Iliad

The stern fight freed of all the Gods, conquest with doubtful wings

Flew on their lances; ev'ry way the restless field she flings

Betwixt the floods of Simois and Xanthus, that confin'd

All their affairs of Ilion, and round about them shin'd.

The first that weigh'd down all the field, of one particular side,

Was Ajax, son of Telamon; who, like a bulwark, plied

The Greeks' protection, and of Troy the knotty orders brake,

Held out a light to all the rest, and showed them how to make

Way to their conquest, He did wound the strongest man of Thrace,

The tallest and the biggest set, Eussorian Acamas;

His lance fell on his casque's plum'd top, in stooping; the fell head

Drave through his forehead to his jaws; his eyes night shadowéd.

Tydides slew Teuthranides Axylus, that did dwell,

In fair Arisba's well-built tow'rs. He had of wealth a well,

And yet was kind and bountiful; he would a traveller pray

To be his guest, his friendly house stood in the broad highway,

In which he all sorts nobly us'd; yet none of them would stand

'Twixt him and death, but both himself, and he that had command

Of his fair horse, Calesius, fell lifeless on the ground.

Euryalus, Opheltius and Dresus dead did wound;

Nor ended there his fi'ry course, which he again begins,

And ran to it successfully, upon a pair of twins,

Æsepus, and bold Pedasus, whom good Bucolion

(That first call'd father, though base-born, renown'd Laomedon)

On Nais Abarbaræa got, a nymph that, as she fed

Her curléd flocks, Bucolion woo'd, and mix'd in love and bed.

Both these were spoiled of arms and life, by Mecistiades.

Then Polypœtes, for stern death, Astyalus did seize;

Ulysses slew Percosius; Teucer Aretaön;

Antilochus (old Nestor's joy) Ablerus; the great son

Of Atreüs, and king of men, Elatus, whose abode:

He held at upper Pedasus, where Satnius' river flowed;

The great heroë Leitus stay'd Phylacus in flight

From further life; Eurypylus, Melanthius reft of light.

The brother to the king of men, Adrestus took alive;

Whose horse, affrighted with the flight, their driver now did drive

Amongst the low-grown tam'risk trees, and at an arm of one

The chariot in the draught-tree brake; the horse brake loose, and ron

The same way other flyers fled, contending all to town;

Himself close at the chariot wheel, upon his face was thrown,

And there lay flat, rolled up in dust. Atrides inwards drave;

And, holding at his breast his lance, Adrestus sought to save

His head by losing of his feet, and trusting to his knees;

On which the same parts of the king he hugs, and offers fees

Of worthy value for his life, and thus pleads their receipt:

“Take me alive, O Atreus' son, and take a worthy weight

Of brass, elab'rate iron, and gold. A heap of precious things

Are in my father's riches hid, which, when your servant brings

News of my safety to his ears, he largely will divide

With your rare bounties.” Atreus' son thought this the better side,

And meant to take it, being about to send him safe to fleet;

Which when, far off, his brother saw, he wing'd his royal feet,

And came in threat'ning, crying out: “O soft heart! What's the cause

Thou spar'st these men thus? Have not they observ'd these gentle laws

Of mild humanity to thee, with mighty argument

Why thou shouldst deal thus; in thy house, and with all precedent

Of honour'd guest-rites, entertain'd? Not one of them shall fly

A bitter end for it from heav'n, and much less, dotingly,

'Scape our revengeful fingers; all, ev'n th' infant in the womb,

Shall taste of what they merited, and have no other tomb

Than razéd Ilion; nor their race have more fruit than the dust.”

This just cause turn'd his brother's mind, who violently thrust

The pris'ner from him; in whose guts the king of men impress'd

His ashen lance, which (pitching down his foot upon the breast

Of him that upwards fell) he drew; then Nestor spake to all:

“O friends, and household men of Mars, let not your púrsuit fall,

With those ye fell, for present spoil; nor, like the king of men,

Let any 'scape unfell'd; but on, dispatch them all, and then

Ye shall have time enough to spoil.” This made so strong their chace,

That all the Trojans had been hous'd, and never turned a face,

Had not the Priamist Helenus, an augur most of name,

Will'd Hector and Æneas thus: “Hector! Anchises' fame!

