Which shall their wives and children reach, and all theirprogenies.
For both in mind and soul I know, that there shall come a day
When Ilion, Priam, all his pow'r, shall quite be worn away,
When heav'n-inhabiting Jove shall shake his fiery shield at all,
For this one mischief. This, I know, the world cannot recall.
But be all this, all my grief still for thee will be the same,
Dear brother. If thy life must here put out his royal flame,
I shall to sandy Argos turn with infamy my face;
And all the Greeks will call for home; old Priam and his race
Will flame in glory; Helena untouch'd be still their prey;
And thy bones in our enemies' earth our curséd fates shall lay;
Thy sepulchre be trodden down; the pride of Troy desire
Insulting on it, 'Thus, O thus, let Agamemnon's ire
In all his acts be expiate, as now he carries home
His idle army, empty ships, and leaves here overcome
Good Menelaus.' When this rave breaks in their bated breath,
Then let the broad earth swallow me, and take me quick to death."
"Nor shall this ever chance," said he, "and therefore be of cheer,
Lest all the army, led by you, your passions put in fear.
The arrow fell in no such place a death could enter at,
My girdle, curets doubled here, and my most trusted plate,
Objected all 'twixt me and death, the shaft scarce piercing one."
"Good brother," said the king, "I wish it were no further gone,
For then our best in med'cines skilled shall ope and search the
wound,
Applying balms to ease thy pains, and soon restore thee sound."
This said, divine Talthybiús he call'd, and bad him haste
Machaon (Æsculapius' son, who most of men was grac'd
With physic's sov'reign remedies) to come and lend his hand
To Menelaus, shot by one well-skill'd in the command
Of bow and arrows, one of Troy, or of the Lycian aid,
Who much hath glorified our foe, and us as much dismay'd.
He heard, and hasted instantly, and cast his eyes about
The thickest squadrons of the Greeks, to find Machaon out.
He found him standing guarded well with well-arm'd men of Thrace;
With whom he quickly join'd, and said: "Man of Apollo's race,
Haste, for the king of men commands, to see a wound impress'd
In Menelaus, great in arms, by one instructed best
In th' art of archery, of Troy, or of the Lycian bands,
That them with much renown adorns, us with dishonour brands."
Machaon much was mov'd with this, who with the herald flew
From troop to troop alongst the host; and soon they came in view
Of hurt Atrides, circled round with all the Grecian kings;
Who all gave way, and straight he draws the shaft, which forth he
brings
Without the forks; the girdle then, plate, curets, off he plucks,
And views the wound; when first from it the clotter'd blood he
sucks,
Then med'cines, wondrously compos'd, the skilful leech applied,
Which loving Chiron taught his sire, he from his sire had tried.
While these were thus employ'd to ease the Atrean martialist,
The Trojans arm'd, and charg'd the Greeks; the Greeks arm and
resist.
Then not asleep, nor maz'd with fear, nor shifting off the blows,
You could behold the king of men, but in full speed he goes
To set a glorious fight on foot; and he examples this,
With toiling, like the worst, on foot; who therefore did dismiss
His brass-arm'd chariot, and his steeds, with Ptolemëus' son,
Son of Piraides, their guide, the good Eurymedon;
"Yet," said the king, "attend with them, lest weariness should
seize
My limbs, surcharg'd with ord'ring troops so thick and vast as
these."
Eurymedon then rein'd his horse, that trotted neighing by;
The king a footman, and so scours the squadrons orderly.
Those of his swiftly-mounted Greeks, that in their arms were fit,
Those he put on with cheerful words, and bad them not remit
The least spark of their forward spirits, because the Trojans durst
Take these abhorr'd advantages, but let them do their worst;
For they might be assur'd that Jove would patronise no lies,
And that who, with the breach of truce, would hurt their enemies,
With vultures should be torn themselves; that they should raze
their town,
Their wives, and children at their breast, led vassals to their
own.
But such as he beheld hang of from that increasing fight,
Such would he bitterly rebuke, and with disgrace excite:
"Base Argives, blush ye not to stand as made for butts to darts?
Why are ye thus discomfited, like hinds that have no hearts,
Who, wearied with a long-run field, are instantly emboss'd,
Stand still, and in their beastly breasts is all their courage
lost?
