by Homer
Half such deep counsels as disclos’d beneath her far-seeing state –
She reigning queen of goddesses, and being ingenerate
Of one stock with himself, besides the state of being his wife.
And must her wrath, and ill to Troy, continue such a strife
From time to time, ’twixt him and her? This private speech they had,
And now the silver-footed queen had her ascension made
To that incorruptible house, that starry golden court
Of fiery Vulcan, beautiful amongst th’ immortal sort;
Which yet the lame god built himself: she found him in a sweat
About his bellows, and in haste had twenty tripods beat
To set for stools about the sides of his well-builded hall.
To whose feet little wheels of gold he put, to go withal,
And enter his rich dining room; alone, their motion free
And back again go out alone, miraculous to see.
And thus much he had done of them, yet handles were to add,
For which he now was making studs. And while their fashion had
Employment of his skilful hand, bright Thetis was come near,
Whom first fair well-hair’d Charis saw, that was the nuptial fere
Of famous Vulcan, who the hand of Thetis took, and said:
‘Why, fair-train’d, lov’d, and honour’d dame, are we thus visited
By your kind presence? You, I think, were never here before;
Come near, that I may banquet you, and make you visit more.’
She led her in, and in a chair of silver (being the fruit
Of Vulcan’s hand) she made her sit: a footstool, of a suit,
Apposing to her crystal feet, and call’d the god of fire.
For Thetis was arriv’d (she said) and entertain’d desire
Of some grace, that his art might grant. ‘Thetis to me,’ said he,
‘Is mighty, and most reverend, as one that nourish’d me
When grief consum’d me, being cast from heav’n by want of shame
In my proud mother, who, because she brought me forth so lame,
Would have me made away, and then I had been much distress’d
Had Thetis and Eurynome in either’s silver breast
Not rescu’d me – Eurynome, that to her father had
Reciprocal Oceanus; nine years with them I made
A number of well-arted things, round bracelets, buttons brave,
Whistles and carquenets: my forge stood in a hollow cave,
About which (murmuring with foam) th’ unmeasur’d ocean
Was ever beating, my abode known not to god nor man
But Thetis and Eurynome, and they would see me still.
They were my loving guardians; now then the starry hill,
And our particular roof thus grac’d with bright-hair’d Thetis here,
It fits me always to repay, a recompense as dear
To her thoughts as my life to me. Haste, Charis, and appose
Some dainty guest-rites to our friend, while I my bellows loose
From fire, and lay up all my tools.’ Then from an anvil rose
Th’ unwieldy monster, halted down, and all awry he went.
He took his bellows from the fire, and every instrument
Lock’d safe up in a silver chest. Then with a sponge he drest
His face all over, neck and hands, and all his hairy breast:
Put on his coat, his sceptre took, and then went halting forth,
Handmaids of gold attending him, resembling in all worth
Living young damsels, fill’d with minds and wisdom, and were train’d
In all immortal ministry, virtue and voice contain’d,
And mov’d with voluntary pow’rs: and these still waited on
Their fiery sov’reign; who (not apt to walk) sate near the throne
Of fair-hair’d Thetis, took her hand, and thus he courted her:
‘For what affair, O fair-train’d queen, rev’rend to me and dear,
Is our court honour’d with thy state, that hast not heretofore
Perform’d this kindness? Speak thy thoughts, thy suit can be no more
Than my mind gives me charge to grant, can my pow’r get it wrought,
Or that it have not only pow’r of only act in thought.’
She thus: ‘O Vulcan, is there one of all that are of heav’n,
That in her never-quiet mind Saturnius hath giv’n
So much affliction as to me, whom only he subjects
(Of all the sea-nymphs) to a man, and makes me bear th’ affects
Of his frail bed – and all against the freedom of my will?
And he worn to his root with age; from him another ill
Ariseth to me: Jupiter, you know, hath giv’n a son
(The excellent’st of men) to me; whose education
On my part well hath answered his own worth, having grown,
As in a fruitful soil a tree that puts not up alone
His body to a naked height, but jointly gives his growth
A thousand branches; yet to him so short a life I brought,
That never I shall see him more return’d to Peleus’ court.
And all that short life he hath spent in most unhappy sort.
