The Iliad Part 57

One fate the warrior and the friend shall strike, And Troy's black sands must drink our blood alike: Me too a wretched mother shall deplore, An aged father never see me more!

Yet, my Patroclus! yet a s.p.a.ce I stay, Then swift pursue thee on the darksome way.

Ere thy dear relics in the grave are laid, Shall Hector's head be offer'd to thy shade; That, with his arms, shall hang before thy shrine; And twelve, the n.o.blest of the Trojan line, Sacred to vengeance, by this hand expire; Their lives effused around thy flaming pyre.

Thus let me lie till then! thus, closely press'd, Bathe thy cold face, and sob upon thy breast!

While Trojan captives here thy mourners stay, Weep all the night and murmur all the day: Spoils of my arms, and thine; when, wasting wide, Our swords kept time, and conquer'd side by side."

He spoke, and bade the sad attendants round Cleanse the pale corse, and wash each honour'd wound.

A ma.s.sy caldron of stupendous frame They brought, and placed it o'er the rising flame: Then heap'd the lighted wood; the flame divides Beneath the vase, and climbs around the sides: In its wide womb they pour the rushing stream; The boiling water bubbles to the brim.

The body then they bathe with pious toil, Embalm the wounds, anoint the limbs with oil, High on a bed of state extended laid, And decent cover'd with a linen shade; Last o'er the dead the milk-white veil they threw; That done, their sorrows and their sighs renew.

Meanwhile to Juno, in the realms above, (His wife and sister,) spoke almighty Jove.

"At last thy will prevails: great Peleus' son Rises in arms: such grace thy Greeks have won.

Say (for I know not), is their race divine, And thou the mother of that martial line?"

"What words are these? (the imperial dame replies, While anger flash'd from her majestic eyes) Succour like this a mortal arm might lend, And such success mere human wit attend: And shall not I, the second power above, Heaven's queen, and consort of the thundering Jove, Say, shall not I one nation's fate command, Not wreak my vengeance on one guilty land?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: TRIPOD.]

TRIPOD.

So they. Meanwhile the silver-footed dame Reach'd the Vulcanian dome, eternal frame!

High-eminent amid the works divine, Where heaven's far-beaming brazen mansions shine.

There the lame architect the G.o.ddess found, Obscure in smoke, his forges flaming round, While bathed in sweat from fire to fire he flew; And puffing loud, the roaring billows blew.

That day no common task his labour claim'd: Full twenty tripods for his hall he framed, That placed on living wheels of ma.s.sy gold, (Wondrous to tell,) instinct with spirit roll'd From place to place, around the bless'd abodes Self-moved, obedient to the beck of G.o.ds: For their fair handles now, o'erwrought with flowers, In moulds prepared, the glowing ore he pours.

Just as responsive to his thought the frame Stood prompt to move, the azure G.o.ddess came: Charis, his spouse, a grace divinely fair, (With purple fillets round her braided hair,) Observed her entering; her soft hand she press'd, And, smiling, thus the watery queen address'd:

"What, G.o.ddess! this unusual favour draws?

All hail, and welcome! whatsoe'er the cause; Till now a stranger, in a happy hour Approach, and taste the dainties of the bower."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THETIS AND EURYNOME RECEIVING THE INFANT VULCAN.]

THETIS AND EURYNOME RECEIVING THE INFANT VULCAN.

High on a throne, with stars of silver graced, And various artifice, the queen she placed; A footstool at her feet: then calling, said, "Vulcan, draw near, 'tis Thetis asks your aid."

"Thetis (replied the G.o.d) our powers may claim, An ever-dear, an ever-honour'd name!

When my proud mother hurl'd me from the sky, (My awkward form, it seems, displeased her eye,) She, and Eurynome, my griefs redress'd, And soft received me on their silver breast.

Even then these arts employ'd my infant thought: Chains, bracelets, pendants, all their toys, I wrought.

Nine years kept secret in the dark abode, Secure I lay, conceal'd from man and G.o.d: Deep in a cavern'd rock my days were led; The rushing ocean murmur'd o'er my head.

