by Homer
His shoulders wore, and on his head his glorious helm he set
Topp’d with a plume of horse’s hair, that horribly did dance,
And seem’d to threaten as he mov’d. At last he takes his lance,
Exceeding big, and full of weight, which he with ease could use.
In like sort, Sparta’s warlike king himself with arms indues.
Thus arm’d at either army both, they both stood bravely in,
Possessing both hosts with amaze: they came so chin to chin,
And with such horrible aspects, each other did salute.
A fair large field was made for them: where wraths – for hugeness – mute,
And mutual, made them mutually at either shake their darts
Before they threw: then Paris first with his long javelin parts;
It smote Atrides’ orby targe, but ran not through the brass:
For in it (arming well the shield) the head reflected was.
Then did the second combatant apply him to his spear;
Where ere he threw, he thus besought almighty Jupiter:
‘O Jove! Vouchsafe me now revenge, and that my enemy,
For doing wrong so undeserv’d, may pay deservedly
The pains he forfeited; and let these hands inflict those pains,
By conquering, ay, by conquering dead, him on whom life complains:
That any now, or any one of all the brood of men
To live hereafter, may with fear from all offence abstain,
Much more from all such foul offence to him that was his host,
And entertain’d him, as the man whom he affected most.’
This said, he shook, and threw his lance; which struck through Paris’ shield,
And with the strength he gave to it, it made the curets yield,
His coat of mail, his breast, and all, and drove his entrails in,
In that low region, where the guts in three small parts begin:
Yet he, in bowing of his breast, prevented sable death.
This taint he follow’d with his sword, drawn from a silver sheath:
Which lifting high, he struck his helm, full where his plume did stand,
On which it piecemeal brake, and fell from his unhappy hand.
At which he sighing stood, and star’d upon the ample sky;
And said: ‘O Jove, there is no god giv’n more illiberally
To those that serve thee than thyself; why have I pray’d in vain?
I hop’d my hand should have reveng’d the wrongs I still sustain
On him that did them, and still dares their foul defence pursue;
And now my lance hath miss’d his end, my sword in shivers flew,
And he ’scapes all. With this again he rush’d upon his guest,
And caught him by the horse-hair plume that dangled on his crest,
With thought to drag him to the Greeks: which he had surely done,
And so besides the victory had wondrous glory won,
Because the needle-painted lace, with which his helm was tied
Beneath his chin, and so about his dainty throat implied,
Had strangled him; but that in time, the Cyprian seed of Jove
Did break the string, with which was lin’d that which the needle wove,
And was the tough thong of a steer; and so the victor’s palm
Was (for so full a man at arms) only an empty helm
That then he swung about his head, and cast among his friends,
Who scrambled, and took ’t up with shouts. Again then he intends
To force the life-blood of his foe, and ran on him amain,
With shaken javelin; when the queen, that lovers loves, again
Attended, and now ravish’d him from that encounter quite,
With ease, and wondrous suddenly; for she (a goddess) might.
She hid him in a cloud of gold, and never made him known,
Till in his chamber, fresh and sweet, she gently set him down,
And went for Helen, whom she found in Scaea’s utmost height,
To which whole swarms of city dames had climb’d to see the sight.
To give her errand good success, she took on her the shape
Of beldame Graea, who was brought by Helen in her rape,
From Lacedaemon, and had trust in all her secrets still,
Being old; and had (of all her maids) the main bent of her will;
And spun for her her finest wool: like her, love’s empress came,
Pull’d Helen by the heavenly veil, and softly said: ‘Madame,
My lord calls for you, you must needs make all your kind haste home;
He’s in your chamber, stays, and longs, sits by your bed; pray come,
’Tis richly made, and sweet, but he more sweet, and looks so clear,
So fresh, and movingly attir’d, that (seeing) you would swear
He came not from the dusty fight, but from a courtly dance,
Or would to dancing.’ This she made a charm for dalliance,
Whose virtue Helen felt, and knew, by her so radiant eyes,
White neck, and most enticing breasts, the deified disguise.
At which amaz’d, she answer’d her: ‘Unhappy deity,
Why lov’st thou still in these deceits to wrap my phantasy?
Or whither yet (of all the towns given to their lust beside,
In Phrygia, or Maeonia) com’st thou to be my guide?
If there (of divers languag’d men) thou hast, as here in Troy,
Some other friend, to be my shame, since here thy latest joy,
By Menelaus now subdu’d, by him shall I be borne
Home to his court, and end my life in triumphs of his scorn.
And to this end, would thy deceits my wanton life allure?
