Because her beauty’s empire overshone.
She brought her wife-awed husband, Neleús,
Nestor much honour’d, Periclymenus,
And Chromius, sons with sov’reign virtues grac’d;
But after brought a daughter that surpass’d,
Rare-beautied Pero, so for form exact
That Nature to a miracle was rack’d
In her perfections, blaz’d with th’ eyes of men;
That made of all the country’s hearts a chain,
And drew them suitors to her. Which her sire
Took vantage of, and, since he did aspire
To nothing more than to the broad-brow’d herd
Of oxen, which the common fame so rear’d,
Own’d by Iphiclus, not a man should be
His Pero’s husband, that from Phylace
Those never-yet-driv’n oxen could not drive.
Yet these a strong hope held him to achieve,
Because a prophet, that had never err’d,
Had said, that only he should be preferr’d
To their possession. But the equal fate
Of God withstood his stealth; inextricate
Imprisoning bands, and sturdy churlish swains
That were the herdsmen, who withheld with chains
The stealth-attempter; which was only he
That durst abet the act with prophecy,
None else would undertake it, and he must;
The king would needs a prophet should be just.
But when some days and months expired were,
And all the hours had brought about the year,
The prophet did so satisfy the king
(Iphiclus, all his cunning questioning)
That he enfranchis’d him; and, all worst done,
Jove’s counsel made th’ all-safe conclusión.
Then saw I Leda, link’d in nuptial chain
With Tyndarus, to whom she did sustain
Sons much renown’d for wisdom; Castor one,
That pass’d for use of horse comparison;
And Pollux, that excell’d in whirlbat fight;
Both these the fruitful earth bore, while the light
Of life inspir’d them; after which, they found
Such grace with Jove, that both liv’d under ground,
By change of days; life still did one sustain,
While th’ other died; the dead then liv’d again,
The living dying; both of one self date
Their lives and deaths made by the Gods and Fate.
Iphimedia after Leda came,
That did derive from Neptune too the name
Of father to two admirable sons.
Life yet made short their admiratións,
Who God-opposéd Otus had to name,
And Ephialtes far in sound of fame.
The prodigal earth so fed them, that they grew
To most huge stature, and had fairest hue
Of all men, but Orion, under heav’n.
At nine years old nine cubits they were driv’n
Abroad in breadth, and sprung nine fathoms high.
They threaten’d to give battle to the sky,
And all th’ Immortals. They were setting on
Ossa upon Olympus, and upon
Steep Ossa leavy Pelius, that ev’n
They might a highway make with lofty heav’n;
And had perhaps perform’d it, had they liv’d
Till they were striplings; but Jove’s son depriv’d
Their limbs of life, before th’ age that begins
The flow’r of youth, and should adorn their chins.
Phædra and Procris, with wise Minos’ flame,
Bright Ariadne, to the off’ring came.
Whom whilome Theseus made his prise from Crete,
That Athens’ sacred soil might kiss her feet,
But never could obtain her virgin flow’r,
Till, in the sea-girt Dia, Dian’s pow’r
Detain’d his homeward haste, where (in her fane,
By Bacchus witness’d) was the fatal wane
Of her prime glory, Mæra, Clymene,
I witness’d there; and loath’d Eriphyle,
That honour’d gold more than she lov’d her spouse. 5
But, all th’ heroesses in Pluto’s house
That then encounter’d me, exceeds my might
To name or number, and ambrosian night
Would quite be spent, when now the formal hours
Present to sleep our all disposéd pow’rs,
If at my ship, or here. My home-made vow
I leave for fit grace to the Gods and you.”
This said; the silence his discourse had made
With pleasure held still through the house’s shade,
When white-arm’d Areté this speech began:
“Phæacians! How appears to you this man,
So goodly person’d, and so match’d with mind?
My guest he is, but all you stand combin’d
In the renown he doth us. Do not then
With careless haste dismiss him, nor the main
Of his dispatch to one so needy maim,
The Gods’ free bounty gives us all just claim
To goods enow.” This speech, the oldest man
Of any other Phæacensian,
The grave heroë, Echinëus, gave
All approbation, saying: “Friends! ye have
The motion of the wise queen in such words
As have not miss’d the mark, with which accords
My clear opinion. But Alcinous,
In word and work, must be our rule.” He thus;
And then Alcinous said: “This then must stand,
If while I live I rule in the command
Of this well-skill’d-in-navigation state:
Endure then, guest, though most importunate
Be your affects for home. A little stay
If your expectance bear, perhaps it may
Our gifts make more complete. The cares of all
Your due deduction asks; but principal
I am therein the ruler.” He replied:
“Alcinous, the most duly glorified
With rule of all of all men, if you lay
Commandment on me of a whole year’s stay,
So all the while your preparations rise,
As well in gifts as time, 6 ye can devise
No better wish for me; for I shall come
Much fuller-handed, and more honoured, home,
And dearer to my people, in whose loves
The richer evermore the better proves.”