Since on your shoulders, with good cause, the weighty burden lies

Of Troy and Lycia (being both of noblest faculties

For counsel, strength of hand, and apt to take chance at her best

In ev'ry turn she makes) stand fast, and suffer not the rest,

By any way search'd out for 'scape, to come within the ports,

Lest, fled into their wives' kind arms, they there be made the sports

Of the pursuing enemy. Exhort, and force your bands

To turn their faces; and, while we employ our ventur'd hands,

Though in a hard conditión, to make the other stay,

Hector, go thou to Ilion, and our queen-mother pray

To take the richest robe she hath; the same that's chiefly dear

To her court fancy; with which gem, assembling more to her

Of Troy's chief matrons, let all go, for fear of all our fates,

To Pallas' temple, take the key, unlock the leavy gates,

Enter, and reach the highest tow'r, where her Palladium stands,

And on it put the precious veil with pure and rev'rend hands,

And vow to her, besides the gift, a sacrificing stroke

Of twelve fat heifers-of-a-year, that never felt the yoke,

(Most answ'ring to her maiden state) if she will pity us,

Our town, our wives, our youngest joys, and him, that plagues them thus,

Take from the conflict, Diomed, that fury in a fight,

That true son of great Tydeús, that cunning lord of flight,

Whom I esteem the strongest Greek; for we have never fled

Achilles, that is prince of men, and whom a Goddess bred,

Like him; his fury flies so high, and all men's wraths commands.”

Hector intends his brother's will, but first through all his bands

He made quick way, encouraging; and all, to fear afraid,

All turn'd their heads, and made Greece turn. Slaughter stood still dismay'd

On their parts, for they thought some God, fall'n from the vault of stars,

Was rush'd into the Ilions' aid, they made such dreadful wars.

Thus Hector, toiling in the waves, and thrusting back the flood

Of his ebb'd forces, thus takes leave: “So, so, now runs your blood

In his right current; forwards now, Trojans, and far-call'd friends!

Awhile hold out, till, for success to this your brave amends,

I haste to Ilion, and procure our counsellors and wives

To pray, and offer hecatombs, for their states in our lives.”

Then fair-helm'd Hector turn'd to Troy, and, as he trode the field,

The black bull's hide, that at his back he wore about his shield,

In the extreme circumference, was with his gait so rock'd,

That, being large, it both at once his neck and ankles knock'd.

And now betwixt the hosts were met, Hippolochus' brave son,

Glaucus, who in his very look hope of some wonder won,

And little Tydeus' mighty heir; who seeing such a man

Offer the field, for usual blows, with wondrous words began:

“What art thou, strong'st of mortal men, that putt'st so far before,

Whom these fights never show'd mine eyes? They have been evermore

Sons of unhappy parents born, that came within the length

Of this Minerva-guided lance, and durst close with the strength

That she inspires in me. If heav'n be thy divine abode,

And thou a Deity thus inform'd, no more with any God

Will I change lances. The strong son of Dryus did not live

Long after such a conflict dar'd, who godlessly did drive

Nysæus' nurses through the hill made sacred to his name,

And called Nysseius; with a goad he punch'd each furious dame,

And made them ev'ry one cast down their green and leavy spears.

This th' homicide Lycurgus did; and those ungodly fears,

He put the froes in, seiz'd their God. Ev'n Bacchus he did drive

From his Nysseius; who was fain, with huge exclaims, to dive

Into the ocean. Thetis there in her bright bosom took

The flying Deity; who so fear'd Lycurgus' threats, he shook.

