Demand refection, and to rest invite:
Nor thou, O Father! thus consumed with woe, 755
The common cares that nourish life forego.
Not thus did Niobe, of form divine,
A parent once, whose sorrows equall’d thine:
Six youthful sons, as many blooming maids,
In one sad day beheld the Stygian shades: 760
Those by Apollo’s silver bow were slain,
These, Cynthia’s arrows stretch’d upon the plain.
So was her pride chastised by wrath divine,
Who match’d her own with bright Latona’s line;
But two the Goddess, twelve the Queen enjoy’d; 765
Those boasted twelve th’ avenging two destroy’d.
Steep’d in their blood, and in the dust outspread,
Nine days, neglected, lay exposed the dead;
None by to weep them, to inhume them none
(For Jove had turn’d the nation all to stone); 770
The Gods themselves, at length, relenting, gave
Th’ unhappy race the honours of a grave.
Herself a rock (for such was Heav’n’s high will)
Thro’ deserts wild now pours a weeping rill;
Where round the bed whence Acheloüs springs, 775
The wat’ry fairies dance in mazy rings:
There, high on Sipylus’s shady brow,
She stands, her own sad monument of woe:
The rock for ever lasts, the tears for ever flow.
Such griefs, O King! have other parents known: 780
Remember theirs, and mitigate thy own.
The care of Heav’n thy Hector has appear’d;
Nor shall he lie unwept, and uninterr’d;
Soon may thy aged cheeks in tears be drown’d,
And all the eyes of Ilion stream around.’ 785
He said, and, rising, chose the victim ewe
With silver fleece, which his attendants slew.
The limbs they sever from the reeking hide,
With skill prepare them, and in parts divide:
Each on the coals the sep’rate morsels lays, 790
And hasty snatches from the rising blaze.
With bread the glitt’ring canisters they load,
Which round the board Automedon bestow’d:
The chief himself to each his portion placed,
And each indulging shared in sweet repast. 795
When now the rage of hunger was repress’d,
The wond’ring Hero eyes his royal Guest;
No less the royal Guest the Hero eyes,
His godlike aspect, and majestic size;
Here, youthful grace and noble fire engage, 800
And there, the mild benevolence of age.
Thus gazing long, the silence neither broke
(A solemn scene); at length the father spoke:
‘Permit me now, belov’d of Jove, to steep
My careful temples in the dew of sleep: 805
For since the day that number’d with the dead
My hapless son, the dust has been my bed,
Soft sleep a stranger to my weeping eyes,
My only food, my sorrows and my sighs!
Till now, encouraged by the grace you give, 810
I share thy banquet, and consent to live.’
With that, Achilles bade prepare the bed,
With purple soft, and shaggy carpets spread;
Forth, by the flaming lights, they bend their way,
And place the couches, and the cov’rings lay. 815
Then he: ‘Now, Father, sleep, but sleep not here,
Consult thy safety, and forgive my fear,
Lest any Argive (at this hour awake,
To ask our counsel, or our orders take),
Approaching sudden to our open tent, 820
Perchance behold thee, and our grace prevent.
Should such report thy honour’d person here,
The King of Men the ransom might defer.
But say with speed, if aught of thy desire
Remains unask’d, what time the rites require 825
T’ inter thy Hector? For, so long we stay
Our slaught’ring arm, and bid the hosts obey.’
‘If then thy will permit’ (the Monarch said),
‘To finish all due honours to the dead,
This, of thy grace, accord: to thee are known 830
The fears of Ilion, closed within her town;
And at what distance from our walls aspire
The hills of Ide, and forests for the fire.
Nine days to vent our sorrows I request,
The tenth shall see the funeral and the feast; 835
The next, to raise his monument be giv’n;
The twelfth we war, if war be doom’d by Heav’n!’
‘This thy request’ (replied the Chief) ‘enjoy:
Till then, our arms suspend the fall of Troy.’