Now, since her presence glads our mansion, say, For such desert what service can I pay?

Vouchsafe, O Thetis! at our board to share The genial rites, and hospitable fare; While I the labours of the forge forego, And bid the roaring bellows cease to blow."

Then from his anvil the lame artist rose; Wide with distorted legs oblique he goes, And stills the bellows, and (in order laid) Locks in their chests his instruments of trade.

Then with a sponge the sooty workman dress'd His brawny arms embrown'd, and hairy breast.

With his huge sceptre graced, and red attire, Came halting forth the sovereign of the fire: The monarch's steps two female forms uphold, That moved and breathed in animated gold; To whom was voice, and sense, and science given Of works divine (such wonders are in heaven!) On these supported, with unequal gait, He reach'd the throne where pensive Thetis sate; There placed beside her on the shining frame, He thus address'd the silver-footed dame:

"Thee, welcome, G.o.ddess! what occasion calls (So long a stranger) to these honour'd walls?

'Tis thine, fair Thetis, the command to lay, And Vulcan's joy and duty to obey."

[Ill.u.s.tration: VULCAN AND CHARIS RECEIVING THETIS.]

VULCAN AND CHARIS RECEIVING THETIS.

To whom the mournful mother thus replies: (The crystal drops stood trembling in her eyes:) "O Vulcan! say, was ever breast divine So pierced with sorrows, so o'erwhelm'd as mine?

Of all the G.o.ddesses, did Jove prepare For Thetis only such a weight of care?

I, only I, of all the watery race By force subjected to a man's embrace, Who, sinking now with age and sorrow, pays The mighty fine imposed on length of days.

Sprung from my bed, a G.o.dlike hero came, The bravest sure that ever bore the name; Like some fair plant beneath my careful hand He grew, he flourish'd, and he graced the land: To Troy I sent him! but his native sh.o.r.e Never, ah never, shall receive him more; (Even while he lives, he wastes with secret woe;) Nor I, a G.o.ddess, can r.e.t.a.r.d the blow!

Robb'd of the prize the Grecian suffrage gave, The king of nations forced his royal slave: For this he grieved; and, till the Greeks oppress'd Required his arm, he sorrow'd unredress'd.

Large gifts they promise, and their elders send; In vain--he arms not, but permits his friend His arms, his steeds, his forces to employ: He marches, combats, almost conquers Troy: Then slain by Phoebus (Hector had the name) At once resigns his armour, life, and fame.

But thou, in pity, by my prayer be won: Grace with immortal arms this short-lived son, And to the field in martial pomp restore, To shine with glory, till he shines no more!"

To her the artist-G.o.d: "Thy griefs resign, Secure, what Vulcan can, is ever thine.

O could I hide him from the Fates, as well, Or with these hands the cruel stroke repel, As I shall forge most envied arms, the gaze Of wondering ages, and the world's amaze!"

Thus having said, the father of the fires To the black labours of his forge retires.

Soon as he bade them blow, the bellows turn'd Their iron mouths; and where the furnace burn'd, Resounding breathed: at once the blast expires, And twenty forges catch at once the fires; Just as the G.o.d directs, now loud, now low, They raise a tempest, or they gently blow; In hissing flames huge silver bars are roll'd, And stubborn bra.s.s, and tin, and solid gold; Before, deep fix'd, the eternal anvils stand; The ponderous hammer loads his better hand, His left with tongs turns the vex'd metal round, And thick, strong strokes, the doubling vaults rebound.

Then first he form'd the immense and solid shield; Rich various artifice emblazed the field; Its utmost verge a threefold circle bound;(253) A silver chain suspends the ma.s.sy round; Five ample plates the broad expanse compose, And G.o.dlike labours on the surface rose.

There shone the image of the master-mind: There earth, there heaven, there ocean he design'd; The unwearied sun, the moon completely round; The starry lights that heaven's high convex crown'd; The Pleiads, Hyads, with the northern team; And great Orion's more refulgent beam; To which, around the axle of the sky, The Bear, revolving, points his golden eye, Still shines exalted on the ethereal plain, Nor bathes his blazing forehead in the main.

