Here on the Monarch’s speech Achilles broke,
And furious, thus, and interrupting, spoke:
‘Tyrant, I well deserv’d thy galling chain,
To live thy slave, and still to serve in vain,
Should I submit to each unjust decree: 390
Command thy vassals, but command not me.
Seize on Briseïs, whom the Grecians doom’d
My prize of war, yet tamely see resumed;
And seize secure; no more Achilles draws
His conquering sword in any woman’s cause. 395
The Gods command me to forgive the past;
But let this first invasion be the last:
For know, thy blood, when next thou darest invade,
Shall stream in vengeance on my reeking blade.’
At this they ceas’d; the stern debate expired: 400
The Chiefs in sullen majesty retired.
Achilles with Patroclus took his way,
Where near his tents his hollow vessels lay.
Meantime Atrides launch’d with numerous oars
A well-rigg’d ship for Chrysa’s sacred shores: 405
High on the deck was fair Chryseïs placed,
And sage Ulysses with the conduct graced:
Safe in her sides the hecatomb they stow’d,
Then, swiftly sailing, cut the liquid road.
The host to expiate, next the King prepares, 410
With pure lustrations and with solemn prayers.
Wash’d by the briny wave, the pious train
Are cleans’d; and cast th’ ablutions in the main.
Along the shores whole hecatombs were laid,
And bulls and goats to Phœbus’ altars paid. 415
The sable fumes in curling spires arise,
And waft their grateful odours to the skies.
The army thus in sacred rites engaged,
Atrides still with deep resentment raged.
To wait his will two sacred heralds stood, 420
Talthybius and Eurybates the good.
‘Haste to the fierce Achilles’ tent’ (he cries),
‘Thence bear Briseïs as our royal prize:
Submit he must; or, if they will not part,
Ourself in arms shall tear her from his heart.’ 425
Th’ unwilling heralds act their lord’s commands;
Pensive they walk along the barren sands:
Arrived, the hero in his tent they find,
With gloomy aspect, on his arm reclin’d.
At awful distance long they silent stand, 430
Loth to advance, or speak their hard command;
Decent confusion! This the godlike man
Perceiv’d, and thus with accent mild began:
‘With leave and honour enter our abodes,
Ye sacred ministers of men and Gods! 435
I know your message; by constraint you came;
Not you, but your imperious lord, I blame.
Patroclus, haste, the fair Briseïs bring;
Conduct my captive to the haughty King.
But witness, Heralds, and proclaim my vow, 440
Witness to Gods above, and men below!
But first, and loudest, to your Prince declare,
That lawless tyrant whose commands you bear;
Unmov’d as death Achilles shall remain,
Tho’ prostrate Greece should bleed at ev’ry vein: 445
The raging Chief in frantic passion lost,
Blind to himself, and useless to his host,
Unskill’d to judge the future by the past,
In blood and slaughter shall repent at last.’
Patroclus now th’ unwilling beauty brought; 450
She, in soft sorrows, and in pensive thought,
Pass’d silent, as the heralds held her hand,
And oft look’d back, slow-moving o’er the strand.
Not so his loss the fierce Achilles bore;
But sad retiring to the sounding shore, 455
O’er the wild margin of the deep he hung,
That kindred deep from whence his mother sprung;
There, bathed in tears of anger and disdain,
Thus loud lamented to the stormy main:
‘O parent Goddess! since in early bloom 460
Thy son must fall, by too severe a doom;
Sure, to so short a race of glory born,
Great Jove in justice should this span adorn.
Honour and Fame at least the Thund’rer owed;
And ill he pays the promise of a God, 465
If you proud monarch thus thy son defies,
Obscures my glories, and resumes my prize.’
Far in the deep recesses of the main,
Where aged Ocean holds his wat’ry reign,
The Goddess-mother heard. The waves divide; 470
And like a mist she rose above the tide;
Beheld him mourning on the naked shores,
And thus the sorrows of his soul explores:
‘Why grieves my son? thy anguish let me share,
Reveal the cause, and trust a parent’s care.’ 475
He deeply sighing said: ‘To tell my woe,
Is but to mention what too well you know.
From Thebe, sacred to Apollo’s name
(Eëtion’s realm), our conquering army came,
With treasure loaded and triumphant spoils, 480
Whose just division crown’d the soldier’s toils;
But bright Chryseïs, heav’nly prize! was led
By vote selected to the gen’ral’s bed.