For which the freely-living Gods so highly were incens'd,

That Saturn's great Son strook him blind, and with his life dispens'd

But small time after; all because th' Immortals lov'd him not,

Nor lov'd him since he striv'd with them; and his end hath begot

Fear in my pow'rs to fight with heav'n. But, if the fruits of earth

Nourish thy body, and thy life be of our human birth,

Come near, that thou mayst soon arrive on that life-bounding shore,

To which I see thee hoise such sail.” “Why dost thou so explore,”

Said Glaucus, “of what race I am, when like the race of leaves

The race of man is, that deserves no question; nor receives

My being any other breath? The wind in autumn strows

The earth with old leaves then the spring the woods with new endows;

And so death scatters men on earth, so life puts out again

Man's leavy issue. But my race, if, like the course of men,

Thou seek'st in more particular terms, 'tis this, to many known:

In midst of Argos, nurse of horse, there stands a walléd town,

Ephyré, where the mansion-house of Sisyphus did stand,

Of Sisyphus-Æölides, most wise of all the land.

Glaucus was son to him, and he begat Bellerophon,

Whose body heav'n indu'd with strength, and put a beauty on,

Exceeding lovely. Prætis yet his cause of love did hate,

And banish'd him the town; he might; he rul'd the Argive state.

The virtue of the one Jove plac'd beneath the other's pow'r,

His exile grew, since he denied to be the paramour

Of fair Anteia, Prætus' wife, who felt a raging fire

Of secret love to him; but he, whom wisdom did inspire

As well as prudence, (one of them advising him to shun

The danger of a princess' love, the other not to run

Within the danger of the Gods, the act being simply ill,)

Still entertaining thoughts divine, subdu'd the earthly still.

She, rul'd by neither of his wits, preferr'd her lust to both,

And, false to Prætus, would seem true, with this abhorr'd untroth:

'Prætus, or die thyself,' said she, 'or let Bellerophon die.

He urg'd dishonour to thy bed; which since I did deny,

He thought his violence should grant, and sought thy shame by force.'

The king, incens'd with her report, resolv'd upon her course,

But doubted how it should be run; he shunn'd his death direct,

(Holding a way so near not safe) and plotted the effect

By sending him with letters seal'd (that, open'd, touch his life)

To Rhëuns king of Lycia, and father to his wife.

He went; and happily he went, the Gods walk'd all his way;

And being arriv'd in Lycia, where Xanthus doth display

The silver ensigns of his waves, the king of that broad land

Receiv'd him with a wondrous free and honourable hand.

Nine days he feasted him, and kill'd an ox in ev'ry day,

In thankful sacrifice to heav'n, for his fair guest; whose stay,

With rosy fingers, brought the world, the tenth well-welcom'd morn,

And then the king did move to see, the letters he had borne

From his lov'd son-in-law; which seen, he wrought thus their contents:

Chimæra, the invincible, he sent him to convince,

Sprung from no man, but mere divine; a lion's shape before,

Behind a dragon's, in the midst a goat's shagg'd form, she bore,

And flames of deadly fervency flew from her breath and eyes;

Yet her he slew; his confidence in sacred prodigies

Render'd him victor. Then he gave his second conquest way

Against the famous Solymi, when (he himself would say,

Reporting it) he enter'd on a passing vig'rous fight.

His third huge labour he approv'd against a woman's spite,

That fill'd a field of Amazons; he overcame them all.

Then set they on him sly Deceit, when Force had such a fall;

An ambush of the strongest men, that spacious Lycia bred,

Was lodg'd for him; whom he lodg'd sure, they never rais'd a head.

His deeds thus showing him deriv'd from some celestial race,

The king detain'd, and made amends, with doing him the grace

Of his fair daughter's princely gift; and with her, for a dow'r,

Gave half his kingdom; and to this, the Lycians on did pour

More than was giv'n to any king; a goodly planted field,

In some parts thick of groves and woods, the rest rich crops did yield,

This field the Lycians futurely (of future wand'rings there

And other errors of their prince, in the unhappy rear

Of his sad life) the Errant call'd, The princess brought him forth

Three children (whose ends griev'd him more, the more they were of worth)

Isander; and Hippolochus; and fair Laodomy,

With whom, ev'n Jupiter himself left heav'n itself, to lie,

And had by her the man at arms, Sarpedon, call'd divine,

The Gods then left him, lest a man should in their glories shine,

And set against him; for his son, Isandrus, in a strife

Against the valiant Solymi, Mars reft of light and life;

Laodamïa, being envied of all the Goddesses,

The golden-bridle-handling Queen, the maiden Patroness,

Slew with an arrow; and for this he wander'd evermore

Alone through his Aleian field, and fed upon the core

Of his sad bosom, flying all the loth'd consórts of men.

