690

Scarce from the field with all their efforts chas'd,
And stirs but slowly when he stirs at last.
On Ajax thus a weight of Trojans hung,
The strokes redoubled on his buckler rung;
Confiding now in bulky strength he stands,
Now turns, and backward bears the yielding bands;
Now stiff recedes, yet hardly seems to fly,
And threats his follow'rs with retorted eye. 695
Fix'd as the bar between two warring pow'rs,
While hissing darts descend in iron show'rs:
In his broad buckler many a weapon stood,
Its surface bristled with a quiv'ring wood;
And many a jav'lin, guiltless on the plain,
Marks the dry dust, and thirsts for blood in vain.
But bold Eurypylus his aid imparts,

700

And dauntless springs beneath a cloud of darts; Whose enger jav'lin launch'd against the foe, Great Apisaon felt the fatal blow;

705

From his torn liver the red current flow'd,
And his slack knees desert their dying load.
The victor rushing to despoil the dead,
From Paris' bow a vengeful arrow fled.
Fix'd in his nervous thigh the weapon stood, 710
Fix'd was the point, but broken was the wood:
Back to the lines the wounded Greek retir'd,
Yet thus, retreating, his associates fir'd:

'What god, O Grecians! has your heart dismay'd? 'Oh, turn to arms; 'tis Ajax claims your aid. 715. "This hour he stands the mark of hostile rage, And this the last brave battle he shall wage;

Haste! join your forces; from the gloomy grave 'The warrior rescue, and your country save.'

Thus urg'd the chief; agen'rous troop appears, 720 Who spread their bucklers,and advance their spears, To guard their wounded friend: while thus they With pious care, great Ajax joins the band; [stand Each takes new courage at the hero's sight; The hero rallies and renews the fight.

725

Thus rag'd both armies like conflicting fires, While Nestor's chariot far from fight retires: His coursers, steep'd in sweat, and stain'd with gore, The Greeks' preserver, great Machaon, bore. That hour, Achillès, from the topmost height 730 Of his proud fleet, o'erlook'd the fields of fight; His feasted eyes beheld around the plain The Grecian rout, the slaying, and the slain. His friend Machaon singled from the rest, A transient pity touch'd his vengeful breast. 735 Straight to Menoetius' much-lov'd son he sent; Graceful as Mars, Patroclus quits his tent, (In evil hour! then fate decreed his doom; And fix'd the date of all his woes to come!) Why calls my friend? thy lov'd injunctions lay, 'Whate'er thy will, Patroclus shall obey.'

741

'O first of friends!' (Pelidès thus reply'd,) Still at my heart, and ever at my side! 'The time is come, when yon' despairing host 'Shall learn the value of the man they lost: 745 Now at my knees the Greeks shall pour their moan, And proud Atridès tremble on his throne.

Go now to Nestor, and from him be taught • What wounded warrior late his chariot brought: For seen at distance, and but seen behind, 750 • His form recall'd Machaon to my mind;

Nor could I, thro' yon cloud, discern his face,
The coursers pass'd me with so swift a pace.'
The hero said: His friend obey'd with haste;
Thro' intermingl'd ships and tents he pass'd; 755
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 paus'd a moment, while the gentle gale 760
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 prescrib'd, fair Hecamede prepares,
Arsinous' daughter, grac'd with golden hairs; 765
(Whom to his aged arms, a royal slave,
Greece, as the prize of Nestor's wisdom, gave;)
A table first with azure feet she plac'd,
Whose ample orb a brazen charger grac'd:
Honey new-press'd, the sacred flour of wheat, 770
And wholesome garlic crown'd the sav'ry 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,
Four feet support it, and two handles hold; 775
On each bright handle, bending o'er the brink,
In sculptur'd gold, two turtles seem to drink:

A massy weight, yet heav'd with ease by him,
When the brisk nectar overlook'd the brim.
Temper'd in this, the nymph, of form divinę, 780
Pours a large potion of the Pramnian wine;
With goat's-milk cheese a flav'rous taste bestows,
And last with flour the smiling surface strows.
This for the wounded prince the dame prepares;
The cordial bev'rage rev'rend Nestor shares: 785
Salubrious draughts the warriors' thirst allay,
And pleasing conference beguiles the day.
Meantime Patroclus by Achillès sent,
Unheard approach'd, and stood before the tent.
Old Nestor, rising, then the hero led,
To his high seat: the chief refus'd, and said:
''Tis now no season for these kind delays;
'The great Achillès with impatience stays.
To great Achillès this respect I owe;

790

Who asks what hero, wounded by the foe, 795 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,)

801

'Excite compassion in Achillès' 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,

805

Ulysses, Agamemnon, Diomed,

And stern Eurypylus, already bleed.

'But ah! what flatt'ring hopes I entertain! 'Achilles heeds not, but derides our pain. 'Ev'n till the flames consume our fleet he stays, 810 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 814 Unstrings my nerves, and ends my manly prime. Oh! had I still that strength my youth possess'd, "When this bold arm th' Epeian pow'rs oppress'd, The bulls of Elis in glad triumph led,

And stretch'd the great Itymonæus dead!

Then, from my fury fled the trembling swains, 820 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 gen'rous breeds. 825

won;

< These, as my first essay of arms, I Old Neleus glory'd in his conqu'ring son. Thus Elis forc'd, her long arrears restor'd, And shares were parted to each Pylian lord. The state of Pyle was suuk to last despair, 830 When the proud Elians first commenc'd the war. For Neleus' sons Alcidès' 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; 835 (That large reprisal he might justly claim, For prize defrauded, and insulted fame,