John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  Now when the rage of Eating was repell’d,

  The Boys with generous Wine the Goblets fill’d.

  The first Libations to the Gods they pour: 645

  And then with Songs indulge the Genial Hour,

  Holy Debauch! till Day to Night they bring,

  With Hymns and Pæans to the Bowyer King.

  At Sun-set to their Ship they make return,

  And snore secure on Decks, till rosy Morn. 650

  The Skies with dawning Day were purpled o’er;

  Awak’d, with lab’ring Oars they leave the Shore:

  The Pow’r appeas’d, with Winds suffic’d the Sail,

  The bellying Canvass strutted with the Gale;

  The Waves indignant roar with surly Pride, 655

  And press against the Sides, and beaten off divide.

  They cut the foamy way, with Force impell’d

  Superiour, till the Trojan Port they held:

  Then hauling on the Strand, their Gally moor,

  And pitch their Tents along the crooked Shore. 660

  Mean time the Goddess-born in secret pin’d;

  Nor visited the Camp, nor in the Council join’d,

  But, keeping close, his gnawing Heart he fed

  With Hopes of Vengeance on the Tyrant’s Head:

  And wish’d for bloody Wars and mortal Wounds, 665

  And of the Greeks oppress’d in Fight, to hear the dying Sounds.

  Now, when twelve Days compleat had run their Race,

  The Gods bethought them of the Cares belonging to their place.

  Jove at their Head ascending from the Sea,

  A shoal of puny Pow’rs attend his way. 670

  Then Thetis not unmindful of her Son

  Emerging from the Deep, to beg her Boon,

  Pursu’d their Track; and waken’d from his Rest,

  Before the Soveraign stood a Morning Guest.

  Him in the Circle but apart, she found: 675

  The rest at awful Distance stood around.

  She bow’d, and e’er she durst her Sute begin,

  One Hand embrac’d his Knees, one prop’d his Chin.

  Then thus. If I, Celestial Sire, in aught

  Have serv’d thy Will, or gratify’d thy Thought, 680

  One glimpse of Glory to my Issue give;

  Grac’d for the little time he has to live.

  Dishonour’d by the King of Men he stands:

  His rightful Prize is ravish’d from his Hands.

  But thou, O Father, in my Son’s Defence, 685

  Assume thy Pow’r, assert thy Providence.

  Let Troy prevail, till Greece th’ Affront has paid

  With doubled Honours; and redeem’d his Aid.

  She ceas’d, but the consid’ring God was mute:

  Till she, resolv’d to win, renew’d her Sute: 690

  Nor loos’d her Hold, but forc’d him to reply,

  Or grant me my Petition, or deny:

  Jove cannot fear: then tell me to my Face

  That I, of all the Gods am least in Grace.

  This I can bear: The Cloud-compeller mourn’d, 695

  And sighing first, this Answer he return’d:

  Know’st thou what Clamors will disturb my Reign,

  What my stun’d Ears from Juno must sustain?

  In Council she gives Licence to her Tongue,

  Loquacious, Brawling, ever in the wrong. 700

  And now she will my partial Pow’r up-braid,

  If alienate from Greece, I give the Trojans Aid.

  But thou depart, and shun her jealous Sight,

  The Care be mine, to do Pelides right.

  Go then, and on the Faith of Jove rely, 705

  When nodding to thy Sute, he bows the Sky.

  This ratifies th’ irrevocable Doom:

  The Sign ordain’d, that what I will shall come:

  The Stamp of Heav’n, and Seal of Fate: He said,

  And shook the sacred Honours of his Head. 710

  With Terror trembled Heav’ns subsiding Hill:

  And from his shaken Curls Ambrosial Dews distil.

  The Goddess goes exulting from his Sight,

  And seeks the Seas profound; and leaves the Realms of Light.

  He moves into his Hall: The Pow’rs resort, 715

  Each from his House to fill the Sovraign’s Court.

  Nor waiting Summons, nor expecting stood;

  But met with Reverence, and receiv’d the God.