Two cities radiant on the shield appear, The image one of peace, and one of war.

Here sacred pomp and genial feast delight, And solemn dance, and hymeneal rite; Along the street the new-made brides are led, With torches flaming, to the nuptial bed: The youthful dancers in a circle bound To the soft flute, and cithern's silver sound: Through the fair streets the matrons in a row Stand in their porches, and enjoy the show.

There in the forum swarm a numerous train; The subject of debate, a townsman slain: One pleads the fine discharged, which one denied, And bade the public and the laws decide: The witness is produced on either hand: For this, or that, the partial people stand: The appointed heralds still the noisy bands, And form a ring, with sceptres in their hands: On seats of stone, within the sacred place,(254) The reverend elders nodded o'er the case; Alternate, each the attesting sceptre took, And rising solemn, each his sentence spoke Two golden talents lay amidst, in sight, The prize of him who best adjudged the right.

Another part (a prospect differing far)(255) Glow'd with refulgent arms, and horrid war.

Two mighty hosts a leaguer'd town embrace, And one would pillage, one would burn the place.

Meantime the townsmen, arm'd with silent care, A secret ambush on the foe prepare: Their wives, their children, and the watchful band Of trembling parents, on the turrets stand.

They march; by Pallas and by Mars made bold: Gold were the G.o.ds, their radiant garments gold, And gold their armour: these the squadron led, August, divine, superior by the head!

A place for ambush fit they found, and stood, Cover'd with shields, beside a silver flood.

Two spies at distance lurk, and watchful seem If sheep or oxen seek the winding stream.

Soon the white flocks proceeded o'er the plains, And steers slow-moving, and two shepherd swains; Behind them piping on their reeds they go, Nor fear an ambush, nor suspect a foe.

In arms the glittering squadron rising round Rush sudden; hills of slaughter heap the ground; Whole flocks and herds lie bleeding on the plains, And, all amidst them, dead, the shepherd swains!

The bellowing oxen the besiegers hear; They rise, take horse, approach, and meet the war, They fight, they fall, beside the silver flood; The waving silver seem'd to blush with blood.

There Tumult, there Contention stood confess'd; One rear'd a dagger at a captive's breast; One held a living foe, that freshly bled With new-made wounds; another dragg'd a dead; Now here, now there, the carcases they tore: Fate stalk'd amidst them, grim with human gore.

And the whole war came out, and met the eye; And each bold figure seem'd to live or die.

A field deep furrow'd next the G.o.d design'd,(256) The third time labour'd by the sweating hind; The shining shares full many ploughmen guide, And turn their crooked yokes on every side.

Still as at either end they wheel around, The master meets them with his goblet crown'd; The hearty draught rewards, renews their toil, Then back the turning ploughshares cleave the soil: Behind, the rising earth in ridges roll'd; And sable look'd, though form'd of molten gold.

Another field rose high with waving grain; With bended sickles stand the reaper train: Here stretched in ranks the levell'd swarths are found, Sheaves heap'd on sheaves here thicken up the ground.

With sweeping stroke the mowers strow the lands; The gatherers follow, and collect in bands; And last the children, in whose arms are borne (Too short to gripe them) the brown sheaves of corn.

The rustic monarch of the field descries, With silent glee, the heaps around him rise.

A ready banquet on the turf is laid, Beneath an ample oak's expanded shade.

The victim ox the st.u.r.dy youth prepare; The reaper's due repast, the woman's care.

Next, ripe in yellow gold, a vineyard shines, Bent with the ponderous harvest of its vines; A deeper dye the dangling cl.u.s.ters show, And curl'd on silver props, in order glow: A darker metal mix'd intrench'd the place; And pales of glittering tin the inclosure grace.

To this, one pathway gently winding leads, Where march a train with baskets on their heads, (Fair maids and blooming youths,) that smiling bear The purple product of the autumnal year.