Next, eighty barks the Cretan king commands,
Of Gnossus, Lyctus, and Gortyna’s bands;
And those who dwell where Rhytion’s domes arise,
Or white Lycastus glitters to the skies,
Or where by Phaestus silver Jardan runs;
Crete’s hundred cities pour forth all her sons.
These march’d, Idomeneus, beneath thy care,
And Merion, dreadful as the god of war.
Tlepolemus, the sun of Hercules,
Led nine swift vessels through the foamy seas,
From Rhodes, with everlasting sunshine bright,
Jalyssus, Lindus, and Camirus white.
His captive mother fierce Alcides bore
From Ephyr’s walls and Selle’s winding shore,
Where mighty towns in ruins spread the plain,
And saw their blooming warriors early slain.
The hero, when to manly years he grew,
Alcides’ uncle, old Licymnius, slew;
For this, constrain’d to quit his native place,
And shun the vengeance of the Herculean race,
A fleet he built, and with a numerous train
Of willing exiles wander’d o’er the main;
Where, many seas and many sufferings past,
On happy Rhodes the chief arrived at last:
There in three tribes divides his native band,
And rules them peaceful in a foreign land;
Increased and prosper’d in their new abodes
By mighty Jove, the sire of men and gods;
With joy they saw the growing empire rise,
And showers of wealth descending from the skies.
Three ships with Nireus sought the Trojan shore,
Nireus, whom Aglae to Charopus bore,
Nireus, in faultless shape and blooming grace,
The loveliest youth of all the Grecian race; 29
Pelides only match’d his early charms;
But few his troops, and small his strength in arms.
Next thirty galleys cleave the liquid plain,
Of those Calydnae’s sea-girt isles contain;
With them the youth of Nisyrus repair,
Casus the strong, and Crapathus the fair;
Cos, where Eurypylus possess’d the sway,
Till great Alcides made the realms obey:
These Antiphus and bold Phidippus bring,
Sprung from the god by Thessalus the king.
Now, Muse, recount Pelasgic Argos’ powers,
From Alos, Alope, and Trechin’s towers:
From Phthia’s spacious vales; and Hella, bless’d
With female beauty far beyond the rest.
Full fifty ships beneath Achilles’ care,
The Achaians, Myrmidons, Hellenians bear;
Thessalians all, though various in their name;
The same their nation, and their chief the same.
But now inglorious, stretch’d along the shore,
They hear the brazen voice of war no more;
No more the foe they face in dire array:
Close in his fleet the angry leader lay;
Since fair Briseis from his arms was torn,
The noblest spoil from sack’d Lyrnessus borne,
Then, when the chief the Theban walls o’erthrew,
And the bold sons of great Evenus slew.
There mourn’d Achilles, plunged in depth of care,
But soon to rise in slaughter, blood, and war.
To these the youth of Phylace succeed,
Itona, famous for her fleecy breed,
And grassy Pteleon deck’d with cheerful greens,
The bowers of Ceres, and the sylvan scenes.
Sweet Pyrrhasus, with blooming flowerets crown’d,
And Antron’s watery dens, and cavern’d ground.
These own’d, as chief, Protesilas the brave,
Who now lay silent in the gloomy grave:
The first who boldly touch’d the Trojan shore,
And dyed a Phrygian lance with Grecian gore;
There lies, far distant from his native plain;
Unfinish’d his proud palaces remain,
And his sad consort beats her breast in vain.
His troops in forty ships Podarces led,
Iphiclus’ son, and brother to the dead;
Nor he unworthy to command the host;
Yet still they mourn’d their ancient leader lost.
The men who Glaphyra’s fair soil partake,
Where hills incircle Boebe’s lowly lake,
Where Phaere hears the neighbouring waters fall,
Or proud Iolcus lifts her airy wall,
In ten black ships embark’d for Ilion’s shore,
With bold Eumelus, whom Alceste bore:
All Pelias’ race Alceste far outshined,
The grace and glory of the beauteous kind,
The troops Methone or Thaumacia yields,
Olizon’s rocks, or Meliboea’s fields,
With Philoctetes sail’d whose matchless art
From the tough bow directs the feather’d dart.
Seven were his ships; each vessel fifty row,
Skill’d in his science of the dart and bow.
But he lay raging on the Lemnian ground,
A poisonous hydra gave the burning wound;
There groan’d the chief in agonizing pain,
Whom Greece at length shall wish, nor wish in vain.
His forces Medon led from Lemnos’ shore,
Oileus’ son, whom beauteous Rhena bore.
The OEchalian race, in those high towers contain’d
Where once Eurytus in proud triumph reign’d,
Or where her humbler turrets Tricca rears,
Or where Ithome, rough with rocks, appears,
In thirty sail the sparkling waves divide,
Which Podalirius and Machaon guide.
To these his skill their parent-god imparts,
Divine professors of the healing arts.
The bold