  He mounts the Throne; and Juno took her place:

  But sullen Discontent sate lowring on her Face. 720

  With jealous Eyes, at distance she had seen,

  Whisp’ring with Jove the Silver-footed Queen;

  Then, impotent of Tongue (her Silence broke)

  Thus turbulent in rattling Tone she spoke:

  Author of Ills, and close Contriver Jove, 725

  Which of thy Dames, what Prostitute of Love,

  Has held thy Ear so long, and begg’d so hard

  For some old Service done, some new Reward?

  Apart you talk’d, for that’s your special Care,

  The Consort never must the Council share. 730

  One gracious Word is for a Wife too much:

  Such is a Marriage-Vow, and Jove’s own Faith is such.

  Then thus the Sire of Gods, and Men below:

  What I have hidden, hope not thou to know.

  Ev’n Goddesses are Women: And no Wife 735

  Has Pow’r to regulate her Husband’s Life:

  Counsel she may; and I will give thy Ear

  The Knowledge first, of what is fit to hear.

  What I transact with others, or alone,

  Beware to learn; nor press too near the Throne. 740

  To whom the Goddess with the charming Eyes:

  What hast thou said, O Tyrant of the Skies!

  When did I search the Secrets of thy Reign,

  Though priviledg’d to know, but priviledg’d in vain?

  But well thou dost, to hide from common Sight 745

  Thy close Intrigues, too bad to bear the Light.

  Nor doubt I, but the Silver-footed Dame,

  Tripping from Sea, on such an Errand came

  To grace her Issue, at the Grecians Cost,

  And for one peevish Man destroy an Host. 750

  To whom the Thund’rer made this stern Reply;

  My Household Curse, my lawful Plague, the Spy

  Of Jove’s Designs, his other squinting Eye;

  Why this vain prying, and for what avail?

  Jove will be Master still, and Juno fail. 755

  Shou’d thy suspicious Thoughts divine aright,

  Thou but becom’st more odious to my Sight,

  For this Attempt: uneasy Life to me

  Still watch’d, and importun’d, but worse for thee.

  Curb that impetuous Tongue, before too late 760

  The Gods behold, and tremble at thy Fate;

  Pitying, but daring not, in thy Defence,

  To lift a Hand against Omnipotence.

  This heard, the Imperious Queen sate mute with Fear:

  Nor further durst incense the gloomy Thunderer. 765

  Silence was in the Court at this Rebuke:

  Nor cou’d the Gods abash’d, sustain their Sov’reigns Look.

  The Limping Smith observ’d the sadden’d Feast,

  And hopping here and there (himself a Jest)

  Put in his Word, that neither might offend; 770

  To Jove obsequious, yet his Mother’s Friend.

  What End in Heav’n will be of civil War,

  If Gods of Pleasure will for Mortals jar?

  Such Discord but disturbs our Jovial Feast;

  One Grain of Bad embitters all the best. 775

  Mother, tho’ wise your self, my Counsel weigh;

  ’Tis much unsafe my Sire to disobey

  Not only you provoke him to your Cost,

  But Mirth is marr’d, and the good Chear is lost.

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p; Tempt not his heavy Hand; for he has Pow’r 780

  To throw you Headlong, from his Heav’nly Tow’r.

  But one submissive Word, which you let fall,

  Will make him in good Humour with us All.

  He said no more but crown’d a Bowl, unbid:

  The laughing Nectar overlook’d the Lid: 785

  Then put it to her Hand; and thus pursued:

  This cursed Quarrel be no more renew’d.

  Be, as becomes a Wife, obedient still;

  Though griev’d, yet subject to her Husband’s Will.

  I would not see you beaten; yet affraid 790

  Of Jove’s superiour Force, I dare not aid.

  Too well I know him, since that hapless Hour

  When I, and all the Gods employ’d our Pow’r

  To break your Bonds: Me by the Heel he drew;

  And o’er Heav’n’s Battlements with Fury threw. 795

  All Day I fell; My flight at Morn begun,

  And ended not but with the setting Sun.

  Pitch’d on my Head, at length the Lemnian-Ground

  Receiv’d my batter’d Skull, the Sinthians heal’d my Wound.

  At Vulcan’s homely Mirth his Mother smil’d, 800

  And smiling took the Cup the Clown had filled.

  The Reconciler Bowl went round the Board,

  Which empty’d, the rude Skinker still restor’d.

