Oh grant me, Gods! ere Hector meets his doom,
All I can ask of Heav’n, an early tomb!
So shall my days in one sad tenor run, 520
And end with sorrows as they first begun.
No parent now remains, my griefs to share,
No father’s aid, no mother’s tender care.
The fierce Achilles wrapt our walls in fire,
Laid Thebé waste, and slew my warlike sire! 525
His fate compassion in the victor bred;
Stern as he was, he yet revered the dead,
His radiant arms preserv’d from hostile spoil,
And laid him decent on the funeral pile;
Then raised a mountain where his bones were burn’d; 530
The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorn’d;
Jove’s sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow
A barren shade, and in his honour grow.
‘By the same arm my sev’n brave brothers fell;
In one sad day beheld the gates of Hell; 535
While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed,
Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled!
My mother lived to bear the victor’s bands,
The Queen of Hippoplacia’s sylvan lands:
Redeem’d too late, she scarce beheld again 540
Her pleasing empire and her native plain,
When, ah! oppress’d by life-consuming woe,
She fell a victim to Diana’s bow.
‘Yet while my Hector still survives, I see
My father, mother, brethren, all, in thee. 545
Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all,
Once more will perish if my Hector fall.
Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share;
Oh prove a husband’s and a father’s care!
That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy, 550
Where you wild fig-trees join the wall of Troy:
Thou, from this tower defend th’ important post;
There Agamemnon points his dreadful host,
That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain,
And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train. 555
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have giv’n,
Or led by hopes, or dictated from Heav’n.
Let others in the field their arms employ,
But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy.’
The Chief replied: ‘That post shall be my car, 560
Nor that alone, but all the works of war.
How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown’d,
And Troy’s proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground,
Attaint the lustre of my former name,
Should Hector basely quit the field of fame? 565
My early youth was bred to martial pains,
My soul impels me to th’ embattled plains:
Let me be foremost to defend the throne,
And guard my father’s glories, and my own.
Yet come it will, the day decreed by Fates 570
(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates)!
The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend,
And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end.
And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind,
My mother’s death, the ruin of my kind, 575
Not Priam’s hoary hairs defiled with gore,
Not all my brothers gasping on the shore;
As thine, Andromache! thy griefs I dread;
I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led!
In Argive looms our battles to design, 580
And woes of which so large a part was thine!
To bear the victor’s hard commands, or bring
The weight of waters from Hyperia’s spring.
There, while you groan beneath the load of life,
They cry, Behold the mighty Hector’s wife! 585
Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see,
Embitters all thy woes by naming me.
The thoughts of glory past, and present shame,
A thousand griefs, shall waken at the name!
May I lie cold before that dreadful day, 590
Press’d with a load of monumental clay!
Thy Hector, wrapp’d in everlasting sleep,
Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep.’
Thus having spoke, th’ illustrious Chief of Troy
Stretch’d his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy. 595
The babe clung crying to his nurse’s breast,
Scared at the dazzling helm, and nodding crest.
With secret pleasure each fond parent smil’d,
And Hector hasted to relieve his child;
The glitt’ring terrors from his brows unbound, 600
And placed the beaming helmet on the ground.
Then kiss’d the child, and, lifting high in air,
Thus to the Gods preferr’d a father’s prayer:
‘O thou! whose glory fills th’ ethereal throne,
And all ye deathless Powers! protect my son! 605
Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown,
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown,
Against his country’s foes the war to wage,
And rise the Hector of the future age!
So when, triumphant from successful toils 610
Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils,
Whole hosts may hail him with deserv’d acclaim,
And say, This Chief transcends his father’s fame:
While pleas’d, amidst the gen’ral shouts of Troy,
His mother’s conscious heart o’erflows with joy.’ 615
He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms,
Restor’d the pleasing burden to her arms;
Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid,
Hush’d to repose, and with a smile survey’d.
The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear, 620
She mingled with the smile a tender tear.
The soften’d Chief with kind compassion view’d,
And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued:
‘Andromache! my soul’s far better part,
Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart? 625
No hostile hand can antedate my doom,
Till Fate condemns me to the silent tomb.
Fix’d is the term to all the race of earth,
And such the hard condition of our birth.
No force can then resist, no flight can save; 630
All sink alike, the fearful and the brave.
No more — but hasten to thy tasks at home,
There guide the spindle, and direct the loom:
Me glory summons to the martial scene,
The field of combat is the sphere for men. 635
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,
The first in danger as the first in fame.’
Thus having said, the glorious Chief resumes
His tow’ry helmet, black with shading plumes.
His Princess parts with a prophetic sigh, 640
Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye,
That stream’d at ev’ry look: then, moving slow,
Sought her own palace, and indulged her woe.
