I us’d thee so, thou lov’dst none else; nor anywhere wouldst eat,
Till I had crown’d my knee with thee, and carv’d thee tend’rest meat,
And giv’n thee wine so much, for love, that, in thy infancy
(Which still discretion must protect, and a continual eye)
My bosom lovingly sustain’d the wine thine could not bear.
Then, now my strength needs thine as much, be mine to thee as dear,
Much have I suffer’d for thy love, much labour’d, wishéd much,
Thinking, since I must have no heir (the Gods’ decrees are such)
I would adopt thyself my heir. To thee my heart did give
What any sire could give his son. In thee I hop’d to live.
O mitigate thy mighty spirits. It fits not one that moves
The hearts of all, to live unmov’d, and succour hates for loves.
The Gods themselves are flexible; whose virtues, honours, pow’rs,
Are more than thine, yet they will bend their breasts as we bend ours.
Perfumes, benign devotions, savours of off’rings burn’d,
And holy rites, the engines are with which their hearts are turn’d,
By men that pray to them, whose faith their sins have falsified.
For Pray’rs are daughters of great Jove, lame, wrinkled, ruddy-ey’d,
And ever following injury, who, strong and sound of feet,
Flies through the world, afflicting men. Believing Prayers yet,
To all that love that Seed of Jove, the certain blessing get
To have Jove hear, and help them too; but if he shall refuse,
And stand inflexible to them, they fly to Jove, and use
Their pow’rs against him, that the wrongs he doth to them may fall
On his own head, and pay those pains whose cure he fails to call.
Then, great Achilles, honour thou this sacred Seed of Jove,
And yield to them, since other men of greatest minds they move.
If Agamemnon would not give the self-same gifts he vows,
But offer other afterwards, and in his still-bent brows
Entomb his honour and his word, I would not thus exhort,
With wrath appeas’d, thy aid to Greece, though plagu’d in heaviest sort;
But much he presently will give, and after yield the rest.
T’ assure which he hath sent to thee the men thou lovest best,
And most renown’d of all the host, that they might soften thee.
Then let not both their pains and pray’rs lost and despiséd be,
Before which none could reprehend the tumult of thy heart,
But now to rest inexpiate were much too rude a part.
Of ancient worthies we have heard, when they were more displeas’d,
To their high fames, with gifts and pray’rs they have been still appeas’d.
For instance, I remember well a fact perform’d of old,
Which to you all, my friends, I’ll tell: The Curets wars did hold
With the well-fought Ætolians, where mutual lives had end
About the city Calydon. Th’ Ætolians did defend
Their flourishing country, which to spoil the Curets did contend.
Diana with-the-golden-throne, with Oeneus much incens’d,
Since with his plenteous land’s first fruits she was not reverenc’d,
(Yet other Gods, with hecatombs, had feasts, and she alone,
Great Jove’s bright daughter, left unserv’d, or by oblivion,
Or undue knowledge of her dues) much hurt in heart she swore;
And she, enrag’d, excited much, she sent a sylvan boar
From their green groves, with wounding tusks; who usually did spoil
King Oeneus’ fields, his lofty woods laid prostrate on the soil,
Rent by the roots trees fresh, adorn’d with fragrant apple flow’rs.
Which Meleager (Oeneus’ son) slew, with assembl’d pow’rs
Of hunters, and of fiercest hounds, from many cities brought;
For such he was that with few lives his death could not be bought,
Heaps of dead humans, by his rage, the fun’ral piles applied.
Yet, slain at last, the Goddess stirr’d about his head, and hide,
A wondrous tumult, and a war betwixt the Curets wrought
And brave Ætolians. All the while fierce Meleager fought,
Ill-far’d the Curets; near the walls none durst advance his crest,
Though they were many. But when wrath inflam’d his haughty breast
(Which oft the firm mind of the wise with passion doth infest)
Since ‘twixt his mother-queen and him arose a deadly strife,
He left the court, and privately liv’d with his lawful wife,
Fair Cleopatra, female birth of bright Marpessa’s pain,
And of Ideus; who of all terrestrial men did reign,
At that time, king of fortitude, and for Marpessa’s sake,
‘Gainst wanton Phœbus, king of flames; his bow in hand did take,
Since he had ravish’d her, his joy; whom her friends after gave
The surname of Alcyone, because they could not save
Their daughter from Alcyone’s fate. In Cleopatra’s arms
Lay Meleager, feeding on his anger, for the harms
His mother pray’d might fall on him; who, for her brother slain
By Meleager, griev’d, and pray’d the Gods to wreak her pain
With all the horror could be pour’d upon her furious birth.
Still knock’d she with her impious hands the many-feeding earth,
To urge stern Pluto and his Queen t’ incline their vengeful ears,
Fell on her knees, and all her breast dew’d with her fi’ry tears,
To make them massacre her son, whose wrath enrag’d her thus.
