Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/93

Stiff with the rich embroidered work around,
My varied belt repelled the flying wound."
To whom the king: "My brother and my friend,
Thus, always thus, may heaven thy life defend!
Now seek some skilful hand, whose powerful art
May staunch the effusion, and extract the dart.
Herald, be swift, and bid Machaon bring
His speedy succour to the Spartan king;
Pierced with a winged shaft, the deed of Troy,
The Grecian's sorrow and the Dardan's joy."
With hasty zeal the swift Talthybius flies;
Through the thick files he darts his searching eyes,
And finds Machaon, where sublime he stands
In arms encircled with his native bands.
Then thus: "Machaon, to the king repair,
His wounded brother claims thy timely care;
Pierced by some Lycian or Dardanian bow,
A grief to us, a triumph to the foe."
The heavy tidings grieved the godlike man;
Swift to his succour through the ranks he ran:
The dauntless king yet standing firm he found,
And all the chiefs in deep concern around.
Where to the steely point the reed was joined,
The shaft he drew, but left the head behind.
Straight the broad belt, with gay embroidery graced,
He loosed: the corselet from his breast unbraced;
Then sucked the blood, and sovereign balm infused,
Which Chiron gave, and Æsculapius used.
While round the prince the Greeks employ their care,
The Trojans rush tumultuous to the war;
Once more they glitter in refulgent arms,
Once more the fields are filled with dire alarms.
Nor had you seen the king of men appear
Confused, inactive, or surprised with fear;
But fond of glory, with severe delight,
His beating bosom claimed the rising fight.
No longer with his warlike steeds he stayed,
Or pressed the car with polished brass inlaid,
But left Eurymedon the reins to guide;
The fiery coursers snorted at his side.
On foot through all the martial ranks he moves,
And these encourages, and those reproves.
"Brave men!" he cries, to such who boldly dare
Urge their swift steeds to face the coming war,
"Your ancient valour on the foes approve;
Jove is with Greece, and let us trust in Jove.
'Tis not for us, but guilty Troy, to dread,
Whose crimes sit heavy on her perjured head:
Her sons and matrons Greece shall lead in chains,