There, while her tears deplor’d the godlike man,
Thro’ all her train the soft infection ran; 645
The pious maids their mingled sorrows shed,
And mourn the living Hector as the dead.
But now, no longer deaf to honour’s call,
Forth issues Paris from the palace wall.
In brazen arms that cast a gleamy ray, 650
Swift thro’ the town the warrior bends his way.
The wanton courser thus, with reins unbound,
Breaks from his stall, and beats the trembling ground;
Pamper’d and proud he seeks the wonted tides,
And laves, in height of blood, his shining sides: 655
H
is head now freed he tosses to the skies;
His mane dishevell’d o’er his shoulders flies;
He snuffs the females in the distant plain,
And springs, exulting, to his fields again.
With equal triumph, sprightly, bold, and gay, 660
In arms refulgent as the God of Day,
The son of Priam, glorying in his might,
Rush’d forth with Hector to the fields of fight.
And now the warriors passing on the way,
The graceful Paris first excused his stay. 665
To whom the noble Hector thus replied:
‘O Chief! in blood, and now in arms, allied!
Thy power in war with justice none contest;
Known is thy courage, and thy strength confess’d.
What pity, sloth should seize a soul so brave, 670
Or godlike Paris live a woman’s slave!
My heart weeps blood at what the Trojans say,
And hopes thy deeds shall wipe the stain away.
Haste then, in all their glorious labours share;
For much they suffer, for thy sake, in war. 675
These ills shall cease, whene’er by Jove’s decree
We crown the bowl to Heav’n and Liberty:
While the proud foe his frustrate triumphs mourns,
And Greece indignant thro’ her seas returns.’
Iliad Book VII. The Single Combat of Hector and Ajax
THE ARGUMENT
The battle renewing with double ardour upon the return of Hector, Minerva is under apprehensions for the Greeks. Apollo, seeing her descend from Olympus, joins her near the Scæan gate. They agree to put off the general engagement for that day, and incite Hector to challenge the Greeks to a single combat. Nine of the Princes accepting the challenge, the lot is cast, and falls upon Ajax. These heroes, after several attacks, are parted by the night. The Trojans calling a council, Antenor proposes the delivery of Helen to the Greeks, to which Paris will not consent, but offers to restore them her riches. Priam sends a herald to make this offer, and to demand a truce for burning the dead, the last of which only is agreed to by Agamemnon. When the funerals are performed, the Greeks, pursuant to the advice of Nestor, erect a fortification to protect their fleet and camp, flanked with towers, and defended by a ditch and palisades. Neptune testifies his jealousy at this work, but is pacified by a promise from Jupiter. Both armies pass the night in feasting, but Jupiter disheartens the Trojans with thunder and other signs of his wrath.
The three-and-twentieth day ends with the duel of Hector and Ajax; the next day the truce is agreed: another is taken up in the funeral rites of the slain; and one more in building the fortification before the ships; so that somewhat above three days is employed in this book. The scene lies wholly in the field.
SO spoke the guardian of the Trojan state,
Then rush’d impetuous thro’ the Scæan gate.
Him Paris follow’d to the dire alarms;
Both breathing slaughter, both resolv’d in arms.
As when to sailors lab’ring thro’ the main, 5
That long had heav’d the weary oar in vain,
Jove bids at length th’ expected gales arise;
The gales blow grateful, and the vessel flies:
So welcome these to Troy’s desiring train:
The bands are cheer’d, the war awakes again. 10
Bold Paris first the work of death begun
On great Menestheus, Areïthous’ son;
Sprung from the fair Philomeda’s embrace,
The pleasing Arne was his native place.
Then sunk Eioneus to the shades below; 15
Beneath his steely casque he felt the blow
Full on his neck, from Hector’s weighty hand;
And roll’d, with limbs relax’d, along the land.
By Glaucus’ spear the bold Iphinous bleeds,
Fix’d in the shoulder as he mounts his steeds; 20
Headlong he tumbles: his slack nerves unbound
Drop the cold useless members on the ground.
When now Minerva saw her Argives slain,
From vast Olympus to the gleaming plain
Fierce she descends: Apollo mark’d her flight, 25
Nor shot less swift from Ilion’s tow’ry height:
Radiant they met, beneath the beechen shade;
When thus Apollo to the Blue-eyed Maid:
‘What cause, O daughter of almighty Jove!
Thus wings thy progress from the realms above? 30
Once more impetuous dost thou bend thy way,
To give to Greece the long-divided day?
Too much has Troy already felt thy hate,
Now breathe thy rage, and hush the stern debate:
This day the bus’ness of the field suspend; 35
War soon shall kindle, and great Ilion bend;
Since vengeful Goddesses confed’rate join
To raze her walls, tho’ built by hands divine.’