For first he won a worthy dame, and had her by the hands
Of all the Grecians; yet this dame Atrides countermands,
For which in much disdain he mourn’d, and almost pin’d away;
And yet for this wrong he receiv’d some honour, I must say –
The Greeks being shut up at their ships, not suffer’d to advance
A head out of their batter’d sterns; and mighty suppliance
By all their grave men hath been made, gifts, honours, all propos’d
For his reflection; yet he still kept close, and saw enclos’d
Their whole host in this general plague. But now his friend put on
His arms, being sent by him to field, and many a Myrmidon
In conduct of him: all the day they fought before the gates
Of Scaea, and most certainly that day had seen the dates
Of all Troy’s honours in her dust, if Phoebus (having done
Much mischief more) the envied life of good Menoetius’ son
Had not with partial hands enforc’d, and all the honour given
To Hector, who hath priz’d his arms; and therefore I am driven
T’embrace thy knees for new defence to my lov’d son: alas,
His life prefix’d so short a date had need spend that with grace!
A shield then for him, and a helm, fair greaves, and curets such
As may renown thy workmanship, and honour him as much,
I sue for at thy famous hands.’ ‘Be confident,’ said he,
‘Let these wants breed thy thoughts no care; I would it lay in me
To hide him from his heavy death, when fate shall seek for him,
As well as with renowned arms to fit his goodly limb;
Which thy hands shall convey to him, and all eyes shall admire,
See, and desire again to see thy satisfied desire.’
This said, he left her there, and forth did to his bellows go,
Appos’d them to the fire again, commanding them to blow.
Through twenty holes made to his hearth at once blew twenty pair,
That fir’d his coals, sometimes with soft, sometimes with vehement air
As he will’d, and his work requir’d. Amidst the flame he cast
Tin, silver, precious gold, and brass; and in the stock he pla
c’d
A mighty anvil; his right hand a weighty hammer held,
His left his tongs. And first he forg’d a strong and spacious shield
Adorn’d with twenty several hues, about whose verge he beat
A ring, three-fold and radiant; and on the back he set
A silver handle; five-fold were the equal lines he drew
About the whole circumference, in which his hand did shew
(Directed with a knowing mind) a rare variety:
For in it he represented earth; in it, the sea and sky;
In it, the never-wearied sun, the moon exactly round,
And all those stars with which the brows of ample heaven are crown’d –
Orion, all the Pleiades, and those seven Atlas got,
The close-beam’d Hyades, the Bear, surnam’d the Chariot,
That turns about heaven’s axle-tree, holds ope a constant eye
Upon Orion, and of all the cressets in the sky
His golden forehead never bows to th’ Ocean empery.
Two cities in the spacious field he built with goodly state,
Of divers-languag’d men: the one did nuptials celebrate,
Observing at them solemn feasts; the brides from forth their bow’rs
With torches usher’d through the streets; a world of paramours
Excited by them, youths and maids, in lovely circles danc’d,
To whom the merry pipe and harp the spriteful sounds advanc’d,
The matrons standing in their doors admiring. Other where
A solemn court of law was kept, where throngs of people were:
The case in question was a fine impos’d on one that slew
The friend of him that follow’d it, and for the fine did sue,
Which th’ other pleaded he had paid. The adverse part denied,
And openly affirm’d he had no penny satisfied.
Both put it to arbiterment; the people cried ’twas best
For both parts, and th’ assistants too gave their dooms like the rest.
The heralds made the people peace: the seniors then did bear
The voiceful heralds’ sceptres, sate within a sacred sphere,
On polish’d stones, and gave by turns their sentence. In the court
Two talents of gold were cast, for him that judg’d in justest sort.
The other city other wars employ’d as busily.
Two armies glittering in arms, of one confederacy,
Besieg’d it; and a parley had with those within the town;
Two ways they stood resolv’d: to see the city overthrown,
Or that the citizens should heap in two parts all their wealth,
And give them half. They neither lik’d, but arm’d themselves by stealth;
Left all their old men, wives, and boys behind to man their walls,
And stole out to their enemy’s town. The queen of martials
And Mars himself conducted them; both which, being forg’d of gold,
Must needs have golden furniture, and men might so behold
They were presented deities. The people Vulcan forg’d
Of meaner metal. When they came where that was to be urg’d
For which they went, within a vale close to a flood, whose stream
Us’d to give all their cattle drink, they there enambush’d them,
And sent two scouts out to descry when th’ enemy’s herds and sheep
Were setting out: they straight came forth, with two that us’d to keep
Their passage always; both which pip’d, and went on merrily,
Nor dream’d of ambuscados there. The ambush then let fly,
Slew all their white-fleec’d sheep and neat, and by them laid their guard.
When those in siege before the town so strange an uproar heard,
Behind, amongst their flocks and herds (being then in counsel set),
They then start up, took horse, and soon their subtle enemy met,
Fought with them on the river’s shore, where both gave mutual blows
With well-pil’d darts. Amongst them all, perverse Contention rose,
Amongst them Tumult was enrag’d; amongst them ruinous Fate
Had her red finger; some they took in an unhurt estate,
Some hurt, yet living, some quite slain: and those they tugg’d to them
By both the feet, stripp’d off and took their weeds, with all the stream
Of blood upon them, that their steels had manfully let out.
