Of Telamon, and hurl their spears against
The centre of his shield. And now he wheeled,
As conscious of great valor, and repulsed
The crowding phalanxes; and now again
He turned to flee. And thus he kept the foe
From reaching the swift galleys, while he stood
Between the Greeks and Trojans, terrible
In wrath. The javelins hurled by daring hands
Against him—some hung fixed in his broad shield;
And many, ere they came to his fair skin,
Fell midway—eager though they were to pierce
The warrior’s side—and plunged into the earth.
Eurypylus, Evaemon’s noble son,
Saw Ajax sorely pressed with many darts,
And came and stood beside him, taking aim
With his bright spear, and in the liver smote,
Beneath the midriff, Apisaon, son
Of Phausias, and a prince among his tribe.
His knees gave way, and down he sank in death.
But godlike Alexander, who beheld
The slayer stripping Apisaon’s corpse
Of armor, at that moment bent his bow,
And pierced Eurypylus in the right thigh.
The reed brake in the wound. He writhed with pain,
And mingled with his fellows in the ranks,
Avoiding death, yet shouting to the Greeks:—
“O friends, the chiefs and leaders of the Greeks,
Rally and keep your ground; ward off the fate
Of death from Ajax, who is sorely pressed
With darts, and, much I fear, may not escape
Safe from this stormy conflict. Stand ye firm
Around the mighty son of Telamon.”
So spake the wounded warrior; while his friends
Rallied around him, with their shields inclined
Against their shoulders, and with lifted spears.
And Ajax came and joined them; then he turned,
And firmly faced the foe. The Greeks renewed
The combat with a rage like that of fire.
Now meantime the Neleian coursers, steeped
In sweat, were bearing Nestor and the prince
Machaon from the battle. On the prow
Of his great ship, Achilles, swift of foot,
Looked forth, and, gazing on the hard-fought fray
And the sad rout, beheld them. Then he called
His friend Patroclus, shouting from the ship.
Patroclus heard, within the tent, and came,
Glorious as Mars;—yet with that day began
His woes. The gallant Menoetiades
Made answer thus: “Why callest thou my name,
Achilles, and what needest thou of me?”
And thus rejoined Achilles, swift of foot:—
“Son of Menoetius, nobly born, and well
Beloved by me, the Greeks, I deem, will soon
Be at my knees, imploring aid; for now
A hard necessity besets their host.
But go, Patroclus, dear to Jove, and ask
Of Nestor who it is that he hath brought
Thus wounded from the field. Seen from behind,
His form was like Machaon—wholly like
That son of Aesculapius; but the face
I saw not, as the rapid steeds flew by.”
He spake. Patroclus hearkened to his friend,
And hastened to the Grecian tents and ships.
Now when they reached the tent of Neleus’ son,
The warriors in the chariot set their feet
Upon the nourishing earth. Eurymedon,
The old man’s charioteer, took from the mares
Their harness; while the chieftains cooled themselves,
And dried their sweaty garments in the breeze,
Facing the border of the sea, and then,
Entering the tent of Nestor, sat them down
On couches. Hecamede, bright of hair,
Prepared for them a mingled draught; the maid,
A daughter of the great Arsinoüs, came
From Tenedos with Nestor, when the town
Was ravaged by Achilles, and the Greeks
Gave her to Nestor, chosen from the rest
For him, as wisest of their counsellors.
First she drew forth a table fairly wrought,
Of polished surface, and with steel-blue feet,
And on it placed a brazen tray which bore
A thirst-provoking onion, honeycomb,
And sacred meal of wheat. Near these she set
A noble beaker which the ancient chief
Had brought from home, embossed with studs of gold.
Four were its handles, and each handle showed
Two golden turtles feeding, while below
Two others formed the base. Another hand
Could scarce have raised that beaker from its place,
But Nestor lifted it with ease. The maid,
Fair as a goddess, mingled Pramnian wine,
And grated o’er it, with a rasp of brass,
A goat’s-milk cheese, and, sprinkling the white flour
Upon it, bade them drink. With this they quenched
Their parching thirst, and then amused the time
With pleasant talk. Patroclus to the door
Meantime, a godlike presence, came, and stood.
The old man, as he saw him, instantly
Rose from his princely seat and seized his hand,
And led him in and bade him sit; but he
Refused the proffered courtesy, and said:—
“Nay, ’tis no time to sit: persuade me not,
Nursling of Jove; for he is to be feared,
And prone to wrath, who sent me to inquire
What wounded man is with thee; but I know—
Now that I see Machaon sitting here,
The shepherd of the people. I must haste
Back to Achilles, bearing my report.
Thou knowest, ancient chief, how quick he is
To take offence and blame the innocent.”
Then Nestor, the Gerenian knight, rejoined:—
“Why does Achilles pity thus the sons
Of Greece when wounded? Little can he know
What sorrow reigns throughout the Grecian host
While, smitten in the close or distant fight,
Our bravest lie disabled in their ships.
The valiant son of Tydeus—Diomed—
Is wounded—wounded Agamemnon lies,
And the great wielder of the javelin,
Ulysses. By an arrow in the thigh
Eurypylus is smitten, and I now
Bring home this warrior with an arrow-wound.
Yet doth Achilles, valiant as he is,
Care nothing for the Greeks. Will he then wait
Till our swift galleys, moored upon the shore,
After a vain defence shall feed the flames
Lit by the enemy’s hand, and we be slain,
And perish, heaps on heaps? My strength is now
Not that which dwelt in these once active limbs.
Would I were strong and vigorous as of yore,
When strife arose between our men and those
Of Elis for our oxen driven away,
And, driving off their beeves in turn, I slew
The Elean chief, the brave Itymoneus,
Son of Hypirochus! For, as he sought
To save his herd, a javelin from my arm
Smote him the first among his band. He fell;
His rustic followers fled on every side;
And mighty was the spoil we took: of beeves
We drave off fifty herds, as many flocks
Of sheep, of swine as many, and of goats
An equal number, and of yellow steeds
Thrice fifty;—these were mares, and by their sides
Ran many a colt. We drave them all within
Neleian Pylos in the night. Well pleased
Was Neleus, that so large a booty fell
To me, who entered on the war so young.
When morning brake, the heralds’ cry was heard
Summoning all the citizens to meet
To whom from fruitful Elis debts were due;
And then the princes
