Yet not in vain, Tlepolemus, was thrown Thy angry lance; which piercing to the bone Sarpedon’s thigh, had robb’d the chief of breath; But Jove was present, and forbade the death. Borne from the conflict by his Lycian throng, The wounded hero dragg’d the lance along. (His friends, each busied in his several part, Through haste, or danger, had not drawn the dart.) The Greeks with slain Tlepolemus retired; Whose fall Ulysses view’d, with fury fired; Doubtful if Jove’s great son he should pursue, Or pour his vengeance on the Lycian crew. But heaven and fate the first design withstand, Nor this great death must grace Ulysses’ hand. Minerva drives him on the Lycian train; Alastor, Cronius, Halius, strew’d the plain, Alcander, Prytanis, Noëmon fell:[154] And numbers more his sword had sent to hell, But Hector saw; and, furious at the sight, Rush’d terrible amidst the ranks of fight. With joy Sarpedon view’d the wish’d relief, And, faint, lamenting, thus implored the chief:
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“I should think ‘The Idiot Boy’, or ‘Dumb but Innocent’. Our fathers used to like that sort of piece, I believe. The longer I live, Dorian, the more keenly I feel that whatever was good enough for our fathers is not good enough for us. In art, as in politics, les grandpères ont toujours tort.”
“Is she pretty?”
Two enormous wooden pots painted black, and suspended by asses’ ears, swung from the cross-trees of an old top-mast, planted in front of an old doorway. The horns of the cross-trees were sawed off on the other side, so that this old top-mast looked not a little like a gallows. Perhaps I was over sensitive to such impressions at the time, but I could not help staring at this gallows with a vague misgiving. A sort of crick was in my neck as I gazed up to the two remaining horns; yes, two of them, one for Queequeg, and one for me. It’s ominous, thinks I. A Coffin my Innkeeper upon landing in my first whaling port; tombstones staring at me in the whalemen’s chapel; and here a gallows! and a pair of prodigious black pots too! Are these last throwing out oblique hints touching Tophet?
“The third night. She had been playing Rosalind. I could not help going round. I had thrown her some flowers, and she had looked at me—at least I fancied that she had. The old Jew was persistent. He seemed determined to take me behind, so I consented. It was curious my not wanting to know her, wasn’t it?”
Shifting the barrow from my hand to his, he told me a funny story about the first wheelbarrow he had ever seen. It was in Sag Harbor. The owners of his ship, it seems, had lent him one, in which to carry his heavy chest to his boarding house. Not to seem ignorant about the thing—though in truth he was entirely so, concerning the precise way in which to manage the barrow—Queequeg puts his chest upon it; lashes it fast; and then shoulders the barrow and marches up the wharf. “Why,” said I, “Queequeg, you might have known better than that, one would think. Didn’t the people laugh?”
“Supposing it be the captain of the Pequod, what dost thou want of him?” he demanded.
[Illustration: ] VENUS, DISGUISED, INVITING HELEN TO THE CHAMBER OF PARIS
Thy fate was next, O Phæstus! doom’d to feel The great Idomeneus’ protended steel; Whom Borus sent (his son and only joy) From fruitful Tarne to the fields of Troy. The Cretan javelin reach’d him from afar, And pierced his shoulder as he mounts his car; Back from the car he tumbles to the ground, And everlasting shades his eyes surround.
“The country,” said Darcy, “can in general supply but few subjects for such a study. In a country neighbourhood you move in a very confined and unvarying society.”
“Oh, I am not at all afraid of her dying. People do not die of little trifling colds. She will be taken good care of. As long as she stays there, it is all very well. I would go and see her if I could have the carriage.”
“You used us abominably ill,” answered Mrs. Hurst, “running away without telling us that you were coming out.”
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 join’d, The shaft he drew, but left the head behind. Straight the broad belt with gay embroidery graced, He loosed; the corslet from his breast unbraced; Then suck’d the blood, and sovereign balm infused,[133] Which Chiron gave, and Æsculapius used.
Then fierce Æneas, brandishing his blade, In dust Orsilochus and Crethon laid, Whose sire Diocleus, wealthy, brave and great, In well-built Pheræ held his lofty seat:[152] Sprung from Alpheus’ plenteous stream, that yields Increase of harvests to the Pylian fields. He got Orsilochus, Diocleus he, And these descended in the third degree. Too early expert in the martial toil, In sable ships they left their native soil, To avenge Atrides: now, untimely slain, They fell with glory on the Phrygian plain. So two young mountain lions, nursed with blood In deep recesses of the gloomy wood, Rush fearless to the plains, and uncontroll’d Depopulate the stalls and waste the fold: Till pierced at distance from their native den, O’erpowered they fall beneath the force of men. Prostrate on earth their beauteous bodies lay, Like mountain firs, as tall and straight as they. Great Menelaus views with pitying eyes, Lifts his bright lance, and at the victor flies; Mars urged him on; yet, ruthless in his hate, The god but urged him to provoke his fate. He thus advancing, Nestor’s valiant son Shakes for his danger, and neglects his own; Struck with the thought, should Helen’s lord be slain, And all his country’s glorious labours vain. Already met, the threatening heroes stand; The spears already tremble in their hand: In rush’d Antilochus, his aid to bring, And fall or conquer by the Spartan king. These seen, the Dardan backward turn’d his course, Brave as he was, and shunn’d unequal force. The breathless bodies to the Greeks they drew, Then mix in combat, and their toils renew.
Diomed, assisted by Pallas, performs wonders in this day’s battle. Pandarus wounds him with an arrow, but the goddess cures him, enables him to discern gods from mortals, and prohibits him from contending with any of the former, excepting Venus. Æneas joins Pandarus to oppose him; Pandarus is killed, and Æneas in great danger but for the assistance of Venus; who, as she is removing her son from the fight, is wounded on the hand by Diomed. Apollo seconds her in his rescue, and at length carries off Æneas to Troy, where he is healed in the temple of Pergamus. Mars rallies the Trojans, and assists Hector to make a stand. In the meantime Æneas is restored to the field, and they overthrow several of the Greeks; among the rest Tlepolemus is slain by Sarpedon. Juno and Minerva descend to resist Mars; the latter incites Diomed to go against that god; he wounds him, and sends him groaning to heaven. The first battle continues through this book. The scene is the same as in the former.
“No, no; stay where you are”
“What’s that about Cods, ma’am?” said I, with much politeness.
“How do you mean?”
Seated on the transom was what seemed to me a most uncommon and surprising figure. It turned out to be Captain Bildad, who along with Captain Peleg was one of the largest owners of the vessel; the other shares, as is sometimes the case in these ports, being held by a crowd of old annuitants; widows, fatherless children, and chancery wards; each owning about the value of a timber head, or a foot of plank, or a nail or two in the ship. People in Nantucket invest their money in whaling vessels, the same way that you do yours in approved state stocks bringing in good interest.
“Is this the chief, who, lost to sense of shame, Late fled the field, and yet survives his fame? O hadst thou died beneath the righteous sword Of that brave man whom once I call’d my lord! The boaster Paris oft desired the day With Sparta’s king to meet in single fray: Go now, once more thy rival’s rage excite, Provoke Atrides, and renew the fight: Yet Helen bids thee stay, lest thou unskill’d Shouldst fall an easy conquest on the field.”