Hence, go thyself to Priam’s son, and all the ways abjure
Of gods, or godlike minded dames, nor ever turn again
Thy earth-affecting feet to heav’n, but for his sake sustain
Toils here; guard, grace him endlessly, till he requite thy grace
By giving thee my place with him; or take his servant’s place,
If all dishonourable ways your favours seek to serve
His never-pleas’d incontinence: I better will deserve
Than serve his dotage now. What shame were it for me to feed
This lust in him; all honour’d dames would hate me for the deed:
He leaves a woman’s love so sham’d, and shows so base a mind
To feel nor my shame nor his own; griefs of a greater kind
Wound me, than such as can admit such kind delights so soon.’
The goddess, angry that (past shame) her mere will was not done,
Replied: ‘Incense me not, you wretch, lest (once incens’d) I leave
Thy curs’d life to as strange a hate, as yet it may receive
A love from me; and lest I spread through both hosts such despite,
For those plagues they have felt for thee, that both abjure thee quite,
And setting thee in midst of both, turn all their wraths on thee,
And dart thee dead, that such a death may wreak thy wrong of me.’
This struck the fair dame with such fear, it took her speech away,
And (shadow’d in her snowy veil) she durst not but obey;
And yet, to shun the shame she fear’d, she vanish’d undescried
Of all the Trojan ladies there; for Venus was her guide.
Arriv’d at home, her women both fell to their work in haste;
When she that was of all her sex the most divinely grac’d
Asc
ended to a higher room, though much against her will,
Where lovely Alexander was, being led by Venus still.
The laughter-loving dame discern’d her mov’d mind, by her grace;
And for her mirth sake set a stool full before Paris face,
Where she would needs have Helen sit; who, though she durst not choose
But sit, yet look’d away for all the goddess pow’r could use,
And us’d her tongue too, and to chide whom Venus sooth’d so much;
And chid, too, in this bitter kind. ‘And was thy cowardice such
(So conquer’d) to be seen alive? O would to god thy life
Had perish’d by his worthy hand, to whom I first was wife.
Before this, thou wouldst glorify thy valour and thy lance,
And past my first love’s boast them far: go once more, and advance
Thy braves against his single power: this foil might fall by chance.
Poor conquer’d man; ’twas such a chance as I would not advise
Thy valour should provoke again: shun him, thou most unwise,
Lest next, thy spirit sent to hell, thy body be his prize.’
He answer’d: ‘Pray thee, woman, cease to chide and grieve me thus:
Disgraces will not ever last; look on their end; on us
Will other gods, at other times, let fall the victor’s wreath,
As on him Pallas put it now. Shall our love sink beneath
The hate of fortune? In love’s fire let all hates vanish. Come,
Love never so inflam’d my heart; no, not when bringing home
Thy beauty’s so delicious prize, on Cranaë’s blest shore
I long’d for, and enjoy’d thee first.’ With this he went before,
She after, to th’ odorous bed. While these to pleasure yield,
Perplex’d Atrides, savage-like, ran up and down the field,
And every thickest troop of Troy, and of their far-call’d aid,
Search’d for his foe, who could not be by any eye betray’d;
Nor out of friendship (out of doubt) did they conceal his sight,
All hated him so like their deaths, and ow’d him such despite.
At last thus spake the king of men: ‘Hear me, ye men of Troy,
Ye Dardans and the rest, whose pow’rs you in their aids employ,
The conquest on my brother’s part, ye all discern is clear:
Do you then Argive Helena, with all her treasure here,
Restore to us, and pay the mulct that by your vows is due;
Yield us an honour’d recompense, and all that should accrue
To our posterities, confirm; that when you render it,
Our acts may here be memoris’d.’ This all Greeks else thought fit.
The end of the third book
Book 4
The Argument
The gods in council at the last decree
That famous Ilion shall expugned be.
And that their own continued faults may prove
The reasons that have so incensed Jove,
Minerva seeks, with more offences done
Against the lately injur’d Atreus’ son –
A ground that clearest would make seen their sin –
To have the Lycian Pandarus begin.
He (’gainst the truce with sacred covenants bound)
Gives Menelaus a dishonour’d wound.
Machaon heals him. Agamemnon then
To mortal war incenseth all his men:
The battles join, and in the heat of light,
Cold death shuts many eyes in endless night.
Another Argument
In Delta is the gods’ assize;
The truce is broke; wars freshly rise.
Book 4
Within the fair-pav’d court of Jove, he and the gods conferr’d
About the sad events of Troy: amongst whom minister’d
Bless’d Hebe, nectar. As they sat and did Troy’s tow’rs behold,
They drank, and pledg’d each other round, in full-crown’d cups of gold.
