ACHILLES’ wrath, to Greece the direful spring | |
| Of woes unnumber’d, heav’nly Goddess, sing! | |
| That wrath which hurl’d to Pluto’s gloomy reign | |
| The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain: | |
| Whose limbs, unburied on the naked shore, | 5 |
| Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore: | |
| Since great Achilles and Atrides strove, | |
| Such was the Sov’reign doom, and such the will of Jove! | |
| Declare, O Muse! in what ill-fated hour | |
| Sprung the fierce strife, from what offended power? | 10 |
| Latona’s son a dire contagion spread, | |
| And heap’d the camp with mountains of the dead; | |
| The King of Men his rev’rend priest defied, | |
| And for the King’s offence, the people died. | |
| For Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain | 15 |
| His captive daughter from the victor’s chain. | |
| Suppliant the venerable father stands; | |
| Apollo’s awful ensigns grace his hands: | |
| By these he begs: and, lowly bending down, | |
| Extends the sceptre and the laurel crown. | 20 |
| He sued to all, but chief implored for grace | |
| The brother-kings of Atreus’ royal race: | |
| ‘Ye Kings and Warriors! may your vows be crown’d, | |
| And Troy’s proud walls lie level with the ground; | |
| May Jove restore you, when your toils are o’er, | 25 |
| Safe to the pleasures of your native shore. | |
| But oh! relieve a wretched parent’s pain, | |
| And give Chryseïs to these arms again; | |
| If mercy fail, yet let my presents move, | |
| And dread avenging Phœbus, son of Jove.’ | 30 |
| The Greeks in shouts their joint assent declare, | |
| The Priest to rev’rence and release the Fair. | |
| Not so Atrides: he, with kingly pride, | |
| Repuls’d the sacred sire, and thus replied: | |
| ‘Hence on thy life, and fly these hostile plains, | 35 |
| Nor ask, presumptuous, what the King detains: | |
| Hence, with thy laurel crown, and golden rod, | |
| Nor trust too far those ensigns of thy God. | |
| Mine is thy daughter, Priest, and shall remain; | |
| And prayers, and tears, and bribes, shall plead in vain; | 40 |
| Till time shall rifle ev’ry youthful grace, | |
| And age dismiss her from my cold embrace, | |
| In daily labours of the loom employ’d, | |
| Or doom’d to deck the bed she once enjoy’d. | |
| Hence then! to Argos shall the maid retire, | 45 |
| Far from her native soil, and weeping sire.’ | |
| The trembling priest along the shore return’d, | |
| And in the anguish of a father mourn’d. | |
| Disconsolate, not daring to complain, | |
| Silent he wander’d by the sounding main: | 50 |
| Till, safe at distance, to his God he prays, | |
| The God who darts around the world his rays. | |
| ‘O Smintheus! sprung from fair Latona’s line, | |
| Thou guardian power of Cilla the divine, | |
| Thou source of light! whom Tenedos adores, | 55 |
| And whose bright presence gilds thy Chrysa’s shores; | |
| If e’er with wreaths I hung thy sacred fane, | |
| Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain, | |
| God of the silver bow! thy shafts employ, | |
| Avenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy.’ | 60 |
| Thus Chryses pray’d: the fav’ring power attends, | |
| And from Olympus’ lofty tops descends. | |
| Bent was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound; | |
| Fierce, as he mov’d, his silver shafts resound. | |
| Breathing revenge, a sudden night be spread, | 65 |
| And gloomy darkness roll’d around his head. | |
| The fleet in view, he twang’d his deadly bow, | |
| And hissing fly the feather’d fates below. | |
| On mules and dogs th’ infection first began; | |
| And last, the vengeful arrows fix’d in man. | 70 |
| For nine long nights, thro’ all the dusky air | |
| The pyres thick-flaming shot a dismal glare. | |
| But ere the tenth revolving day was run, | |
| Inspired by Juno, Thetis’ godlike son | |
| Convened to council all the Grecian train; | 75 |
| For much the Goddess mourn’d her heroes slain. | |
| Th’ assembly seated, rising o’er the rest, | |
| Achilles thus the King of Men address’d: | |
| ‘Why leave we not the fatal Trojan shore, | |
| And measure back the seas we cross’d before? | 80 |
| The Plague destroying whom the Sword would spare, | |
| ’T is time to save the few remains of war. | |
| But let some prophet or some sacred sage | |
| Explore the cause of great Apollo’s rage; | |
| Or learn the wasteful vengeance to remove | 85 |
| By mystic dreams, for dreams descend from Jove. | |
| If broken vows this heavy curse have laid, | |
| Let altars smoke, and hecatombs be paid. | |
| So Heav’n atoned shall dying Greece restore, | |
| And Phœbus dart his burning shafts no more.’ | 90 |
| He said, and sat: when Chalcas thus replied: | |
| Chalcas the wise, the Grecian priest and guide, | |
| That sacred seer, whose comprehensive view | |
| The past, the present, and the future knew; | |
| Uprising slow, the venerable sage | 95 |
| Thus spoke the prudence and the fears of age: | |
