Her furious son from Priam to receive
The proffer’d ransom, and the corse to leave.’
He added not: and Iris from the skies,
Swift as a whirlwind, on the message flies; 100
Meteorous the face of ocean sweeps,
Refulgent gliding o’er the sable deeps.
Between where Samos wide his forests spreads,
And rocky Imbrus lifts its pointed heads,
Down plunged the Maid (the parted waves resound); 105
She plunged, and instant shot the dark profound.
As, bearing death in the fallacious bait,
From the bent angle sinks the leaden weight;
So pass’d the Goddess thro’ the closing wave,
Where Thetis sorrow’d in her secret cave: 110
There placed amidst her melancholy train
(The blue-hair’d Sisters of the Sacred Main)
Pensive she sat, revolving fates to come,
And wept her godlike son’s approaching doom.
Then thus the Goddess of the Painted Bow: 115
‘Arise, O Thetis! from thy seats below;
‘T is Jove that call.’ ‘And why’ (the Dame replies)
‘Calls Jove his Thetis to the hated skies?
Sad object as I am for heav’nly sight!
Ah! may my sorrows ever shun the light! 120
Howe’er, be Heav’n’s almighty Sire obey’d.’
She spake, and veil’d her head in sable shade,
Which, flowing long, her graceful person clad;
And forth she paced majestically sad.
Then thro’ the world of waters they repair 125
(The way fair Iris led) to upper air.
The deeps dividing, o’er the coast they rise,
And touch with momentary flight the skies.
There in the lightning’s blaze the sire they found,
And all the Gods in shining synod round. 130
Thetis approach’d with anguish in her face
(Minerva rising gave the mourner place),
Ev’n Juno sought her sorrows to console,
And offer’d from her hand the nectar bowl:
She tasted, and resign’d it: then began 135
The sacred Sire of Gods and mortal Man:
‘Thou com’st, fair Thetis, but with grief o’ercast,
Maternal sorrows, long, ah long to last!
Suffice, we know, and we partake, thy cares:
But yield to Fate, and hear what Jove declares. 140
Nine days are past, since all the court above
In Hector’s cause have mov’d the ear of Jove;
‘T was voted, Hermes from his godlike foe
By stealth should bear him, but we will’d not so;
We will, thy son himself the corse restore, 145
And to his conquest add this glory more.
Then hie thee to him, and our mandate bear;
Tell him he tempts the wrath of Heav’n too far:
Nor let him more (our anger if he dread)
Vent his mad vengeance on the sacred dead: 150
But yield to ransom and the father’s prayer.
The mournful father Iris shall prepare,
With gifts to sue; and offer to his hands
Whate’er his honour asks or heart demands.’
His word the Silver-footed Queen attends, 155
And from Olympus’ snowy tops descends.
Arrived, she heard the voice of loud lament,
And echoing groans that shook the lofty tent.
His friends prepare the victim, and dispose
Repast unheeded, while he vents his woes. 160
The Goddess seats her by her pensive son;
She press’d his hand, and tender thus begun:
‘How long, unhappy! shall thy sorrows flow?
And thy heart waste with life-consuming woe?
Mindless of food, or love, whose pleasing reign 165
Soothes weary life, and softens human pain.
O snatch the moments yet within thy power;
Not long to live, indulge the am’rous hour!
Lo! Jove himself (for Jove’s command I bear),
Forbids to tempt the wrath of Heav’n too far. 170
No longer then (his fury if thou dread)
Detain the relics of great Hector dead;
Nor vent on senseless earth thy vengeance vain,
But yield to ransom, and restore the slain.’
To whom Achilles: ‘Be the ransom giv’n, 175
And we submit, since such the will of Heav’n.’
While thus they communed, from th’ Olympian bowers
Jove orders Iris to the Trojan towers:
‘Haste, winged Goddess, to the sacred town,
And urge her Monarch to redeem his son; 180
Alone, the Ilian ramparts let him leave,
And bear what stern Achilles may receive:
Alone, for so we will: no Trojan near;
Except, to place the dead with decent care,
Some aged herald, who, with gentle hand, 185
May the slow mules and funeral car command.
Nor let him death, nor let him danger dread,
Safe thro’ the foe by our protection led:
Him Hermes to Achilles shall convey,
Guard of his life, and partner of his way. 190
Fierce as he is, Achilles’ self shall spare
His age, nor touch one venerable hair:
Some thought there must be in a soul so brave,
Some sense of duty, some desire to save.’
Then down her bow the winged Iris drives, 195
And swift at Priam’s mournful court arrives:
Where the sad sons beside their father’s throne
Sat bathed in tears, and answer’d groan with groan.
And all amidst them lay the hoary sire
(Sad scene of woe), his face, his wrapp’d attire 200
Conceal’d from sight; with frantic hands he spread
A shower of ashes o’er his neck and head.
From room to room his pensive daughters roam:
Whose shrieks and clamours fill the vaulted dome;
Mindful of those, who, late their pride and joy, 205
Lie pale and breathless round the fields of Troy!