Then gave his hand at parting, to prevent 840
The old man’s fears, and turn’d within the tent
Where fair Briseïs, bright in blooming charms,
Expects her hero with desiring arms.
But in the porch the King and Herald rest,
Sad dreams of care yet wand’ring in their breast. 845
Now Gods and men the gifts of sleep partake;
Industrious Hermes only was awake,
The King’s return revolving in his mind,
To pass the ramparts, and the watch to blind.
The Power descending hover’d o’er his head, 850
And, ‘Sleep’st thou, Father?’ (thus the vision said):
‘Now dost thou sleep, when Hector is restor’d?
Nor fear the Grecian foes, or Grecian lord?
Thy presence here should stern Atrides see,
Thy still-surviving sons may sue for thee; 855
May offer all thy treasures yet contain,
To spare thy age; and offer all in vain.’
Waked with the word, the trembling Sire arose,
And rais’d his friend: the God before him goes:
He joins the mules, directs them with his hand, 860
And moves in silence thro’ the hostile land.
When now to Xanthus’ yellow stream they drove
(Xanthus, immortal progeny of Jove),
The winged Deity forsook their view,
And in a moment to Olympus flew. 865
Now shed Aurora round her saffron ray,
Sprung thro’ the gates of light, and gave the day.
Charged with their mournful load to Ilion go
The Sage and King, majestically slow.
Cassandra first beholds, from Ilion’s spire, 870
The sad procession of her hoary sire;
Then, as the pensive pomp advanc’d more near
(Her breathless brother stretch’d upon the bier),
A shower of tears o’erflows her beauteous eyes,
Alarming thus all Ilion with her cries: 875
‘Turn here your steps, and here your eyes employ,
Ye wretched daughters, and ye sons of Troy!
If e’er ye rush’d in crowds, with vast delight,
To hail your hero glorious from the fight;
Now meet him dead, and let your sorrows flow! 880
Your common triumph, and your common woe.’
In thronging crowds they issue to the plains,
Nor man, nor woman, in the walls remains:
In ev’ry face the self-same grief is shewn,
And Troy sends forth one universal groan. 885
At Scæa’s gates, they meet the mourning wain,
Hang on the wheels, and grovel round the slain.
The wife and mother, frantic with despair,
Kiss his pale cheek, and rend their scatter’d hair;
Thus wildly wailing, at the gates they lay; 890
And there had sigh’d and sorrow’d out the day;
But godlike Priam from th
e chariot rose;
‘Forbear’ (he cried) ‘this violence of woes;
First to the palace let the car proceed,
Then pour your boundless sorrows o’er the dead.’ 895
The waves of people at his word divide;
Slow rolls the chariot thro’ the foll’wing tide:
Ev’n to the palace the sad pomp they wait:
They weep, and place him on the bed of state.
A melancholy choir attend around, 900
With plaintive sighs and music’s solemn sound:
Alternately they sing, alternate flow
Th’ obedient tears, melodious in their woe;
While deeper sorrows groan from each full heart,
And Nature speaks at ev’ry pause of Art. 905
First to the corse the weeping consort flew;
Around his neck her milk-white arms she threw:
And, ‘Oh my Hector! oh my lord!’ she cries,
‘Snatch’d in thy bloom from these desiring eyes!
Thou to the dismal realms for ever gone! 910
And I abandon’d, desolate, alone!
An only son, once comfort of our pains,
Sad product now of hapless love, remains!
Never to manly age that son shall rise,
Or with increasing graces glad my eyes; 915
For Ilion now (her great defender slain)
Shall sink a smoking ruin on the plain.
Who now protects her wives with guardian care?
Who saves her infants from the rage of war?
Now hostile fleets must waft those infants o’er 920
(Those wives must wait them) to a foreign shore!
Thou too, my son! to barb’rous climes shalt go,
The sad companion of thy mother’s woe;
Driv’n hence a slave before the victor’s sword,
Condemn’d to toil for some in human lord: 925
Or else some Greek, whose father press’d the plain,
Or son, or brother, by great Hector slain,
In Hector’s blood his vengeance shall enjoy,
And hurl thee headlong from the towers of Troy.
