Diomedes, King of Argos – Roman copy of a statue by Kresilas from c. 430 BC -Louvre, Paris, France
THE ARGUMENT
King Diomed (by Pallas’ spirit inspir’d
With will and pow’r) is for his acts admir’d,
Mere men, and men deriv’d from Deities,
And Deities themselves, he terrifies.
Adds wounds to terrors. His inflamed lance
Draws blood from Mars, and Venus. In a trance
He casts Æneas, with a weighty stone;
Apollo quickens him, and gets him gone.
Mars is recur’d by Pæon, but by Jove
Rebuk’d for authoring breach of human love.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
In Epsilon, Heav’n’s blood is shed
By sacred rage of Diomed.
Then Pallas breath’d in Tydeus’ son; to render whom supreme
To all the Greeks, at all his parts, she cast a hotter beam
On his high mind, his body fill’d with much superior might,
And made his cómplete armour cast a far more cómplete light.
From his bright helm and shield did burn a most unwearied fire,
Like rich Autumnus’ golden lamp, whose brightness men admire
Past all the other host of stars, when, with his cheerful face
Fresh wash’d in lofty Ocean waves, he doth the skies enchase.
To let whose glory, lose no sight, still Pallas made him turn
Where tumult most express’d his pow’r, and where the fight did burn.
An honest and a wealthy man inhabited in Troy,
Dares, the priest of Mulciber, who two sons did enjoy,
Idæus, and bold Phegeüs, well-seen in ev’ry fight.
These (singled from their troops, and hors’d) assail’d Minerva’s knight,
Who rang’d from fight to fight on foot. All hasting mutual charge,
And now drawn near, first Phegeus threw a jav’lin swift and large,
Whose head the king’s left shoulder took, but did no harm at all;
Then rush’d he out a lance at him, that had no idle fall,
But in his breast stuck ’twixt the paps, and strook him from his horse.
Which stern sight when Idæus saw, distrustful of his force
To save his slaughter’d brother’s spoil, it made him headlong leap
From his fair chariot, and leave all; yet had not ’scap’d the heap
Of heavy fun’ral, if the God, great President of fire,
Had not in sudden clouds of smoke and pity of his sire
To leave him utterly unheir’d, giv’n safe pass to his feet.
He gone, Tydides sent the horse and chariot to the fleet.
The Trojans seeing Dares’ sons one slain, the other fled,
Were strook amaz’d. The blue-ey’d Maid (to grace her Diomed
In giving free way to his pow’r) made this so ruthful fact
A fit advantage to remove the War-god out of act,
Who rag’d so on the Ilion side. She grip’d his hand, and said:
“Mars, Mars, thou ruiner of men, that in the dust hast laid
So many cities, and with blood thy godhead dost distain,
Now shall we cease to show our breasts as passionate as men,
And leave the mixture of our hands, resigning Jove his right,
As Rector of the Gods, to give the glory of the fight
Where he affecteth, lest he force what he should freely yield?”
He held it fit, and went with her from the tumultuous field,
Who set him in an herby seat on broad Scamander’s shore.
He gone, all Troy was gone with him, the Greeks drave all before.
And ev’ry leader slew a man; but first the king of men
Deserv’d the honour of his name, and led the slaughter then,
And slew a leader, one more huge than any man he led,
Great Odius, duke of Halizons; quite from his chariot’s head
He strook him with a lance to earth, as first he flight address’d;
It took his forward-turnéd back, and look’d out of his breast;
His huge trunk sounded, and his arms did echo the resound.
Idomenæus to the death did noble Phæstus wound,
The son of Meon-Borus, that from cloddy Terna came;
Who, taking chariot, took his wound, and tumbled with the same
From his attempted seat: the lance through his right shoulder strook,
And horrid darkness strook through him; the spoil his soldiers took.
Atrides-Menelaus slew, as he before him fled,
Scamandrius, son of Strophius, that was a huntsman bred;
A skilful huntsman, for his skill Diana’s self did teach,
And made him able with his dart infallibly to reach
All sorts of subtlest savages, which many a woody hill
Bred for him, and he much preserv’d, and all to show his skill.
Yet not the dart-delighting Queen taught him to shun this dart,
Nor all his hitting so far off, the mast’ry of his art;
His back receiv’d it, and he fell upon his breast withal;
His body’s ruin, and his arms, so sounded in his fall,
That his affrighted horse flew off, and left him, like his life.
Meriones slew Phereclus, whom she that ne’er was wife,
Yet Goddess of good housewives, held in excellent respect
For knowing all the witty things that grace an architect,
And having pow’r to give it all the cunning use of hand.
Harmonides, his sire, built ships, and made him understand,
With all the practice it requir’d, the frame of all that skill.
He built all Alexander’s ships, that author’d all the ill
Of all the Trojans and his own, because he did not know
The oracles advising Troy (for fear of overthrow)
To meddle with no sea affair, but live by tilling land.
