Of deep-designing Saturn, and thy wife;

  Thine, who o'er all th' Immortals reign'st supreme.

  But yield we each to other, I to thee,

  And thou to me; the other Gods will all

  By us be rul'd. On Pallas then enjoin

  That to the battle-field of Greece and Troy

  She haste, and so contrive that Trojans first

  May break the treaty, and the Greeks assail."

  She said: the Sire of Gods and men complied,

  And thus with winged words to Pallas spoke:

  "Go to the battle-field of Greece and Troy

  In haste, and so contrive that Trojans first

  May break the treaty, and the Greeks assail."

  His words fresh impulse gave to Pallas' zeal,

  And from Olympus' heights in haste she sped;

  Like to a meteor, that, of grave portent

  To warring armies or sea-faring men,

  The son of deep-designing Saturn sends,

  Bright-flashing, scatt'ring fiery sparks around,

  The blue-ey'd Goddess darted down to earth,

  And lighted in the midst; amazement held

  The Trojan warriors and the well-greav'd Greeks;

  And one to other look'd and said, "What means

  This sign? Must fearful battle rage again,

  Or may we hope for gentle peace from Jove,

  Who to mankind dispenses peace and war?"

  Such was the converse Greeks and Trojans held.

  Pallas meanwhile, amid the Trojan host,

  Clad in the likeness of Antenor's son,

  Laodocus, a spearman stout and brave,

  Search'd here and there, if haply she might find

  The godlike Pandarus; Lycaon's son

  She found, of noble birth and stalwart form,

  Standing, encircled by his sturdy band

  Of bucklered followers from AEsepus' stream,

  She stood beside him, and address'd him thus:

  "Wilt thou by me be ruled, Lycaon's son?

  For durst thou but at Menelaus shoot

  Thy winged arrow, great would be thy fame,

  And great thy favour with the men of Troy,

  And most of all with Paris; at his hand

  Thou shalt receive rich guerdon, when he hears

  That warlike Menelaus, by thy shaft

  Subdued, is laid upon the fun'ral pyre.

  Bend then thy bow at Atreus' glorious son,

  Vowing to Phoebus, Lycia's guardian God,

  The Archer-King, to pay of firstling lambs

  An ample hecatomb, when home return'd

  In safety to Zeleia's sacred town."

  Thus she; and, fool, he listen'd to her words.

  Straight he uncas'd his polish'd bow, his spoil

  Won from a mountain ibex, which himself,

  In ambush lurking, through the breast had shot,

  True to his aim, as from behind a crag

  He came in sight; prone on the rock he fell;

  With horns of sixteen palms his head was crown'd;

  These deftly wrought a skilful workman's hand,

  And polish'd smooth, and tipp'd the ends with gold.

  He bent, and resting on the ground his bow,

  Strung it anew; his faithful comrades held

  Their shields before him, lest the sons of Greece

  Should make their onset ere his shaft could reach

  The warlike Menelaus, Atreus' son.

  His quiver then withdrawing from its case,

  With care a shaft he chose, ne'er shot before,

  Well-feather'd, messenger of pangs and death;

  The stinging arrow fitted to the string,

  And vow'd to Phoebus, Lycia's guardian God,

  The Archer-King, to pay of firstling lambs

  An ample hecatomb, when home return'd

  In safety to Zeleia's sacred town.

  At once the sinew and the notch he drew;

  The sinew to his breast, and to the bow

  The iron head; then, when the mighty bow

  Was to a circle strain'd, sharp rang the horn,

  And loud the sinew twang'd, as tow'rd the crowd

  With deadly speed the eager arrow sprang.

  Nor, Menelaus, was thy safety then

  Uncar'd for of the Gods; Jove's daughter first,

  Pallas, before thee stood, and turn'd aside

  The pointed arrow; turn'd it so aside

  As when a mother from her infant's cheek,

  Wrapt in sweet slumbers, brushes off a fly;

  Its course she so directed that it struck

  Just where the golden clasps the belt restrain'd,

  And where the breastplate, doubled, check'd its force.