For thy stern father never spared a foe: 930
Thence all these tears, and all this scene of woe!
Thence, many evils his sad parents bore,
His parents many, but his consort more.
Why gavest thou not to me thy dying hand?
And why receiv’d not I thy last command? 935
Some word thou would’st have spoke, which, sadly dear,
My soul might keep, or utter with a tear;
Which never, never could be lost in air,
Fix’d in my heart, and oft repeated there!’
Thus to her weeping maids she makes her moan: 940
Her weeping handmaids echo groan for groan.
The mournful mother next sustains her part:
‘O thou, the best, the dearest to my heart!
Of all my race thou most by Heav’n approv’d,
And by th’ immortals ev’n in death belov’d! 945
While all my other sons in barb’rous bands
Achilles bound, and sold to foreign lands,
This felt no chains, but went, a glorious ghost,
Free, and a hero, to the Stygian coast.
Sentenc’d, ‘t is true, by his inhuman doom, 950
Thy noble corse was dragg’d around the tomb
(The tomb of him thy warlike arm had slain);
Ungen’rous insult, impotent and vain!
Yet glow’st thou fresh with ev’ry living grace,
No mark of pain, or violence of face; 955
Rosy and fair! as Phœbus’ silver bow
Dismiss’d thee gently to the shades below!’
Thus spoke the Dame, and melted into tears.
Sad Helen next in pomp of grief appears:
Fast from the shining sluices of her eyes 960
Fall the round crystal drops, while thus she cries:
‘Ah, dearest friend! in whom the Gods had join’d
The mildest manners with the bravest mind!
Now twice ten years (unhappy years) are o’er
Since Paris brought me to the Trojan shore 965
(Oh had I perish’d, ere that form divine
Seduced this soft, this easy heart of mine!)
Yet was it ne’er my fate from thee to find
A deed ungentle, or a word unkind:
When others curs’d the authoress of their woe, 970
Thy pity check’d my sorrows in their flow:
If some proud brother eyed me with disdain,
Or scornful sister with her sweeping train,
Thy gentle accents soften’d all my pain.
For thee I mourn; and mourn myself in thee, 975
The wretched source of all this misery!
The fate I caus’d, for ever I bemoan;
Sad Helen has no friend, now thou art gone!
Thro’ Troy’s wide streets abandon’d shall I roam,
In Troy deserted, as abhorr’d at home!’ 980
So spoke the Fair, with sorrow-streaming eye:
Distressful beauty melts each stander-by;
On all around th’ infectious sorrow grows;
But Priam check’d the torrent as it rose:
‘Perform, ye Trojans! what the rites require, 985
And fell the forests for a funeral pyre!
Twelve days nor foes nor secret ambush dread;
Achilles grants these honours to the dead.’
He spoke; and at his word the Trojan train
Their mules and oxen harness to the wain, 990
Pour thro’ the gates, and, fell’d from Ida’s crown,
Roll back the gather’d forests to the town.
These toils continue nine succeeding days,
And high in air a sylvan structure raise.
But when the tenth fair morn began to shine, 995
Forth to the pile was borne the man divine,
And placed aloft: while all, with streaming eyes,
Beheld the flames and rolling smokes arise.
Soon as Aurora, Daughter of the Dawn,
With rosy lustre streak’d the dewy lawn, 1000
Again the mournful crowds surround the pyre,
And quench with wine the yet-remaining fire.
The snowy bones his friends and brothers place
(With tears collected) in a golden vase;
The golden vase in purple palls they roll’d, 1005
Of softest texture, and inwrought with gold.
Last, o’er the urn the sacred earth they spread,
And rais’d the tomb, memorial of the dead
(Strong guards and spies, till all the rites were done,
Watch’d from the rising to the setting sun). 1010
All Troy then moves to Priam’s court again,
A solemn, silent, melancholy train:
Assembled there, from pious toil they rest,
And sadly shared the last sepulchral feast.