Erinnys, wand’ring through the air, heard, out of Erebus,
Pray’rs fit for her unpleaséd mind. Yet Meleager lay
Obscur’d in fury. Then the bruit of the tumultuous fray
Rung through the turrets as they scal’d; then came th’ Ætolian peers
To Meleager with low suits, to rise and free their fears;
Then sent they the chief priests of Gods, with offer’d gifts t’ atone
His diff’ring fury, bade him choose, in sweet-soil’d Calydon,
Of the most fat and yieldy soil, what with an hundred steers
Might in a hundred days be plough’d, half that rich vintage bears,
And half of naked earth to plough; yet yielded not his ire.
Then to his lofty chamber-door, ascends his royal sire
With ruthful plaints, shook the strong bars; then came his sisters’ cries;
His mother then; and all intreat; — yet still more stiff he lies; —
His friends, most rev’rend, most esteem’d; yet none impression took,
Till the high turrets where he lay, and his strong chamber, shook
With the invading enemy, who now forced dreadful way
Along the city. Then his wife, in pitifil dismay,
Besought him, weeping; telling him the miseries sustain’d
By all the citizens, whose town the enemy had gain’d;
Men slaughter’d; children bondslaves made; sweet ladies forc’d with lust;
Fires climbing tow’rs, and turning them to heaps of fruitless dust.
These dangers soften’d his steel heart. Up the stout prince arose,
Indu’d his body with rich arms, and freed th’ Ætolian’s woes,
His smother’d anger giving air; which gifts did not assuage,
But his own peril. And because he did not disengage
Their lives for gifts, their gifts he lost. But for my sake, dear friend,
Be not thou bent to see our plights to these extremes descend,
Ere thou assist us; be not so by thy ill angel turn’d
From thine own honour. It were shame to see our navy bu
rn’d,
And then come with thy timeless aid. For offer’d presents, come,
And all the Greeks will honour thee, as of celestial room.
But if without these gifts thou fight, forc’d by thy private woe,
Thou wilt be nothing so renown’d, though thou repel the foe.”
Achilles answer’d the last part of this oration thus:
“Phœnix, renown’d and reverend, the honours urg’d on us
We need not, Jove doth honour me, and to my safety sees,
And will, whiles I retain a spirit, or can command my knees.
Then do not thou with tears and woes impassion my affects,
Becoming gracious to my foe. Nor fits it the respects
Of thy vow’d love to honour him that hath dishonour’d me,
Lest such loose kindness lose his heart that yet is firm to thee.
It were thy praise to hurt with me the hurter of my state,
Since half my honour and my realm thou mayst participate.
Let these lords then return th’ event, and do thou here repose,
And, when dark sleep breaks with the day, our counsels shall disclose
The course of our return or stay.” This said, he with his eye
Made to his friend a covert sign, to hasten instantly
A good soft bed, that the old prince, soon as the peers were gone,
Might take his rest; when, soldier-like, brave Ajax Telamon
Spake to Ulysses, as with thought Achilles was not worth
The high direction of his speech, that stood so sternly forth
Unmov’d with th’ other orators, and spake, not to appease
Pelides’ wrath, but to depart. His arguments were these:
“High-issu’d Laertiades, let us insist no more
On his persuasion. I perceive the world would end before
Our speeches end in this affair. We must with utmost haste
Return his answer, though but bad. The peers are elsewhere plac’d,
And will not rise till we return. Great Thetis’ son hath stor’d
Proud wrath within him, as his wealth, and will not be implor’d,
Rude that he is, nor his friends’ love respects, do what they can,
Wherein past all, we honour’d him. O unremorseful man!
Another for his brother slain, another for his son,
Accepts of satisfaction; and he the deed hath done
Lives in belov’d society long after his amends,
To which his foe’s high heart, for gifts, with patience condescends;
But thee a wild and cruel spirit the Gods for plague have giv’n,
And for one girl, of whose fair sex we come to offer sev’n,
The most exempt for excellence, and many a better prise.
Then put a sweet mind in thy breast, respect thy own allies,
Though others make thee not remiss. A multitude we are,
Sprung of thy royal family, and our supremest care
Is to be most familiar, and hold most love with thee
Of all the Greeks, how great an host soever here there be.”
He answer’d: “Noble Telamon, prince of our soldiers here,
Out of thy heart I know thou speak’st, and as thou hold’st me dear;
But still as often as I think, how rudely I was us’d,
And, like a stranger, for all rites, fit for our good, refus’d
My heart doth swell against the man, that durst be so profane
To violate his sacred place; not for my private bane,
But since wrack’d virtue’s gen’ral laws he shameless did infringe;
For whose sake I will loose the reins, and give mine anger swinge,
Without my wisdom’s least impeach. He is a fool, and base,
That pities vice-plagu’d minds, when pain, not love of right, gives place.
And therefore tell your king, my lords, my just wrath will not care
For all his cares, before my tents and navy chargéd are
By warlike Hector, making way through flocks of Grecian lives,
Enlighten’d by their naval fire; but when his rage arrives
About my tent, and sable bark, I doubt not but to shield
Them and myself, and make him fly the there strong-bounded field.”
This said, each one but kiss’d the cup, and to the ships retir’d;
Ulysses first. Patroclus then the men and maids requir’d
To make grave Phœnix’ bed with speed, and see he nothing lacks.