  On the close-fitting belt the arrow struck;

  Right through the belt of curious workmanship

  It drove, and through the breastplate richly wrought,

  And through the coat of mail he wore beneath,

  His inmost guard and best defence to check

  The hostile weapons' force; yet onward still

  The arrow drove, and graz'd the hero's flesh.

  Forth issued from the wound the crimson blood.

  As when some Carian or Maeonian maid,

  With crimson dye the ivory stains, designed

  To be the cheek-piece of a warrior's steed,

  By many a valiant horseman coveted,

  As in the house it lies, a monarch's boast,

  The horse adorning, and the horseman's pride:

  So, Menelaus, then thy graceful thighs,

  And knees, and ancles, with thy blood were dy'd.

  Great Agamemnon shudder'd as he saw

  The crimson drops out-welling from the wound;

  Shudder'd the warlike Menelaus' self;

  But when not buried in his flesh he saw

  The barb and sinew, back his spirit came.

  Then deeply groaning, Agamemnon spoke,

  As Menelaus by the hand he held,

  And with him groan'd his comrades: "Brother dear,

  I wrought thy death when late, on compact sworn,

  I sent thee forth alone for Greece to fight;

  Wounded by Trojans, who their plighted faith

  Have trodden under foot; but not in vain

  Are solemn cov'nants and the blood of lambs,

  The treaty wine outpoured, and hand-plight given,

  Wherein men place their trust; if not at once,

  Yet soon or late will Jove assert their claim;

  And heavy penalties the perjured pay

  With their own blood, their children's, and their wives'.

  So in my inmost soul full well I know

  The day shall come when this imperial Troy,

  And Priam's race, and Priam's royal self,

  Shall in one common ruin be o'erthrown;

  And Saturn's son himself, high-throned Jove,

  Who dwells in Heav'n, shall in their faces flash

  His aegis dark and dread, this treach'rous deed

  Avenging; this shall surely come to pass.

  But, Menelaus, deep will be my grief,

  If thou shouldst perish, meeting thus thy fate.

  To thirsty Argos should I then return

  By foul disgrace o'erwhelm'd; for, with thy fall,

  The Greeks will mind them of their native land;

  And as a trophy to the sons of Troy

  The Argive Helen leave; thy bones meanwhile

  Shall moulder here beneath a foreign soil.

  Thy work undone; and with insulting scorn

  Some vaunting Trojan, leaping on the tomb

  Of noble Menelaus, thus shall say:

  'On all his foes may Agamemnon so

  His wrath accomplish, who hath hither led

  Of Greeks a mighty army, all in vain;

  And bootless home with empty ships hath gone,

  And valiant Menelaus left behind;'

  Thus when men speak, gape, earth, and hide my shame."

  To whom the fair-hair'd Menelaus thus

  With, cheering words: "Fear not thyself, nor cause

  The troops to fear: the arrow hath not touch'd

  A vital part: the sparkling belt hath first

  Turn'd it aside, the doublet next beneath,

  And coat of mail, the work of arm'rer's hands."

  To whom the monarch Agamemnon thus:

  "Dear Menelaus, may thy words be true!

  The leech shall tend thy wound, and spread it o'er

  With healing ointments to assuage the pain."

  He said, and to the sacred herald call'd:

  "Haste thee, Talthybius! summon with all speed

  The son of AEsculapius, peerless leech,

  Machaon; bid him hither haste to see

  The warlike Menelaus, chief of Greeks,

  Who by an arrow from some practis'd hand,

  Trojan or Lycian, hath receiv'd a wound;

  A cause of boast to them, to us of grief."

  He said, nor did the herald not obey,

  But through the brass-clad ranks of Greece he pass'd,

  In search of brave Machaon; him he found

  Standing, by buckler'd warriors bold begirt,

  Who follow'd him from Trica's grassy plains.

