The Iliad Part 13

My schemes, my labours, and my hopes be vain?

Have I, for this, shook Ilion with alarms, a.s.sembled nations, set two worlds in arms?

To spread the war, I flew from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e; The immortal coursers scarce the labour bore.

At length ripe vengeance o'er their heads impends, But Jove himself the faithless race defends.

Loth as thou art to punish lawless l.u.s.t, Not all the G.o.ds are partial and unjust."

The sire whose thunder shakes the cloudy skies, Sighs from his inmost soul, and thus replies: "Oh lasting rancour! oh insatiate hate To Phrygia's monarch, and the Phrygian state!

What high offence has fired the wife of Jove?

Can wretched mortals harm the powers above, That Troy, and Troy's whole race thou wouldst confound, And yon fair structures level with the ground!

Haste, leave the skies, fulfil thy stern desire, Burst all her gates, and wrap her walls in fire!

Let Priam bleed! if yet you thirst for more, Bleed all his sons, and Ilion float with gore: To boundless vengeance the wide realm be given, Till vast destruction glut the queen of heaven!

So let it be, and Jove his peace enjoy,(126) When heaven no longer hears the name of Troy.

But should this arm prepare to wreak our hate On thy loved realms, whose guilt demands their fate; Presume not thou the lifted bolt to stay, Remember Troy, and give the vengeance way.

For know, of all the numerous towns that rise Beneath the rolling sun and starry skies, Which G.o.ds have raised, or earth-born men enjoy, None stands so dear to Jove as sacred Troy.

No mortals merit more distinguish'd grace Than G.o.dlike Priam, or than Priam's race.

Still to our name their hecatombs expire, And altars blaze with unextinguish'd fire."

At this the G.o.ddess rolled her radiant eyes, Then on the Thunderer fix'd them, and replies: "Three towns are Juno's on the Grecian plains, More dear than all the extended earth contains, Mycenae, Argos, and the Spartan wall;(127)

These thou mayst raze, nor I forbid their fall: 'Tis not in me the vengeance to remove; The crime's sufficient that they share my love.

Of power superior why should I complain?

Resent I may, but must resent in vain.

Yet some distinction Juno might require, Sprung with thyself from one celestial sire, A G.o.ddess born, to share the realms above, And styled the consort of the thundering Jove; Nor thou a wife and sister's right deny;(128) Let both consent, and both by terms comply; So shall the G.o.ds our joint decrees obey, And heaven shall act as we direct the way.

See ready Pallas waits thy high commands To raise in arms the Greek and Phrygian bands; Their sudden friends.h.i.+p by her arts may cease, And the proud Trojans first infringe the peace."

The sire of men and monarch of the sky The advice approved, and bade Minerva fly, Dissolve the league, and all her arts employ To make the breach the faithless act of Troy.

Fired with the charge, she headlong urged her flight, And shot like lightning from Olympus' height.

As the red comet, from Saturnius sent To fright the nations with a dire portent, (A fatal sign to armies on the plain, Or trembling sailors on the wintry main,) With sweeping glories glides along in air, And shakes the sparkles from its blazing hair:(129) Between both armies thus, in open sight Shot the bright G.o.ddess in a trail of light, With eyes erect the gazing hosts admire The power descending, and the heavens on fire!

"The G.o.ds (they cried), the G.o.ds this signal sent, And fate now labours with some vast event: Jove seals the league, or bloodier scenes prepares; Jove, the great arbiter of peace and wars."

They said, while Pallas through the Trojan throng, (In shape a mortal,) pa.s.s'd disguised along.

Like bold Laodocus, her course she bent, Who from Antenor traced his high descent.

Amidst the ranks Lycaon's son she found, The warlike Pandarus, for strength renown'd; Whose squadrons, led from black aesepus' flood,(130) With flaming s.h.i.+elds in martial circle stood.

To him the G.o.ddess: "Phrygian! canst thou hear A well-timed counsel with a willing ear?