They far’d as men alive indeed, drew dead indeed about.
To these the fiery artisan did add a new-ear’d field,
Large and thrice plough’d, the soil being soft and of a wealthy yield;
And many men at plough he made, that drave earth here and there,
And turn’d up stitches orderly; at whose end when they were,
A fellow ever gave their hands full cups of luscious wine,
Which emptied, for another stitch the earth they undermine,
And long till th’ utmost bound be reach’d of all the ample close:
The soil turn’d up behind the plough all black like earth arose,
Though forg’d of nothing else but gold, and lay in show as light
As if it had been plough’d indeed, miraculous to sight.
There grew by this a field of corn: high, ripe, where reapers wrought,
And let thick handfuls fall to earth; for which some other brought
Bands, and made sheaves. Three binders stood, and took the handfuls reap’d
From boys that gather’d quickly up; and by them armfuls heap’d.
Amongst these at a furrow’s end the king stood pleas’d at heart,
Said no word, but his sceptre show’d. And from him, much apart,
His harvest-bailiffs underneath an oak a feast prepar’d:
And having kill’d a mighty ox, stood there to see him shar’d,
Which women for their harvest folks (then come to sup) had dress’d,
And many white wheat cakes bestow’d, to make it up a feast.
He set near this a vine of gold, that crack’d beneath the weight
Of bunches, black with being ripe, to keep which at the height,
A silver rail ran all along, and round about it flow’d
An azure moat; and to this guard a quickset was bestow’d
Of tin, one only path to all, by which the pressmen came
In time of vintage: youths and maids, that bore not yet the flame
Of manly Hymen, baskets bore of grapes and mellow fruit.
A lad that sweetly touch’d a harp, to which his voice did suit,
Center’d the circles of that youth, all whose skill could not do
The wanton’s pleasure to their minds, that danced, sung, whistled too.
A herd of oxen then he carv’d, with high rais’d heads, forg’d all
Of gold and tin (for colour mix’d), and bellowing from their stall,
Rush’d to their pastures at a flood that echo’d all their throats,
Exceeding swift and full of reeds; and all in yellow coats
Four herdsmen follow’d, after whom nine mastiffs went. In head
Of all the herd, upon a bull, that deadly bellowed,
Two horrid lions rampt, and seiz’d, and tugg’d off bellowing still;
Both men and dogs came, yet they tore the hide, and lapp’d their fill
Of black blood, and the entrails ate. In vain the men assay’d
To set their dogs on: none durst pinch, but cur-like stood and bay’d
In both the faces of their kings, and all their onsets fled
.
Then in a passing pleasant vale the famous artsman fed
(Upon a goodly pasture ground) rich flocks of white-fleec’d sheep,
Built stables, cottages, and cotes, that did the shepherds keep
From wind and weather. Next to these he cut a dancing place,
All full of turnings, that was like the admirable maze
For fair-hair’d Ariadne made by cunning Daedalus;
And in it youths and virgins danc’d, all young and beauteous,
And glewed in another’s palms. Weeds that the wind did toss
The virgins wore, the youths wov’n coats, that cast a faint dim gloss,
Like that of oil. Fresh garlands too the virgins’ temples crown’d;
The youths gilt swords wore at their thighs, with silver bawdrics bound.
Sometimes all wound close in a ring, to which as fast they spun
As any wheel a turner makes, being tried how it will run,
While he is set, and out again as full of speed they wound,
Not one left fast, or breaking hands. A multitude stood round,
Delighted with their nimble sport: to end which two begun
(Midst all) a song, and turning sung the sport’s conclusion.
All this he circled in the shield, with pouring round about
(In all his rage) the ocean, that it might never out.
This shield thus done, he forg’d for him such curets as outshin’d
The blaze of fire; a helmet then (through which no steel could find
Forc’d passage) he compos’d, whose hue a hundred colours took,
And in the crest a plume of gold, that each breath stirr’d, he stuck.
All done, he all to Thetis brought, and held all up to her;
She took them all, and, like the hawk surnam’d the osspringer,
From Vulcan to her mighty son, with that so glorious show,
Stoop’d from the steep Olympian hill, hid in eternal snow.
The end of the eighteenth book
Book 19
The Argument
Thetis presenting armour to her son,
He calls a court, with full reflection
Of all his wrath; takes of the king of men
Free-offer’d gifts. All take their breakfast then;
He (only fasting) arms, and brings abroad
The Grecian host. And (hearing the abode
Of his near death by Xanthus prophesied)