This man Meriones surpris’d, and drave his deadly hand
Through his right hip; the lance’s head ran through the región
About the bladder, underneath th’ in-muscles and the bone;
He, sighing, bow’d his knees to death, and sacrific’d to earth.
Phylides stay’d Pedæus’ flight, Antenor’s bastard birth,
Whom virtuous Theano his wife, to please her husband, kept
As tenderly as those she lov’d. Phylides near him stept,
And in the fountain of the nerves did drench his fervent lance,
At his head’s back-part; and so far the sharp head did advance,
It cleft the organ of his speech, and th’ iron, cold as death,
He took betwixt his grinning teeth, and gave the air his breath.
Eurypylus, the much renown’d, and great Evemon’s son,
Divine Hypsenor slew, begot by stout Dolopion,
And consecrate Scamander’s priest; he had a God’s regard
Amongst the people; his hard flight the Grecian follow’d hard,
Rush’d in so close, that with his sword he on his shoulder laid
A blow that his arm’s brawn cut off; nor there his vigour stay’d,
But drave down, and from off his wrist it hew’d his holy hand
That gush’d out blood, and down it dropp’d upon the blushing sand;
Death, with his purple finger, shut, and violent fate, his eyes.
Thus fought these, but distinguish’d well. Tydides so implies
His fury that you could not know whose side had interest
In his free labours, Greece or Troy; but as a flood, increas’d
By violent and sudden show’rs, let down from hills, like hills
Melted in fury, swells and foams, and so he overfills
His natural channel; that besides both hedge and bridge resigns
To his rough confluence, far spread; and lusty flourishing vines
Drown’d in his outrage; Tydeus’ son so overran the field,
Strew’d such as flourish’d in his way, and made whole squadrons yield,
When Pandarus, Lycaon’s son, beheld his ruining hand,
With such resistless insolence, make lanes through ev’ry band,
He bent his gold-tipp’d bow of horn, and shot him rushing in,
At his right shoulder, where his arms were hollow; forth did spin
The blood, and down his curets ran; then Pandarus cried out:
“Rank-riding Trojans, now rush in. Now, now, I make no doubt:
Our bravest foe is mark’d for death; he cannot long sustain
My violent shaft, if Jove’s fair Son did worthily constrain
My foot from Lycia.” Thus he brav’d, and yet his violent shaft
Strook short with all his violence, Tydides’ life was saft;
Who yet withdrew himself behind his chariot and steeds,
And call’d to Sthenelus: “Come, friend, my wounded shoulder needs
Thy hand to ease it of this shaft.” He hasted from his seat
Before the coach, and drew the shaft; the purple wound did sweat,
And drown his shirt of mail in blood, and as it bled he pray’d:
“Hear me, of Jove-Ægiochus thou most unconquer’d Maid!
If ever in the cruel field thou has assistful stood
Or to my father, or myself, now love, and do me good.
Give him into my lance’s reach, that thus hath giv’n a wound
To him thou guard’st, preventing me, and brags that never more
I shall behold the cheerful sun.” Thus did the king implore.
The Goddess heard, came near, and took the weariness of fight
From all his nerves and lineaments, and made them fresh and light,
And said: “Be bold, O Diomed, in ev’ry combat shine,
The great shield-shaker Tydeus’ strength (that knight, that sire of thine)
By my infusion breathes in thee; and from thy knowing mind
I have remov’d those erring mists that made it lately blind,
That thou may’st diff’rence Gods from men, and therefore use thy skill
Against the tempting Deities, if any have a will
To try if thou presum’st of that, as thine, that flows from them,
And so assum’st above thy right. Where thou discern’st a beam
Of any other Heav’nly Pow’r than She that rules in love,
That calls thee to the change of blows, resist not, but remove;
But if that Goddess be so bold (since she first stirr’d this war)
Assault and mark her from the rest with some infámous scar.”
The blue-eyed Goddess vanishéd, and he was seen again
Amongst the foremost, who before though he were prompt and fain
To fight against the Trojans’ pow’rs, now, on his spirits were call’d
With thrice the vigour; lion-like, that hath been lately gall’d
By some bold shepherd in a field, where his curl’d flocks were laid,
Who took him as he leap’d the fold, not slain yet, but appaid
With greater spirit, comes again, and then the shepherd hides,
(The rather for the desolate place) and in his cot abides,
His flocks left guardless; which, amaz’d, shake and shrink up in heaps;
He, ruthless, freely takes his prey, and out again he leaps;
So sprightly, fierce, victorious, the great heroë flew
Upon the Trojans, and, at once, he two commanders slew,
Hypenor and Astynous; in one his lance he fix’d
Full at the nipple of his breast; the other smote betwixt
The neck and shoulder with his sword, which was so well laid on
It swept his arm and shoulder off. These left, he rush’d upon
Abas and Polyëidus, of old Eurydamas
The hapless sons; who could by dreams tell what would come to pass,
Yet, when his sons set forth to Troy, the old man could not read
By their dreams what would chance to them, for both were stricken dead
By great Tydides, After these, he takes into his rage
Xanthus and Thoön, Phænops’ sons, born to him in his age;
The good old man ev’n pin’d with years, and one son more
To heir his goods; yet Diomed took both, and left him store
Of tears and sorrows in their steads, since he could never see
His sons leave those hot wars alive; so this the end must be
Of all his labours; what he heap’d, to make his issue great,
Authority heir’d, and with her seed fill’d his forgotten seat.