Yet had he one surviv'd to him, of those three childeren,

Hippolochus, the root of me; who sent me here with charge

That I should always bear me well, and my deserts enlarge

Beyond the vulgar, lest I sham'd my race, that far excell'd

All that Ephyra's famous tow'rs, or ample Lycia, held.

This is my stock, and this am I.” This cheer'd Tydides' heart,

Who pitch'd his spear down, lean'd, and talk'd in this affectionate part:

“Certés, in thy great ancestor, and in mine own, thou art

A guest of mine, right ancient. King Oeneus twenty days

Detain'd, with feasts, Bellerophon, whom all the world did praise.

Betwixt whom mutual gifts were giv'n, My grandsire gave to thine

A girdle of Phœnician work, impurpl'd wondrous fine,

Thine gave a two-neck'd jug of gold, which, though I use not here,

Yet still it is my gem at home. But, if our fathers were

Familiar, or each other knew, I know not, since my sire

Left me a child, at siege of Thebes, where he left his life's fire.

But let us prove our grandsires' sons, and be each other's guests.

To Lycia when I come, do thou receive thy friend with feasts;

Peloponnesus, with the like, shall thy wish'd presence greet.

Mean space, shun we each other here, though in the press we meet.

There are enow of Troy beside, and men enow renown'd,

To right my pow'rs, whomever heav'n shall let my lance confound,

So are there of the Greeks for thee; kill who thou canst. And now,

For sign of amity 'twixt us, and that all these may know

We glory in th' hospitious rites our grandsires did commend,

Change we our arms before them all.” From horse then both descend,

Join hands, give faith, and take; and then did Jupiter elate

The mind of Glaucus, who, to show his rev'rence to the state

Of virtue in his grandsire's heart, and gratulate beside

The offer of so great a friend, exchang'd in that good pride,

Curets of gold for those of brass, that did on Diomed shine,

One of a hundred oxen's price, the other but of nine.

By this, had Hector reach'd the ports of Scæa, and the tow'rs.

About him flock'd the wives of Troy, the children, paramours,

Inquiring how their husbands did, their fathers, brothers, loves.

He stood not then to answer them, but said: “It now behoves

Ye should all go t' implore the aid of heav'n, in a distress

Of great effect, and imminent.” Then hasted he access

To Priam's goodly builded court, which round about was run

With walking porches, galleries, to keep off rain and sun.

Within, of one side, on a rew, of sundry-colour'd stones,

Fifty fair lodgings were built out, for Priam's fifty sons,

And for as fair sort of their wives; and, in the opposite view,

Twelve lodgings of like stone, like height, were likewise built arew,

Where, with their fair and virtuous wives, twelve princes, sons in law

To honourable Priam, lay. And here met Hecuba,

The loving mother, her great son; and with her needs must be

The fairest of her female race, the bright Laodice.

The queen gript hard her Hector's hand, and said: “O worthiest son,

Why leav'st thou field? Is't not because the curséd nation

Afflict our countrymen and friends? They are their moans that move

Thy mind to come and lift thy hands, in his high tow'r, to Jove.

But stay a little, that myself may fetch our sweetest wine

To offer first to Jupiter, then that these joints of thine

May be refresh'd; for, woe is me, how thou art toil'd and spent!

Thou for our city's gen'ral state, thou for our friends far sent,

Must now the press of fight endure; now solitude, to call

Upon the name of Jupiter; thou only for us all.

But wine will something comfort thee; for to a man dismay'd

With careful spirits, or too much with labour overlaid,

Wine brings much rescue, strength'ning much the body and the mind.”

The great helm-mover thus receiv'd the auth'ress of his kind:

“My royal mother, bring no wine; lest rather it impair

Than help my strength, and make my mind forgetful of th' affair

Committed to it; and (to pour it out in sacrifice)

I fear with unwash'd hands to serve the pure-liv'd Deities.

Nor is it lawful, thus imbru'd with blood and dust, to prove

The will of heav'n, or offer vows to cloud-compelling Jove.