What praise were thine, couldst thou direct thy dart, Amidst his triumph, to the Spartan's heart?

What gifts from Troy, from Paris wouldst thou gain, Thy country's foe, the Grecian glory slain?

Then seize the occasion, dare the mighty deed, Aim at his breast, and may that aim succeed!

But first, to speed the shaft, address thy vow To Lycian Phoebus with the silver bow, And swear the firstlings of thy flock to pay, On Zelia's altars, to the G.o.d of day."(131)

He heard, and madly at the motion pleased, His polish'd bow with hasty rashness seized.

'Twas form'd of horn, and smooth'd with artful toil: A mountain goat resign'd the s.h.i.+ning spoil.

Who pierced long since beneath his arrows bled; The stately quarry on the cliffs lay dead, And sixteen palms his brow's large honours spread: The workmen join'd, and shaped the bended horns, And beaten gold each taper point adorns.

This, by the Greeks unseen, the warrior bends, Screen'd by the s.h.i.+elds of his surrounding friends: There meditates the mark; and couching low, Fits the sharp arrow to the well-strung bow.

One from a hundred feather'd deaths he chose, Fated to wound, and cause of future woes; Then offers vows with hecatombs to crown Apollo's altars in his native town.

Now with full force the yielding horn he bends, Drawn to an arch, and joins the doubling ends; Close to his breast he strains the nerve below, Till the barb'd points approach the circling bow; The impatient weapon whizzes on the wing; Sounds the tough horn, and tw.a.n.gs the quivering string.

But thee, Atrides! in that dangerous hour The G.o.ds forget not, nor thy guardian power, Pallas a.s.sists, and (weakened in its force) Diverts the weapon from its destined course: So from her babe, when slumber seals his eye, The watchful mother wafts the envenom'd fly.

Just where his belt with golden buckles join'd, Where linen folds the double corslet lined, She turn'd the shaft, which, hissing from above, Pa.s.s'd the broad belt, and through the corslet drove; The folds it pierced, the plaited linen tore, And razed the skin, and drew the purple gore.

As when some stately trappings are decreed To grace a monarch on his bounding steed, A nymph in Caria or Maeonia bred, Stains the pure ivory with a lively red; With equal l.u.s.tre various colours vie, The s.h.i.+ning whiteness, and the Tyrian dye: So great Atrides! show'd thy sacred blood, As down thy snowy thigh distill'd the streaming flood.

With horror seized, the king of men descried The shaft infix'd, and saw the gus.h.i.+ng tide: Nor less the Spartan fear'd, before he found The s.h.i.+ning barb appear above the wound, Then, with a sigh, that heaved his manly breast, The royal brother thus his grief express'd, And grasp'd his hand; while all the Greeks around With answering sighs return'd the plaintive sound.

"Oh, dear as life! did I for this agree The solemn truce, a fatal truce to thee!

Wert thou exposed to all the hostile train, To fight for Greece, and conquer, to be slain!

The race of Trojans in thy ruin join, And faith is scorn'd by all the perjured line.

Not thus our vows, confirm'd with wine and gore, Those hands we plighted, and those oaths we swore, Shall all be vain: when Heaven's revenge is slow, Jove but prepares to strike the fiercer blow.

The day shall come, that great avenging day, When Troy's proud glories in the dust shall lay, When Priam's powers and Priam's self shall fall, And one prodigious ruin swallow all.

I see the G.o.d, already, from the pole Bare his red arm, and bid the thunder roll; I see the Eternal all his fury shed, And shake his aegis o'er their guilty head.

Such mighty woes on perjured princes wait; But thou, alas! deserv'st a happier fate.

Still must I mourn the period of thy days, And only mourn, without my share of praise?

Deprived of thee, the heartless Greeks no more Shall dream of conquests on the hostile sh.o.r.e; Troy seized of Helen, and our glory lost, Thy bones shall moulder on a foreign coast; While some proud Trojan thus insulting cries, (And spurns the dust where Menelaus lies,) 'Such are the trophies Greece from Ilion brings, And such the conquest of her king of kings!