He answer’d: “There is argued in your sight
A worth that works not men for benefit,
Like prollers or impostors; of which crew,
The gentle black earth feeds not up a few,
Here and there wand’rers, blanching tales and lies,
Of neither praise, nor use. You move our eyes
With form, our minds with matter, and our ears
With elegant oration, such as bears
A music in the order’d history
It lays before us. Not Demodocus
With sweeter strains hath us’d to sing to us
All the Greek sorrows, wept out in your own.
But say: Of all your worthy friends, were none
Objected to your eyes that consorts were
To Ilion with you, and serv’d destiny there?
This night is passing long, unmeasur�
�d, none
Of all my household would to bed yet; on,
Relate these wondrous things. Were I with you,
If you would tell me but your woes, as now,
Till the divine Aurora show’d her head,
I should in no night relish thought of bed.”
“Most eminent king,” said he, “times all must keep,
There’s time to speak much, time as much to sleep.
But would you hear still, I will tell you still,
And utter more, more miserable ill
Of friends than yet, that scap’d the dismal wars,
And perish’d homewards, and in household jars
Wag’d by a wicked woman. The chaste Queen
No sooner made these lady ghosts unseen,
Here and there flitting, but mine eyesight won
The soul of Agamemnon, Atreus’ son,
Sad, and about him all his train of friends,
That in Ægisthus’ house endur’d their ends
With his stern fortune. Having drunk the blood,
He knew me instantly, and forth a flood
Of springing tears gush’d; out he thrust his hands,
With will t’ embrace me, but their old commands
Flow’d not about him, nor their weakest part.
I wept to see, and moan’d him from my heart,
And ask’d: ‘O Agamemnon! King of men!
What sort of cruel death hath render’d slain
Thy royal person? Neptune in thy fleet
Heav’n and his hellish billows making meet,
Rousing the winds? Or have thy men by land
Done thee this ill, for using thy command,
Past their consents, in diminution
Of those full shares their worths by lot had won
Of sheep or oxen? Or of any town,
In covetous strife, to make their rights thine own
In men or women prisoners?’ He replied:
‘By none of these in any right I died,
But by Ægisthus and my murd’rous wife
(Bid to a banquet at his house) my life
Hath thus been reft me, to my slaughter led
Like to an ox pretended to be fed.
So miserably fell I, and with me
My friends lay massacred, as when you see
At any rich man’s nuptials, shot, or feast,
About his kitchen white-tooth’d swine lie drest.
The slaughters of a world of men thine eyes,
Both private, and in prease of enemies,
Have personally witness’d; but this one
Would all thy parts have broken into moan,
To see how strew’d about our cups and cates,
As tables set with feast, so we with fates,
All gash’d and slain lay, all the floor embrued
With blood and brain. But that which most I rued,
Flew from the heavy voice that Priam’s seed,
Cassandra, breath’d, whom, she that wit doth feed
With baneful crafts, false Clytemnestra, slew,
Close sitting by me; up my hands I threw
From earth to heav’n, and tumbling on my sword
Gave wretched life up; when the most abhorr’d,
By all her sex’s shame, forsook the room,
Nor deign’d, though then so near this heavy home,
To shut my lips, or close my broken eyes.
Nothing so heap’d is with impieties,
As such a woman that would kill her spouse
That married her a maid. When to my house
I brought her, hoping of her love in heart,
To children, maids, and slaves. But she (in th’ art
Of only mischief hearty) not alone
Cast on herself this foul aspersión,
But loving dames, hereafter, to their lords
Will bear, for good deeds, her bad thoughts and words.’
‘Alas,’ said I, ‘that Jove should hate the lives
Of Atreus’ seed so highly for their wives!
For Menelaus’ wife a number fell,
For dang’rous absence thine sent thee to hell.’
‘For this,’ he answer’d, ‘be not thou more kind
Than wise to thy wife. Never all thy mind
Let words express to her. Of all she knows,
Curbs for the worst still, in thyself repose.
