Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain,
God of the silver bow! thy shafts employ,
Avenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy.’ 60
Thus Chryses pray’d: the fav’ring power attends,
And from Olympus’ lofty tops descends.
Bent was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound;
Fierce, as he mov’d, his silver shafts resound.
Breathing revenge, a sudden night be spread, 65
And gloomy darkness roll’d around his head.
The fleet in view, he twang’d his deadly bow,
And hissing fly the feather’d fates below.
On mules and dogs th’ infection first began;
And last, the vengeful arrows fix’d in man. 70
For nine long nights, thro’ all the dusky air
The pyres thick-flaming shot a dismal glare.
But ere the tenth revolving day was run,
Inspired by Juno, Thetis’ godlike son
Convened to council all the Grecian train; 75
For much the Goddess mourn’d her heroes slain.
Th’ assembly seated, rising o’er the rest,
Achilles thus the King of Men address’d:
‘Why leave we not the fatal Trojan shore,
And measure back the seas we cross’d before? 80
The Plague destroying whom the Sword would spare,
‘T is time to save the few remains of war.
But let some prophet or some sacred sage
Explore the cause of great Apollo’s rage;
Or learn the wasteful vengeance to remove 85
By mystic dreams, for dreams descend from Jove.
If broken vows this heavy curse have laid,
Let altars smoke, and hecatombs be paid.
So Heav’n atoned shall dying Greece restore,
And Phœbus dart his burning shafts no more.’ 90
He said, and sat: when Chalcas thus replied:
Chalcas the wise, the Grecian priest and guide,
That sacred seer, whose comprehensive view
The past, the present, and the future knew;
Uprising slow, the venerable sage 95
Thus spoke the prudence and the fears of age:
‘Belov’d of Jove, Achilles! would’st thou know
Why angry Phœbus bends his fatal bow?
First give thy faith, and plight a Prince’s word
Of sure protection, by thy power and sword, 100
For I must speak what wisdom would conceal,
And truths invidious to the great reveal.
Bold is the task, when subjects, grown too wise,
Instruct a monarch where his error lies;
For tho’ we deem the short-lived fury past, 105
‘T is sure, the mighty will revenge at last.’
To whom Pelides: ‘From thy inmost soul
Speak what thou know’st, and speak without control.
Ev’n by that God I swear, who rules the day,
To whom thy hands the vows of Greece convey, 110
And whose blest oracles thy lips declare;
Long as Achilles breathes this vital air,
No daring Greek, of all the numerous band,
Against his priest shall lift an impious hand:
Not ev’n the Chief by whom our hosts are led, 115
The King of Kings, shall touch that sacred head.’
Encouraged thus, the blameless man replies:
‘Nor vows unpaid, nor slighted sacrifice,
But he, our Chief, provoked the raging pest,
Apollo’s vengeance for his injured priest. 120
Nor will the God’s awaken’d fury cease,
But plagues shall spread, and funeral fires increase,
Till the great King, without a ransom paid,
To her own Chrysa send the black-eyed maid.
Perhaps, with added sacrifice and prayer, 125
The Priest may pardon, and the God may spare.’
The prophet spoke; when, with a gloomy frown,
The Monarch started from his shining throne;
Black choler fill’d his breast that boil’d with ire,
And from his eyeballs flash’d the living fire. 130
‘Augur accurs’d! denouncing mischief still,
Prophet of plagues, for ever boding ill!
Still must that tongue some wounding message bring,
And still thy priestly pride provoke thy King?
For this are Phœbus’ oracles explor’d, 135
To teach the Greeks to murmur at their lord?
For this with falsehoods is my honour stain’d;
Is Heav’n offended, and a priest profaned,
Because my prize, my beauteous maid, I hold,
And heav’nly charms prefer to proffer’d gold? 140
A maid, unmatch’d in manners as in face,
Skill’d in each art, and crown’d with ev’ry grace:
Not half so dear were Clytæmnestra’s charms,
When first her blooming beauties bless’d my arms.
Yet, if the Gods demand her, let her sail; 145
Our cares are only for the public weal:
Let me be deem’d the hateful cause of all,
And suffer, rather than my people fall.
The prize, the beauteous prize, I will resign,
So dearly valued, and so justly mine. 150
But since for common good I yield the Fair,
My private loss let grateful Greece repair;
Nor unrewarded let your Prince complain,
That he alone has fought and bled in vain.’
‘Insatiate King!’ (Achilles thus replies) 155
‘Fond of the Power, but fonder of the Prize!
Wouldst thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield,
The due reward of many a well-fought field?
The spoils of cities razed, and warriors slain,
We share with justice, as with toil we gain: 160
But to resume whate’er thy av’rice craves
(That trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves.
Yet if our Chief for plunder only fight,
The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite,
Whene’er, by Jove’s decree, our conquering powers 165
Shall humble to the dust her lofty towers.’
Then thus the King: ‘Shall I my prize resign
With tame content, and thou possess’d of thine?
