by Homer
News of my safety to his ears, he largely will divide
With your rare bounties.’ Atreus’ son thought this the better side,
And meant to take it, being about to send him safe to fleet:
Which when, far off, his brother saw, he wing’d his royal feet,
And came in threat’ning, crying out: ‘O soft heart! What’s the cause
Thou spar’st these men thus? Have not they observ’d these gentle laws
Of mild humanity to thee, with mighty argument
Why thou shouldst deal thus, in thy house, and with all precedent
Of honour’d guest rites entertain’d? Not one of them shall fly
A bitter end for it from heav’n, and much less (dotingly)
’Scape our revengeful fingers: all, ev’n th’ infant in the womb,
Shall taste of what they merited, and have no other tomb
Than raz’d Ilion, nor their race have more fruit than the dust.’
This just cause turn’d his brother’s mind, who violently thrust
The prisoner from him; in whose guts the king of men impress’d
His ashen lance; which (pitching down his foot upon the breast
Of him that upwards fell) he drew; then Nestor spake to all:
‘O friends, and household men of Mars, let not your pursuit fall
With those ye fell, for present spoil; nor, like the king of men,
Let any ’scape unfell’d; but on, dispatch them all, and then
Ye shall have time enough to spoil.’ This made so strong their chace
That all the Trojans had been hous’d, and never turn’d a face,
Had not the Priamist Helenus (an augur most of name)
Will’d Hector and Aeneas thus: ‘Hector! Anchises’ fame!
Since on your shoulders, with good cause, the weighty burden lies
Of Troy and Lycia, being both of noblest faculties,
For counsel, strength of hand, and apt to take chance at her best
In every turn she makes, stand fast, and suffer not the rest,
By any way search’d out for ’scape, to come within the ports,
Lest, fled into their wives’ kind arms, they there be made the sports
Of the pursuing enemy: exhort and force your bands
To turn their faces; and while we employ our ventur’d hands,
Though in a hard condition, to make the other stay,
Hector, go thou to Ilion, and our queen mother pray,
To take the richest robe she hath, the same that’s chiefly dear
To her court fancy; with which gem, assembling more to her
Of Troy’s chief matrons, let all go (for fear of all our fates)
To Pallas’ temple; take the key, unlock the heavy gates,
Enter, and reach the highest tow’r, where her Palladium stands,
And on it put the precious veil, with pure and rev’rend hands,
And vow to her, besides the gift, a sacrificing stroke
Of twelve fat heifers of a year, that never felt the yoke
(Most answering to her maiden state), if she will pity us,
Our town, our wives, our youngest joys; and him that plagues them thus
Take from the conflict, Diomed, that fury in a fight,
That true son of great Tydeus, that cunning lord of flight;
Whom I esteem the strongest Greek, for we have never fled
Achilles (that is prince of men, and whom a goddess bred)
Like him, his fury flies so high, and all men’s wraths commands.’
Hector intends his brother’s will, but first through all his bands
He made quick way, encouraging; and all, to fear afraid,
All turn’d their heads, and made Greece turn. Slaughter stood still dismay’d
On their parts, for they thought some god, fall’n from the vault of stars,
Was rush’d into the Ilians’ aid, they made such dreadful wars.
Thus Hector, toiling in the waves, and thrusting back the flood
Of his ebb’d forces, thus takes leave: ‘So, so, now runs your blood
In his right current: forwards now, Trojans, and far-call’d friends;
Awhile hold out, till for success to this your brave amends
I haste to Ilion, and procure our counsellors and wives
To pray, and offer hecatombs, for their states in our lives.’
Then fair-helm’d Hector turn’d to Troy, and as he trod the field,
The black bull’s hide that at his back he wore about his shield
(In the extreme circumference) was with his gait so rock’d
That, being large, it both at once his neck and ankles knock’d.
And now betwixt the hosts were met Hippolochus’ brave son
Glaucus, who in his very look hope of some wonder won,
And little Tydeus’ mighty heir, who seeing such a man
Offer the field (for usual blows), with wondrous words began:
What art thou, strong’st of mortal men, that putt’st so far before,
Whom these fights never show’d mine eyes? They have been evermore
Sons of unhappy parents born, that came within the length
Of this Minerva-guided lance, and durst close with the strength
That she inspires in me. If heav’n be thy divine abode,
And thou a deity thus inform’d, no more with any god
Will I change lances; the strong son of Drius did not live
Long after such a conflict dar’d, who godlessly did drive
Nisaeus’ nurses through the hill made sacred to his name,
And called Nisseius: with a goad he punch’d each furious dame,
And made them every one cast down their green and leafy spears.
