The Iliad Part 72

Still for one loss he rages unresign'd, Repugnant to the lot of all mankind; To lose a friend, a brother, or a son, Heaven dooms each mortal, and its will is done: Awhile they sorrow, then dismiss their care; Fate gives the wound, and man is born to bear.

But this insatiate, the commission given By fate exceeds, and tempts the wrath of heaven: Lo, how his rage dishonest drags along Hector's dead earth, insensible of wrong!

Brave though he be, yet by no reason awed, He violates the laws of man and G.o.d."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.]

THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.

"If equal honours by the partial skies Are doom'd both heroes, (Juno thus replies,) If Thetis' son must no distinction know, Then hear, ye G.o.ds! the patron of the bow.

But Hector only boasts a mortal claim, His birth deriving from a mortal dame: Achilles, of your own ethereal race, Springs from a G.o.ddess by a man's embrace (A G.o.ddess by ourself to Peleus given, A man divine, and chosen friend of heaven) To grace those nuptials, from the bright abode Yourselves were present; where this minstrel-G.o.d, Well pleased to share the feast, amid the quire Stood proud to hymn, and tune his youthful lyre."

Then thus the Thunderer checks the imperial dame: "Let not thy wrath the court of heaven inflame; Their merits, nor their honours, are the same.

But mine, and every G.o.d's peculiar grace Hector deserves, of all the Trojan race: Still on our shrines his grateful offerings lay, (The only honours men to G.o.ds can pay,) Nor ever from our smoking altar ceased The pure libation, and the holy feast: Howe'er by stealth to s.n.a.t.c.h the corse away, We will not: Thetis guards it night and day.

But haste, and summon to our courts above The azure queen; let her persuasion move Her furious son from Priam to receive The proffer'd ransom, and the corse to leave."

He added not: and Iris from the skies, Swift as a whirlwind, on the message flies, Meteorous the face of ocean sweeps, Refulgent gliding o'er the sable deeps.

Between where Samos wide his forests spreads, And rocky Imbrus lifts its pointed heads, Down plunged the maid; (the parted waves resound;) She plunged and instant shot the dark profound.

As bearing death in the fallacious bait, From the bent angle sinks the leaden weight; So pa.s.s'd the G.o.ddess through the closing wave, Where Thetis sorrow'd in her secret cave: There placed amidst her melancholy train (The blue-hair'd sisters of the sacred main) Pensive she sat, revolving fates to come, And wept her G.o.dlike son's approaching doom.

Then thus the G.o.ddess of the painted bow: "Arise, O Thetis! from thy seats below, 'Tis Jove that calls."--"And why (the dame replies) Calls Jove his Thetis to the hated skies?

Sad object as I am for heavenly sight!

Ah may my sorrows ever shun the light!

Howe'er, be heaven's almighty sire obey'd--"

She spake, and veil'd her head in sable shade, Which, flowing long, her graceful person clad; And forth she paced, majestically sad.

Then through the world of waters they repair (The way fair Iris led) to upper air.

The deeps dividing, o'er the coast they rise, And touch with momentary flight the skies.

There in the lightning's blaze the sire they found, And all the G.o.ds in shining synod round.

Thetis approach'd with anguish in her face, (Minerva rising, gave the mourner place,) Even Juno sought her sorrows to console, And offer'd from her hand the nectar-bowl: She tasted, and resign'd it: then began The sacred sire of G.o.ds and mortal man:

"Thou comest, fair Thetis, but with grief o'ercast; Maternal sorrows; long, ah, long to last!

Suffice, we know and we partake thy cares; But yield to fate, and hear what Jove declares Nine days are past since all the court above In Hector's cause have moved the ear of Jove; 'Twas voted, Hermes from his G.o.dlike foe By stealth should bear him, but we will'd not so: We will, thy son himself the corse restore, And to his conquest add this glory more.

Then hie thee to him, and our mandate bear: Tell him he tempts the wrath of heaven too far; Nor let him more (our anger if he dread) Vent his mad vengeance on the sacred dead; But yield to ransom and the father's prayer; The mournful father, Iris shall prepare With gifts to sue; and offer to his hands Whate'er his honour asks, or heart demands."

His word the silver-footed queen attends, And from Olympus' snowy tops descends.

Arrived, she heard the voice of loud lament, And echoing groans that shook the lofty tent: His friends prepare the victim, and dispose Repast unheeded, while he vents his woes; The G.o.ddess seats her by her pensive son, She press'd his hand, and tender thus begun:

"How long, unhappy! shall thy sorrows flow, And thy heart waste with life-consuming woe: Mindless of food, or love, whose pleasing reign Soothes weary life, and softens human pain?

O s.n.a.t.c.h the moments yet within thy power; Not long to live, indulge the amorous hour!

Lo! Jove himself (for Jove's command I bear) Forbids to tempt the wrath of heaven too far.

No longer then (his fury if thou dread) Detain the relics of great Hector dead; Nor vent on senseless earth thy vengeance vain, But yield to ransom, and restore the slain."

To whom Achilles: "Be the ransom given, And we submit, since such the will of heaven."

While thus they communed, from the Olympian bowers Jove orders Iris to the Trojan towers: "Haste, winged G.o.ddess! to the sacred town, And urge her monarch to redeem his son.