I only come to use your pains (assembling other dames,

Matrons, and women honour'd most, with high and virtuous names)

With wine and odours, and a robe most ample, most of price,

And which is dearest in your love, to offer sacrifice

In Pallas' temple; and to put the precious robe ye bear.

On her Palladium; vowing all, twelve oxen-of-a-year,

Whose necks were never wrung with yoke, shall pay her grace their lives,

If she will pity our sieg'd town; pity ourselves, our wives;

Pity our children; and remove, from sacred Ilion,

The dreadful soldier Diomed. And, when yourselves are gone

About this work, myself will go, to call into the field,

If he will hear me, Helen's love; whom would the earth would yield)

And headlong take into her gulf, even quick before mine eyes;

For then my heart, I hope, would cast her load of miseries,

Borne for the plague he hath been born, and bred to the deface,

By great Olympius, of Troy, our sire, and all our race.”

This said, grave Hecuba went home, and sent her maids about,

To bid the matrons. She herself descended, and search'd out,

Within a place that breath'd perfumes, the richest robe she had;

Which lay with many rich ones more, most curiously made

By women of Sidonia; which Paris brought from thence,

Sailing the broad sea, when he made that voyage of offence,

In which he brought home Helena. That robe, transferr'd so far,

(That was the undermost) she took; it glittered like a star;

And with it went she to the fane, with many ladies more;

Amongst whom fair-cheek'd Theano unlock'd the folded door;

Chaste Theano, Antenor's wife, and of Cissëus' race,

Sister to Hecuba, both born to that great king of Thrace.

Her th' Ilions made Minerva's priest; and her they follow'd all

Up to the temple's highest tow'r, where on their knees they fall,

Lift up their hands, and fill the fane with ladies' piteous cries.

Then lovely Theano took the veil, and with it she implies

The great Palladium, praying thus: “Goddess of most renown

In all the heav'n of Goddesses, great Guardian of our town,

Rev'rend Minerva, break the lance of Diomed, cease his grace,

Give him to fall in shameful flight, headlong, and on his face,

Before our ports of Ilion, that instantly we may,

Twelve unyok'd oxen-of-a-year, in this thy temple slay,

To thy sole honour; take their bloods, and banish our offence;

Accept Troy's zeal, her wives, and save her infants' innocence.”

She pray'd, but Pallas would not grant. Mean space was Hector come

Where Alexander's lodgings were, that many a goodly room

Had built in them by architects, of Troy's most curious sort,

And were no lodgings, but a house; nor no house, but a court;

Or had all these contain'd in them; and all within a tow'r,

Next Hector's lodgings and the king's. The lov'd of heav'n's chief Pow'r,

Hector, here enter'd. In his hand a goodly lance he bore,

Ten cubits long; the brazen head went shining ill before,

Help'd with a burnish'd ring of gold. He found his brother then

Amongst the women, yet prepar'd to go amongst the men,

For in their chamber he was set, trimming his arms, his shield,

His curets, and was trying how his crookéd bow would yield

To his straight arms. Amongst her maids was set the Argive Queen,

Commanding them in choicest works. When Hector's eye had seen

His brother thus accompanied, and that he could not bear

The very touching of his arms but where the women were,

And when the time so needed men, right cunningly he chid.

That he might do it bitterly, his cowardice he hid,

That simply made him so retir'd, beneath an anger, feign'd

In him by Hector, for the hate the citizens sustain'd

Against him, for the foil he took in their cause; and again,

For all their gen'ral foils in his. So Hector seems to plain

Of his wrath to them, for their hate, and not his cowardice;

As that were it that shelter'd him in his effeminacies,

And kept him, in that dang'rous time, from their fit aid in fight;

For which he chid thus: “Wretched man! So timeless is thy spite

That 'tis not honest; and their hate is just, 'gainst which it bends.

War burns about the town for thee; for thee our slaughter'd friends

Besiege Troy with their carcasses, on whose heaps our high walls

Are overlook'd by enemies; the sad sounds of their falls

Without, are echo'd with the cries of wives and babes within;

And all for thee; and yet for them thy honour cannot win

Head of thine anger. Thou shouldst need no spirit to stir up thine,

But thine should set the rest on fire, and with a rage divine

Chastise impartially the best, that impiously forbears.