Great as thou art, and like a God in fight,
Think not to rob me of a soldier’s right. 170
At thy demand shall I restore the maid?
First let the just equivalent be paid;
Such as a King might ask; and let it be
A treasure worthy her, and worthy me.
Or grant me this, or with a monarch’s claim 175
This hand shall seize some other captive dame.
The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign,
Ulysses’ spoils, or ev’n thy own be mine.
The man who suffers, loudly may complain;
And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain. 180
But this when time requires: It now remains
We launch a bark to plough the wat’ry plains,
And waft the sacrifice to Chrysa’s shores,
With chosen pilots, and with lab’ring oars.
Soon shall the Fair the sable ship ascend, 185
And some deputed prince the charge attend.
This Creta’s king, or Ajax shall fulfil,
Or wise Ulysses see perform’d our will;
Or, if our royal pleasure shall ordain,
Achilles’ self conduct her o’er the main; 190
Let fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage,
The God propitiate, and the pest assuage.’
At this, Pelides, frowning stern, replied:
‘O tyrant, arm’d with insolence and pride!
Inglorious slave to int’rest, ever join’d 195
&nbs
p; With fraud unworthy of a royal mind!
What gen’rous Greek, obedient to thy word,
Shall form an ambush, or shall lift the sword?
What cause have I to war at thy decree?
The distant Trojans never injured me; 200
To Phthia’s realms no hostile troops they led;
Safe in her vales my warlike coursers fed;
Far hence remov’d, the hoarse-resounding main,
And walls of rocks, secure my native reign,
Whose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace, 205
Rich in her fruits, and in her martial race.
Hither we sail’d, a voluntary throng,
T’ avenge a private, not a public wrong:
What else to Troy th’ assembled nations draws,
But thine, ungrateful, and thy brother’s cause? 210
Is this the pay our blood and toils deserve,
Disgraced and injured by the man we serve?
And darest thou threat to snatch my prize away,
Due to the deeds of many a dreadful day?
A prize as small, O tyrant! match’d with thine, 215
As thy own actions if compared to mine.
Thine in each conquest is the wealthy prey,
Tho’ mine the sweat and danger of the day.
Some trivial present to my ships I bear,
Or barren praises pay the wounds of war. 220
But know, proud Monarch, I ‘m thy slave no more:
My fleet shall waft me to Thessalia’s shore.
Left by Achilles on the Trojan plain,
What spoils, what conquests, shall Atrides gain?’
To this the King: ‘Fly, mighty warrior! fly, 225
Thy aid we need not, and thy threats defy:
There want not chiefs in such a cause to fight,
And Jove himself shall guard a Monarch’s right.
Of all the Kings (the Gods’ distinguish’d care)
To pow’r superior none such hatred bear; 230
Strife and debate thy restless soul employ,
And wars and horrors are thy savage joy.
If thou hast strength, ‘t was Heav’n that strength bestow’d,
For know, vain man! thy valour is from God.
Haste, launch thy vessels, fly with speed away, 235
Rule thy own realms with arbitrary sway:
I heed thee not, but prize at equal rate
Thy short-lived friendship, and thy groundless hate.
Go, threat thy earth-born Myrmidons; but here
‘T is mine to threaten, Prince, and thine to fear. 240
Know, if the God the beauteous dame demand,
My bark shall waft her to her native land;
But then prepare, imperious Prince! prepare,
Fierce as thou art, to yield thy captive fair:
Ev’n in thy tent I ‘ll seize the blooming prize, 245
Thy loved Briseïs, with the radiant eyes.
Hence shalt thou prove my might, and curse the hour,
Thou stood’st a rival of imperial power;
And hence to all our host it shall be known
That Kings are subject to the Gods alone.’ 250
Achilles heard, with grief and rage oppress’d;
His heart swell’d high, and labour’d in his breast.
Distracting thoughts by turns his bosom rules,
Now fired by wrath, and now by reason cool’d:
That prompts his hand to draw the deadly sword, 255
Force thro’ the Greeks, and pierce their haughty lord;
This whispers soft, his vengeance to control,
And calm the rising tempest of his soul.
Just as in anguish of suspense he stay’d,
While half unsheathed appear’d the glitt’ring blade, 260
Minerva swift descended from above,
Sent by the sister and the wife of Jove
(For both the princes claim’d her equal care);
Behind she stood, and by the golden hair
Achilles seized; to him alone confess’d, 265
A sable cloud conceal’d her from the rest.
He sees, and sudden to the Goddess cries
(Known by the flames that sparkle from her eyes):
‘Descends Minerva, in her guardian care,
A heav’nly witness of the wrongs I bear 270
From Atreus’ son? Then let those eyes that view
The daring crime, behold the vengeance too.’
‘Forbear!’ (the progeny of Jove replies)
‘To calm thy fury I forsake the skies:
Let great Achilles, to the Gods resign’d, 275
To reason yield the empire o’er his mind.
