BOOK V.

The Acts of Diomed.

ARGUMENT.-Diomed, assisted by Pallas, performs wonders in this day's battle. Pandarus wounds him with an arrow; but the goddess cures him, enables him to discern gods from mortals, and prohibits him from contending with any of the former, excepting Venus. Æneas joins Pandarus to oppose him; Pandarus is killed, and Æneas in great danger, but for the assistance of Venus; who, as she is removing her son from the fight, is wounded on the hand by Diomed✔ Apollo seconds her in his rescue, and at length carries off Æneas to Troy, where he is healed in the temple of Pergamus. Mars rallies the Trojans, and assists Hector to make a stand. In the mean time, Æneas is restored to the field, and they overthrow several of the Greeks; among the rest, Tlepolemus is slain by Sarpedon. Juno and Minerva descend to resist Mars; the latter incites Diomed to go against that god; he wounds him, and sends him groaning to heaven. The first battle continues through this book. The scene is the same as

in the former.

BUT Pallas now Tydides' soul inspires,

Fills with her force, and warms with all her fires,
Above the Greeks his deathless fame to raise,
And crown her hero with distinguished praise.
High on his helm celestial lightnings play,
His beamy shield emits a living ray;
Th' unwearied blaze incessant streams supplies,
Like the red star that fires th' autumnal skies,
When fresh he rears his radiant orb to sight,
And, bathed in ocean, shoots a keener light.
Such glories Pallas on the chief bestow'd;
Such, from his arms, the fierce effulgence flowed:
Onward she drives him, furious to engage,
Where the fight burns, and where the thickest rage.
The sons of Dares first the combat sought,

A wealthy priest, but rich without a fault;
In Vulcan's fane the father's days were led,
The sons to toils of glorious battle bred:

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These, singled from their troops, the fight maintain,
These from their steeds, Tydides on the plain.
Fierce for renown, the brother-chiefs draw near,
And first bold Phegeus cast his sounding spear,
Which o'er the warrior's shoulder took its course,
And spent in empty air its erring force.
Not so, Tydides, flew thy lance in vain,

But pierced his breast, and stretch'd him on the plain.
Seized with unusual fear, Idæus fled,

Left the rich chariot, and his brother dead:

And had not Vulcan lent celestial aid,
He too had sunk to death's eternal shade.
But in a smoky cloud the god of fire
Preserved the son, in pity to the sire.
The steeds and chariot, to the navy led,
Increased the spoils of gallant Diomed.

Struck with amaze and shame, the Trojan crew,
Or slain or fled, the sons of Dares view;
When by the blood-stain'd hand Minerva press'd
The god of battles, and this speech address'd:

"Stern power of war! by whom the mighty fall,
Who bathe in blood, and shake the lofty wall!
Let the brave chiefs their glorious toils divide,
And whose the conquest mighty Jove decide,
While we from interdicted fields retire,
Nor tempt the wrath of heaven's avenging sire."
Her words allay'd th' impetuous warrior's heat:
The god of arms and martial maid retreat ;
Removed from fight, on Xanthus' flowery bounds
They sat, and listened to the dying sounds.

Meantime, the Greeks the Trojan race pursue,
And some bold chieftain every leader slew:
First Odius falls, and bites the bloody sand,
His death ennobled by Atrides' hand:
As he to flight his wheeling car address'd,
The speedy javelin drove from back to breast.
In dust the mighty Halizonian lay,

His arms resound, the spirit wings its way.

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Thy fate was next, O Phæstus! doom'd to feel
The great Idomeneus' portended steel;

Whom Borus sent (his son and only joy)
From fruitful Tarné to the fields of Troy.
The Cretan javelin reach'd him from afar,
And pierced his shoulder as he mounts his car;
Back from the car he tumbles to the ground,
And everlasting shades his eyes surround.