Come forth, lest thy fair tow'rs and Troy be burn'd about thine ears.”

Paris acknowledg'd, as before, all just that Hector spake,

Allowing justice, though it were for his injustice' sake;

And where his brother put a wrath upon him by his art,

He takes it, for his honour's sake, as sprung out of his heart,

And rather would have anger seem his fault than cowardice;

And thus he answer'd: “Since, with right, you join'd check with advice,

And I hear you, give equal ear: It is not any spleen

Against the town, as you conceive, that makes me so unseen,

But sorrow for it; which to ease, and by discourse digest

Within myself, I live so close; and yet, since men might wrest

My sad retreat, like you, my wife with her advice inclin'd

This my addression to the field; which was mine own free mind,

As well as th' instance of her words; for though the foil were mine,

Conquest brings forth her wreaths by turns. Stay then this haste of thine

But till I arm, and I am made a cónsort for thee straight;—

Or go, I'll overtake thy haste.” Helen stood at receipt,

And took up all great Hector's pow'rs, t' attend her heavy words,

By which had Paris no reply. This vent her grief affords:

“Brother (if I may call you so, that had been better born

A dog, than such a horrid dame, as all men curse and scorn,

A mischief-maker, a man-plague) O would to God, the day,

That first gave light to me, had been a whirlwind in my way,

And borne me to some desert hill, or hid me in the rage

Of earth's most far-resounding seas, ere I should thus engage

The dear lives of so many friends! Yet since the Gods have been

Helpless foreseers of my plagues, they might have likewise seen

That he they put in yoke with me, to bear out their award,

Had been a man of much more spirit, and, or had noblier dar'd

To shield mine honour with this deed, or with his mind had known

Much better the upbraids of men, that so he might have shown

(More like a man) some sense of grief for both my shame and his.

But he is senseless, nor conceives what any manhood is,

Nor now, nor ever after will; and therefore hangs, I fear,

A plague above him. But come near, good brother; rest you here,

Who, of the world of men, stands charg'd with most unrest for me,

(Vile wretch) and for my lover's wrong; on whom a destiny

So bitter is impos'd by Jove, that all succeeding times

Will put, to our unended shames, in all men's mouths our crimes.”

He answer'd: “Helen, do not seek to make me sit with thee;

I must not stay, though well I know thy honour'd love of me.

My mind calls forth to aid our friends, in whom my absence breeds

Longings to see me; for whose sakes, importune thou to deeds

This man by all means, that your care may make his own make hast,

And meet me in the open town, that all may see at last

He minds his lover. I myself will now go home, and see

My household, my dear wife, and son, that little hope of me;

For, sister, 'tis without my skill, if I shall evermore

Return, and see them, or to earth, her right in me, restore.

The Gods may stoop me by the Greeks.” This said, he went to see

The virtuous princess, his true wife, white-arm'd Andromache.

She, with her infant son and maid, was climb'd the tow'r about

The sight of him that sought for her, weeping and crying out.

Hector, not finding her at home, was going forth; retir'd;

Stood in the gate; her woman call'd, and curiously inquir'd

Where she was gone; bad tell him true, if she were gone to see

His sisters, or his brothers' wives; or whether she should be

At temple with the other dames, t' implore Minerva's ruth.

Her woman answer'd: Since he ask'd, and urg'd so much the truth,

The truth was she was neither gone, to see his brothers' wives,

His sisters, nor t' implore the ruth of Pallas on their lives;

But she (advertis'd of the bane Troy suffer'd, and how vast

Conquest had made herself for Greece) like one distraught, made hast

To ample Ilion with her son, and nurse, and all the way

Mourn'd, and dissolv'd in tears for him. Then Hector made no stay,

But trod her path, and through the streets, magnificently built,

All the great city pass'd, and came where, seeing how blood was spilt,

Andromache might see him come: who made as he would pass

The ports without saluting her, not knowing where she was.

