He put in practice. To his feet his feather’d shoes he tied,
Immortal, and made all of gold, with which he us’d to ride
The rough sea and th’ unmeasur’d earth, and equall’d in his pace
The puffs of wind. Then took he up his rod, that hath the grace
To shut what eyes he lists with sleep, and open them again
In strongest trances. This he held, flew forth, and did attain
To Troy and Hellespontus straight. Then like a fair young prince,
First-down-chinn’d, and of such a grace as makes his looks convince
Contending eyes to view him, forth he went to meet the king.
He, having pass’d the mighty tomb of Ilus, watering
His mules in Xanthus, the dark even fell on the earth; and then
Idæus (guider of the mules) discern’d this grace of men,
And spake afraid to Priamus: “Beware, Dardanides,
Our states ask counsel; I discern the dangerous access
Of some man near us; now I fear we perish. Is it best
To fly, or kiss his knees and ask his ruth of men distress’d?”
Confusion strook the king, cold fear extremely quench’d his veins,
Upright upon his languishing head his hair stood, and the chains
Of strong amaze bound all his pow’rs. To both which then came near
The prince turn’d Deity, took his hand, and thus bespake the peer:
“To what place, father, driv’st thou out through solitary night,
When others sleep? Give not the Greeks sufficient cause of fright
To these late travels, being so near, and such vow’d enemies?
Of all which, if with all this load any should cast his eyes
On thy adventures, what would then thy mind esteem thy state,
Thyself old, and thy follow’r old? Resistance could not rate
At any value; as for me, be sure I mind no harm
To thy grave person, but against the hurt of others arm.
Mine own lov’d father did not get a greater love in me
To his good, than thou dost to thine.” He answer’d: “The degree
Of danger in my course, fair son, is nothing less than that
Thou urgest; but some God’s fair hand puts in for my safe state,
That sends so sweet a guardian in this so stern a time
Of night, and danger, as thyself, that all grace in his prime
Of body and of beauty show’st, all answer’d with a mind
So knowing, that it cannot be but of some blessed kind
Thou art descended.” “Not untrue,” said Hermes, “thy conceit
In all this holds; but further truth relate, if of such weight
As I conceive thy carriage be, and that thy care conveys
Thy goods of most price to more guard; or go ye all your ways
Frighted from holy Ilion, so excellent a son
As thou hadst (being your special strength) fallen to destructión,
Whom no Greek better’d for his fight?” “O, what art thou,” said he,
“Most worthy youth, of what race born, that thus recount’st to me
My wretched son’s death with such truth?” “Now, father,” he replied,
“You tempt me far, in wond’ring how the death was signified
Of your divine son to a man so mere a stranger here
As you hold me; but I am one that oft have seen him bear
His person like a God in field; and when in heaps he slew
The Greeks, all routed to their fleet, his so victorious view
Made me admire, not feel his hand; because Æacides,
Incens’d, admitted not our fight, myself being of access
To his high person, serving him, and both to Ilion
In one ship sail’d. Besides, by birth I breathe a Myrmidon,
Polyctor, call’d the rich, my sire, declin’d with age like you.
Six sons he hath, and me a seventh; and all those six live now
In Phthia, since, all casting lots, my chance did only fall
To follow hither. Now for walk I left my General.
To-morrow all the sun-burn’d Greeks will circle Troy with arms,
The princes rage to be withheld so idly, your alarms
Not giv’n half hot enough they think, and can contain no more.”
He answer’d: “If you serve the prince, let me be bold t’ implore
This grace of thee, and tell me true: Lies Hector here at fleet,
Or have the dogs his flesh?” He said: “Nor dogs nor fowl have yet
Touch’d at his person; still he lies at fleet, and in the tent
Of our great Captain, who indeed is much too negligent
Of his fit usage. But, though now twelve days have spent their heat
On his cold body, neither worms with any taint have eat,
Nor putrefaction perish’d it; yet ever, when the Morn
Lifts her divine light from the sea, unmercifully borne
About Patroclus’ sepulchre, it bears his friend’s disdain,
Bound to his chariot; but no fits of further outrage reign
In his distemper. You would muse to see how deep a dew
Ev’n steeps the body, all the blood wash’d off, no slend’rest shew
Of gore or quitture, but his wounds all clos’d, though many were
Open’d about him. Such a love the blest Immortals bear,
Ev’n dead, to thy dear son, because his life show’d love to them.”
He joyful answer’d: “O my son, it is a grace supreme
In any man to serve the Gods. And I must needs say this;
For no cause, having season fit, my Hector’s hands would miss
Advancement to the Gods with gifts, and therefore do not they
Miss his remembrance after death. Now let an old man pray
Thy graces to receive this cup, and keep it for my love,
Nor leave me till the Gods and thee have made my pray’rs approve
Achilles’ pity, by thy guide brought to his princely tent.”