| ‘Belov’d of Jove, Achilles! would’st thou know | |
| Why angry Phœbus bends his fatal bow? | |
| First give thy faith, and plight a Prince’s word | |
| Of sure protection, by thy power and sword, | 100 |
| For I must speak what wisdom would conceal, | |
| And truths invidious to the great reveal. | |
| Bold is the task, when subjects, grown too wise, | |
| Instruct a monarch where his error lies; | |
| For tho’ we deem the short-lived fury past, | 105 |
| ’T is sure, the mighty will revenge at last.’ | |
| To whom Pelides: ‘From thy inmost soul | |
| Speak what thou know’st, and speak without control. | |
| Ev’n by that God I swear, who rules the day, | |
| To whom thy hands the vows of Greece convey, | 110 |
| And whose blest oracles thy lips declare; | |
| Long as Achilles breathes this vital air, | |
| No daring Greek, of all the numerous band, | |
| Against his priest shall lift an impious hand: | |
| Not ev’n the Chief by whom our hosts are led, | 115 |
| The King of Kings, shall touch that sacred head.’ | |
| Encouraged thus, the blameless man replies: | |
| ‘Nor vows unpaid, nor slighted sacrifice, | |
| But he, our Chief, provoked the raging pest, | |
| Apollo’s vengeance for his injured priest. | 120 |
| Nor will the God’s awaken’d fury cease, | |
| But plagues shall spread, and funeral fires increase, | |
| Till the great King, without a ransom paid, | |
| To her own Chrysa send the black-eyed maid. | |
| Perhaps, with added sacrifice and prayer, | 125 |
| The Priest may pardon, and the God may spare.’ | |
| The prophet spoke; when, with a gloomy frown, | |
| The Monarch started from his shining throne; | |
| Black choler fill’d his breast that boil’d with ire, | |
| And from his eyeballs flash’d the living fire. | 130 |
| ‘Augur accurs’d! denouncing mischief still, | |
| Prophet of plagues, for ever boding ill! | |
| Still must that tongue some wounding message bring, | |
| And still thy priestly pride provoke thy King? | |
| For this are Phœbus’ oracles explor’d, | 135 |
| To teach the Greeks to murmur at their lord? | |
| For this with falsehoods is my honour stain’d; | |
| Is Heav’n offended, and a priest profaned, | |
| Because my prize, my beauteous maid, I hold, | |
| And heav’nly charms prefer to proffer’d gold? | 140 |
| A maid, unmatch’d in manners as in face, | |
| Skill’d in each art, and crown’d with ev’ry grace: | |
| Not half so dear were Clytæmnestra’s charms, | |
| When first her blooming beauties bless’d my arms. | |
| Yet, if the Gods demand her, let her sail; | 145 |
| Our cares are only for the public weal: | |
| Let me be deem’d the hateful cause of all, | |
| And suffer, rather than my people fall. | |
| The prize, the beauteous prize, I will resign, | |
| So dearly valued, and so justly mine. | 150 |
| But since for common good I yield the Fair, | |
| My private loss let grateful Greece repair; | |
| Nor unrewarded let your Prince complain, | |
| That he alone has fought and bled in vain.’ | |
| ‘Insatiate King!’ (Achilles thus replies) | 155 |
| ‘Fond of the Power, but fonder of the Prize! | |
| Wouldst thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield, | |
| The due reward of many a well-fought field? | |
| The spoils of cities razed, and warriors slain, | |
| We share with justice, as with toil we gain: | 160 |
| But to resume whate’er thy av’rice craves | |
| (That trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves. | |
| Yet if our Chief for plunder only fight, | |
| The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite, | |
| Whene’er, by Jove’s decree, our conquering powers | 165 |
| Shall humble to the dust her lofty towers.’ | |
| Then thus the King: ‘Shall I my prize resign | |
| With tame content, and thou possess’d of thine? | |
| Great as thou art, and like a God in fight, | |
| Think not to rob me of a soldier’s right. | 170 |
| At thy demand shall I restore the maid? | |
| First let the just equivalent be paid; | |
| Such as a King might ask; and let it be | |
| A treasure worthy her, and worthy me. | |
| Or grant me this, or with a monarch’s claim | 175 |
| This hand shall seize some other captive dame. | |
| The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign, | |
| Ulysses’ spoils, or ev’n thy own be mine. | |
| The man who suffers, loudly may complain; | |
| And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain. | 180 |
| But this when time requires: It now remains | |
| We launch a bark to plough the wat’ry plains, | |
| And waft the sacrifice to Chrysa’s shores, | |
| With chosen pilots, and with lab’ring oars. | |
| Soon shall the Fair the sable ship ascend, | 185 |
| And some deputed prince the charge attend. | |
| This Creta’s king, or Ajax shall fulfil, | |
| Or wise Ulysses see perform’d our will; | |
| Or, if our royal pleasure shall ordain, | |
| Achilles’ self conduct her o’er the main; | 190 |
| Let fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage, | |
| The God propitiate, and the pest assuage.’ | |
