idding him reappear in the
enemy's sight, standing outside the camp-wall upon the trench, but
doing nothing more; that is to say, taking no part in the fight. He is
simply to be seen. The two armies down by the sea-side are contending
which shall possess the body of Patroclus; and the mere sight of the
dreadful Grecian chief--supernaturally indeed impressed upon them, in
order that nothing may be wanting to the full effect of his courage
and conduct upon courageous men--is to determine the question. We are
to imagine a slope of ground towards the sea, in order to elevate the
trench; the camp is solitary; the battle ('a dreadful roar of men,' as
Homer calls it) is raging on the sea-shore; and the goddess Iris has
just delivered her message, and disappeared.

But up Achilles rose, the lov'd of heaven;
And Pallas on his mighty shoulders cast
The shield of Jove; and round about his head
She put the glory of a golden mist,
From which there burnt a fiery-flaming light.
And as, when smoke goes heavenward from a town,
In some far island which its foes besiege,
Who all day long with dreadful martialness
Have pour'd from their own town; soon as the sun
Has set, thick lifted fires are visible,
Which, rushing upward, make a light in the sky,
And let the neighbours know, who may perhaps
Bring help across the sea; so from the head
Of great Achilles went up an effulgence.

Upon the trench he stood, without the wall,
But mix'd not with the Greeks, for he rever'd
His mother's word; and so, thus standing there,
He shouted; and Minerva, to his shout,
Added a dreadful cry; and there arose
Among the Trojans an unspeakable tumult.
And as the clear voice of a trumpet, blown
Against a town by spirit-withering foes,
So sprang the clear voice of Aeacides.
And when they heard the brazen cry, their hearts
All leap'd within them; and the proud-maned horses
Ran with the chariots round, for they foresaw
Calamity; and the charioteers were smitten,
When they beheld the ever-active fire
Upon the dreadful head of the great-minded one
Burning; for bright-eyed Pallas made it burn.
Thrice o'er the trench divine Achilles shouted;
And thrice the Trojans and their great allies
Roll'd back; and twelve of all their noblest men
Then perish'd, crush'd by their own arms and chariots.

_I