Then died Scamandrius, expert in the chase,
In woods and wilds to wound the savage race;
Diana taught him all her sylvan arts,

To bend the bow, and aim unerring darts:

But vainly here Diana's art he tries,

The fatal lance arrests him as he flies:

From Menelaüs' arm the weapon sent,

Through his broad back and heaving bosom went;
Down sinks the warrior with a thundering sound,
His brazen armour rings against the ground.
Next artful Phereclus untimely fell:

Bold Merion sent him to the realms of hell.
Thy father's skill, O Phereclus! was thine,
The graceful fabric and the fair design;
For, loved by Pallas, Pallas did impart
To him the shipwright's and the builder's art.
Beneath his hand the fleet of Paris rose,
The fatal cause of all his country's woes;
But he, the mystic will of Heaven unknown,
Nor saw his country's peril, nor his own.
The hapless artist, while confused he fled,
The spear of Merion mingled with the dead;
Through his right hip, with forceful fury cast,
Between the bladder and the bone it pass'd:
Prone on his knees he falls with fruitless cries,
And death in lasting slumber seals his eyes.

From Meges' force the swift Pedæus fled,
Antenor's offspring from a foreign bed,
Whose generous spouse, Theano, heavenly fair,
Nursed the young stranger with a mother's care.

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How vain those cares! when Meges, in the rear,
Full in his nape infix'd the fatal spear;

Swift through his crackling jaws the weapon glides,
And the cold tongue the grinning teeth divides.

Then died Hypsenor, generous and divine,
Sprung from the brave Dolopian's mighty line,
Who near adored Scamander made abode,
Priest of the stream, and honour'd as a god.
On him, amidst the flying numbers found,
Eurypylus inflicts a deadly wound;

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On his broad shoulders fell the forceful brand,
Then, glancing downward, lopp'd his holy hand,
Which stain'd with sacred blood the blushing sand.
Down sunk the priest: the purple hand of death
Closed his dim eye, and fate suppress'd his breath.
Thus toil'd the chiefs, in different parts engaged; 110
In every quarter fierce Tydides raged;

Amid the Greek, amid the Trojan train,

Rapt through the ranks he thunders o'er the plain;
Now here, now there, he darts from place to place,
Pours on the rear, or lightens in their face.
Thus from high hills the torrents, swift and strong,
Deluge whole fields, and sweep the trees along;
Through ruin'd moles the rushing wave resounds,
O'erwhelms the bridge, and bursts the lofty bounds;
The yellow harvests of the ripen'd year,
And flatted vineyards one sad waste appear!
While Jove descends in sluicy sheets of rain,
And all the labours of mankind are vain:
So raged Tydides, boundless in his ire,
Drove armies back, and made all Troy retire.
With grief the leader of the Lycian band*
Saw the wide waste of his destructive hand:
His bended bow against the chief he drew;
Swift to the mark the thirsty arrow flew,
Whose forky point the hollow breastplate tore,
Deep in his shoulder pierced, and drank the gore:

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* Pandarus.

The rushing stream his brazen armour dyed,
While the proud archer thus exulting cried :
"Hither, ye Trojans! hither drive your steeds!
Lo! by our hand the bravest Grecian bleeds.
Not long the dreadful dart he can sustain,
Or Phœbus urged me to these fields in vain."

So spoke he, boastful; but the winged dart
Stopp'd short of life, and mock'd the shooter's art;
The wounded chief behind his car retired,
The helping hand of Sthenelus required;
Swift from his seat he leap'd upon the ground,
And tugg'd the weapon from the gushing wound;
When thus the king his guardian power address'd,
The purple current wandering o'er his vest:

"Oh, progeny of Jove! unconquer'd maid!
If e'er my godlike sire deserv'd thy aid-
If e'er I felt thee in the fighting field—
Now, goddess, now thy sacred succour yield.
Oh! give my lance to reach the Trojan knight,
Whose arrow wounds the chief thou guard'st in fight!
And lay the boaster groveling on the shore,
That vaunts these eyes shall view the light no more."
Thus pray'd Tydides, and Minerva heard;
His nerves confirm'd, his languid spirit cheer'd,
He feels each limb with vaunted vigour light;
His beating bosom claims the promised fight.
"Be bold !" she cried; "in every combat shine;
War be thy province-thy protection mine;
Rush to the fight, and every foe control;
Wake each paternal virtue in thy soul:
Strength swells thy boiling breast, infused by me,
And all thy godlike father breathes in thee!
Yet more: from mortal mists I purge thy eyes,
And set to view the warring deities.

These see thou shun, through all th' embattled plain,
Nor rashly strive where human force is vain.

If Venus mingle in the martial band,

Her shalt thou wound: so Pallas gives command."

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