| At this, Pelides, frowning stern, replied: | |
| ‘O tyrant, arm’d with insolence and pride! | |
| Inglorious slave to int’rest, ever join’d | 195 |
| With fraud unworthy of a royal mind! | |
| What gen’rous Greek, obedient to thy word, | |
| Shall form an ambush, or shall lift the sword? | |
| What cause have I to war at thy decree? | |
| The distant Trojans never injured me; | 200 |
| To Phthia’s realms no hostile troops they led; | |
| Safe in her vales my warlike coursers fed; | |
| Far hence remov’d, the hoarse-resounding main, | |
| And walls of rocks, secure my native reign, | |
| Whose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace, | 205 |
| Rich in her fruits, and in her martial race. | |
| Hither we sail’d, a voluntary throng, | |
| T’ avenge a private, not a public wrong: | |
| What else to Troy th’ assembled nations draws, | |
| But thine, ungrateful, and thy brother’s cause? | 210 |
| Is this the pay our blood and toils deserve, | |
| Disgraced and injured by the man we serve? | |
| And darest thou threat to snatch my prize away, | |
| Due to the deeds of many a dreadful day? | |
| A prize as small, O tyrant! match’d with thine, | 215 |
| As thy own actions if compared to mine. | |
| Thine in each conquest is the wealthy prey, | |
| Tho’ mine the sweat and danger of the day. | |
| Some trivial present to my ships I bear, | |
| Or barren praises pay the wounds of war. | 220 |
| But know, proud Monarch, I ’m thy slave no more: | |
| My fleet shall waft me to Thessalia’s shore. | |
| Left by Achilles on the Trojan plain, | |
| What spoils, what conquests, shall Atrides gain?’ | |
| To this the King: ‘Fly, mighty warrior! fly, | 225 |
| Thy aid we need not, and thy threats defy: | |
| There want not chiefs in such a cause to fight, | |
| And Jove himself shall guard a Monarch’s right. | |
| Of all the Kings (the Gods’ distinguish’d care) | |
| To pow’r superior none such hatred bear; | 230 |
| Strife and debate thy restless soul employ, | |
| And wars and horrors are thy savage joy. | |
| If thou hast strength, ’t was Heav’n that strength bestow’d, | |
| For know, vain man! thy valour is from God. | |
| Haste, launch thy vessels, fly with speed away, | 235 |
| Rule thy own realms with arbitrary sway: | |
| I heed thee not, but prize at equal rate | |
| Thy short-lived friendship, and thy groundless hate. | |
| Go, threat thy earth-born Myrmidons; but here | |
| ’T is mine to threaten, Prince, and thine to fear. | 240 |
| Know, if the God the beauteous dame demand, | |
| My bark shall waft her to her native land; | |
| But then prepare, imperious Prince! prepare, | |
| Fierce as thou art, to yield thy captive fair: | |
| Ev’n in thy tent I ’ll seize the blooming prize, | 245 |
| Thy loved Briseïs, with the radiant eyes. | |
| Hence shalt thou prove my might, and curse the hour, | |
| Thou stood’st a rival of imperial power; | |
| And hence to all our host it shall be known | |
| That Kings are subject to the Gods alone.’ | 250 |
| Achilles heard, with grief and rage oppress’d; | |
| His heart swell’d high, and labour’d in his breast. | |
| Distracting thoughts by turns his bosom rules, | |
| Now fired by wrath, and now by reason cool’d: | |
| That prompts his hand to draw the deadly sword, | 255 |
| Force thro’ the Greeks, and pierce their haughty lord; | |
| This whispers soft, his vengeance to control, | |
| And calm the rising tempest of his soul. | |
| Just as in anguish of suspense he stay’d, | |
| While half unsheathed appear’d the glitt’ring blade, | 260 |
| Minerva swift descended from above, | |
| Sent by the sister and the wife of Jove | |
| (For both the princes claim’d her equal care); | |
| Behind she stood, and by the golden hair | |
| Achilles seized; to him alone confess’d, | 265 |
| A sable cloud conceal’d her from the rest. | |
| He sees, and sudden to the Goddess cries | |
| (Known by the flames that sparkle from her eyes): | |
| ‘Descends Minerva, in her guardian care, | |
| A heav’nly witness of the wrongs I bear | 270 |
| From Atreus’ son? Then let those eyes that view | |
| The daring crime, behold the vengeance too.’ | |
| ‘Forbear!’ (the progeny of Jove replies) | |
| ‘To calm thy fury I forsake the skies: | |
| Let great Achilles, to the Gods resign’d, | 275 |
| To reason yield the empire o’er his mind. | |
| By awful Juno this command is giv’n; | |
| The King and you are both the care of Heav’n. | |
| The force of keen reproaches let him feel, | |
| But sheathe, obedient, thy revenging steel. | 280 |
| For I pronounce (and trust a heav’nly Power) | |
| Thy injured honour has its fated hour, | |
| When the proud monarch shall thy arms implore, | |
| And bribe thy friendship with a boundless store. | |
| Then let revenge no longer bear the sway, | 285 |
| Command thy passions, and the Gods obey.’ | |
| To her Pelides: ‘With regardful ear, | |
| ’T is just, O Goddess! I thy dictates hear. | |
| Hard as it is, my vengeance I suppress: | |
| Those who revere the Gods, the Gods will bless.’ | 290 |