The priest of Phœbus sought by gifts to gain
His beauteous daughter from the victor’s chain; 485
The fleet he reach’d, and, lowly bending down,
Held forth the sceptre and the laurel crown,
Entreating all; but chief implor’d for grace
The brother-kings of Atreus’ royal race:
The gen’rous Greeks their joint consent declare, 490
The Priest to rev’rence, and release the Fair.
Not so Atrides: he, with wonted pride,
The sire insulted, and his gifts denied:
Th’ insulted sire (his God’s peculiar care)
To Phœbus pray’d, and Phœbus heard the prayer: 495
A dreadful plague ensues; th’ avenging darts
Incessant fly, and pierce the Grecian hearts,
A prophet then, inspired by Heav’n, arose,
And points the crime, and thence derives the woes:
Myself the first th’ assembled chiefs incline 500
T’ avert the vengeance of the Power divine;
Then, rising in his wrath, the Monarch storm’d;
Incens’d he threaten’d, and his threats perform’d:
The fair Chryseïs to her sire was sent,
With offer’d gifts to make the God relent; 505
But now he seized Briseïs’ heav’nly charms,
And of my valour’s prize defrauds my arms,
Defrauds the votes of all the Grecian train;
And Service, Faith, and Justice, plead in vain.
But, Goddess! thou thy suppliant son attend, 510
To high Olympus’ shining court ascend,
Urge all the ties to former service owed,
And sue for vengeance to the thund’ring God.
Oft hast thou triumph’d in the glorious boast
That thou stood’st forth, of all th’ ethereal host, 515
When bold rebellion shook the realms above,
Th’ undaunted guard of cloud-compelling Jove.
When the bright partner of his awful reign,
The warlike maid, and Monarch of the Main,
The Traitor-gods, by mad ambition driv’n, 520
Durst threat with chains th’ omnipotence of Heav’n,
Then call’d by thee, the monster Titan came
(Whom Gods Briareus, men Ægeon name);
Thro’ wond’ring skies enormous stalk’d alon
g;
Not he that shakes the solid earth so strong: 525
With giant pride at Jove’s high throne he stands,
And brandish’d round him all his hundred hands.
Th’ affrighted Gods confess’d their awful lord,
They dropp’d the fetters, trembled and adored.
This, Goddess, this to his rememb’rance call, 530
Embrace his knees, at his tribunal fall;
Conjure him far to drive the Grecian train,
To hurl them headlong to their fleet and main,
To heap the shores with copious death, and bring
The Greeks to know the curse of such a King: 535
Let Agamemnon lift his haughty head
O’er all his wide dominion of the dead,
And mourn in blood, that e’er he durst disgrace
The boldest warrior of the Grecian race.’
‘Unhappy son!’ (fair Thetis thus replies, 540
While tears celestial trickle from her eyes)
‘Why have I borne thee with a mother’s throes,
To fates averse, and nurs’d for future woes?
So short a space the light of Heav’n to view!
So short a space! and fill’d with sorrow too! 545
O might a parent’s careful wish prevail,
Far, far from Ilion should thy vessels sail,
And thou, from camps remote, the danger shun,
Which now, alas! too nearly threats my son.
Yet (what I can) to move thy suit I ‘ll go 550
To great Olympus crown’d with fleecy snow.
Meantime, secure within thy ships from far
Behold the field, nor mingle in the war.
The Sire of Gods, and all th’ ethereal train,
On the warm limits of the farthest main, 555
Now mix with mortals, nor disdain to grace
The feasts of Æthiopia’s blameless race:
Twelve days the Powers indulge the genial rite,
Returning with the twelfth revolving light.
Then will I mount the brazen dome, and move 560
The high tribunal of immortal Jove.’
The Goddess spoke: the rolling waves unclose;
Then down the deep she plunged, from whence she rose,
And left him sorrowing on the lonely coast
In wild resentment for the Fair he lost. 565
In Chrysa’s port now sage Ulysses rode;
Beneath the deck the destin’d victims stow’d:
The sails they furl’d, they lash’d the mast aside,
And dropp’d their anchors, and the pinnace tied.
Next on the shore their hecatomb they land, 570
Chryseïs last descending on the strand.
Her, thus returning from the furrow’d main,
Ulysses led to Phœbus’ sacred fane;
Where at his solemn altar, as the maid
He gave to Chryses, thus the hero said: 575
‘Hail, rev’rend Priest! to Phœbus’ awful dome
A suppliant I from great Atrides come:
Unransom’d here receive the spotless Fair;
Accept the hecatomb the Greeks prepare;
And may thy God who scatters darts around, 580
Atoned by sacrifice, desist to wound.’