Hermes replied: “You tempt me now, old king, to a consent
Far from me, though youth aptly errs. I secretly receive
Gifts that I cannot broadly vouch, take graces that will give
My lord dishonour, or what he knows not, or will esteem
Perhaps unfit? Such briberies perhaps at first may seem
Sweet and secure; but futurely they still prove sour, and breed
Both fear and danger. I could wish thy grave affairs did need
My guide to Argos, either shipp’d, or lackeying by thy side,
And would be studious in thy guard, so nothing could be tried
But care in me to keep thee safe, for that I could excuse,
And vouch to all men.” These words past, he put the deeds in use
For which Jove sent him; up he leapt to Priam’s chariot,
Took scourge and reins, and blew in strength to his free steeds, and got
The naval tow’rs and deep dike straight. The guards were all at meat;
Those he enslumber’d, op’d the ports, and in he safely let
Old Priam with his wealthy prize. Forthwith they reach’d the tent
Of great Achilles, large and high, and in his most ascent
A shaggy roof of seedy reeds mown from the meads; a hall
Of state they made their king in it, and strengthen’d it withall
Thick with fir rafters; whose approach was let in by a door
That had but one bar, but so big that three men evermore
Rais’d it to shut, three fresh take down; which yet Æacides
Would shut and ope himself. And this with far more ease
Hermes set ope, ent’ring the king; then leapt from horse, and said:
“Now know, old king, that Mercury, a God, hath giv’n this aid
To thy endeavour, sent by Jove; and now away must I,
For men would envy thy estate to see a Deity
Affect a man thus. Enter thou, embrace Achilles’ knee,
And by his sire, son, mother, pray his ruth and grace to thee.”
This said, he high Olympus reach’d. The king then left his coach
To grave Idæus, and went on, made his resolv’d approach,
And enter’d in a goodly room, where with his princes sate
Jove-lov’d Achilles, at their feast; two only kept the state
Of his attendance, Alcimus, and lord Automedon,
At Priam’s entry. A great time Achilles gaz’d upon
His wonder’d-at approach, nor ate; the rest did nothing see,
While close he came up, with his hands fast holding the bent knee
Of Hector’s conqueror, and kiss’d that large man-slaught’ring hand
That much blood from his sons had drawn. And as in some strange land,
And great man’s house, a man is driv’n (with that abhorr’d dismay
That follows wilful bloodshed still, his fortune being to slay
One whose blood cries aloud for his) to plead protectión,
In such a miserable plight as frights the lookers on;
In such a stupefied estate Achilles sat to see
So unexpected, so in night, and so incredibly,
Old Priam’s entry. All his friends one on another star’d
To see his strange looks, seeing no cause. Thus Priam then prepar’d
His son’s redemption: “See in me, O God-like Thetis’ son,
Thy aged father; and perhaps ev’n now being out-run
With some of my woes, neighbour foes (thou absent) taking time
To do him mischief; no mean left to terrify the crime
Of his oppression; yet he hears thy graces still survive,
And joys to hear it, hoping still to see thee safe arrive
From ruin’d Troy; but I, curs’d man, of all my race shall live
To see none living. Fifty sons the Deities did give
My hopes to live in; all alive when near our trembling shore
The Greek ships harbour’d, and one womb nineteen of those sons bore.
Now Mars a number of their knees hath strength less left; and he
That was, of all, my only joy, and Troy’s sole guard, by thee,
Late fighting for his country, slain; whose tender’d person now
I come to ransom. Infinite is that I offer you,
Myself conferring it, expos’d alone to all your odds,
Only imploring right of arms. Achilles! Fear the Gods,
Pity an old man like thy sire; diff’rent in only this,
That I am wretcheder, and bear that weight of miseries
That never man did, my curs’d lips enforc’d to kiss that hand
That slew my children.” This mov’d tears; his father’s name did stand,
Mention’d by Priam, in much help to his compassion,
And mov’d Æacides so much, he could not look upon
The weeping father. With his hand he gently put away
His grave face. Calm remission now did mutually display
Her pow’r in either’s heaviness. Old Priam, to record
His son’s death and his deathsman see, his tears and bosom pour’d
Before Achilles; at his feet he laid his rev’rend head.
Achilles’ thoughts, now with his sire, now with his friend, were fed.
Betwixt both sorrow fill’d the tent. But now Æacides
(Satiate at all parts with the ruth of their calamities)
Start up, and up he rais’d the king. His milk-white head and beard
With pity he beheld, and said: “Poor man, thy mind is scar’d
With much afflictión. How durst thy person thus alone
Venture on his sight, that hath slain so many a worthy son,
And so dear to thee? Thy old heart is made of iron. Sit,
And settle we our woes, though huge, for nothing profits it.
Cold mourning wastes but our lives’ heats. The Gods have destinate
That wretched mortals must live sad; ’tis the Immortal State
Of Deity that lives secure. Two tuns of gifts there lie
In Jove’s gate, one of good, one ill, that our mortality
Maintain, spoil, order; which when Jove doth mix to any man,
One while he frolics, one while mourns. If of his mournful can
A man drinks only, only wrongs he doth expose him to,
Sad hunger in th’ abundant earth doth toss him to and fro,
Respected nor of Gods nor men. The mix’d cup Peleus drank
Ev’n from his birth; Heav’n blest his life; he liv’d not that could thank
The Gods for such rare benefits as set forth his estate.