| He said, observant of the blue-eyed maid; | |
| Then in the sheath return’d the shining blade. | |
| The Goddess swift to high Olympus flies, | |
| And joins the sacred senate of the skies. | |
| Nor yet the rage his boiling breast forsook; | 295 |
| Which thus redoubling on Atrides broke: | |
| ‘O monster! mix’d of insolence and fear, | |
| Thou dog in forehead, but in heart a deer! | |
| When wert thou known in ambush’d fights to dare, | |
| Or nobly face the horrid front of war? | 300 |
| ’T is ours, the chance of fighting fields to try, | |
| Thine to look on, and bid the valiant die. | |
| So much ’t is safer thro’ the camp to go, | |
| And rob a subject, than despoil a foe. | |
| Scourge of thy people, violent and base! | 305 |
| Sent in Jove’s anger on a slavish race, | |
| Who, lost to sense of gen’rous freedom past, | |
| Are tamed to wrongs, or this had been thy last. | |
| Now by this sacred sceptre hear me swear, | |
| Which never more shall leaves or blossoms bear, | 310 |
| Which, sever’d from the trunk (as I from thee) | |
| On the bare mountains left its parent tree; | |
| This sceptre, form’d by temper’d steel to prove | |
| An ensign of the delegates of Jove, | |
| From whom the power of laws and justice springs | 315 |
| (Tremendous oath! inviolate to Kings): | |
| By this I swear, when bleeding Greece again | |
| Shall call Achilles, she shall call in vain. | |
| When, flush’d with slaughter, Hector comes to spread | |
| The purpled shore with mountains of the dead, | 320 |
| Then shalt thou mourn th’ affront thy madness gave, | |
| Forced to deplore, when impotent to save: | |
| Then rage in bitterness of soul, to know | |
| This act has made the bravest Greek thy foe.’ | |
| He spoke; and furious hurl’d against the ground | 325 |
| His sceptre starr’d with golden studs around; | |
| Then sternly silent sat. With like disdain, | |
| The raging King return’d his frowns again. | |
| To calm their passion with the words of age, | |
| Slow from his seat arose the Pylian sage. | 330 |
| Experienced Nestor, in persuasion skill’d; | |
| Words sweet as honey from his lips distill’d: | |
| Two generations now had pass’d away, | |
| Wise by his rules, and happy by his sway; | |
| Two ages o’er his native realm he reign’d, | 335 |
| And now th’ example of the third remain’d. | |
| All view’d with awe the venerable man; | |
| Who thus, with mild benevolence, began: | |
| ‘What shame, what woe is this to Greece! what joy | |
| To Troy’s proud monarch, and the friends of Troy! | 340 |
| That adverse Gods commit to stern debate | |
| The best, the bravest of the Grecian state. | |
| Young as you are, this youthful heat restrain, | |
| Nor think your Nestor’s years and wisdom vain. | |
| A godlike race of heroes once I knew, | 345 |
| Such as no more these aged eyes shall view! | |
| Lives there a chief to match Pirithous’ fame, | |
| Dryas the bold, or Ceneus’ deathless name; | |
| Theseus, endued with more than mortal might, | |
| Or Polyphemus, like the Gods in fight? | 350 |
| With these of old to toils of battle bred, | |
| In early youth my hardy days I led; | |
| Fired with the thirst which virtuous envy breeds, | |
| And smit with love of honourable deeds. | |
| Strongest of men, they pierc’d the mountain boar, | 355 |
| Ranged the wild deserts red with monsters’ gore, | |
| And from their hills the shaggy Centaurs tore. | |
| Yet these with soft persuasive arts I sway’d; | |
| When Nestor spoke, they listen’d and obey’d. | |
| If in my youth, ev’n these esteem’d me wise, | 360 |
| Do you, young warriors, hear my age advise. | |
| Atrides, seize not on the beauteous slave; | |
| That prize the Greeks by common suffrage gave: | |
| Nor thou, Achilles, treat our Prince with pride; | |
| Let Kings be just; and sov’reign power preside. | 365 |
| Thee, the first honours of the war adorn, | |
| Like Gods in strength, and of a Goddess born; | |
| Him, awful majesty exalts above | |
| The powers of earth, and sceptred sons of Jove. | |
| Let both unite with well-consenting mind, | 370 |
| So shall authority with strength be join’d. | |
| Leave me, O King! to calm Achilles’ rage; | |
| Rule thou thyself, as more advanced in age. | |
| Forbid it, Gods! Achilles should be lost, | |
| The pride of Greece, and bulwark of our host.’ | 375 |
| This said, he ceas’d: the King of Men replies: | |
| ‘Thy years are awful, and thy words are wise. | |
| But that imperious, that unconquer’d soul, | |
| No laws can limit, no respect control: | |
| Before his pride must his superiors fall, | 380 |
| His word the law, and he the lord of all? | |
| Him must our hosts, our chiefs, ourself, obey? | |
| What King can bear a rival in his sway? | |
| Grant that the Gods his matchless force have giv’n; | |
| Has foul reproach a privilege from Heav’n?’ | 385 |
| Here on the Monarch’s speech Achilles broke, | |
| And furious, thus, and interrupting, spoke: | |
| ‘Tyrant, I well deserv’d thy galling chain, | |