She, with his sight, made breathless haste, to meet him; she, whose grace

Brought him withal so great a dow'r; she that of all the race

Of king Aëtion only liv'd; Aëtion, whose house stood

Beneath the mountain Placius, environ'd with the wood

Of Theban Hypoplace, being court to the Cilician land.

She ran to Hector, and with her, tender of heart and hand,

Her son, borne in his nurse's arms; when, like a heav'nly sign,

Compact of many golden stars, the princely child did shine,

Whom Hector call'd Scamandrius, but whom the town did name

Astyanax, because his sire did only prop the same.

Hector, though grief bereft his speech, yet smil'd upon his joy.

Andromache cried out, mix'd hands, and to the strength of Troy

Thus wept forth her affectión: “O noblest in desire!

Thy mind, inflam'd with others' good, will set thyself on fire.

Nor pitiest thou thy son, nor wife, who must thy widow be,

If now thou issue; all the field will only run on thee.

Better my shoulders underwent the earth, than thy decease;

For then would earth bear joys no more; then comes the black increase

Of griefs (like Greeks on Ilion). Alas! What one survives

To be my refuge? One black day bereft sev'n brothers' lives,

By stern Achilles; by his hand my father breath'd his last,

His high-wall'd rich Cilician Thebes sack'd by him, and laid wast;

The royal body yet he left unspoil'd; religion charm'd

That act of spoil; and all in fire he burn'd him cómplete arm'd;

Built over him a royal tomb; and to the monument

He left of him, th' Oreades (that are the high descent

Of Ægis-bearing Jupiter) another of their own

Did add to it, and set it round with elms; by which is shown,

In theirs, the barrenness of death; yet might it serve beside

To shelter the sad monument from all the ruffinous pride

Of storms and tempests, us'd to hurt things of that noble kind,

The short life yet my mother liv'd he sav'd, and serv'd his mind

With all the riches of the realm; which not enough esteem'd

He kept her pris'ner; whom small time, but much more wealth, redeem'd,

And she, in sylvan Hypoplace, Cilicia rul'd again,

But soon was over-rul'd by death; Diana's chaste disdain

Gave her a lance, and took her life. Yet, all these gone from me,

Thou amply render'st all; thy life makes still my father be,

My mother, brothers; and besides thou art my husband too,

Most lov'd, most worthy. Pity them, dear love, and do not go,

For thou gone, all these go again; pity our common joy,

Lest, of a father's patronage, the bulwark of all Troy,

Thou leav'st him a poor widow's charge. Stay, stay then, in this tow'r,

And call up to the wild fig-tree all thy retiréd pow'r;

For there the wall is easiest scal'd, and fittest for surprise,

And there, th' Ajaces, Idomen, th' Atrides, Diomed, thrice

Have both survey'd and made attempt; I know not if induc'd

By some wise augury, or the fact was naturally infus'd

Into their wits, or courages.” To this, great Hector said:

“Be well assur'd, wife, all these things in my kind cares are weigh'd.

But what a shame, and fear, it is to think how Troy would scorn

(Both in her husbands, and her wives, whom long-train'd gowns adorn)

That I should cowardly fly off! The spirit I first did breath

Did never teach me that; much less, since the contempt of death

Was settled in me, and my mind knew what a worthy was,

Whose office is to lead in fight, and give no danger pass

Without improvement. In this fire must Hector's trial shine;

Here must his country, father, friends, be, in him, made divine.

And such a stormy day shall come (in mind and soul I know)

When sacred Troy shall shed her tow'rs, for tears of overthrow;

When Priam, all his birth and pow'r, shall in those tears be drown'd.

But neither Troy's posterity so much my soul doth wound,

Priam, nor Hecuba herself, nor all my brothers' woes,

(Who though so many, and so good, must all be food for foes)

As thy sad state; when some rude Greek shall lead thee weeping hence,

These free days clouded, and a night of captive violence

Loading thy temples, out of which thine eyes must never see,

But spin the Greek wives' webs of task, and their fetch water be

To Argos, from Messeides, or clear Hyperia's spring;

Which howsoever thou abhorr'st, Fate's such a shrewish thing

She will be mistress; whose curs'd hands, when they shall crush out cries

From thy oppressions (being beheld by other enemies)

Thus they will nourish thy extremes: 'This dame was Hector's wife,

A man that, at the wars of Troy, did breathe the worthiest life

Of all their army.' This again will rub thy fruitful wounds,

To miss the man that to thy bands could give such narrow bounds.

