by Homer
And brought huge prizes from the field with swiftness of their feet.
That man should bear no poor account, nor want gold’s quick’ning sweet,
That had but what he won with them; seven worthiest Lesbian dames,
Renown’d for skill in housewifery, and bear the sovereign fames
For beauty, from their general sex; which at thy overthrow
Of well-built Lesbos he did choose, and these he will bestow.
And with these her he took from thee, whom by his state, since then,
He swears he touch’d not, as fair dames use to be touch’d by men.
All these are ready for thee now: and if at length we take,
By helps of gods, this wealthy town, thy ships shall burthen make
Of gold and brass at thy desires, when we the spoil divide;
And twenty beauteous Trojan dames thou shalt select beside –
Next Helen, the most beautiful – and when return’d we be
To Argos, be his son-in-law: for he will honour thee
Like his Orestes, his sole son, maintain’d in height of bliss.
Three daughters beautify his court, the fair Chrysothemis,
Laodice, and Iphianesse; of all the fairest take
To Peleus, thy grave father’s court, and never jointure make;
He will the jointure make himself, so great, as never sire
Gave to his daughter’s nuptials: seven cities left entire,
Cardamile, and Enope, and Hyla full of flowers,
Anthaea for sweet meadows prais’d, and Phera deck’d with towers,
The bright Epea, Pedassus that doth god Bacchus please;
All, on the sandy Pylos soil, are seated near the seas.
Th’ inhabitants in droves and flocks exceeding wealthy be,
Who, like a god, with worthy gifts will gladly honour thee,
And tribute of especial rate to thy high sceptre pay.
All this he freely will perform, thy anger to allay.
But if thy hate to him be more than his gifts may repress,
Yet pity all the other Greeks, in such extreme distress,
Who with religion honour thee: and to their desperate ill
Thou shalt triumphant glory bring, and Hector thou mayst kill,
When pride makes him encounter thee, fill’d with a baneful sprite,
Who vaunts our whole fleet brought not one equal to him in fight.’
Swift-foot Aeacides replied: ‘Divine Laertes’ son,
’Tis requisite I should be short, and show what place hath won
Thy serious speech, affirming nought but what you shall approve
Establish’d in my settled heart, that in the rest I move
No murmur nor exception: for like hell mouth I loathe
Who holds not in his words and thoughts one indistinguish’d troth.
What fits the freeness of my mind, my speech shall make display’d:
Nor Atreus’ son nor all the Greeks shall win me to their aid.
Their suit is wretchedly enforc’d to free their own despairs,
And my life never shall be hir’d with thankless desperate pray’rs;
For never had I benefit, that ever foil’d the foe:
Ev’n share hath he that keeps his tent and he to field doth go;
With equal honour cowards die, and men most valiant,
The much performer, and the man that can of nothing vaunt.
No overplus I ever found, when with my mind’s most strife,
To do them good, to dangerous fight I have expos’d my life.
But ev’n as to unfeather’d birds the careful dam brings meat,
Which when she hath bestow’d, herself hath nothing left to eat:
So when my broken sleeps have drawn the nights t’ extremest length,
And ended many bloody days with still-employed strength,
To guard their weakness, and preserve their wives’ contents infract,
I have been robb’d before their eyes. Twelve cities I have sack’d,
Assail’d by sea, eleven by land, while this siege held at Troy:
And of all these, what was most dear, and most might crown the joy
Of Agamemnon, he enjoy’d, who here behind remain’d;
Which when he took, a few he gave, and many things retain’d:
Other to optimates and kings he gave, who hold them fast,
Yet mine he forceth: only I sit with my loss disgrac’d.
But so he gain a lovely dame to be his bed’s delight,
It is enough; for what cause else do Greeks and Trojans fight?
Why brought he hither such an host? Was it not for a dame?
For fair-hair’d Helen? And doth love alone the hearts inflame
Of the Atrides to their wives, of all the men that move?
Every discreet and honest mind cares for his private love,
As much as they, as I myself lov’d Brisis as my life,
Although my captive, and had will to take her for my wife.
Whom since he forc’d, preventing me, in vain he shall prolong
Hopes to appease me, that know well the deepness of my wrong.
But, good Ulysses, with thyself, and all you other kings,
Let him take stomach to repel Troy’s fiery threatenings.
Much hath he done without my help: built him a goodly fort,
Cut a dike by it, pitch’d with pales broad, and of deep import;
And cannot all these helps repress this kill-man Hector’s fright?
When I was arm’d among the Greeks he would not offer fight
Without the shadow of his walls, but to the Scaean ports,
Or to the holy beech of Jove come back’d with his consorts,
Where once he stood my charge alone, and hardly made retreat:
And to make new proof of our pow’rs, the doubt is not so great.