Lo his proud vessels scatter'd o'er the main, And unrevenged, his mighty brother slain.'

Oh! ere that dire disgrace shall blast my fame, O'erwhelm me, earth! and hide a monarch's shame."

He said: a leader's and a brother's fears Possess his soul, which thus the Spartan cheers: "Let not thy words the warmth of Greece abate; The feeble dart is guiltless of my fate: Stiff with the rich embroider'd work around, My varied belt repell'd the flying wound."

To whom the king: "My brother and my friend, Thus, always thus, may Heaven thy life defend!

Now seek some skilful hand, whose powerful art May stanch the effusion, and extract the dart.

Herald, be swift, and bid Machaon bring His speedy succour to the Spartan king; Pierced with a winged shaft (the deed of Troy), The Grecian's sorrow, and the Dardan's joy."

With hasty zeal the swift Talthybius flies; Through the thick files he darts his searching eyes, And finds Machaon, where sublime he stands(132) In arms incircled with his native bands.

Then thus: "Machaon, to the king repair, His wounded brother claims thy timely care; Pierced by some Lycian or Dardanian bow, A grief to us, a triumph to the foe."

The heavy tidings grieved the G.o.dlike man Swift to his succour through the ranks he ran.

The dauntless king yet standing firm he found, And all the chiefs in deep concern around.

Where to the steely point the reed was join'd, The shaft he drew, but left the head behind.

Straight the broad belt with gay embroidery graced, He loosed; the corslet from his breast unbraced; Then suck'd the blood, and sovereign balm infused,(133) Which Chiron gave, and aesculapius used.

While round the prince the Greeks employ their care, The Trojans rush tumultuous to the war; Once more they glitter in refulgent arms, Once more the fields are fill'd with dire alarms.

Nor had you seen the king of men appear Confused, unactive, or surprised with fear; But fond of glory, with severe delight, His beating bosom claim'd the rising fight.

No longer with his warlike steeds he stay'd, Or press'd the car with polish'd bra.s.s inlaid But left Eurymedon the reins to guide; The fiery coursers snorted at his side.

On foot through all the martial ranks he moves And these encourages, and those reproves.

"Brave men!" he cries, (to such who boldly dare Urge their swift steeds to face the coming war), "Your ancient valour on the foes approve; Jove is with Greece, and let us trust in Jove.

'Tis not for us, but guilty Troy, to dread, Whose crimes sit heavy on her perjured head; Her sons and matrons Greece shall lead in chains, And her dead warriors strew the mournful plains."

Thus with new ardour he the brave inspires; Or thus the fearful with reproaches fires: "Shame to your country, scandal of your kind; Born to the fate ye well deserve to find!

Why stand ye gazing round the dreadful plain, Prepared for flight, but doom'd to fly in vain?

Confused and panting thus, the hunted deer Falls as he flies, a victim to his fear.

Still must ye wait the foes, and still retire, Till yon tall vessels blaze with Trojan fire?

Or trust ye, Jove a valiant foe shall chase, To save a trembling, heartless, dastard race?"

This said, he stalk'd with ample strides along, To Crete's brave monarch and his martial throng; High at their head he saw the chief appear, And bold Meriones excite the rear.

At this the king his generous joy express'd, And clasp'd the warrior to his armed breast.

"Divine Idomeneus! what thanks we owe To worth like thine! what praise shall we bestow?

To thee the foremost honours are decreed, First in the fight and every graceful deed.

For this, in banquets, when the generous bowls Restore our blood, and raise the warriors' souls, Though all the rest with stated rules we bound, Unmix'd, unmeasured, are thy goblets crown'd.

Be still thyself, in arms a mighty name; Maintain thy honours, and enlarge thy fame."

To whom the Cretan thus his speech address'd: "Secure of me, O king! exhort the rest.

Fix'd to thy side, in every toil I share, Thy firm a.s.sociate in the day of war.

But let the signal be this moment given; To mix in fight is all I ask of Heaven.