By awful Juno this command is giv’n;
The King and you are both the care of Heav’n.
The force of keen reproaches let him feel,
But sheathe, obedient, thy revenging steel. 280
For I pronounce (and trust a heav’nly Power)
Thy injured honour has its fated hour,
When the proud monarch shall thy arms implore,
And bribe thy friendship with a boundless store.
Then let revenge no longer bear the sway, 285
Command thy passions, and the Gods obey.’
To her Pelides: ‘With regardful ear,
‘T is just, O Goddess! I thy dictates hear.
Hard as it is, my vengeance I suppress:
Those who revere the Gods, the Gods will bless.’ 290
He said, observant of the blue-eyed maid;
Then in the sheath return’d the shining blade.
The Goddess swift to high Olympus flies,
And joins the sacred senate of the skies.
Nor yet the rage his boiling breast forsook; 295
Which thus redoubling on Atrides broke:
‘O monster! mix’d of insolence and fear,
Thou dog in forehead, but in heart a deer!
When wert thou known in ambush’d fights to dare,
Or nobly face the horrid front of war? 300
‘T is ours, the chance of fighting fields to try,
Thine to look on, and bid the valiant die.
So much ‘t is safer thro’ the camp to go,
And rob a subject, than despoil a foe.
Scourge of thy people, violent and base! 305
Sent in Jove’s anger on a slavish race,
Who, lost to sense of gen’rous freedom past,
Are tamed to wrongs, or this had been thy last.
Now by this sacred sceptre hear me swear,
Which never more shall leaves or blossoms bear, 310
Which, sever’d from the trunk (as I from thee)
On the bare mountains left its parent tree;
This sceptre, form’d by temper’d steel to prove
An ensign of the delegates of Jove,
From whom the power of laws and justice springs 315
(Tremendous oath! inviolate to Kings):
By this I swear, when bleeding Greece again
Shall call Achilles, she shall call in vain.
When, flush’d with slaughter, Hector comes to spread
The purpled shore with mountains of the dead, 320
Then shalt thou mourn th’ affront thy madness gave,
Forced to deplore, when impotent to save:
Then rage in bitterness of soul, to know
This act has made the bravest Greek thy foe.’
He spoke; and furious hurl’d against the ground 325
His sceptre starr’d with golden studs around;
Then sternly silent sat. With like disdain,
The raging King return’d his frowns again.
To calm their passion with the words of age,
Slow from his seat arose the Pylian sage. 330
Experienced Nestor, in persuasion skill’d;
Words sweet as honey from his lips distill’d:
Two generations now had pass’d away,
Wise by h
is rules, and happy by his sway;
Two ages o’er his native realm he reign’d, 335
And now th’ example of the third remain’d.
All view’d with awe the venerable man;
Who thus, with mild benevolence, began:
‘What shame, what woe is this to Greece! what joy
To Troy’s proud monarch, and the friends of Troy! 340
That adverse Gods commit to stern debate
The best, the bravest of the Grecian state.
Young as you are, this youthful heat restrain,
Nor think your Nestor’s years and wisdom vain.
A godlike race of heroes once I knew, 345
Such as no more these aged eyes shall view!
Lives there a chief to match Pirithous’ fame,
Dryas the bold, or Ceneus’ deathless name;
Theseus, endued with more than mortal might,
Or Polyphemus, like the Gods in fight? 350
With these of old to toils of battle bred,
In early youth my hardy days I led;
Fired with the thirst which virtuous envy breeds,
And smit with love of honourable deeds.
Strongest of men, they pierc’d the mountain boar, 355
Ranged the wild deserts red with monsters’ gore,
And from their hills the shaggy Centaurs tore.
Yet these with soft persuasive arts I sway’d;
When Nestor spoke, they listen’d and obey’d.
If in my youth, ev’n these esteem’d me wise, 360
Do you, young warriors, hear my age advise.
Atrides, seize not on the beauteous slave;
That prize the Greeks by common suffrage gave:
Nor thou, Achilles, treat our Prince with pride;
Let Kings be just; and sov’reign power preside. 365
Thee, the first honours of the war adorn,
Like Gods in strength, and of a Goddess born;
Him, awful majesty exalts above
The powers of earth, and sceptred sons of Jove.
Let both unite with well-consenting mind, 370
So shall authority with strength be join’d.
Leave me, O King! to calm Achilles’ rage;
Rule thou thyself, as more advanced in age.
Forbid it, Gods! Achilles should be lost,
The pride of Greece, and bulwark of our host.’ 375
This said, he ceas’d: the King of Men replies:
‘Thy years are awful, and thy words are wise.
But that imperious, that unconquer’d soul,
No laws can limit, no respect control:
Before his pride must his superiors fall, 380
His word the law, and he the lord of all?
Him must our hosts, our chiefs, ourself, obey?
What King can bear a rival in his sway?
Grant that the Gods his matchless force have giv’n;
Has foul reproach a privilege from Heav’n?’ 385
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 63
