Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/246

A dropping sweat creeps cold on every part;
Against his bosom beats his quivering heart;
Terror and death in his wild eyeballs stare;
With chattering teeth he stands, and stiffening hair,
And looks a bloodless image of despair!
Not so the brave; still dauntless, still the same,
Unchanged his colour, and unmoved his frame;
Composed his thought, determined is his eye,
And fixed his soul, to conquer or to die:
If aught disturb the tenor of his breast,
'Tis but the wish to strike before the rest.
"In such assays thy blameless worth is known,
And every art of dangerous war thy own;
By chance of fight whatever wounds you bore,
Those wounds were glorious all, and all before:
Such as may teach, 'twas still thy brave delight
To oppose thy bosom where the foremost fight.
But why, like infants, cold to honour's charms,
Stand we to talk, when glory calls to arms?
Go—from my conquered spears the choicest take,
And to their owners send them nobly back."
Swift as the word bold Merion snatched a spear,
And, breathing slaughter, followed to the war.
So Mars armipotent invades the plain,
The wide destroyer of the race of man;
Terror, his best-loved son, attends his course,
Armed with stern boldness, and enormous force,
The pride of haughty warriors to confound,
And lay the strength of tyrants on the ground:
From Thrace they fly, called to the dire alarms
Of warring Phlegians, and Ephyrian arms:
Invoked by both, relentless they dispose
To these glad conquests, murderous rout to those.
So marched the leaders of the Cretan train,
And their bright arms shot horror o'er the plain.
Then first spake Merion: "Shall we join the right,
Or combat in the centre of the fight?
Or to the left our wanted succour lend?
Hazard and fame all parts alike attend."
"Not in the centre," Idomen replied;
"Our ablest chieftains the main battle guide;
Each godlike Ajax makes that post his care,
And gallant Teucer deals destruction there:
Skilled, or with shafts to gall the distant field,
Or bear close battle on the sounding shield.
These can the rage of haughty Hector tame;
Safe in their arms, the navy fears no flame;
Till Jove himself descends, his bolts to shed,
And hurl the blazing ruin at our head.