He reign’d among his Myrmidons most rich, most fortunate,
And, though a mortal, had his bed deck’d with a deathless dame.
And yet, with all this good, one ill God mix’d, that takes all name
From all that goodness; his name now, whose preservation here
Men count the crown of their most good, not bless’d with pow’r to bear
One blossom but myself, and I shaken as soon as blown;
Nor shall I live to cheer his age, and give nutritión
To him that nourish’d me. Far off my rest is set in Troy,
To leave thee restless and thy seed; thyself that did enjoy,
As we have heard, a happy life; what Lesbos doth contain,
In times past being a bless’d man’s seat, what the unmeasur’d main
Of Hellespontus, Phrygia, holds, are all said to adorn
Thy empire, wealth and sons enow; but, when the Gods did turn
Thy blest state to partake with bane, war and the bloods of men
Circled thy city, never clear. Sit down and suffer then;
Mourn not inevitable things; thy tears can spring no deeds
To help thee, nor recall thy son; impatience ever breeds
Ill upon ill, makes worst things worse, and therefore sit.” He said:
“Give me no seat, great seed of Jove, when yet unransomed
Hector lies riteless in thy tents, but deign with utmost speed
His resignation, that these eyes may see his person freed,
And thy grace satisfied with gifts. Accept what I have brought,
And turn to Phthia; ’tis enough thy conqu’ring hand hath fought
Till Hector falter’d under it, and Hector’s father stood
With free humanity safe.” He frown’d and said: “Give not my blood
Fresh cause of fury. I know well I must resign thy son,
Jove by my mother utter’d it; and what besides is done
I know as amply; and thyself, old Priam, I know too.
Some God hath brought thee; for no man durst use a thought to go
On such a service. I have guards, and I have gates to stay
Easy accesses; do not then presume thy will can sway,
Like Jove’s will, and incense again my quench’d blood, lest nor thou
Nor Jove get the command of me.” This made the old king bow,
And down he sat in fear. The prince leapt like a lion forth,
Automedon and Alcimus attending: all the worth
Brought for the body they took down and brought in, and with it
Idæus, herald to the king; a coat embroider’d yet,
And two rich cloaks, they left to hide the person. Thetis’ son
Call’d out his women, to anoint and quickly overrun
The corse with water, lifting it in private to the coach,
Lest Priam saw, and his cold blood embrac’d a fi’ry touch
Of anger at the turpitude profaning it, and blew
Again his wrath’s fire to his death. This done, his women threw
The coat and cloak on; but the corse Achilles’ own hand laid
Upon a bed, and with his friends to chariot it convey’d.
Cried out for anger, and thus pray’d: “O friend, do not except
Against this favour to our foe, if in the deep thou hear,
And that I give him to his sire; he gave fair ransom; dear
In my observance is Jove’s will; and whatsoever part
Of all these gifts by any mean I fitly may convert
To thy renown here, and will there, it shall be pour’d upon
Thy honour’d sepulchre. This said, he went, and what was done
Told Priam, saying: “Father, now thy will’s fit rites are paid,
Thy son is giv’n up; in the morn thine eyes shall see him laid
Deck’d in thy chariot on his bed; in mean space let us eat.
The rich-hair’d Niobe found thoughts that made her take her meat,
Though twelve dear children she saw slain, six daughters, six young sons.
The sons incens’d Apollo slew; the maids’ confusions
Diana wrought; since Niobe her merits durst compare
With great Latona’s, arguing that she did only bear
Two children, and herself had twelve; for which those only two
Slew all her twelve. Nine days they lay steep’d in their blood, her woe
Found no friend to afford them fire, Saturnius had turn’d
Humans to stones. The tenth day yet, the good Celestials burn’d
The trunks themselves, and Niobe, when she was tir’d with tears,
Fell to her food, and now with rocks and wild hills mix’d she bears
In Sipylus the Gods’ wrath still, in that place where ’tis said
The Goddess Fairies use to dance about the fun’ral bed
Of Achelous, where, though turn’d with cold grief to a stone,
Heav’n gives her heat enough to feel what plague comparison
With his pow’rs made by earth deserves. Affect not then too far
Without grief, like a God, being a man, but for a man’s life care,
And take fit food; thou shalt have time beside to mourn thy son;
He shall be tearful, thou being full; not here, but Ilion
Shall find thee weeping-rooms enow.” He said, and so arose,
And caus’d a silver-fleec’d sheep kill’d; his friends’ skills did dispose
The flaying, cutting of it up, and cookly spitted it,
Roasted, and drew it artfully. Automedon, as fit
Was for the rev’rend sewer’s place; and all the brown joints serv’d
On wicker vessel to the board; Achilles’ own hands kerv’d;
And close they fell to. Hunger stanch’d; talk, and observing time,
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 105