That large reprisal he might justly claim, For prize defrauded, and insulted fame, When Elis' monarch, at the public course, Detain'd his chariot, and victorious horse.) The rest the people shared; myself survey'd The just partition, and due victims paid.
Three days were past, when Elis rose to war, With many a courser, and with many a car; The sons of Actor at their army's head (Young as they were) the vengeful squadrons led.
High on the rock fair Thryoessa stands, Our utmost frontier on the Pylian lands: Not far the streams of famed Alphaeus flow: The stream they pass'd, and pitch'd their tents below.
Pallas, descending in the shades of night, Alarms the Pylians and commands the fight.
Each burns for fame, and swells with martial pride, Myself the foremost; but my sire denied; Fear'd for my youth, exposed to stern alarms; And stopp'd my chariot, and detain'd my arms.
My sire denied in vain: on foot I fled Amidst our chariots; for the goddess led.
"Along fair Arene's delightful plain Soft Minyas rolls his waters to the main: There, horse and foot, the Pylian troops unite, And sheathed in arms, expect the dawning light.
Thence, ere the sun advanced his noon-day flame, To great Alphaeus' sacred source we came.
There first to Jove our solemn rites were paid; An untamed heifer pleased the blue-eyed maid; A bull, Alphaeus; and a bull was slain To the blue monarch of the watery main.
In arms we slept, beside the winding flood, While round the town the fierce Epeians stood.
Soon as the sun, with all-revealing ray, Flamed in the front of Heaven, and gave the day.
Bright scenes of arms, and works of war appear; The nations meet; there Pylos, Elis here.
The first who fell, beneath my javelin bled; King Augias' son, and spouse of Agamede: (She that all simples' healing virtues knew, And every herb that drinks the morning dew:) I seized his car, the van of battle led; The Epeians saw, they trembled, and they fled.
The foe dispersed, their bravest warrior kill'd, Fierce as the whirlwind now I swept the field: Full fifty captive chariots graced my train; Two chiefs from each fell breathless to the plain.
Then Actor's sons had died, but Neptune shrouds The youthful heroes in a veil of clouds.
O'er heapy shields, and o'er the prostrate throng, Collecting spoils, and slaughtering all along, Through wide Buprasian fields we forced the foes, Where o'er the vales the Olenian rocks arose; Till Pallas stopp'd us where Alisium flows.
Even there the hindmost of the rear I slay, And the same arm that led concludes the day; Then back to Pyle triumphant take my way.
There to high Jove were public thanks assign'd, As first of gods; to Nestor, of mankind.
Such then I was, impell'd by youthful blood; So proved my valour for my country's good.
"Achilles with unactive fury glows, And gives to passion what to Greece he owes.
How shall he grieve, when to the eternal shade Her hosts shall sink, nor his the power to aid! 0 friend! my memory recalls the day, When, gathering aids along the Grecian sea, I, and Ulysses, touch'd at Phthia's port, And entered Peleus' hospitable court.
A bull to Jove he slew in sacrifice, And pour'd libations on the flaming thighs.
Thyself, Achilles, and thy reverend sire Menoetius, turn'd the fragments on the fire.
Achilles sees us, to the feast invites; Social we sit, and share the genial rites.
We then explained the cause on which we came, Urged you to arms, and found you fierce for fame.
Your ancient fathers generous precepts gave; Peleus said only this:--'My son! be brave.' Menoetius thus: 'Though great Achilles shine In strength superior, and of race divine, Yet cooler thoughts thy elder years attend; Let thy just counsels aid, and rule thy friend.' Thus spoke your father at Thessalia's court: Words now forgot, though now of vast import.
Ah! try the utmost that a friend can say: Such gentle force the fiercest minds obey; Some favouring god Achilles' heart may move; Though deaf to glory, he may yield to love.
If some dire oracle his breast alarm, If aught from Heaven withhold his saving arm, Some beam of comfort yet on Greece may shine, If thou but lead the Myrmidonian line; Clad in Achilles' arms, if thou appear, Proud Troy may tremble, and desist from war; Press'd by fresh forces, her o'er-labour'd train Shall seek their walls, and Greece respire again." This touch'd his generous heart, and from the tent Along the shore with hasty strides he went; Soon as he came, where, on the crowded strand, The public mart and courts of justice stand, Where the tall fleet of great Ulysses lies, And altars to the guardian gods arise; There, sad, he met the brave Euaemon's son, Large painful drops from all his members run; An arrow's head yet rooted in his wound, The sable blood in circles mark'd the ground.
As faintly reeling he confess'd the smart, Weak was his pace, but dauntless was his heart.
Divine compassion touch'd Patroclus' breast, Who, sighing, thus his bleeding friend address'd: "Ah, hapless leaders of the Grecian host! Thus must ye perish on a barbarous coast?
Is this your fate, to glut the dogs with gore, Far from your friends, and from your native shore?
Say, great Eurypylus! shall Greece yet stand?
Resists she yet the raging Hector's hand?
Or are her heroes doom'd to die with shame, And this the period of our wars and fame ?" Eurypylus replies: "No more, my friend; Greece is no more! this day her glories end; Even to the ships victorious Troy pursues, Her force increasing as her toil renews.
Those chiefs, that used her utmost rage to meet, Lie pierced with wounds, and bleeding in the fleet.
But, thou, Patroclus! act a friendly part, Lead to my ships, and draw this deadly dart; With lukewarm water wash the gore away; With healing balms the raging smart allay, Such as sage Chiron, sire of pharmacy, Once taught Achilles, and Achilles thee.
Of two famed surgeons, Podalirius stands This hour surrounded by the Trojan bands; And great Machaon, wounded in his tent, Now wants that succour which so oft he lent." To him the chief: "What then remains to do?
The event of things the gods alone can view.
Charged by Achilles' great command I fly, And bear with haste the Pylian king's reply: But thy distress this instant claims relief." He said, and in his arms upheld the chief.
The slaves their master's slow approach survey'd, And hides of oxen on the floor display'd: There stretch'd at length the wounded hero lay; Patroclus cut the forky steel away: Then in his hands a bitter root he bruised; The wound he wash'd, the styptic juice infused.
The closing flesh that instant ceased to glow, The wound to torture, and the blood to flow.
[Illustration: HERCULES.] HERCULES..