Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/316

As dying now at Hector's feet he lies,
He sternly views him, and triumphing cries:
"Lie there, Patroclus! and with thee the joy,
Thy pride once promised, of subverting Troy;
The fancied scenes of Ilion wrapped in flames,
And thy soft pleasures served with captive dames!
Unthinking man! I fought those towers to free,
And guard that beauteous race from lords like thee:
But thou a prey to vultures shalt be made;
Thy own Achilles cannot lend thee aid;
Though much at parting that great chief might say,
And much enjoin thee, this important day:
'Return not, my brave friend,' perhaps he said,
'Without the bloody arms of Hector dead.'
He spoke, Patroclus marched, and thus he sped."
Supine, and wildly gazing on the skies,
With faint expiring breath, the chief replies:
"Vain boaster! cease, and know the powers divine:
Jove's and Apollo's is this deed, not thine;
To heaven is owed whate'er your own you call,
And heaven itself disarmed me ere my fall.
Had twenty mortals, each thy match in might,
Opposed me fairly, they had sunk in fight:
By fate and Phœbus was I first o'erthrown,
Euphorbus next; the third mean part thy own.
But thou, imperious! hear my latest breath;
The gods inspire it, and it sounds thy death.
Insulting man, thou shalt be soon as I;
Black fate hangs o'er thee, and thy hour draws nigh;
E'en now on life's last verge I see thee stand,
I see thee fall, and by Achilles' hand."
He faints; the soul unwilling wings her way
The beauteous body left a load of clay—
Flits to the lone, uncomfortable coast;
A naked, wandering, melancholy ghost!
Then Hector pausing, as his eyes he fed
On the pale carcass, thus addressed the dead:
"From whence this boding speech, the stern decree
Of death denounced, or why denounced to me?
Why not as well Achilles' fate be given
To Hector's lance ? who knows the will of heaven?"
Pensive he said: then, pressing as he lay,
His breathless bosom, tore the lance away,
And upwards cast the corse: the reeking spear
He shakes, and charges the bold charioteer.
But swift Automedon with loosened reins,
Rapt in the chariot o'er the distant plains,
Far from his rage the immortal coursers drove;
The immortal coursers were the gift of Jove.