Homère
L'iliade
First of the field, great Ajax strikes their eyes,
His port majestic, and his ample size:
A ponderous mace, with studs of iron crowned,
Full twenty cubits long, he swings around.
Nor fights like others fixed to certain stands,
But looks a moving tower above the bands;
High on the decks, with vast gigantic stride,
The godlike hero stalks from side to side.
So when a horseman from the watery mead,
Skilled in the manage of the bounding steed,
Drives four fair coursers, practised to obey,
To some great city through the public way;
Safe in his art, as side by side they run,
He shifts his seat, and vaults from one to one;
And now to this, and now to that he flies;
Admiring numbers follow with their eyes.
From ship to ship thus Ajax swiftly flew,
No less the wonder of the warring crew;
As furious, Hector thundered threats aloud,
And rushed enraged before the Trojan crowd;
Then swift invades the ships, whose beaky prores
Lay ranked contiguous on the bending shores.
So the strong eagle from his airy height,
Who marks the swans' or cranes' embodied flight,
Stoops down impetuous, while they light for food,
And stooping darkens with his wings the flood.
Jove leads him on with his almighty hand,
And breathes fierce spirits in his following band.
The warring nations meet, the battle roars,
Thick beats the combat on the sounding prores.
Thou wouldst have thought, so furious was their fire,
Nor force could tame them, and no toil could tire;
As if new vigour from new fights they won,
And the long battle was but then begun.
Greece, yet unconquered, kept alive the war,
Secure of death, confiding in despair;
Troy in proud hopes already viewed the main
Bright with the blaze, and red with heroes slain:
Like strength is felt from hope, and from despair,
And each contends, as his were all the war.
'Twas thou, bold Hector! whose resistless hand
First seized a ship on that contested strand;
The same which dead Protesilaüs bore,
The first that touched the unhappy Trojan shore.
For this in arms the warring nations stood,
And bathed their generous breasts with mutual blood.
No room to poise the lance, or bend the bow;
But hand to hand, and man to man they grow:
Wounded, they wound; and seek each other's hearts
With faulchions, axes, swords, and shortened darts.
The faulchions ring, shields rattle, axes sound,
Swords flash in air, or glitter on the ground:
With streaming blood the slippery shores are dyed,
And slaughtered heroes swell the dreadful tide.
Still raging Hector with his ample hand
Grasps the high stern, and gives his loud command:
"Haste, bring the flames! the toil of ten long years
Is finished, and the day desired appears;
This happy day with acclamations greet,
Bright with destruction of yon hostile fleet.
The coward counsels of a timorous throng
Of reverend dotards, checked our glory long:
Too long Jove lulled us with lethargic charms,
But now in peals of thunder calls to arms;
In this great day he crowns our full desires,
Wakes all our force, and seconds all our fires."
He spoke. The warriors, at his fierce command,
Pour a new deluge on the Grecian band.
E'en Ajax paused, so thick the javelins fly,
Stepped back, and doubted or to live or die.
Yet where the oars are placed, he stands to wait
What chief approaching dares attempt his fate:
E'en to the last his naval charge defends,
Now shakes his spear, now lifts, and now protends;
E'en yet, the Greeks with piercing shouts inspires,
Amidst attacks, and deaths, and darts, and fires:
"O friends! O heroes! names for ever dear,
Once sons of Mars, and thunderbolts of war!
Ah! yet be mindful of your old renown,
Your great forefathers' virtues and your own!
What aids expect you in this utmost strait?
What bulwarks rising between you and fate?
No aids, no bulwarks, your retreat attend,
No friends to help, no city to defend;
This spot is all you have, to lose or keep;
There stand the Trojans, and here rolls the deep.
'Tis hostile ground you tread; your native lands
Far, far from hence: your fates are in your hands."
Raging he spoke; nor farther wastes his breath,
But turns his javelin to the work of death.
Whatever bold Trojan armed his daring bands
Against the sable ships with flaming brands,
So well the chief his naval weapon sped,
The luckless warrior at his stern lay dead:
Full twelve, the boldest, in a moment fell,
Sent by great Ajax to the shades of hell.