Before the King Jove’s messenger appears,
And thus in whispers greets his trembling ears:
‘Fear not, oh Father! no ill news I bear;
From Jove I come, Jove makes thee still his care; 210
For Hector’s sake these walls he bids thee leave,
And bear what stern Achilles may receive:
Alone, for so he wills: no Trojan near,
Except, to place the dead with decent care,
Some aged herald, who, with gentle hand, 215
May the slow mules and funeral car command.
Nor shalt thou death, nor shalt thou danger dread;
Safe thro’ the foe by his protection led;
Thee Hermes to Pelides shall convey,
Guard of thy life, and partner of thy way; 220
Fierce as he is, Achilles’ self shall spare
Thy age, nor touch one venerable hair:
Some thought there must be in a soul so brave,
Some sense of duty, some desire to save.’
She spoke, and vanish’d. Priam bids prepare 225
His gentle mules, and harness to the car;
There, for the gifts, a polish’d casket lay:
His pious sons the King’s commands obey.
Then pass’d the Monarch to his bridal room,
Where cedar-beams the lofty roofs perfume, 230
And where the treasures of his empire lay;
Then call’d his Queen, and thus began to say:
‘Unhappy consort of a King distress’d!
Partake the troubles of thy husband’s breast:
I saw descend the messenger of Jove, 235
Who
bids me try Achilles’ mind to move,
Forsake these ramparts, and with gifts obtain
The corse of Hector, at you navy slain.
Tell me thy thought: my heart impels to go
Thro’ hostile camps, and bears me to the foe.’ 240
The hoary Monarch thus: her piercing cries
Sad Hecuba renews, and then replies:
‘Ah! whither wanders thy distemper’d mind;
And where the prudence now that awed mankind,
Thro’ Phrygia once, and foreign regions known? 245
Now all confused, distracted, overthrown!
Singly to pass thro’ hosts of foes! to face
(Oh heart of steel!) the murd’rer of thy race!
To view that deathful eye, and wander o’er
Those hands, yet red with Hector’s noble gore! 250
Alas! my lord! he knows not how to spare,
And what his mercy, thy slain sons declare;
So brave! so many fall’n! to calm his rage
Vain were thy dignity, and vain thy age.
No — pent in this sad palace, let us give 255
To grief the wretched days we have to live.
Still, still, for Hector let our sorrows flow,
Born to his own, and to his parents’ woe!
Doom’d from the hour his luckless life begun,
To dogs, to vultures, and to Peleus’ son! 260
Oh! in his dearest blood might I allay
My rage, and these barbarities repay!
For ah! could Hector merit thus? whose breath
Expired not meanly, in inactive death:
He pour’d his latest blood in manly fight, 265
And fell a hero in his country’s right.’
‘Seek not to stay me, nor my soul affright
With words of omen, like a bird of night’
(Replied unmov’d the venerable man):
‘‘T is Heav’n commands me, and you urge in vain. 270
Had any mortal voice th’ injunction laid,
Nor Augur, Priest, nor Seer had been obey’d.
A present Goddess brought the high command:
I saw, I heard her, and the word shall stand.
I go, ye Gods! obedient to your call; 275
If in yon camp your powers have doom’d my fall,
Content: by the same hand let me expire!
Add to the slaughter’d son the wretched sire!
One cold embrace at least may be allow’d,
And my last tears flow mingled with his blood!’ 280
Forth from his open’d stores, this said, he drew
Twelve costly carpets of refulgent hue;
As many vests, as many mantles told,
And twelve fair veils, and garments stiff with gold;
Two tripods next, and twice two chargers shine, 285
With ten pure talents from the richest mine;
And last a large, well-labour’d bowl had place
(The pledge of treaties once with friendly Thrace);
Seem’d all too mean the stores he could employ,
For one last look to buy him back to Troy! 290
Lo! the sad father, frantic with his pain,
Around him furious drives his menial train:
In vain each slave with duteous care attends,
Each office hurts him, and each face offends.
‘What make ye here, officious crowds!’ (he cries) 295
‘Hence, nor obtrude your anguish on my eyes.
Have ye no griefs at home, to fix ye there?
Am I the only object of despair?
Am I become my people’s common show,
Set up by Jove your spectacle of woe? 300
No, you must feel him too: yourselves must fall;
The same stern God to ruin gives you all:
Nor is great Hector lost by me alone:
Your sole defence, your guardian power, is gone!
I see your blood the fields of Phrygia drown; 305
I see the ruins of your smoking town!
Oh send me, Gods, ere that sad day shall come,
A willing ghost to Pluto’s dreary dome!’
He said, and feebly drives his friends away:
The sorr’wing friends his frantic rage obey. 310
Next on his sons his erring fury falls,
Polites, Paris, Agathon, he calls;
His threats Deïphobus and Dius hear,
Hippothoüs, Pammon, Helenus the seer,
And gen’rous Antiphon; for yet these nine 315
Survived, sad relics of his numerous line:
‘Inglorious sons of an unhappy sire!