To-morrow then, with sacrifice perform’d t’ imperial Jove
And all the gods, I’ll launch my fleet, and all my men remove:
Which, if thou wilt use so thy sight, or think’st it worth respect,
In forehead of the morn thine eyes shall see, with sails erect
Amidst the fishy Hellespont, help’d with laborious oars.
And if the sea-god send free sail, the fruitful Phthian shores
Within three days we shall attain, where I have store of prize,
Left, when with prejudice I came to these indignities.
There have I gold as well as here, and store of ruddy brass,
Dames slender, elegantly girt, and steel as bright as glass.
These will I take as I retire, as shares I firmly save,
Though Agamemnon be so base to take the gifts he gave.
Tell him all this, and openly – I on your honours charge –
That others may take shame to hear his lusts command so large.
And if there yet remain a man he hopeth to deceive
(Being dyed in endless impudence), that man may learn to leave
His trust and empire. But alas, though like a wolf he be
Shameless and rude, he durst not take my prize, and look on me.
I never will partake his works, nor counsels, as before.
He once deceiv’d and injur’d me, and he shall never more
Tie my affections with his words; enough is the increase
Of one success in his deceits: which let him joy in peace,
And bear it to a wretched end. Wise Jove hath reft his brain,
To bring him plagues, and these his gifts, I (as my foes) disdain:
Even in the nu
mbness of calm death, I will revengeful be,
Though ten or twenty times so much he would bestow on me –
All he hath here, or any where; or Orchomen contains,
To which men bring their wealth for strength; or all the store remains
In circuit of Egyptian Thebes, where much hid treasure lies,
Whose walls contain an hundred ports of so admir’d a size,
Two hundred soldiers may a-front with horse and chariots pass.
Nor, would he amplify all this like sand or dust or grass,
Should he reclaim me, till his wreak pay’d me for all the pains
That with his contumely burn’d like poison in my veins.
Nor shall his daughter be my wife, although she might contend
With golden Venus for her form, or if she did transcend
Blue-ey’d Minerva for her works: let him a Greek select
Fit for her, and a greater king. For if the gods protect
My safety to my father’s court, he shall choose me a wife.
Many fair Achive princesses of unimpeached life
In Helle and in Pthia live, whose sires do cities hold,
Of whom I can have whom I will. And more – an hundred fold –
My true mind in my country likes to take a lawful wife
Than in another nation, and there delight my life
With those goods that my father got, much rather than die here.
Not all the wealth of well-built Troy, possess’d when peace was there,
All that Apollo’s marble fane in stony Pythos holds,
I value equal with the life that my free breast enfolds.
Sheep, oxen, tripods, crest-deck’d horse, though lost, may come again:
But when the white guard of our teeth no longer can contain
Our human soul, away it flies; and once gone never more
To her frail mansion any man can her lost pow’rs restore.
And therefore since my mother-queen (fam’d for her silver feet)
Told me two fates about my death in my direction meet:
The one, that if I here remain t’assist our victory,
My safe return shall never live, my fame shall never die:
If my return obtain success, much of my fame decays,
But death shall linger his approach, and I live many days.
This being reveal’d, ’twere foolish pride t’ abridge my life for praise.
Then with myself I will advise others to hoist their sail,
For ’gainst the height of Ilion you never shall prevail:
Jove with his hand protecteth it, and makes the soldiers bold.
This tell the king in every part, for so grave legates should,
That they may better counsels use, to save their fleet and friends
By their own valours, since this course drown’d in my anger, ends.
Phoenix may in my tent repose, and in the morn steer course
For Phthia, if he think it good; if not, I’ll use no force.’
All wond’red at his stern reply: and Phoenix, full of fears
His words would be more weak than just, supplied their wants with tears.
‘If thy return incline thee thus, Peleus’ renowned joy,
And thou wilt let our ships be burn’d with harmful fire of Troy,
Since thou art angry, O my son, how shall I after be
Alone in these extremes of death, relinquished by thee?
I, whom thy royal father sent as orderer of thy force,
When to Atrides from his court he left thee for this course,
Yet young, and when in skill of arms thou didst not so abound,
Nor hadst the habit of discourse, that makes men so renown’d.
In all which I was set by him t’instruct thee as my son,
That thou might’st speak, when speech was fit, and do, when deeds were done:
Not sit as dumb, for want of words; idle, for skill to move.