| To live thy slave, and still to serve in vain, | |
| Should I submit to each unjust decree: | 390 |
| Command thy vassals, but command not me. | |
| Seize on Briseïs, whom the Grecians doom’d | |
| My prize of war, yet tamely see resumed; | |
| And seize secure; no more Achilles draws | |
| His conquering sword in any woman’s cause. | 395 |
| The Gods command me to forgive the past; | |
| But let this first invasion be the last: | |
| For know, thy blood, when next thou darest invade, | |
| Shall stream in vengeance on my reeking blade.’ | |
| At this they ceas’d; the stern debate expired: | 400 |
| The Chiefs in sullen majesty retired. | |
| Achilles with Patroclus took his way, | |
| Where near his tents his hollow vessels lay. | |
| Meantime Atrides launch’d with numerous oars | |
| A well-rigg’d ship for Chrysa’s sacred shores: | 405 |
| High on the deck was fair Chryseïs placed, | |
| And sage Ulysses with the conduct graced: | |
| Safe in her sides the hecatomb they stow’d, | |
| Then, swiftly sailing, cut the liquid road. | |
| The host to expiate, next the King prepares, | 410 |
| With pure lustrations and with solemn prayers. | |
| Wash’d by the briny wave, the pious train | |
| Are cleans’d; and cast th’ ablutions in the main. | |
| Along the shores whole hecatombs were laid, | |
| And bulls and goats to Phœbus’ altars paid. | 415 |
| The sable fumes in curling spires arise, | |
| And waft their grateful odours to the skies. | |
| The army thus in sacred rites engaged, | |
| Atrides still with deep resentment raged. | |
| To wait his will two sacred heralds stood, | 420 |
| Talthybius and Eurybates the good. | |
| ‘Haste to the fierce Achilles’ tent’ (he cries), | |
| ‘Thence bear Briseïs as our royal prize: | |
| Submit he must; or, if they will not part, | |
| Ourself in arms shall tear her from his heart.’ | 425 |
| Th’ unwilling heralds act their lord’s commands; | |
| Pensive they walk along the barren sands: | |
| Arrived, the hero in his tent they find, | |
| With gloomy aspect, on his arm reclin’d. | |
| At awful distance long they silent stand, | 430 |
| Loth to advance, or speak their hard command; | |
| Decent confusion! This the godlike man | |
| Perceiv’d, and thus with accent mild began: | |
| ‘With leave and honour enter our abodes, | |
| Ye sacred ministers of men and Gods! | 435 |
| I know your message; by constraint you came; | |
| Not you, but your imperious lord, I blame. | |
| Patroclus, haste, the fair Briseïs bring; | |
| Conduct my captive to the haughty King. | |
| But witness, Heralds, and proclaim my vow, | 440 |
| Witness to Gods above, and men below! | |
| But first, and loudest, to your Prince declare, | |
| That lawless tyrant whose commands you bear; | |
| Unmov’d as death Achilles shall remain, | |
| Tho’ prostrate Greece should bleed at ev’ry vein: | 445 |
| The raging Chief in frantic passion lost, | |
| Blind to himself, and useless to his host, | |
| Unskill’d to judge the future by the past, | |
| In blood and slaughter shall repent at last.’ | |
| Patroclus now th’ unwilling beauty brought; | 450 |
| She, in soft sorrows, and in pensive thought, | |
| Pass’d silent, as the heralds held her hand, | |
| And oft look’d back, slow-moving o’er the strand. | |
| Not so his loss the fierce Achilles bore; | |
| But sad retiring to the sounding shore, | 455 |
| O’er the wild margin of the deep he hung, | |
| That kindred deep from whence his mother sprung; | |
| There, bathed in tears of anger and disdain, | |
| Thus loud lamented to the stormy main: | |
| ‘O parent Goddess! since in early bloom | 460 |
| Thy son must fall, by too severe a doom; | |
| Sure, to so short a race of glory born, | |
| Great Jove in justice should this span adorn. | |
| Honour and Fame at least the Thund’rer owed; | |
| And ill he pays the promise of a God, | 465 |
| If you proud monarch thus thy son defies, | |
| Obscures my glories, and resumes my prize.’ | |
| Far in the deep recesses of the main, | |
| Where aged Ocean holds his wat’ry reign, | |
| The Goddess-mother heard. The waves divide; | 470 |
| And like a mist she rose above the tide; | |
| Beheld him mourning on the naked shores, | |
| And thus the sorrows of his soul explores: | |
| ‘Why grieves my son? thy anguish let me share, | |
| Reveal the cause, and trust a parent’s care.’ | 475 |
| He deeply sighing said: ‘To tell my woe, | |
| Is but to mention what too well you know. | |
| From Thebe, sacred to Apollo’s name | |
| (Eëtion’s realm), our conquering army came, | |
| With treasure loaded and triumphant spoils, | 480 |
| Whose just division crown’d the soldier’s toils; | |
| But bright Chryseïs, heav’nly prize! was led | |
| By vote selected to the gen’ral’s bed. | |
| The priest of Phœbus sought by gifts to gain | |
| His beauteous daughter from the victor’s chain; | 485 |
| The fleet he reach’d, and, lowly bending down, | |
| Held forth the sceptre and the laurel crown, | |
| Entreating all; but chief implor’d for grace | |