Why did not all in Hector’s cause expire?
Wretch that I am! my bravest offspring slain,
You, the disgrace of Priam’s house, remain! 320
Mestor the brave, renown’d in ranks of war,
With Troilus, dreadful on his rushing car,
And last great Hector, more than man divine,
For sure he seem’d not of terrestrial line!
All those relentless Mars untimely slew, 325
And left me these, a soft and servile crew,
Whose days the feast and wanton dance employ,
Gluttons and flatt’rers, the contempt of Troy!
Why teach ye not my rapid wheels to run,
And speed my journey to redeem my son?’ 330
The sons their father’s wretched age revere,
Forgive his anger, and produce the car.
High on the seat the cabinet they bind:
The new-made car with solid beauty shined:
Box was the yoke, emboss’d with costly pains, 335
And hung with ringlets to receive the reins:
Nine cubits long, the traces swept the ground;
These to the chariot’s polish’d pole they bound,
Then fix’d a ring the running reins to guide,
And, close beneath, the gather’d ends were tied. 340
Next with the gifts (the price of Hector slain)
The sad attendants load the groaning wain:
Last to the yoke the well-match’d mules they bring
(The gift of Mysia to the Trojan King).
But the fair horses, long his darling care, 345
Himself receiv’d, and harness’d to his car:
Griev’d as he was, he not this task denied;
The hoary herald help’d him at his side.
While careful these the gentle coursers join’d,
Sad Hecuba approach’d with anxious mind; 350
A golden bowl, that foam’d with fragrant wine
(Libation destin’d to the Power divine),
Held in her right, before the steeds she stands,
And thus consigns it to the Monarch’s hands:
‘Take this, and pour to Jove; that, safe from harms, 355
His grace restore thee to our roof and arms.
Since, victor of thy fears, and slighting mine,
Heav’n, or thy soul, inspire this bold design,
Pray to that God, who, high on Ida’s brow
Surveys thy desolated realms below, 360
His winged messenger to send from high,
And lead the way with heav’nly augury:
Let the strong Sov’reign of the plumy race
Tower on the right of yon ethereal space.
That sign beheld, and strengthen’d from above, 365
Boldly pursue the journey mark’d by Jove;
But if the God his augury denies,
Suppress thy impulse, nor reject advice.’
‘‘T is just’ (said Priam) ‘to the Sire above
To raise our hands; for who so good as Jove?’ 370
He spoke, and bade th’ attendant handmaid bring
The purest water of the living spring
(Her ready hands the ewer and basin held);
Then took the golden cup his Queen had fill’d;
On the mid pavement pours the rosy wine,
375
Uplifts his eyes, and calls the Power divine:
‘Oh First and Greatest! Heav’n’s imperial Lord!
On lofty Ida’s holy hill ador’d!
To stern Achilles now direct my ways,
And teach him mercy when a father prays. 380
If such thy will, despatch from yonder sky
Thy sacred bird, celestial augury!
Let the strong sov’reign of the plumy race
Tower on the right of yon ethereal space:
So shall thy suppliant, strengthen’d from above, 385
Fearless pursue the journey mark’d by Jove.’
Jove heard his prayer, and from the throne on high
Despatch’d his bird, celestial augury!
The swift-wing’d chaser of the feather’d game,
And known to Gods by Percnos’ lofty name. 390
Wide as appears some palace-gate display’d,
So broad his pinions stretch’d their ample shade,
As, stooping dexter with resounding wings,
Th’ imperial bird descends in airy rings.
A dawn of joy in ev’ry face appears; 395
The mourning matron dries her tim’rous tears.
Swift on his car th’ impatient Monarch sprung;
The brazen portal in his passage rung.
The mules preceding draw the loaded wain,
Charged with the gifts; Idæus holds the rein: 400
The King himself his gentle steeds controls,
And thro’ surrounding friends the chariot rolls;
On his slow wheels the foll’wing people wait,
Mourn at each step, and give him up to Fate;
With hands uplifted, eye him as he pass’d, 405
And gaze upon him as they gazed their last.
Now forward fares the father on his way,
Thro’ the lone fields, and back to Ilion they.
Great Jove beheld him as he cross’d the plain,
And felt the woes of miserable man. 410
Then thus to Hermes: ‘Thou, whose constant cares
Still succour mortals, and attend their prayers!
Behold an object to thy charge consign’d;
If ever pity touch’d thee for mankind,
Go, guard the sire; th’ observing foe prevent, 415
And safe conduct him to Achilles’ tent.’
The God obeys, his golden pinions binds,
And mounts incumbent on the wings of winds,
That high thro’ fields of air his flight sustain,
O’er the wide earth, and o’er the boundless main: 420
Then grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly,
Or in soft slumbers seals the wakeful eye:
Thus arm’d, swift Hermes steers his airy way,
And stoops on Hellespont’s resounding sea.
A beauteous youth, majestic and divine, 425
He seem’d; fair offspring of some princely line!
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 120