Alone the Ilian ramparts let him leave, And bear what stern Achilles may receive: Alone, for so we will; no Trojan near Except, to place the dead with decent care, Some aged herald, who with gentle hand May the slow mules and funeral car command.

Nor let him death, nor let him danger dread, Safe through the foe by our protection led: Him Hermes to Achilles shall convey, Guard of his life, and partner of his way.

Fierce as he is, Achilles' self shall spare His age, nor touch one venerable hair: Some thought there must be in a soul so brave, Some sense of duty, some desire to save."

[Ill.u.s.tration: IRIS ADVISES PRIAM TO OBTAIN THE BODY OF HECTOR.]

IRIS ADVISES PRIAM TO OBTAIN THE BODY OF HECTOR.

Then down her bow the winged Iris drives, And swift at Priam's mournful court arrives: Where the sad sons beside their father's throne Sat bathed in tears, and answer'd groan with groan.

And all amidst them lay the h.o.a.ry sire, (Sad scene of woe!) his face his wrapp'd attire Conceal'd from sight; with frantic hands he spread A shower of ashes o'er his neck and head.

From room to room his pensive daughters roam; Whose shrieks and clamours fill the vaulted dome; Mindful of those, who late their pride and joy, Lie pale and breathless round the fields of Troy!

Before the king Jove's messenger appears, And thus in whispers greets his trembling ears:

"Fear not, O father! no ill news I bear; From Jove I come, Jove makes thee still his care; For Hector's sake these walls he bids thee leave, And bear what stern Achilles may receive; Alone, for so he wills; no Trojan near, Except, to place the dead with decent care, Some aged herald, who with gentle hand May the slow mules and funeral car command.

Nor shalt thou death, nor shall thou danger dread: Safe through the foe by his protection led: Thee Hermes to Pelides shall convey, Guard of thy life, and partner of thy way.

Fierce as he is, Achilles' self shall spare Thy age, nor touch one venerable hair; Some thought there must be in a soul so brave, Some sense of duty, some desire to save."

She spoke, and vanish'd. Priam bids prepare His gentle mules and harness to the car; There, for the gifts, a polish'd casket lay: His pious sons the king's command obey.

Then pa.s.s'd the monarch to his bridal-room, Where cedar-beams the lofty roofs perfume, And where the treasures of his empire lay; Then call'd his queen, and thus began to say:

"Unhappy consort of a king distress'd!

Partake the troubles of thy husband's breast: I saw descend the messenger of Jove, Who bids me try Achilles' mind to move; Forsake these ramparts, and with gifts obtain The corse of Hector, at yon navy slain.

Tell me thy thought: my heart impels to go Through hostile camps, and bears me to the foe."

The h.o.a.ry monarch thus. Her piercing cries Sad Hecuba renews, and then replies: "Ah! whither wanders thy distemper'd mind?

And where the prudence now that awed mankind?

Through Phrygia once and foreign regions known; Now all confused, distracted, overthrown!

Singly to pa.s.s through hosts of foes! to face (O heart of steel!) the murderer of thy race!

To view that deathful eye, and wander o'er Those hands yet red with Hector's n.o.ble gore!

Alas! my lord! he knows not how to spare.

And what his mercy, thy slain sons declare; So brave! so many fallen! To claim his rage Vain were thy dignity, and vain thy age.

No--pent in this sad palace, let us give To grief the wretched days we have to live.

Still, still for Hector let our sorrows flow, Born to his own, and to his parents' woe!

Doom'd from the hour his luckless life begun, To dogs, to vultures, and to Peleus' son!

Oh! in his dearest blood might I allay My rage, and these barbarities repay!

For ah! could Hector merit thus, whose breath Expired not meanly, in unactive death?

He poured his latest blood in manly fight, And fell a hero in his country's right."

"Seek not to stay me, nor my soul affright With words of omen, like a bird of night, (Replied unmoved the venerable man;) 'Tis heaven commands me, and you urge in vain.

Had any mortal voice the injunction laid, Nor augur, priest, nor seer, had been obey'd.

A present G.o.ddess brought the high command, I saw, I heard her, and the word shall stand.

I go, ye G.o.ds! obedient to your call: If in yon camp your powers have doom'd my fall, Content--By the same hand let me expire!

Add to the slaughter'd son the wretched sire!

One cold embrace at least may be allow'd, And my last tears flow mingled with his blood!"

From forth his open'd stores, this said, he drew Twelve costly carpets of refulgent hue, As many vests, as many mantles told, And twelve fair veils, and garments stiff with gold, Two tripods next, and twice two chargers shine, With ten pure talents from the richest mine; And last a large well-labour'd bowl had place, (The pledge of treaties once with friendly Thrace:) Seem'd all too mean the stores he could employ, For one last look to buy him back to Troy!

Lo! the sad father, frantic with his pain, Around him furious drives his menial train: In vain each slave with duteous care attends, Each office hurts him, and each face offends.

"What make ye here, officious crowds! (he cries).

Hence! nor obtrude your anguish on my eyes.

Have ye no griefs at home, to fix ye there: Am I the only object of despair?

Am I become my people's common show, Set up by Jove your spectacle of woe?

No, you must feel him too; yourselves must fall; The same stern G.o.d to ruin gives you all: Nor is great Hector lost by me alone; Your sole defence, your guardian power is gone!

I see your blood the fields of Phrygia drown, I see the ruins of your smoking town!