IDYLLS OF THE ILIAD.—IV.

PATROCLUS.

"ROUSE thee, Patroclus, fire is on the ships,

And Hector's crest is flaunting in our lines ; Rouse thee, Mencetius' son ; thou hast thy wish ; Don thou my harness ; me my vow forbids To help thee, save by counsel and by prayer."

Achilles spake, and straight Patroclus rose, The genial comrade, who, amid the strife Of Kings, and war of angry utterance, Held even balance, to his outraged friend Heart-true, yet ever strove with kindly words To hush the jarring discord, urging peace.

So, when the tide of Troy's triumphant war Beat back the baffled Greeks, Patroclus prayed To don Achilles' harness, and go forth Clad in his likeness, for within him stirred A hope of passion quelled, the maid restored, And peace within the camp, and captured Troy.

Now, therefore, at the bidding of his lord, In haste he took the armour, piece by piece, And clothed his limbs about, greaves, coralet, helm, All save the massy spear, by Chiron hewn In Pelion's ash woods, which none else could wield, None but Achilles. Round his breast he slung The baldrick, and the silver-studded sword, And shapely-circled shield; and silent stood, Long musing, for Peleides at the ships Was marshalling the battle of his men.

Then, smiling sadly, to himself he spake, " Lo, now, what thing is this that I would do ?

To wear the armour of the greatest chief That ever trode the causeways of the war !

Like to a foolish man, unskilled in fight, Who arms him with the armour of a king Slain in the battle, and himself is slain By some strong foeman, who desires his spoil.

And well it may be that I, too, am slain ; For what am I, that I should face the wrath Of Hector, who will surely spy these arms, Or else a lying word will come to him Of great Achilles newly roused to war.

Then fear, perchance, will cloud his darkened soul, And drive him to the shelter of the walls ; Or if the War-god stir him, he will range The forefront of the fight, and search me out ; Small chance, I ween, will then be mine to 'scape The spear of Hector and the dogs of Troy.

But either way, my purpose is fulfilled ; For if the Trojans fly before these arms, Then proud Atreides, clothed in shamelessness, Will know his folly, and restore the maid, And all the Princes be at one again.

Or, if the Gods who fight for Troy prevail, And Hector kill me, not without renown, Nor unrevenged, will be the death I die ; For well I know Achilles will arise, And slay and slay, nor slack his dreadful wrath, Till Hector and the hope of Troy be dead.

But thoughts like these are as the idle wind ; For all the issues of the things to be Lie in the hollow of the hand of Zeus, Who raiseth whom he will, and striketh down.

Only my mind is set to do this deed, For love of great Achilles, and the weal Of Greece ; and, if I fall by Hector's spear, A brave man by a braver will be slain."

So mused Patroclus, and went forth, and saw Where the great Captain, skilled in strategy, Fashioned the foursquare phalanx of his men.

As when a master-builder shapes a wall With fair-hewn ashlars, fitting each to each, So shield by shield and helm by helm he set His serried Myrmidons ; and they, as wolves, Whom winter long has cheated of their prey, Ravin for blood, and scarce endure to wait, Till spring-tide bursts the fetters of the earth, And fills the folds anew, so these scarce brooked The stern behest of discipline, so fierce Their lust of blood, and longing for the fray.

Then forth before them went Patroclus, clothed In all the fatal splendour of his arms, Presaging death ; but not the less his heart Was strong within him, and his arm to slay.

And thrice he made at Troy, and thrice his wheels Were clogged with Trojan blood; and thrice he clomb The steep escarpment. Then the Archer-god In anger smote his helmet, and his limbs Were loosed within him, and in back and breast Pierced by Euphorbus' and by Hector's spears, He gave to Hades no unwilling life, And wrought his steadfast purpose to its end.

0. OGLE.