To whom the progeny of Jove replies:
‘I left for this the council of the skies: 40
But who shall bid conflicting hosts forbear,
What art shall calm the furious sons of war?’
To her the God: ‘Great Hector’s soul incite
To dare the boldest Greek to single fight,
Till Greece, provoked, from all her numbers shew 45
A warrior worthy to be Hector’s foe.’
At this agreed, the heav’nly Powers withdrew;
Sage Helenus their secret counsels knew:
Hector inspired he sought: to him address’d,
Thus told the dictates of his sacred breast: 50
‘O son of Priam! let thy faithful ear
Receive my words; thy friend and brother hear!
Go forth persuasive, and awhile engage
The warring nations to suspend their rage;
Then dare the boldest of the hostile train 55
To mortal combat on the listed plain,
For not this day shall end thy glorious date;
The Gods have spoke it, and their voice is Fate.’
He said: the warrior heard the word with joy;
Then with his spear restrain’d the youth of Troy, 60
Held by the midst athwart. On either hand
The squadrons part; th’ expecting Trojans stand.
Great Agamemnon bids the Greeks forbear;
They breathe, and hush the tumult of the war.
Th’ Athenian Maid, and glorious God of Day, 65
With silent joy the settling hosts survey:
In form of vultures, on the beech’s height
They sit conceal’d, and wait the future fight.
The thronging troops obscure the dusky fields,
Horrid with bristling spears, and gleaming shields. 70
As when a gen’ral darkness veils the main
(Soft Zephyr curling the wide wat’ry plain),
The waves scarce heave, the face of ocean sleeps,
And a still horror saddens all the deeps:
Thus in thick orders settling wide around, 75
At length composed they sit, and shade the ground.
Great Hector first amidst both armies broke
The solemn silence, and their powers bespoke:
‘Hear all ye Trojan, all ye Grecian bands,
What my soul prompts, and what some God commands. 80
Great Jove, averse our warfare to compose,
O’erwhelms the nations with new toils and woes;
War with a fiercer tide once more returns,
Till Ilion falls, or till yon navy burns.
You then, O Princes of the Greeks! appear; 85
‘T is Hector speaks, and calls the Gods to hear:
From all your troops select the boldest knight,
And him, the boldest, Hector dares to fight.
Here if I fall, by chance of battle slain,
Be his my spoil, and his these arms remain; 90
&n
bsp; But let my body, to my friends return’d,
By Trojan hands, and Trojan flames be burn’d.
And if Apollo, in whose aid I trust,
Shall stretch your daring champion in the dust;
If mine the glory to despoil the foe, 95
On Phœbus’ temple I ‘ll his arms bestow;
The breathless carcass to your navy sent,
Greece on the shore shall raise a monument;
Which when some future mariner surveys,
Wash’d by broad Hellespont’s resounding seas, 100
Thus shall he say, A valiant Greek lies there,
By Hector slain, the mighty man of war.
The stone shall tell your vanquish’d hero’s name,
And distant ages learn the victor’s fame.’
This fierce defiance Greece astonish’d heard, 105
Blush’d to refuse, and to accept it fear’d.
Stern Menelaus first the silence broke,
And, inly groaning, thus opprobrious spoke:
‘Women of Greece! Oh scandal of your race,
Whose coward souls your manly forms disgrace, 110
How great the shame, when ev’ry age shall know
That not a Grecian met this noble foe!
Go then, resolve to earth from whence ye grew,
A heartless, spiritless, inglorious crew!
Be what ye seem, unanimated clay! 115
Myself will dare the danger of the day.
‘T is man’s bold task the gen’rous strife to try,
But in the hands of God is victory.’
These words scarce spoke, with gen’rous ardour press’d,
His manly limbs in azure arms he dress’d: 120
That day, Atrides! a superior hand
Had stretch’d thee breathless on the hostile strand;
But all at once, thy fury to compose,
The Kings of Greece, an awful band, arose:
Ev’n he their Chief, great Agamemnon, press’d 125
Thy daring hand, and this advice address’d:
‘Whither, O Menelaus! wouldst thou run,
And tempt a fate which prudence bids thee shun?
Griev’d tho’ thou art, forbear the rash design;
Great Hector’s arm is mightier far than thine. 130
Ev’n fierce Achilles learn’d its force to fear,
And trembling met this dreadful son of war.
Sit thou secure amidst thy social band;
Greece in our cause shall arm some powerful hand.
The mightiest warrior of th’ Achaian name, 135
Tho’ bold, and burning with desire of Fame,
Content, the doubtful honour might forego,
So great the danger, and so brave the foe.’
He said, and turn’d his brother’s vengeful mind;
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 78