  He stood beside him, and address'd him thus:

  "Up, son of AEsculapius! Atreus' son,

  The mighty monarch, summons thee to see

  The warlike Menelaus, chief of Greeks,

  Who by an arrow from some practis'd hand,

  Trojan or Lycian, hath receiv'd a wound;

  A cause of boast to them, to us of grief."

  Thus he; and not unmov'd Machaon heard:

  They thro' the crowd, and thro' the wide-spread host,

  Together took their way; but when they came

  Where fair-hair'd Menelaus, wounded, stood,

  Around him in a ring the best of Greece,

  And in the midst the godlike chief himself,

  From the close-fitting belt the shaft he drew,

  Breaking the pointed barbs; the sparkling belt

  He loosen'd, and the doublet underneath,

  And coat of mail, the work of arm'rer's hand.

  But when the wound appear'd in sight, where struck

  The stinging arrow, from the clotted blood

  He cleans'd it, and applied with skilful hand

  The herbs of healing power, which Chiron erst

  In friendly guise upon his sire bestowed.

  While round the valiant Menelaus they

  Were thus engag'd, advanc'd the Trojan hosts:

  They donn'd their arms, and for the fight prepar'd.

  In Agamemnon then no trace was seen

  Of laggard sloth, no shrinking from the fight,

  But full of ardour to the field he rush'd.

  He left his horses and brass-mounted car

  (The champing horses by Eurymedon,

  The son of Ptolemy, Peiraeus' son,

  Were held aloof), but with repeated charge

  Still to be near at hand, when faint with toil

  His limbs should fail him marshalling his host.

  Himself on foot the warrior ranks array'd;

  With cheering words addressing whom he found

  With zeal preparing for the battle-field:

  "Relax not, valiant friends, your warlike toil;

  For Jove to falsehood ne'er will give his aid;

  And they who first, regardless of their oaths,

  Have broken truce, shall with their flesh themselves

  The vultures feed, while we, their city raz'd,

  Their wives and helpless children bear away."

  But whom remiss and shrinking from the war

  He found, with keen rebuke lie thus assail'd;

  "Ye wretched Greeks, your country's foul reproach,

  Have ye no sense of shame? Why stand ye thus

  Like timid fawns, that in the chase run down,

  Stand all bewildered, spiritless and tame?

  So stand ye now, nor dare to face the fight.

  What! will ye wait the Trojans' near approach,

  Where on the beach, beside the hoary deep,

  Our goodly ships are drawn, and see if Jove

  Will o'er you his protecting hand extend?"

  As thus the King the serried ranks review'd,

  He came where thronging round their skilful chief

  Idomeneus, the warlike bands of Crete

  Were arming for the fight; Idomeneus,

  Of courage stubborn as the forest boar,

  The foremost ranks array'd; Meriones

  The rearmost squadrons had in charge; with joy

  The monarch Agamemnon saw, and thus

  With accents bland Idomeneus address'd:

  "Idomeneus, above all other Greeks,

  In battle and elsewhere, I honour thee;

  And in the banquet, where the noblest mix

  The ruddy wine for chiefs alone reserved,

  Though others drink their share, yet by thy side

  Thy cup, like mine, still new replenished stands

  To drink at pleasure. Up then to the fight,

  And show thyself the warrior that thou art."

  To whom the Cretan King, Idomeneus:

  "In me, Atrides, thou shalt ever find,

  As at the first I promis'd, comrade true;

  But go, and stir the other long-haired Greeks

  To speedy battle; since the Trojans now

  The truce have broken; and defeat and death

  Must wait on those who have their oaths forsworn."

  He said, and Agamemnon went his way

  Rejoicing; through the crowd he pass'd, and came

  Where stood th' Ajaces; them, in act to arm,

  Amid a cloud of infantry he found;

  And as a goat-herd from his watch-tow'r crag

  Beholds a cloud advancing o'er the sea,

  By Zephyr's breath impell'd; as from afar

  He gazes, black as pitch, it sweeps along

  O'er the dark ocean's face, and with it brings

  A hurricane of rain; he, shudd'ring, sees,

  And drives his flock beneath the shelt'ring cave:

  So thick and dark, about th' Ajaces stirr'd,

  Impatient for the war, the stalwart youths,

  Black masses, bristling close with spear and shield.

