Ev’n faithful Nestor less in both is found.
But that he might without a rival reign,
He left his faithful Nestor on the plain:
Forsook his friend ev’n at his utmost need,
Who tired, and tardy with his wounded steed,
Cried out for aid, and call’d him by his name;
But cowardice has neither ears nor shame.
Thus fled the good old man, bereft of aid,
And, for as much as lay in him, betray’d.
That this is not a fable forged by me,
Like one of his, an Ulyssean lie,
I vouch ev’n Diomed, who, though his friend,
Cannot that act excuse, much less defend:
He call’d him back aloud, and tax’d his fear;
And sure enough he heard, but durst not hear.
“The gods with equal eyes on mortals look,
He justly was forsaken who forsook:
Wanted that succour he refused to lend,
Found every fellow such another friend:
No wonder if he roar’d that all might hear;
His elocution was increased by fear:
I heard, I ran; I found him out of breath,
Pale, trembling, and half dead with fear of death.
Though he had judged himself by his own laws,
And stood condemn’d, I help’d the common cause;
With my broad buckler hid him from the foe:
(Ev’n the shield trembled as he lay below:)
And from impending fate the coward freed:
Good Heaven forgive me for so bad a deed!
If still he will persist, and urge the strife,
First let him give me back his forfeit life:
Let him return to that opprobrious field;
Again creep under my protecting shield:
Let him lie wounded; let the foe be near;
And let his quivering heart confess his fear:
There put him in the very jaws of fate;
And let him plead his cause in that estate.
And yet when snatch’d from death, when from below
My lifted shield I loosed, and let him go,
Good heavens, how light he rose, with what a bound
He sprung from earth, forgetful of his wound;
How fresh, how eager then his feet to ply:
Who had not strength to stand, had speed to fly!
“Hector came on, and brought the gods along:
Fear seized alike the feeble and the strong:
Each Greek was an Ulysses; such a dread
The approach, and ev’n the sound, of Hector bred:
Him, flesh’d with slaughter, and with conquest crown’d,
I met, and overturn’d him to the ground;
When after, matchless as he deemed in might,
He challenged all our host to single fight:
All eyes were fixed on me: the lots were thrown;
But for your champion I was wish’d alone.
Your vows were heard: we fought, and neither yield;
Yet I return’d unvanquish’d from the field.
With Jove to friend, the insulting Trojan came,
And menaced us with force, our fleet with flame.
Was it the strength of this tongue-valiant lord,
In that black hour, that saved you from the sword?
Or was my breast exposed alone, to brave
A thousand swords, a thousand ships to save?
The hopes of your return! And can you yield,
For a saved fleet, less than a single shield?
Think it no boast, oh Grecians, if I deem
These arms want Ajax, more than Ajax them:
Or, I with them an equal honour share;
They honour’d to be worn, and I to wear.
Will he compare my courage with his sleight?
As well he may compare the day with night.
Night is indeed the province of his reign:
Yet all his dark exploits no more contain
Than a spy taken, and a sleeper slain;
A priest made prisoner; Pallas made a prey:
But none of all these actions done by day;
Nor aught of these was done, and Diomed away.
If on such petty merits you confer
So vast a prize, let each his portion share;
Make a just dividend; and if not all,
The greater part to Diomed will fall.
But why for Ithacus such arms as those,
Who naked, and by night, invades his foes?
The glittering helm by moonlight will proclaim
The latent robber, and prevent his game:
Nor could he hold his tottering head upright
Beneath that morion, or sustain the weight;
Nor that right arm could toss the beamy lance;
Much less the left that ampler shield advance,
Ponderous with precious weight, and rough with cost,
Of the round world in rising gold emboss’d.
That orb would ill become his hand to wield,
And look as for the gold he stole the shield;
Which, should your error on the wretch bestow,
It would not frighten, but allure the foe.
Why asks he what avails him not in fight,
And would but cumber and retard his flight,
In which his only excellence is placed?
You give him death, that intercept his haste.
Add, that his own is yet a maiden shield,
Nor the least dint has suffer’d in the field,
Guiltless of fight: mine, batter’d, hew’d, and bored,
Worn out of service, must forsake its lord.
What further need of words, our right to scan?
My arguments are deeds; let action speak the man.
Since from a champion’s arms the strife arose,
Go cast the glorious prize amid the foes;
Then send us to redeem both arms and shield,
And let him wear who wins them in the field.”
He said: a murmur from a multitude,
Or somewhat like a stifled shout ensued;
Till from his seat arose Laertes’ son,
Look’d down a while, and paused ere he begun;
Then to the expecting audience raised his look,
And not without prepared attention spoke:
Soft was his tone, and sober was his face;
Action his words, and words his action grace.
“If Heaven, my lords, had heard our common prayer,
These arms had caused no quarrel for an heir;
Still great Achilles had his own possess’d,
And we with great Achilles had been bless’d:
But since hard fate, and Heaven’s severe decree,
Have ravish’d him away from you and me,”
(At this he sigh’d, and wiped his eyes, and drew,
Or seem’d to draw, some drops of kindly dew,)
“Who better can succeed Achilles lost,
Than he who gave Achilles to your host?
This only I request, that neither he
May gain, by being what he seems to be,
A stupid thing, nor I may lose the prize,
By having sense, which Heaven to him denies;
Since great or small, the talent I enjoy’d
Was ever in the common cause employ’d:
Nor let my wit, and wonted eloquence,
Which often has been used in your defence,
And in my own, this only time be brought
To bear against myself, and deem’d a fault:
Make not a crime where nature made it none;
For every man may freely use his own.
The deeds of long-descended ancestors
Are but