The mirth at whose feast was begun by great Saturnides,
In urging a begun dislike amongst the goddesses,
But chiefly in his solemn queen, whose spleen he was dispos’d
To tempt yet further, knowing well what anger it inclos’d,
And how wives’ angers should be used. On which (thus pleas’d) he play’d:
‘Two goddesses there are that still give Menelaus aid,
And one that Paris loves. The two that sit from us so far
(Which Argive Juno is, and she that rules in deeds of war)
No doubt are pleas’d to see how well the late-seen fight did frame:
And yet upon the adverse part, the laughter-loving dame
Made her pow’r good too for her friend. For though he were so near
The stroke of death in th’ other’s hopes, she took him from them clear:
The conquest yet is questionless the martial Spartan king’s;
We must consult then what events shall crown these future things,
If wars and combats we shall still with even successes strike,
Or as impartial friendship plant on both parts. If ye like
The last, and that it will as well delight as merely please
Your happy deities, still let stand old Priam’s town in peace,
And let the Lacedaemon king again his queen enjoy.’
As Pallas and heaven’s queen sat close, complotting ill to Troy,
With silent murmurs they receiv’d this ill-lik’d choice from Jove.
’Gainst whom was Pallas much incens’d, because the queen of love
Could not without his leave relieve in that late point of death
The son of Priam, whom she loath’d; her wrath yet fought beneath
Her supreme wisdom, and was curb’d: but Juno needs must ease
Her great heart with her ready tongue, and said: ‘What words are these,
Austere, and too much Saturn’s son? Why wouldst thou render still
My labours idle, and the sweat of my industrious will
Dishonour with so little power? My chariot horse are tir’d
With posting to and fro for Greece, and bringing banes desir’d
To people-must’ring Priamus, and his perfidious sons:
Yet thou protect’st, and join’st with them whom each just deity shuns.
Go on, but ever go resolv’d all other gods have vow’d
To cross thy partial course for Troy, in all that makes it proud.’
At this, the cloud-compelling Jove a far-fetch’d sigh let fly,
And said: ‘Thou fury! What offence of such impiety
Hath Priam or his sons done thee, that with so high a hate
Thou shouldst thus ceaselessly desire to raze and ruinate
So well a builded town as Troy? I think, hadst thou the pow’r,
Thou wouldst the ports and far-stretch’d walls fly over, and devour
Old Priam and his issue quick, and make all Troy thy feast;
And then at length I hope thy wrath and tired spleen would rest:
To which run on thy chariot, that nought be found in me
Of just cause to our future jars. In this yet strengthen thee,
And fix it in thy memory fast, that if I entertain
As peremptory a desire to level with the plain
A city where thy loved live, stand not betwixt my ire
And what it aims at, but give way, when thou hast thy desire,
Which now I grant thee willingly, although against Troy will:
For not beneath the ample sun, and heaven’s star-bearing hill,
There is a town of earthly men so honour’d in my mind
As sacred Troy, nor of earth’s kings as Priam and his kind,
Who never let my altars lack rich feast of off’rings slain,
And their sweet savours: for which grace I honour them again.’
Dread Juno, with the cow’s fair eyes, replied: ‘Three towns there are
Of great and eminent respect, both in my love and care:
Mycenae, with the broad highways; and Argos, rich in horse;
And Sparta; all which three destroy, when thou envy’st their force:
I will not aid them, nor malign thy free and sovereign will;
For if I should be envious, and set against their ill,
I know my envy were in vain, since thou art mightier far:
But we must give each other leave, and wink at either’s war.
I likewise must have pow’r to crown my works with wished end,
Because I am a deity, and did from thence descend,
Whence thou thyself, and th’ elder born: wise Saturn was our sire,
And thus there is a two-fold cause that pleads for my desire,
Being sister, and am call’d thy wife: and more, since thy command
Rules all gods else, I claim therein a like superior hand.
All wrath before then now remit, and mutually combine
In either’s empire; I thy rule, and thou illustrate mine.
So will the other gods agree, and we shall all be strong.
And first (for this late plot) with speed let Pallas go among
The Trojans, and some one of them entice to break the truce,
By off’ring in some treacherous wound the honour’d Greeks abuse.’
The father both of men and gods agreed; and Pallas sent
With these wing’d words to both the hosts: ‘Make all haste, and invent
Some mean by which the men of Troy, against the truce agreed,
May stir the glorious Greeks to arms, with some inglorious deed.’
Thus charg’d he her with haste, that did before in haste abound;
Who cast herself from all the heights with which steep heaven is crown’d:
And as Jove brandishing a star (which man a comet calls)
Hurls out his curled hair abroad, that from his brand exhals
A thousand sparks, to fleets at sea, and every mighty host,