I would not then be left by thee, dear son, begot in love,
No, not if god would promise me to raze the prints of time
Carv’d in my bosom and my brows, and grace me with the prime
Of manly youth, as when at first I left sweet Helle’s shore,
Deck’d with fair dames, and fled the grudge my angry father bore;
Who was the fair Amyntor call’d, surnam’d Ormenides,
And for a fair-hair’d harlot’s sake, that his affects could please,
Contemn’d my mother, his true wife; who ceaseless urged me
To use his harlot Clytia, and still would clasp my knee
To do her will, that so my sire might turn his love to hate
Of that lewd dame, converting it to comfort her estate.
At last I was content to prove to do my mother good,
And reconcile my father’s love; who straight suspicious stood,
Pursuing me with many a curse, and to the Furies pray’d
No dame might love, nor bring me seed: the deities obey’d
That govern hell, infernal Jove, and stern Proserpiné.
Then durst I in no longer date with my stern father be;
Yet did my friends and near allies inclose me with desires
Not to depart; kill’d sheep, boars, beeves; roast them at solemn fires;
And from my father’s tuns we drunk exceeding store of wine.
Nine nights they guarded me by turns, their fires did ceaseless shine,
One in the porch of his strong hall, and in the portal one
Before my chamber. But when day beneath the tenth night shone,
I brake my chamber’s thick-fram’d doors, and through the hall’s guard pass’d,
Unseen of any man or maid. Through Greece then, rich and vast,
I fled to Phthia, nurse of sheep, and came to Peleus’ court,
Who entertain’d me heartily, and in as gracious sort
As any sire his only son, born when his strength is spent,
And bless’d with great possessions, to leave to his descent.
He made me rich, and to my charge did much command commend.
I dwelt in th’ utmost region rich Pthia doth extend,
And govern’d the Dolopians, and made thee what thou art.
O thou that like the gods art fram’d, since, dearest to my heart,
I us’d thee so, thou lov’dst none else; nor anywhere wouldst eat,
Till I had crown’d my knee with thee, and carv’d thee tend’rest meat,
And giv’n thee wine so much, for love, that in thy infancy
(Which still discretion must protect, and a continual eye)
My bosom lovingly sustain’d the wine thine could not bear:
Then, now my strength needs thine as much, be mine to thee as dear:
Much have I suffer’d for thy love, much labour’d, wished much,
Thinking, since I must have no heir (the gods’ decrees are such),
I would adopt thyself my heir: to thee my heart did give
What any sire could give his son; in thee I hop’d to live.
O mitigate thy mighty spirits: it fits not one that moves
The hearts of all, to live unmov’d; and succour hates for loves.
The gods themselves are flexible, whose virtues, honours, pow’rs,
Are more than thine; yet they will bend their breasts as we bend ours.
Perfumes, benign devotions, savours of off’rings burn’d,
And holy rites, the engines are with which their hearts are turn’d
By men that pray to them, whose faith their sins have falsified.
For Pra
yers are daughters of great Jove; lame, wrinkled, ruddy-ey’d,
And ever following Injury; who, strong and sound of feet,
Flies through the world afflicting men, believing Prayers yet
(To all that love that seed of Jove) the certain blessing get
To have Jove hear, and help them too. But if he shall refuse,
And stand inflexible to them, they fly to Jove, and use
Their pow’rs against him, that the wrongs he doth to them may fall
On his own head, and pay those pains whose cure he fails to call.
Then, great Achilles, honour thou this sacred seed of Jove,
And yield to them, since other men of greatest minds they move.
If Agamemnon would not give the selfsame gifts he vows,
But offer other afterwards, and in his still-bent brows
Entomb his honour and his word, I would not thus exhort
(With wrath appeas’d) thy aid to Greece, though plagu’d in heaviest sort.
But much he presently will give, and after yield the rest,
T’ assure which he hath sent to thee the men thou lovest best,
And most renown’d of all the host, that they might soften thee:
Then let not both their pains and prayers lost and despised be;
Before which, none could reprehend the tumult of thy heart,
But now to rest inexpiate were much too rude a part.
Of ancient worthies we have heard, when they were more displeas’d,
(To their high fames) with gifts and prayers they have been still appeas’d.
For instance, I remember well a fact perform’d of old,
Which to you all, my friends, I’ll tell: the Curets wars did hold
With the well-fought Aetolians, where mutual lives had end
About the city Calydon; th’ Aetolians did defend
Their flourishing country, which to spoil the Curets did contend.
Diana with the golden throne, with Oeneus much incens’d,
Since with his plenteous land’s first fruits she was not reverenc’d,
Yet other gods, with hecatombs, had feasts; and she alone
(Great Jove’s bright daughter) left unserv’d – or by oblivion,
Or undue knowledge of her dues – much hurt in heart she swore,
And she, enrag’d, excited much: she sent a sylvan boar
From their green groves, with wounding tusks, who usually did spoil
King Oeneus’ fields, his lofty woods laid prostrate on the soil,