They straight obey’d, and thereon laid the subtile fruit of flax,
And warm sheep-fells for covering; and there the old man slept,
Attending till the golden Morn her usual station kept.
Achilles lay in th’ inner room of his tent richly wrought,
And that fair lady by his side, that he from Lesbos brought,
Bright Diomeda, Phorbas’ seed. Patroclus did embrace
The beauteous Iphis, giv’n to him, when his bold friend did race
The lofty Scyrus that was kept in Enyeius’ hold.
Now at the tent of Atreus’ son, each man with cups of gold
Receiv’d th’ ambassadors return’d. All cluster’d near to know
What news they brought; which first the king would have Ulysses show:
“Say, most praiseworthy Ithacus, the Grecians’ great renown,
Will he defend us? Or not yet will his proud stomach down?”
Ulysses made reply: “Not yet will he appeaséd be,
But grows more wrathful, prizing light thy offer’d gifts and thee,
And wills thee to consult with us, and take some other course
To save our army and our fleet, and says, ‘with all his force,
The morn shall light him on his way to Phthia’s wishéd soil,
For never shall high-seated Troy be sack’d with all our toil,
Jove holds his hand ‘twixt us and it, the soldiers gather heart.’
Thus he replies, which Ajax here can equally impart,
And both these heralds. Phœnix stays, for so was his desire,
To go with him, if he thought good; if not, he might retire.”
All wonder’d he should be so stern; at last bold Diomed spake:
“Would God, Atrides, thy request were yet to undertake,
And all thy gifts unoffer’d him! He’s proud enough beside,
But this ambassage thou hast sent will make him burst with pride.
But let us suffer him to stay, or go, at his desire,
Fight when his stomach serves him best, or when Jove shall inspire.
Meanwhile, our watch being strongly held, let us a little rest
After our food; strength lives by both, and virtue is their guest.
Then when the rosy-finger’d Morn holds out her silver light,
Bring forth thy host, encourage all, and be thou first in fight.”
The kings admir’d the fortitude, that so divinely mov’d
The skilful horseman Diomed, and his advice approv’d.
Then with their nightly sacrifice each took his sev’ral tent,
Where all receiv’d the sov’reign gifts soft Somnus did present.
THE END OF THE NINTH BOOK.
ENDNOTES.
1 Diomed takes fit time to answer his wrong done by Agamemnon in the fourth book.
THE TENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ILIADS
THE ARGUMENT
Th’ Atrides, watching, wake the other peers,
And (in the fort, consulting of their fears)
Two kings they send, most stout, and honour’d most,
For royal scouts, into the Trojan host;
Who meeting Dolon, Hector’s bribéd spy,
Take him, and learn how all the quarters lie.
He told them, in the Thracian regiment
Of rich king Rhesus, and his royal tent,
Striving for safety; but they end his strife,
And rid poor Dolon of a dang’rous
life,
Then with digressive wiles they use their force
On Rhesus’ life, and take his snowy horse.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Kappa the night exploits applies:
Rhesus’ and Dolons tragedies.
The other princes at their ships soft-finger’d sleep did bind,
But not the Gen’ral; Somnus’ silks bound not his labouring mind
That turn’d, and return’d, many thoughts. And as quick lightnings fly, [l]
From well-deck’d Juno’s sovereign, out of the thicken’d sky,
Preparing some exceeding rain, or hail, the fruit of cold,
Or down-like snow that suddenly makes all the fields look old,
Or opes the gulfy mouth of war with his ensulphur’d hand,
In dazzling flashes pour’d from clouds, on any punish’d land;
So from Atrides’ troubled heart, through his dark sorrows, flew
Redoubled sighs; his entrails shook, as often as his view
Admir’d the multitude of fires, that gilt the Phrygian shade,
And heard the sounds of fifes, and shawms, and tumults soldiers made.
But when he saw his fleet and host kneel to his care and love,
He rent his hair up by the roots as sacrifice to Jove,
Burnt in his fi’ry sighs, still breath’d out of his royal heart,
And first thought good to Nestor’s care his sorrows to impart,
To try if royal diligence, with his approv’d advice,
Might fashion counsels to prevent their threaten’d miseries.
So up he rose, attir’d himself, and to his strong feet tied
Rich shoes, and cast upon his back a ruddy lion’s hide,
So ample it his ankles reach’d, then took his royal spear.
Like him was Menelaus pierc’d with an industrious fear,
Nor sat sweet slumber on his eyes, lest bitter fates should quite
The Greeks’ high favours, that for him resolv’d such endless fight.
And first a freckled panther’s hide hid his broad back athwart;
His head his brazen helm did arm; his able hand his dart;
Then made he all his haste to raise his brother’s head as rare,
That he who most excell’d in rule might help t’ effect his care.
He found him, at his ship’s crook’d stern, adorning him with arms;
Who joy’d to see his brother’s spirits awak’d without alarms,
Well weighing th’ importance of the time. And first the younger spake:
“Why, brother, are ye arming thus? Is it to undertake
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 70