Then snatch’d he up two Priamists, that in one chariot stood,
Echemon, and fair Chromius. As feeding in a wood
Oxen or steers are, one of which a lion leaps upon,
Tears down, and wrings in two his neck; so, sternly, Tydeus’ son
Threw from their chariot both these hopes of old Dardanides,
Then took their arms, and sent their horse to those that ride the seas,
Æneas, seeing the troops thus toss’d, brake through the heat of fight,
And all the whizzing of the darts, to find the Lycian knight,
Lycaon’s son; whom having found, he thus bespake the peer;
“O Pandarus, where’s now thy bow, thy deathful arrows where,
In which no one in all our host but gives the palm to thee,
Nor in the sun-lov’d Lycian greens, that breed our archery,
Lives any that exceeds thyself? Come, lift thy hands to Jove,
And send an arrow at this man, if but a man he prove,
That wins such god-like victories, and now affects our host
With so much sorrow, since so much of our best blood is lost
By his high valour. I have fear some God in him doth threat,
Incens’d for want of sacrifice; the wrath of God is great.”
Lycaon’s famous son replied: “Great counsellor of Troy,
This man, so excellent in arms, I think is Tydeus’ joy;
I know him by his fi’ry shield, by his bright three-plum’d casque,
And by his horse; nor can I say, if or some God doth mask
In his appearance, or he be whom I nam’d Tydeus’ son,
But without God the things he does for certain are not done.
Some great Immortal, that conveys his shoulders in a cloud,
Goes by and puts by ev’ry dart at his bold breast bestow’d,
Or lets it take with little hurt; for I myself let fly
A shaft that shot him through his arms, but had as good gone by,
Yet which I gloriously affirm’d had driv’n him down to hell.
Some God is angry, and with me; for far hence, where I dwell,
My horse and chariots idle stand, with which some other way
I might repair this shameful miss. Elev’n fair chariots stay
In old Lycaon’s court, new made, new trimm’d to have been gone,
Curtain’d, and arrast under foot; two horse to ev’ry one,
That eat white barley and black oats, and do no good at all;
And these Lycaon (that well knew how these affairs would fall)
Charg’d, when I set down this design, I should command with here,
And gave me many lessons more, all which much better were
Than any I took forth myself. The reason I laid down
Was but the sparing of my horse, since in a siegéd town
I thought our horse-meat would be scant; when they were us’d to have
Their manger full; so I left them, and like a lackey slave
Am come to Ilion, confident in nothing but my bow
That nothing profits me. Two shafts I vainly did bestow
At two great princes, but of both my arrows neither slew,
Nor this, nor Atreus’ younger son; a little blood I drew,
That serv’d but to incense them more. In an unhappy star
I therefore from my armoury have drawn those tools of war
That day, when, for great Hector’s sake, to amiable Troy:
I came to lead the Trojan bands. But if I ever joy,
In safe return, my country’s sight, my wife’s, my lofty tow’rs,
Let any stranger take this head, if to the fi’ry Pow’rs
This bow, these shafts, in pieces burst, by these hands be not thrown;
Idle companions that they are to me and my renown.”
Æneas said: “Use no such words; for, any other way
Than this, they shall not now be us’d. We first will both assay
This man with horse and chariot. Come then, ascend to me,
That thou may’st try our Trojan horse, how skill’d in field they be,
And in pursuing those that fly, or flying, being pursued,
How excellent they are of foot; and these, if Jove conclude
The ’scape of Tydeüs again, and grace him with our flight,
Shall serve to bring us safely off. Come, I’ll be first shall fight,
Take thou these fair reins and this scourge; or, if thou wilt, fight thou,
And leave the horses’ care to me.” He answer’d: “I will now
Descend to fight, keep thou the reins, and guide thyself thy horse;
Who with their wonted manager will better wield the force
Of the impulsive chariot, if we be driv’n to fly,
Than with a stranger; under whom they will be much more shy,
And, fearing my voice, wishing thine, grow resty, nor go on
To bear us off, but leave engag’d for mighty Tydeus’ son
Themselves and us. Then be thy part thy one-hoof’d horses’ guide,
I’ll make the fight, and with a dart receive his utmost pride.”
No man or woman born, coward or brave, can shun his destiny.
~ Homer
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