The illustrious Hector spake, and rapidly
Passed through the gate, and with him issued forth
His brother Alexander—eager, both,
For war and combat. As when God bestows,
To glad the long-expecting mariners,
A favorable wind while wearily
They beat the ocean with their polished oars,
Their arms all nerveless with their length of toil,
Such to the expecting Trojans was the sight
Of the two chiefs. First Alexander slew
Menesthius, who in Arnè had his home,
A son of Areïthoüs the king.
Large-eyed Philomedusa brought him forth
To the mace-bearer Areïthoüs.
And Hector smote Eïoneus, the spear
Piercing his neck beneath the brazen casque,
And straightway he dropped lifeless. Glaucus then
Son of Hippolochus, and chief among
The Lycians—in that fiery onset slew
Iphinous, son of Dexius, with his spear.
It pierced the warrior’s shoulder as he sprang
To mount his rapid car, and from the place
He fell to earth, his limbs relaxed in death
Now when Minerva of the azure eyes
Beheld them in the furious combat thus
Wasting the Grecian host, she left the peaks
Of high Olympus, and came down in haste
To sacred Ilium. Straight Apollo flew
To meet her, for he marked from Pergamus
Her coming, and he greatly longed to give
The victory to the Trojans. As they met
Beside the beechen tree, the son of Jove,
The king Apollo, spake to Pallas thus:—
“Why hast thou, daughter of imperial Jove,
Thus left Olympus in thine eager haste?
Seek’st thou to turn in favor of the Greeks
War’s wavering chances?—for I know too well
Thou hast no pity when the men of Troy
Are perishing. But, if thou wilt give ear
To me, I shall propose a better way.
Cause we the conflict for this day to cease,
And be it afterward renewed until
An end be made of Troy, since it hath pleased
You, goddesses, to lay the city waste.”
And blue-eyed Pallas answered: “Be it so,
O mighty Archer. With a like intent
I left Olympus for this battle-field
Of Greeks and Trojans. But by what device
Think’st thou to bring the combat to a pause?”
Then spake the king Apollo, son of Jove,
In turn to Pallas: “Let us seek to rouse
The fiery spirit of the Trojan knight
Hector, that he may challenge in the field
Some Greek to meet him, singly and alone,
In mortal combat. Then the well-armed Greeks,
Stung by the bold defiance, will send forth
A champion against Priam’s noble son.”
He spake. The blue-eyed goddess gave assent
And straightway Helenus, beloved son
Of Priam, in his secret mind perceived
The purpose of the gods consulting thus,
And came and stood by Hector’s side and said:—
“O Hector, son of Priam, and like Jove
In council, wilt thou hearken to my words
Who am thy brother? Cause the Trojans all
And all the Greeks to sit, while thou shall stand
Proclaiming challenge to the bravest man
Among the Achaians to contend with thee
In mortal combat. It is not thy fate
To fall and perish yet, for thus have said
The ever-living gods, whose voice I heard.”
He spake; and Hector, hearing him, rejoiced,
And went between the hosts. He bore his spear,
Holding it in the middle, and pressed back
The ranks of Trojans, and they all sat down.
And Agamemnon caused the well-armed Greeks
To sit down also. Meantime Pallas sat,
With Phoebus of the silver bow, in shape
Like vultures, on the boughs of the tall beech—
The tree of Father Jupiter who bears
The aegis—and they looked with great delight
Upon the array of warriors in thick rows,
Horrid with shields and helm and bristling spears.
As when the west wind, rising fresh, breathes o’er
The deep, and darkens all its face with waves,
So seemed the Greeks and Trojans as they sat
In ranks upon the field, while Hector stood
Between the armies and bespake them thus:—
“Ye Trojans, and ye well-armed Greeks, give ear
To what my spirit bids me speak. The son
Of Saturn, throned on high, hath not vouchsafed
To ratify the treaty we have made,
But meditates new miseries for us both,
Till ye possess the towery city of Troy,
Or, vanquished, yield yourselves beside the barques
That brought you o’er the sea. With you are found
The bravest sons of Greece. If one of these
Is moved to encounter me, let him stand forth
And fight with noble Hector. I propose,
And call on Jove to witness, that if he
Shall slay me with the long blade of his spear,
My arms are his to spoil and to bestow
Among the hollow ships; but he must send
My body home, that there the sons of Troy
And Trojan dames may burn it on the pyre.
But if I take his life, and Phoebus crown
My combat with that glory, I will strip
His armor off and carry it away
To hallowed Ilium, there to hang it high
Within the temple of the archer-god
Apollo; but his body I will send
Back to the well-oared ships, that on the beach
The long-haired Greeks may hold his funeral rites,
And rear his tomb by the wide Hellespont.
And then, in time to come, shall someone say,
Sailing in his good ship the dark-blue deep,
‘This is the sepulchre of one who died
Long since, and whom, though fighting gallantly,
Illustrious Hector slew.’ So shall he say
Hereafter, and my fame shall never die.”
He spake; but utter silence held them all—
Ashamed to shun the encounter, yet afraid
To meet it—till at length, with heavy heart,
Rose Menelaus from his seat, and thus
Bespake the army with reproachful words:—
“O boastful ones, no longer to be called
Greek warriors, but Greek women! A disgrace
Grievous beyond all others will be ours,
If none be found in all the Achaian host
To meet this Hector. May you, every one,
There where ye now are sitting, turn to earth
And water, craven as ye are, and lost
To sense of glory! I will arm myself
For this encounter. With the immortal gods
Alone it rests to give the victory.”
He spake, and put his glorious armor on.
Then, Menelaus, had the Trojan’s hand
Ended thy life, for he was mightier far
Than thou, had not the Achaian kings at once
Uprisen to hold thee back, while Atreus’ son,
Wide-ruling Agamemnon, took thy hand
In his, and made thee listen while he spake:—
“Sure, noble Menelaus, thou art mad.
Such frenzied daring suits not with the time.
Restrain thyself, though thou hast cause for wrath;
Nor in thy pride of courage meet in arms
One so much mightier—Hector, Priam’s son,
Whom every other chief regards with fear,
Whom even Achilles, braver far than thou,
Dreads to encounter in the glorious fight.
Withdraw, then, to