But that day shall not wound mine eyes; the solid heap of night

Shall interpose, and stop mine ears against thy plaints, and plight.”

This said, he reach'd to take his son; who, of his arms afraid,

And then the horse-hair plume, with which he was so overlaid,

Nodded so horribly, he cling'd back to his nurse, and cried.

Laughter affected his great sire, who doff'd, and laid aside

His fearful helm, that on the earth cast round about it light;

Then took and kiss'd his loving son, and (balancing his weight

In dancing him) these loving vows to living Jove he us'd

And all the other bench of Gods: “O you that have infus'd

Soul to this infant, now set down this blessing on his star;—

Let his renown be clear as mine; equal his strength in war;

And make his reign so strong in Troy, that years to come may yield

His facts this fame, when, rich in spoils, he leaves the conquer'd field

Sown with his slaughters: 'These high deeds exceed his father's worth.'

And let this echo'd praise supply the comforts to come forth

Of his kind mother with my life.” This said, th' heroic sire

Gave him his mother; whose fair eyes fresh streams of love's salt fire

Billow'd on her soft cheeks, to hear the last of Hector's speech,

In which his vows compris'd the sum of all he did beseech

In her wish'd comfort. So she took into her od'rous breast

Her husband's gift; who, mov'd to see her heart so much oppress'd,

He dried her tears, and thus desir'd: “Afflict me not, dear wife,

With these vain griefs. He doth not live, that can disjoin my life

And this firm bosom, but my fate; and fate, whose wings can fly?

Noble, ignoble, fate controls. Once born, the best must die,

Go home, and set thy housewif'ry on these extremes of thought;

And drive war from them with thy maids; keep them from doing nought.

These will be nothing; leave the cares of war to men, and me

In whom, of all the Ilion race, they take their high'st degree.”

On went his helm; his princess home, half cold with kindly fears;

When ev'ry fear turn'd back her looks, and ev'ry look shed tears.

Foe-slaught'ring Hector's house soon reach'd, her many women there

Wept all to see her: in his life great Hector's fun'rals were;

Never look'd any eye of theirs to see their lord safe home,

'Scap'd from the gripes and pow'rs of Greece. And now was Paris come

From his high tow'rs; who made no stay, when once he had put on

His richest armour, but flew forth; the flints he trod upon

Sparkled with lustre of his arms; his long-ebb'd spirits now flow'd

The higher for their lower ebb. And as a fair steed, proud

With full-giv'n mangers, long tied up, and now, his head stall broke,

He breaks from stable, runs the field, and with an ample stroke

Measures the centre, neighs, and lifts aloft his wanton head,

About his shoulders shakes his crest, and where he hath been fed,

Or in some calm flood wash'd, or, stung with his high plight, he flies

Amongst his females, strength put forth, his beauty beautifies,

And, like life's mirror, bears his gait; so Paris from the tow'r

Of lofty Pergamus came forth; he show'd a sun-like pow'r

In carriage of his goodly parts, address'd now to the strife;

And found his noble brother near the place he left his wife.

Him thus respected he salutes: “Right worthy, I have fear

That your so serious haste to field, my stay hath made forbear,

And that I come not as you wish.” He answer'd: “Honour'd man,

Be confident, for not myself, nor any others, can

Reprove in thee the work of fight, at least, not any such

As is an equal judge of things; for thou hast strength as much

As serves to execute a mind very important, but

Thy strength too readily flies off, enough will is not put

To thy ability. My heart is in my mind's strife sad,

When Troy (out of her much distress, she and her friends have had

By thy procurement) doth deprave thy noblesse in mine ears.

But come, hereafter we shall calm these hard conceits of theirs,

When, from their ports the foe expuls'd, high Jove to them hath giv'n

Wish'd peace, and us free sacrifice to all the Powers of heav'n.”