  Louds Fits of Laughter seiz’d the Guests, to see

  The limping God so deft at his new Ministry. 805

  The Feast continued till declining Light:

  They drank, they laugh’d, they lov’d, and then ’twas Night.

  Nor wanted tuneful Harp, nor vocal Quire;

  The Muses sung; Apollo touch’d the Lyre.

  Drunken at last, and drowsy they depart, 810

  Each to his House; Adorn’d with labour’d Art

  Of the lame Architect: The thund’ring God

  Ev’n he withdrew to rest, and had his Load.

  His swimming Head to needful Sleep apply’d;

  And Juno lay unheeded by his Side. 815

  The Last Parting of Hector and Andromache. From the Sixth Book of Homer’s Iliad

  THE ARGUMENT

  Hector, returning from the Field of Battel, to visit Helen his Sister-in-Law, and his Brother Paris, who had fought unsuccessfully hand to hand with Menelaus, from thence goes to his own Palace to see his wife Andromache, and his Infant Son Astyanax. The description of that Interview is the subject of this translation.

  THUS having said, brave Hector went to see

  His Virtuous Wife, the fair Andromache.

  He found her not at home; for she was gone

  (Attended by her Maid and Infant Son,)

  To climb the steepy Tow’r of Ilion: 5

  From whence with heavy Heart she might survey

  The bloody business of the Dreadful day.

  Her mournful Eyes she cast around the Plain,

  And sought the Lord of her Desires in vain.

  But he, who thought his peopled Palace bare, 10

  When she, his only Comfort, was not there,

  Stood in the Gate, and ask’d of ev’ry one,

  Which way she took, and whither she was gone:

  If to the Court, or, with his Mother’s Train,

  In long Procession to Minerva’s Fane? 15

  The Servants answer’d, neither to the Court

  Where Priam’s Sons and Daughters did resort,

  Nor to the Temple was she gone, to move;

  With Prayers the blew-ey’d Progeny of Jove

  But, more solicitous for him alone, 20

  Than all their safety, to the Tow’r was gone,

  There to survey the Labours of the Field,

  Where the Greeks conquer, and the Trojans yield.

  Swiftly she pass’d, with Fear and Fury wild;

  The Nurse went lagging after with the Child. 25

  This heard, the Noble Hector made no stay;

  Th’ admiring Throng divide, to give him way:

  He pass’d through every Street, by which he came,

  And at the Gate he met the mournful Dame.

  His Wife beheld him, and with eager pace, 30

  Flew to his Arms, to meet a dear Embrace:

  His Wife, who brought in Dow’r Cilicia’s Crown,

  And in her self a greater Dow’r alone:

  Aëtion’s Heyr, who on the Woody Plain

  Of Hippoplacus did in Thebe reign. 35

  Breathless she flew, with Joy and Passion wild;

  The Nurse came lagging after with her Child.

  The Royal Babe upon her Breast was laid;

  Who, like the Morning Star, his beams display’d.

  Scamandrius was his Name which Hector gave, 40

  From that fair Flood which Ilion’s Wall did lave:

  But him Astyanax the Trojans call,

  From his great Father who defends the Wall.

  Hector beheld him with a silent Smile:

  His tender Wife stood weeping by, the while: 45

  Prest in her own, his Warlike hand she took,

  Then sigh’d, and thus Prophetically spoke.

  Thy dauntless Heart (which I foresee too late,)

  Too daring Man, will urge thee to thy Fate:

  Nor dost thou pity, with a Parent’s mind, 50

  This helpless Orphan whom thou leav’st behind;

  Nor me, th’ unhappy Partner of thy Bed;

  Who must in Triumph by the Greeks be led:

  They seek thy Life; and, in unequal Fight,

  With many will oppress thy single Might: 55

  Better it were for miserable me

  To die, before the Fate which I foresee.

  For ah what comfort can the World bequeath

  To Hector’s Widow, after Hector’s death?

  Eternal Sorrow and perpetual Tears 60

  Began my Youth, and will conclude my Years:

  I have no Parents, Friends, nor Brothers left;

  By stern Achilles all of Life bereft.