| The brother-kings of Atreus’ royal race: | |
| The gen’rous Greeks their joint consent declare, | 490 |
| The Priest to rev’rence, and release the Fair. | |
| Not so Atrides: he, with wonted pride, | |
| The sire insulted, and his gifts denied: | |
| Th’ insulted sire (his God’s peculiar care) | |
| To Phœbus pray’d, and Phœbus heard the prayer: | 495 |
| A dreadful plague ensues; th’ avenging darts | |
| Incessant fly, and pierce the Grecian hearts, | |
| A prophet then, inspired by Heav’n, arose, | |
| And points the crime, and thence derives the woes: | |
| Myself the first th’ assembled chiefs incline | 500 |
| T’ avert the vengeance of the Power divine; | |
| Then, rising in his wrath, the Monarch storm’d; | |
| Incens’d he threaten’d, and his threats perform’d: | |
| The fair Chryseïs to her sire was sent, | |
| With offer’d gifts to make the God relent; | 505 |
| But now he seized Briseïs’ heav’nly charms, | |
| And of my valour’s prize defrauds my arms, | |
| Defrauds the votes of all the Grecian train; | |
| And Service, Faith, and Justice, plead in vain. | |
| But, Goddess! thou thy suppliant son attend, | 510 |
| To high Olympus’ shining court ascend, | |
| Urge all the ties to former service owed, | |
| And sue for vengeance to the thund’ring God. | |
| Oft hast thou triumph’d in the glorious boast | |
| That thou stood’st forth, of all th’ ethereal host, | 515 |
| When bold rebellion shook the realms above, | |
| Th’ undaunted guard of cloud-compelling Jove. | |
| When the bright partner of his awful reign, | |
| The warlike maid, and Monarch of the Main, | |
| The Traitor-gods, by mad ambition driv’n, | 520 |
| Durst threat with chains th’ omnipotence of Heav’n, | |
| Then call’d by thee, the monster Titan came | |
| (Whom Gods Briareus, men Ægeon name); | |
| Thro’ wond’ring skies enormous stalk’d along; | |
| Not he that shakes the solid earth so strong: | 525 |
| With giant pride at Jove’s high throne he stands, | |
| And brandish’d round him all his hundred hands. | |
| Th’ affrighted Gods confess’d their awful lord, | |
| They dropp’d the fetters, trembled and adored. | |
| This, Goddess, this to his rememb’rance call, | 530 |
| Embrace his knees, at his tribunal fall; | |
| Conjure him far to drive the Grecian train, | |
| To hurl them headlong to their fleet and main, | |
| To heap the shores with copious death, and bring | |
| The Greeks to know the curse of such a King: | 535 |
| Let Agamemnon lift his haughty head | |
| O’er all his wide dominion of the dead, | |
| And mourn in blood, that e’er he durst disgrace | |
| The boldest warrior of the Grecian race.’ | |
| ‘Unhappy son!’ (fair Thetis thus replies, | 540 |
| While tears celestial trickle from her eyes) | |
| ‘Why have I borne thee with a mother’s throes, | |
| To fates averse, and nurs’d for future woes? | |
| So short a space the light of Heav’n to view! | |
| So short a space! and fill’d with sorrow too! | 545 |
| O might a parent’s careful wish prevail, | |
| Far, far from Ilion should thy vessels sail, | |
| And thou, from camps remote, the danger shun, | |
| Which now, alas! too nearly threats my son. | |
| Yet (what I can) to move thy suit I ’ll go | 550 |
| To great Olympus crown’d with fleecy snow. | |
| Meantime, secure within thy ships from far | |
| Behold the field, nor mingle in the war. | |
| The Sire of Gods, and all th’ ethereal train, | |
| On the warm limits of the farthest main, | 555 |
| Now mix with mortals, nor disdain to grace | |
| The feasts of Æthiopia’s blameless race: | |
| Twelve days the Powers indulge the genial rite, | |
| Returning with the twelfth revolving light. | |
| Then will I mount the brazen dome, and move | 560 |
| The high tribunal of immortal Jove.’ | |
| The Goddess spoke: the rolling waves unclose; | |
| Then down the deep she plunged, from whence she rose, | |
| And left him sorrowing on the lonely coast | |
| In wild resentment for the Fair he lost. | 565 |
| In Chrysa’s port now sage Ulysses rode; | |
| Beneath the deck the destin’d victims stow’d: | |
| The sails they furl’d, they lash’d the mast aside, | |
| And dropp’d their anchors, and the pinnace tied. | |
| Next on the shore their hecatomb they land, | 570 |
| Chryseïs last descending on the strand. | |
| Her, thus returning from the furrow’d main, | |
| Ulysses led to Phœbus’ sacred fane; | |
| Where at his solemn altar, as the maid | |
| He gave to Chryses, thus the hero said: | 575 |
| ‘Hail, rev’rend Priest! to Phœbus’ awful dome | |
| A suppliant I from great Atrides come: | |
| Unransom’d here receive the spotless Fair; | |
| Accept the hecatomb the Greeks prepare; | |
| And may thy God who scatters darts around, | 580 |
| Atoned by sacrifice, desist to wound.’ | |
| At this the sire embraced the maid again, | |
| So sadly lost, so lately sought in vain. | |
| Then near the altar of the darting King | |
| Disposed in rank their hecatomb they bring: | 585 |
| With water purify their hands, and take | |