This th’ homicide Lycurgus did; and those ungodly fears
He put the froes in seized their god. Even Bacchus he did drive
From his Nisseius, who was fain, with huge exclaims, to dive
Into the ocean: Thetis there in her bright bosom took
The flying deity, who so fear’d Lycurgus’ threats, he shook.
For which the freely living gods so highly were incens’d
That Saturn’s great son struck him blind, and with his life dispens’d
But small time after: all because th’ immortals lov’d him not
Nor lov’d him since he striv’d with them: and this end hath begot
Fear in my powers to fight with heaven. But if the fruits of earth
Nourish thy body, and thy life be of our human birth,
Come near, that thou mayst soon arrive on that life-bounding shore,
To which I see thee hoist such sail.’ ‘Why dost thou so explore,’
Said Glaucus, ‘of what race I am? When like the race of leaves
The race of man is, that deserves no question, nor receives
My being any other breath. The wind in autumn strows
The earth with old leaves, then the spring the woods with new endows,
And so death scatters men on earth, so life puts out again
Man’s heavy issue. But my race, if (like the course of men)
Thou seek’st in more particular terms, ’tis this (to many known):
In midst of Argos, nurse of horse, there stands a walled town,
Ephyre, where the mansion-house of Sysiphus did stand –
Of Sysiphus Aeölides, most wise of all the land.
Glaucus was son to him, and he begat Bellerophon,
Whose body heaven indued with strength, and put a beauty on,
Exceeding lovely. Praetus yet his cause of love did hate,
And banish’d him the town; (he might – he rul’d the Argive state;
The virtue of the one Jove plac’d beneath the others pow’r.)
His exile grew since he denied to be the paramour
Of fair Anteia, Praetus’ wife, who felt a raging fire
Of secret love to him; but he, whom wisdom did inspire
As well as prudence (one of them advising him to shun
The danger of a princess’ love, the other not to run
Within the danger of the gods, the act being simply ill),
Still entertaining thoughts divine, subdu’d the earthly still.
She, rul’d by neither of his wits, preferr’d her lust to both;
And, false to Praetus, would seem true, with this abhorr’d untroth:
‘Praetus, or die thyself,’ said she, ‘or let Bellerophon die;
He urg’d dishonour to thy bed: which since I did deny,
He thought his violence should grant, and sought thy shame by force.’
The king, incens’d with her report, resolv’d upon her course,
But doubted how it should be run: he shunn’d his death direct,
Holding a way so near not safe, and plotted the effect
By sending him with letters seal’d (that, opened, touch his life)
To Rheuns king of Lycia, and father to his wife.
He went, and happily he went: the gods walk’d all his way.
And being arriv’d in Lycia, where Xanthus doth display
The silver ensigns of his waves, the king of that broad land
Receiv’d him with a wondrous free and honourable hand.
Nine days he feasted him, and kill’d an ox in every day,
In thankful sacrifice to heaven, for his fair guest; whose stay,
With rosy fingers brought the world the tenth well-welcom’d morn:
And then the king did move to see the letters he had borne
From his lov’d son-in-law; which seen, he wrought thus their contents.
Chymaera, the invincible, he sent him to convince,
Sprung from no man, but mere divine; a lion’s shape before,
Behind a dragon’s, in the midst a goat’s shagg’d form she bore,
And flames of deadly fervency flew from her breath and eyes:
Yet her he slew; his confidence in sacred prodigies
Render’d him victor. Then he gave his second conquest way,
Against the famous Solymi, when (he himself would say
Reporting it) he enter’d on a passing vigorous fight.
His third huge labour he approv’d against a woman’s spite,
That fill’d a field of Amazons: he overcame them all.
Then set they on him sly Deceit, when Force had such a fall:
An ambush of the strongest men that spacious Lycia bred,
Was lodg’d for him; whom he lodg’d sure: they never rais’d a head.
His deeds thus showing him deriv’d from some celestial race,
The king detain’d, and made amends, with doing him the grace
Of his fair daughter’s princely gift; and with her, for a dow’r,
Gave half his kingdom; and to this, the Lycians on did pour
More than was given to any king: a goodly planted field,
In some parts thick of groves and woods; the rest rich crops did yield.
This field, the Lycians futurely (of future wand’rings there
And other errors of their prince, in the unhappy rear
Of his sad life) the Errant call’d. The princess brought him forth
Three children (whose ends griev’d him more, the more they were of worth):
Isander, and Hippolochus, and fair Laodomy,
With whom ev’n Jupiter himself left heav’n itself to lie,
And had by her the man at arms, Sarpedon, call’d divine.
The gods then left him, lest a man should in their glories shine,
And set against him; for his son, Isandrus, in a strife
Against the valiant Solymi, Mars reft of light and life;
Leodamië (being envied of all the goddesses)
The golden-bridle-handling queen – the maiden patroness –
Slew with an arrow: and for this he wand’red evermore
Alone through his Aleian field, and fed upon the core
Of his sad bosom, flying all the loath’d consorts of men.