  Then when the Walls of Thebes he o’rethrew,

  His fatal Hand my Royal Father slew; 65

  He slew Aëtion, but despoil’d him not;

  Nor in his hate the Funeral Rites forgot;

  Arm’d as he was he sent him whole below,

  And reverenc’d thus the Manes of his Foe:

  A Tomb he rais’d; the Mountain Nymphs around 70

  Enclos’d with planted Elms the Holy Ground.

  My sev’n brave Brothers in one fatal Day

  To Death’s dark Mansions took the mournful way;

  Slain by the same Achilles, while they keep

  The bellowing Oxen and the bleating Sheep. 75

  My Mother, who the Royal Scepter sway’d,

  Was Captive to the cruel Victor made,

  And hither led; but hence redeem’d with Gold,

  Her Native Country did again behold,

  And but beheld: for soon Diana’s Dart 80

  In an unhappy Chace transfix’d her Heart.

  But thou, my Hector, art thy self alone

  My Parents, Brothers, and my Lord in one

  O kill not all my Kindred o’re again,

  Nor tempt the Dangers of the dusty Plain; 85

  But in this Tow’r, for our Defence, remain.

  Thy Wife and Son are in thy Ruin lost:

  This is a Husband’s and a Father’s Post.

  The Scæan Gate commands the Plains below;

  Here marshal all thy Souldiers as they go; 90

  And hence, with other Hands, repel the Foe.

  By yon wild Fig-tree lies their chief ascent,

  And thither all their Pow’rs are daily bent;

  The two Ajaces have I often seen,

  And the wrong’d Husband of the Spartan Queen: 95

  With him his greater Brother; and with these

  Fierce Diomede and bold Meriones:

  Uncertain if by Augury, or chance,

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sp; But by this easie rise they all advance;

  Guard well that Pass, secure of all beside. 100

  To whom the Noble Hector thus reply’d.

  That and the rest are in my daily care;

  But, shou’d I shun the Dangers of the War,

  With scorn the Trojans wou’d reward my Pains,

  And their proud Ladies with their sweeping Trains. 105

  The Grecian Swords and Lances I can bear

  But loss of Honour is my only Fear.

  Shall Hector, born to War, his Birth-right yield,

  Belie his Courage, and forsake the Field?

  Early in rugged Arms I took delight; 110

  And still have been the foremost in the Fight:

  With dangers dearly have I bought Renown,

  And am the Champion of my Father’s Crown.

  And yet my mind forebodes, with sure presage,

  That Troy shall perish by the Grecian Rage. 115

  The fatal Day draws on, when I must fall;

  And Universal Ruine cover all.

  Not Troy it self, tho’ built by Hands Divine,

  Nor Priam, nor his People, nor his Line,

  My Mother, nor my Brothers of Renown, 120

  Whose Valour yet defends th’ unhappy Town,

  Not these, nor all their Fates which I foresee,

  Are half of that concern I have for thee.

  I see, I see thee, in that fatal Hour,

  Subjected to the Victor’s cruel Pow’r; 125

  Led hence a Slave to some insulting Sword,

  Forlorn and trembling at a Foreign Lord;

  A spectacle in Argos, at the Loom,

  Gracing with Trojan Fights a Grecian Room;

  Or from deep Wells, the living Stream to take, 130

  And on thy weary Shoulders bring it back.

  While, groaning under this laborious Life,

  They insolently call thee Hector’s Wife;

  Upbraid thy Bondage with thy Husband’s name;

  And from my Glory propagate thy Shame. 135

  This when they say, thy Sorrows will encrease

  With anxious thoughts of former Happiness;

  That he is dead who cou’d thy wrongs redress.

  But I, opprest with Iron Sleep before,

  Shall hear thy unavailing Cries no more. He said, 140

  Then, holding forth his Arms, he took his Boy,

  (The Pledge of Love, and other hope of Troy;

  The fearful Infant turn’d his Head away,

  And on his Nurse’s Neck reclining lay,

  His unknown Father shunning with affright, 145

  And looking back on so uncouth a sight;

  Daunted to see a Face with Steel o’re-spread,

  And his high Plume, that nodded o’re his Head.

  His Sire and Mother smil’d with silent Joy;

  And Hector hasten’d to relieve his Boy; 150