Such honours Ilion to her hero paid, 1015
And peaceful slept the mighty Hector’s shade.
Concluding Note
WE have now passed through the Iliad, and seen the anger of Achilles, and the terrible effects of it, at an end: as that only was the subject of the poem, and the nature of epic poetry would not permit our author to proceed to the event of the war, it may perhaps be acceptable to the common reader to give a short account of what happened to Troy and the chief actors in this poem, after the conclusion of it. 1
I need not mention that Troy was taken soon after the death of Hector, by the stratagem of the wooden horse, the particulars of which are described by Virgil in the second book of the Æneis. 2
Achilles fell before Troy, by the hand of Paris, by the shot of an arrow in his heel, as Hector had prophesied at his death, book xxii. 3
The unfortunate Priam was killed by Pyrrhus, the son of Achilles. 4
Ajax, a
fter the death of Achilles, had a contest with Ulysses for the armour of Vulcan, but being defeated in his aim, he slew himself through indignation. 5
Helen, after the death of Paris, married Deïphobus his brother, and at the taking of Troy betrayed him, in order to reconcile herself to Menelaus, her first husband, who received her again into favour. 6
Agamemnon at his return was barbarously murdered by Ægisthus, at the instigation of Clytæmnestra, his wife, who in his absence had dishonoured his bed with Ægisthus. 7
Diomed, after the fall of Troy, was expelled his own country, and scarce escaped with life from his adulterous wife Ægiale; but at last was received by Daunus in Apulia, and shared his kingdom; it is uncertain how he died. 8
Nestor lived in peace, with his children, in Pylos, his native country. 9
Ulysses also, after innumerable troubles by sea and land, at last returned in safety to Ithaca, which is the subject of Homer’s Odyssey. 10
I must end these notes by discharging my duty to two of my friends, which is the more an indispensable piece of justice, as the one of them is since dead. The merit of their kindness to me will appear infinitely the greater, as the task they undertook was, in its own nature, of much more labour, than either pleasure or reputation. The larger part of the extracts from Eustathius, together with several excellent observations, were sent me by Mr. Broome: and the whole Essay upon Homer was written, upon such memoirs as I had collected, by the late Dr. Parnell, Archdeacon of Clogher in Ireland. How very much that gentleman’s friendship prevailed over his genius, in detaining a writer of his spirit in the drudgery of removing the rubbish of past pedants, will soon appear to the world, when they shall see those beautiful pieces of poetry, the publication of which he left to my charge, almost with his dying breath. 11
For what remains, I beg to be excused from the ceremonies of taking leave at the end of my work; and from embarrassing myself, or others, with any defences or apologies about it. But instead of endeavouring to raise a vain monument to myself, of the merits or difficulties of it (which must be left to the world, to truth, and to posterity), let me leave behind me a memorial of my friendship with one of the most valuable men, as well as finest writers, of my age and country; one who has tried, and knows by his own experience how hard an undertaking it is, to do justice to Homer; and one who (I am sure) sincerely rejoices with me at the period of my labours. To him, therefore, having brought this long work to a conclusion, I desire to dedicate it; and to have the honour and satisfaction of placing together, in this manner, the names of Mr. CONGREVE, and of
A. POPE.
March 25, 1720.
THE ODYSSEY
The Odyssey is the other major epic poem attributed to Homer that has survived antiquity. It is, in part, a sequel to The Iliad. It was probably composed near the end of the 8th century BC, somewhere in Ionia, the Greek-speaking coastal region of what is now Turkey. The epic poem involves the Greek hero Odysseus (Ulysses in Roman myths) and his protracted journey home following the fall of Troy. It takes Odysseus another ten years to reach Ithaca after the ten-year Trojan War. In his absence, it is assumed he has died, and his wife Penelope and son Telemachus must face a group of unruly suitors, competing for Penelope’s hand in marriage.
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 122