Yet had he one surviv’d to him, of those three childeren,
Hippolochus, the root of me: who sent me here with charge
That I should always bear me well, and my deserts enlarge
Beyond the vulgar, lest I sham’d my race, that far excell’d
All that Ephyra’s famous towers or ample Lycia held.
This is my stock; and this am I.’ This cheer’d Tydides’ heart;
Who pitch’d his spear down, lean’d, and talk’d in this affectionate part:
‘Certes – in thy great ancestor, and in mine own – thou art
A guest of mine, right ancient; king Oeneus twenty days
Detain’d with feasts Bellerophon, whom all the world did praise;
Betwixt whom mutual gifts were given: my grandsire gave to thine
A girdle of Phoenician work, impurpled wondrous fine.
Thine gave a two-neck’d jug of gold, which though I use not here,
Yet still it is my gem at home. But if our fathers were
Familiar, or each other knew, I know not, since my sire
Left me a child, at siege of Thebes, where he left his life’s fire.
But let us prove our grandsires’ sons, and be each other’s guests.
To Lycia when I come, do thou receive thy friend with feasts;
Peloponnesus, with the like, shall thy wish’d presence greet.
Mean space, shun we each other here, though in the press we meet.
There are enow of Troy beside, and men enough renown’d,
To right my pow’rs, whomever heav’n shall let my lance confound.
So are there of the Greeks for thee: kill who thou canst; and now
For sign of amity ’twixt us, and that all these may know
We glory in th’ hospitious rites our grandsires did commend,
Change we our arms before them all.’ From horse then both descend,
Join hands, give faith, and take; and then did Jupiter elate
The mind of Glaucus, who to show his rev’rence to the state
Of virtue in his grandsire’s heart, and gratulate beside
The offer of so great a friend, exchanged in that good pride
Curets of gold for those of brass that did on Diomed shine:
One of a hundred oxen’s price, the other but of nine.
By this had Hector reach’d the ports of Scaea, and the tow’rs.
About him flock’d the wives of Troy, the children, paramours,
Inquiring how their husbands did, their fathers, brothers, loves.
He stood not then to answer them, but said: ‘It now behoves
Ye should go all t’ implore the aid of heaven in a distress
Of great effect, and imminent.’ Then hasted he access
To Priam’s goodly builded court, which round about was run
With walking porches, galleries, to keep off rain and sun.
Within, of one side, on a row of sundry colour’d stones,
Fifty fair lodgings were built out, for Priam’s fifty sons,
And for as fair sort of their wives; and in the opposite view
Twelve lodgings of like stone, like height, were likewise built arew,
Where, wit
h their fair and virtuous wives, twelve princes, son-in-law
To honourable Priam, lay. And here met Hecuba
(The loving mother) her great son, and with her needs must be
The fairest of her female race, the bright Laodice.
The queen grip’t hard her Hector’s hand, and said: ‘O worthiest son,
Why leav’st thou field? Is’t not because the cursed nation
Afflict our countrymen and friends? They are their moans that move
Thy mind to come and lift thy hands – in his high tow’r – to Jove.
But stay a little, that myself may fetch our sweetest wine,
To offer first to Jupiter; then that these joints of thine
May be refresh’d: for (woe is me) how thou art toil’d and spent!
Thou for our city’s general state, thou for our friends far sent,
Must now the press of fight endure, now solitude to call
Upon the name of Jupiter, thou only for us all.
But wine will something comfort thee: for to a man dismay’d
With careful spirits, or too much with labour overlaid,
Wine brings much rescue, strength’ning much the body and the mind.’
The great helm-mover thus receiv’d the auth’ress of his kind:
My royal mother, bring no wine, lest rather it impair
Than help my strength, and make my mind forgetful of th’ affair
Committed to it. And to pour it out in sacrifice –
I fear with unwash’d hands to serve the pure-liv’d deities;
Nor is it lawful, thus imbrued with blood and dust, to prove
The will of heav’n, or offer vows to cloud-compelling Jove.
I only come to use your pains, assembling other dames,
Matrons, and women honour’d most, with high and virtuous names,
With wine and odours, and a robe most ample, most of price,
And which is dearest in your love, to offer sacrifice
In Pallas’ temple, and to put the precious robe ye bear
On her Palladium; vowing all twelve oxen of a year,
Whose necks were never rung with yoke, shall pay her grace their lives,
If she will pity our sieg’d town, pity ourselves, our wives,
Pity our children, and remove from sacred Ilion
The dreadful soldier Diomed. And when yourselves are gone
About this work, myself will go to call into the field
(If he will hear me) Helen’s love, whom would the earth would yield,