The Iliad

                    [Illustration: CASTOR AND POLLUX.]

                            CASTOR AND POLLUX.





BOOK XVI.


ARGUMENT

THE SIXTH BATTLE, THE ACTS AND DEATH OF PATROCLUS

Patroclus (in pursuance of the request of Nestor in the eleventh book)
entreats Achilles to suffer him to go to the assistance of the Greeks with
Achilles' troops and armour. He agrees to it, but at the same time charges
him to content himself with rescuing the fleet, without further pursuit of
the enemy. The armour, horses, soldiers, and officers are described.
Achilles offers a libation for the success of his friend, after which
Patroclus leads the Myrmidons to battle. The Trojans, at the sight of
Patroclus in Achilles' armour, taking him for that hero, are cast into the
uttermost consternation; he beats them off from the vessels, Hector
himself flies, Sarpedon is killed, though Jupiter was averse to his fate.
Several other particulars of the battle are described; in the heat of
which, Patroclus, neglecting the orders of Achilles, pursues the foe to
the walls of Troy, where Apollo repulses and disarms him, Euphorbus wounds
him, and Hector kills him, which concludes the book.

  So warr'd both armies on the ensanguined shore,
  While the black vessels smoked with human gore.
  Meantime Patroclus to Achilles flies;
  The streaming tears fall copious from his eyes
  Not faster, trickling to the plains below,
  From the tall rock the sable waters flow.
  Divine Pelides, with compassion moved.
  Thus spoke, indulgent, to his best beloved:(243)

  "Patroclus, say, what grief thy bosom bears,
  That flows so fast in these unmanly tears?
  No girl, no infant whom the mother keeps
  From her loved breast, with fonder passion weeps;
  Not more the mother's soul, that infant warms,
  Clung to her knees, and reaching at her arms,
  Than thou hast mine! Oh tell me, to what end
  Thy melting sorrows thus pursue thy friend?

  "Griev'st thou for me, or for, my martial band?
  Or come sad tidings from our native land?
  Our fathers live (our first, most tender care),
  Thy good Menoetius breathes the vital air,
  And hoary Peleus yet extends his days;
  Pleased in their age to hear their children's praise.
  Or may some meaner cause thy pity claim?
  Perhaps yon relics of the Grecian name,
  Doom'd in their ships to sink by fire and sword,
  And pay the forfeit of their haughty lord?
  Whate'er the cause, reveal thy secret care,
  And speak those sorrows which a friend would share."
  A sigh that instant from his bosom broke,
  Another follow'd, and Patroclus spoke:

  "Let Greece at length with pity touch thy breast,
  Thyself a Greek; and, once, of Greeks the best!
  Lo! every chief that might her fate prevent,
  Lies pierced with wounds, and bleeding in his tent:
  Eurypylus, Tydides, Atreus' son,
  And wise Ulysses, at the navy groan,
  More for their country's wounds than for their own.
  Their pain soft arts of pharmacy can ease,
  Thy breast alone no lenitives appease.
  May never rage like thine my soul enslave,
  O great in vain! unprofitably brave!
  Thy country slighted in her last distress,
  What friend, what man, from thee shall hope redress?
  No--men unborn, and ages yet behind,
  Shall curse that fierce, that unforgiving mind.

  "O man unpitying! if of man thy race;
  But sure thou spring'st not from a soft embrace,
  Nor ever amorous hero caused thy birth,
  Nor ever tender goddess brought thee forth:
  Some rugged rock's hard entrails gave thee form,
  And raging seas produced thee in a storm,
  A soul well suiting that tempestuous kind,
  So rough thy manners, so untamed thy mind.

  "If some dire oracle thy breast alarm,
  If aught from Jove, or Thetis, stop thy arm,
  Some beam of comfort yet on Greece may shine,
  If I but lead the Myrmidonian line:
  Clad in thy dreadful arms if I appear,
  Proud Troy shall tremble, and desert the war;
  Without thy person Greece shall win the day,
  And thy mere image chase her foes away.
  Press'd by fresh forces, her o'erlabour'd train
  Shall quit the ships, and Greece respire again."
  Thus, blind to fate! with supplicating breath,
  Thou begg'st his arms, and in his arms thy death.