But thou by thy wife’s wiles shalt lose no blood,
Exceeding wise she is, and wise in good.
Icarius’ daughter, chaste Penelope,
We left a young bride, when for battle we
Forsook the nuptial peace, and at her breast
Her first child sucking, who, by this hour, blest,
Sits in the number of surviving men.
And his bliss she hath, that she can contain,
And her bliss thou hast, that she is so wise.
For, by her wisdom, thy returnéd eyes
Shall see thy son, and he shall greet his sire
With fitting welcomes; when in my retire,
My wife denies mine eyes my son’s dear sight,
And, as from me, will take from him the light,
Before she adds one just delight to life,
Or her false wit one truth that fits a wife.
For her sake therefore let my harms advise,
That though thy wife be ne’er so chaste and wise,
Yet come not home to her in open view, 7
With any ship or any personal show,
But take close shore disguis’d, nor let her know,
For ’tis no world to trust a woman now.
But what says Fame? Doth my son yet survive,
In Orchomen, or Pylos? Or doth live
In Sparta with his uncle? Yet I see
Divine Orestes is not here with me.’
I answer’d, asking: ‘Why doth Atreus’ son
Enquire of me, who yet arriv’d where none
Could give to these news any certain wings?
And ’tis absurd to tell uncertain things.’
Such sad speech past us; and as thus we stood,
With kind tears rend’ring unkind fortunes good,
Achilles’ and Patroclus’ soul appear’d,
And his soul, of whom never ill was heard,
The good Antilochus, and the soul of him
That all the Greeks past both for force and limb,
Excepting the unmatch’d Æacides,
Illustrious Ajax. But the first of these
That saw, acknowledg’d, and saluted me,
Was Thetis’ conqu’ring son, who (heavily
His state here taking) said: ‘Unworthy breath!
What act yet mightier imagineth
Thy vent’rous spirit? How dost thou descend
These under-regions, where the dead man’s end
Is to be look’d on, and his foolish shade?’
I answer’d him: ‘I was induc’d t’ invade
These under-parts, most excellent of Greece,
To visit wise Tiresias, for advice
Of virtue to direct my voyage home
To rugged Ithaca; since I could come
To note in no place, where Achaia stood,
And so liv’d ever, tortur’d with the blood
In man’s vain veins. Thou, therefore, Thetis’ son,
Hast equall’d all, that ever yet have won
The bliss the earth yields, or hereafter shall.
In life thy eminence was ador’d of all,
Thy virtues propagate thy empery
To a renew’d life of command beneath;
So great Achilles triumphs over death.’
This comfort of him this encounter found;
‘Urge not my death to me, nor rub that wound,
I rather wish to live in earth a swain,
Or serve a swain for hire, that scarce can gain
Bread to sustain him, than, that life once gone,
Of all the dead sway the imperial throne.
But say, and of my son some comfort yield,
If he goes on in first fights of the field,
Or lurks for safety in the obscure rear?
Or of my father if thy royal ear
Hath been advertis’d, that the Phthian throne
He still commands, as greatest Myrmidon?
Or that the Phthian and Thessalian rage
(Now feet and hands are in the hold of age)
Despise his empire? Under those bright rays,
In which heav’n’s fervour hurls about the days.
Must I no more shine his revenger now,
Such as of old the Ilion overthrow
Witness’d my anger, th’ universal host
Sending before me to this shady coast,
In fight for Grecia. Could I now resort,
(But for some small time) to my father’s court,
In spirit and pow’r as then, those men should find
My hands inaccessible, and of fire my mind,
That durst with all the numbers they are strong
Unseat his honour, and suborn his wrong.’
This pitch still flew his spirit, though so low,
And this I answer’d thus: ‘I do not know
Of blameless Peleus any least report,
But of your son, in all the utmost sort,
I can inform your care with truth, and thus:
From Scyros princely Neoptolemus
By fleet I convey’d to the Greeks, where he
Was chief, at both parts, when our gravity
Retir’d to council, and our youth to fight.
In council still so fiery was Conceit
In his quick apprehension of a cause,
That first he ever spake, nor pass’d the laws
Of any great stay, in his greatest haste.
None would contend with him, that counsell’d last,
Unless illustrious Nestor, he and I
Would sometimes put a friendly contrary
On his opinion. In our fights, the prease
Of great or common, he would never cease,
But far before fight ever. No man there,
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 133