| The sacred off’ring of the salted cake; | |
| While thus with arms devoutly raised in air, | |
| And solemn voice, the priest directs his prayer: | |
| ‘God of the Silver Bow, thy ear incline, | 590 |
| Whose power encircles Cilla the divine; | |
| Whose sacred eye thy Tenedos surveys, | |
| And gilds fair Chrysa with distinguish’d rays! | |
| If, fired to vengeance at thy priest’s request, | |
| Thy direful darts inflict the raging pest; | 595 |
| Once more attend! avert the wasteful woe, | |
| And smile propitious, and unbend thy bow.’ | |
| So Chryses pray’d, Apollo heard his prayer: | |
| And now the Greeks their hecatomb prepare; | |
| Between their horns the salted barley threw, | 600 |
| And with their heads to Heav’n the victims slew: | |
| The limbs they sever from th’ inclosing hide; | |
| The thighs, selected to the Gods, divide: | |
| On these, in double cauls involv’d with art, | |
| The choicest morsels lay from every part. | 605 |
| The priest himself before his altar stands, | |
| And burns the off’ring with his holy hands, | |
| Pours the black wine, and sees the flames aspire; | |
| The youths with instruments surround the fire: | |
| The thighs thus sacrificed, and entrails drest, | 610 |
| Th’ assistants part, transfix, and roast the rest: | |
| Then spread the tables, the repast prepare, | |
| Each takes his seat, and each receives his share. | |
| When now the rage of hunger was repress’d, | |
| With pure libations they conclude the feast: | 615 |
| The youths with wine the copious goblets crown’d, | |
| And, pleas’d, dispense the flowing bowls around. | |
| With hymns divine the joyous banquet ends, | |
| The Pæans lengthen’d till the sun descends: | |
| The Greeks, restor’d, the grateful notes prolong: | 620 |
| Apollo listens, and approves the song. | |
| ’T was night; the chiefs beside their vessel lie, | |
| Till rosy morn had purpled o’er the sky: | |
| Then launch, and hoist the mast; indulgent gales, | |
| Supplied by Phœbus, fill the swelling sails; | 625 |
| The milk-white canvas bellying as they blow, | |
| The parted ocean foams and roars below: | |
| Above the bounding billows swift they flew, | |
| Till now the Grecian camp appear’d in view. | |
| Far on the beach they haul their barks to land, | 630 |
| (The crooked keel divides the yellow sand), | |
| Then part, where stretch’d along the winding bay | |
| The ships and tents in mingled prospect lay. | |
| But, raging still, amidst his navy sate | |
| The stern Achilles, steadfast in his hate; | 635 |
| Nor mix’d in combat, nor in council join’d; | |
| But wasting cares lay heavy on his mind: | |
| In his black thoughts revenge and slaughter roll, | |
| And scenes of blood rise dreadful in his soul. | |
| Twelve days were past, and now the dawning light | 640 |
| The Gods had summon’d to th’ Olympian height: | |
| Jove, first ascending from the wat’ry bowers, | |
| Leads the long order of ethereal Powers. | |
| When like the morning mist, in early day, | |
| Rose from the flood the Daughter of the Sea; | 645 |
| And to the seats divine her flight address’d. | |
| There, far apart, and high above the rest, | |
| The Thund’rer sat; where old Olympus shrouds | |
| His hundred heads in Heav’n, and props the clouds. | |
| Suppliant the Goddess stood: one hand she placed | 650 |
| Beneath his beard, and one his knees embraced. | |
| ‘If e’er, O father of the Gods!’ she said, | |
| ‘My words could please thee, or my actions aid; | |
| Some marks of honour on thy son bestow, | |
| And pay in glory what in life you owe. | 655 |
| Fame is at least by heav’nly promise due | |
| To life so short, and now dishonour’d too. | |
| Avenge this wrong, oh ever just and wise! | |
| Let Greece be humbled, and the Trojans rise; | |
| Till the proud King, and all th’ Achaian race | 660 |
| Shall heap with honours him they now disgrace.’ | |
| Thus Thetis spoke, but Jove in silence held | |
| The sacred councils of his breast conceal’d. | |
| Not so repuls’d, the Goddess closer press’d, | |
| Still grasp’d his knees, and urged the dear request. | 665 |
| ‘O Sire of Gods and men! thy suppliant hear, | |
| Refuse, or grant; for what has Jove to fear? | |
| Or, oh! declare, of all the Powers above, | |
| Is wretched Thetis least the care of Jove?’ | |
| She said, and sighing thus the God replies, | 670 |
| Who rolls the thunder o’er the vaulted skies: | |
| ‘What hast thou ask’d? Ah, why should Jove engage | |
| In foreign contests, and domestic rage, | |
| The Gods’ complaints, and Juno’s fierce alarms, | |
| While I, too partial, aid the Trojan arms? | 675 |
| Go, lest the haughty partner of my sway | |
| With jealous eyes thy close access survey; | |
| But part in peace, secure thy prayer is sped: | |
| Witness the sacred honours of our head, | |
| The nod that ratifies the will divine, | 680 |
| The faithful, fix’d, irrevocable sign; | |
| This seals thy suit, and this fulfils thy vows—’ | |
| He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows, | |
| Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod; | |
| The stamp of Fate, and sanction of the God: | 685 |
| High Heav’n with trembling the dread signal took, | |
| And all Olympus to the centre shook. | |
| Swift to the seas profound the Goddess flies, | |
| Jove to his starry mansion in the skies. | |
| The shining Synod of th’ Immortals wait | 690 |
| The coming God, and from their thrones of state | |
| Arising silent, rapt in holy fear, | |
| Before the Majesty of Heav’n appear. | |
| Trembling they stand, while Jove assumes the throne, | |
| All, but the God’s imperious Queen alone: | 695 |
| Late had she view’d the silver-footed dame, | |
| And all her passions kindled into flame. | |
| ‘Say, artful manager of Heav’n’ (she cries), | |
| ‘Who now partakes the secrets of the skies? | |
| Thy Juno knows not the decrees of Fate, | 700 |
| In vain the partner of imperial state. | |
| What fav’rite Goddess then those cares divides, | |
| Which Jove in prudence from his consort hides?’ | |
| To this the Thund’rer: ‘Seek not thou to find | |
| The sacred counsels of almighty mind: | 705 |
| Involved in darkness lies the great decree, | |
| Nor can the depths of Fate be pierc’d by thee. | |
| What fits thy knowledge, thou the first shalt know: | |
| The first of Gods above and men below: | |
| But thou, nor they, shall search the thoughts that roll | 710 |
| Deep in the close recesses of my soul.’ | |
| Full on the Sire, the Goddess of the skies | |
| Roll’d the large orbs of her majestic eyes, | |
| And thus return’d: ‘Austere Saturnius, say, | |
| From whence this wrath, or who controls thy sway? | 715 |
| Thy boundless will, for me, remains in force, | |
| And all thy counsels take the destin’d course. | |
| But ’t is for Greece I fear: for late was seen | |
| In close consult the Silver-footed Queen. | |
| Jove to his Thetis nothing could deny, | 720 |
| Nor was the signal vain that shook the sky. | |
| What fatal favour has the Goddess won, | |
| To grace her fierce inexorable son? | |
| Perhaps in Grecian blood to drench the plain, | |
| And glut his vengeance with my people slain.’ | 725 |
| Then thus the God: ‘Oh restless fate of pride, | |
| That strives to learn what Heav’n resolves to hide; | |
| Vain is the search, presumptuous and abhorr’d, | |
| Anxious to thee, and odious to thy Lord. | |
| Let this suffice: th’ immutable decree | 730 |
| No force can shake: what is, that ought to be. | |
| Goddess, submit, nor dare our will withstand, | |
| But dread the power of this avenging hand; | |
| Th’ united strength of all the Gods above | |
| In vain resist th’ omnipotence of Jove.’ | 735 |
| The Thund’rer spoke, nor durst the Queen reply; | |
| A rev’rend horror silenced all the sky. | |
| The feast disturb’d, with sorrow Vulcan saw | |
| His mother menaced, and the Gods in awe; | |
| Peace at his heart, and pleasure his design, | 740 |
| Thus interposed the architect divine: | |
| ‘The wretched quarrels of the mortal state | |
| Are far unworthy, Gods! of your debate: | |
| Let men their days in senseless strife employ, | |
| We, in eternal peace, and constant joy. | 745 |
| Thou, Goddess-mother, with our sire comply, | |
| Nor break the sacred union of the sky: | |
| Lest, rous’d to rage, he shake the blest abodes, | |
| Launch the red lightning, and dethrone the Gods. | |
| If you submit, the Thund’rer stands appeas’d; | 750 |
| The gracious Power is willing to be pleas’d.’ | |
| Thus Vulcan spoke; and, rising with a bound, | |
| The double bowl with sparkling nectar crown’d, | |
| Which held to Juno in a cheerful way, | |
| ‘Goddess’ (he cried), ‘be patient and obey. | 755 |
| Dear as you are, if Jove his arm extend, | |
| I can but grieve, unable to defend. | |
| What God so daring in your aid to move, | |
| Or lift his hand against the force of Jove? | |
| Once in your cause I felt his matchless might, | 760 |
| Hurl’d headlong downward from th’ ethereal height; | |
| Toss’d all the day in rapid circles round; | |
| Nor, till the sun descended, touch’d the ground: | |
| Breathless I fell, in giddy motion lost; | |
| The Sinthians rais’d me on the Lemnian coast.’ | 765 |
| He said, and to her hands the goblet heav’d, | |
| Which, with a smile, the white-arm’d Queen receiv’d. | |
| Then to the rest he fill’d; and, in his turn, | |
| Each to his lips applied the nectar’d urn. | |
| Vulcan with awkward grace his office plies, | 770 |
| And unextinguish’d laughter shakes the skies. | |
| Thus the blest Gods the genial day prolong, | |
| In feasts ambrosial, and celestial song. | |
| Apollo tuned the lyre; the Muses round | |
| With voice alternate aid the silver sound. | 775 |
| Meantime the radiant sun, to mortal sight | |
| Descending swift, roll’d down the rapid light. | |
| Then to their starry domes the Gods depart, | |
| The shining monuments of Vulcan’s art: | |
| Jove on his couch reclin’d his awful head, | 780 |
| And Juno slumber’d on the golden bed. | |
| |