  Well pleas'd, the monarch Agamemnon saw,

  And thus address'd them: "Valiant chiefs, to you,

  The leaders of the brass-clad Greeks, I give

  ('Twere needless and unseemly) no commands;

  For well ye understand your troops to rouse

  To deeds of dauntless courage; would to Jove,

  To Pallas and Apollo, that such mind

  As is in you, in all the camp were found;

  Then soon should Priam's lofty city fall,

  Tak'n and destroy'd by our victorious hands."

  Thus saying, them he left, and onward mov'd.

  Nestor, the smooth-tongu'd Pylian chief, he found

  The troops arraying, and to valiant deeds

  His friends encouraging; stout Pelagon,

  Alastor, Chromius, Haemon, warlike Prince,

  And Bias bold, his people's sure defence.

  In the front rank, with chariot and with horse,

  He plac'd the car-borne warriors; in the rear,

  Num'rous and brave, a cloud of infantry,

  Compactly mass'd, to stem the tide of war,

  Between the two he plac'd th' inferior troops,

  That e'en against their will they needs must fight.

  The horsemen first he charg'd, and bade them keep

  Their horses well in hand, nor wildly rush

  Amid the tumult: "See," he said, "that none,

  In skill or valour over-confident,

  Advance before his comrades, nor alone

  Retire; for so your lines were easier forc'd;

  But ranging each beside a hostile car,

  Thrust with your spears; for such the better way;

  By men so disciplin'd, in elder days

  Were lofty walls and fenced towns destroy'd."

  Thus he, experienc'd in the wars of old;

  Well pleas'd, the monarch Agamemnon saw,

  And thus address'd him; "Would to Heav'n, old man,

  That, as thy spirit, such too were thy strength

  And vigour of thy limbs; but now old age,

  The common lot of mortals, weighs thee down;

  Would I could see some others in thy place,

  And thou couldst still be numbered with the young!"

  To whom Gerenian Nestor thus replied:

  "Atrides, I too fain would see restor'd

  The strength I once possess'd, what time I slew

  The godlike Ereuthalion; but the Gods

  On man bestow not all their gifts at once;

  I then was young, and now am bow'd with age,

  Yet with the chariots can I still go forth,

  And aid with sage advice: for such the right

  And privilege of age; to hurl the spear

  Belongs to younger men, who after me

  Were born, who boast their vigour unimpair'd."

  He said; and Agamemnon went his way,

  Rejoicing: to Menestheus next he came,

  The son of Peteus, charioteer renown'd;

  Him found he, circled by th' Athenian bands,

  The raisers of the war-cry; close beside

  The sage Ulysses stood, around him rang'd,

  Not unrenown'd, the Cephalonian troops:

  The sound of battle had not reach'd their ears;

  For but of late the Greek and Trojan hosts

  Were set in motion; they expecting stood,

  Till other Grecian columns should advance,

  Assail the Trojans, and renew the war.

  Atrides saw, and thus, reproachful, spoke:

  "O son of Peteus, Heav'n-descended King!

  And thou too, master of all tricky arts,

  Why, ling'ring, stand ye thus aloof, and wait

  For others coming? ye should be the first

  The hot assault of battle to confront;

  For ye are first my summons to receive,

  Whene'er the honour'd banquet we prepare:

  And well ye like to eat the sav'ry meat,

  And, at your will, the luscious wine-cups drain:

  Now stand ye here, and unconcern'd would see

  Ten columns pass before you to the fight."

  To whom, with stern regard, Ulysses thus:

  "What words have pass'd the barrier of thy lips,

  Atrides? how with want of warlike zeal

  Canst thou reproach us? when the Greeks again

  The furious war shall waken, thou shalt see

  (If that thou care to see) amid the ranks

  Of Troy, the father of Telemachus

  In the fore-front: thy words are empty wind."