At this the sire embraced the maid again,
So sadly lost, so lately sought in vain.
Then near the altar of the darting King
Disposed in rank their hecatomb they bring: 585
With water purify their hands, and take
The sacred off’ring of the salted cake;
While thus with arms devoutly raised in air,
And solemn voice, the priest directs his prayer:
‘God of the Silver Bow, thy ear incline, 590
Whose power encircles Cilla the divine;
Whose sacred eye thy Tenedos surveys,
And gilds fair Chrysa with distinguish’d rays!
If, fired to vengeance at thy priest’s request,
Thy direful darts inflict the raging pest; 595
Once more attend! avert the wasteful woe,
And smile propitious, and unbend thy bow.’
So Chryses pray’d, Apollo heard his prayer:
And now the Greeks their hecatomb prepare;
Between their horns the salted barley threw, 600
And with their heads to Heav’n the victims slew:
The limbs they sever from th’ inclosing hide;
The thighs, selected to the Gods, divide:
On these, in double cauls involv’d with art,
The choicest morsels lay from every part. 605
The priest himself before his altar stands,
And burns the off’ring with his holy hands,
Pours the black wine, and sees the flames aspire;
The youths with instruments surround the fire:
The thighs thus sacrificed, and entrails drest, 610
Th’ assistants part, transfix, and roast the rest:
Then spread the tables, the repast prepare,
Each takes his seat, and each receives his share.
When now the rage of hunger was repress’d,
With pure libations they conclude the feast: 615
The youths with wine the copious goblets crown’d,
And, pleas’d, dispense the flowing bowls around.
With hymns divine the joyous banquet ends,
The Pæans lengthen’d till the sun descends:
The Greeks, restor’d, the grateful notes prolong: 620
Apollo listens, and approves the song.
‘T was night; the chiefs beside their vessel lie,
Till rosy morn had purpled o’er the sky:
Then launch, and hoist the mast; indulgent gales,
Supplied by Phœbus, fill the swelling sails; 625
The milk-white canvas bellying as they blow,
The parted ocean foams and roars below:
Above the bounding billows swift they flew,
Till now the Grecian camp appear’d in view.
Far on the beach they haul their barks to land, 630
(The crooked keel divides the yellow sand),
Then part, where stretch’d along the winding bay
The ships and tents in mingled prospect lay.
But, raging still, amidst his navy sate
The stern Achilles, steadfast in his hate; 635
Nor mix’d in combat, nor in council join’d;
But wasting cares lay heavy on his mind:
In his black thoughts revenge and slaughter roll,
And scenes of blood rise dreadful in his soul.
Twelve days were past, and now the dawning light 640
The Gods had summon’d to th’ Olympian height:
Jove, first ascending from the wat’ry bowers,
Leads the long order of ethereal Powers.
When like the morning mist, in early day,
Rose from the flood the Daughter of the Sea; 645
And to the seats divine her flight address’d.
There, far apart, and high above the rest,
The Thund’rer sat; where old Olympus shrouds
His hundred heads in Heav’n, and props the clouds.
Suppliant the Goddess stood: one hand she placed 650
Beneath his beard, and one his knees embraced.
‘If e’er, O father of the Gods!’ she said,
‘My words could please thee, or my actions aid;
Some marks of honour on thy son bestow,
And pay in glory what in life you owe. 655
Fame is at least by heav’nly promise due
To life so short, and now dishonour’d too.
Avenge this wrong, oh ever just and wise!
Let Greece be humbled, and the Trojans rise;
Till the proud King, and all th’ Achaian race 660
Shall heap with honours him they now disgrace.’
Thus Thetis spoke, but Jove in silence
held
The sacred councils of his breast conceal’d.
Not so repuls’d, the Goddess closer press’d,
Still grasp’d his knees, and urged the dear request. 665
‘O Sire of Gods and men! thy suppliant hear,
Refuse, or grant; for what has Jove to fear?
Or, oh! declare, of all the Powers above,
Is wretched Thetis least the care of Jove?’
She said, and sighing thus the God replies, 670
Who rolls the thunder o’er the vaulted skies:
‘What hast thou ask’d? Ah, why should Jove engage
In foreign contests, and domestic rage,
The Gods’ complaints, and Juno’s fierce alarms,
While I, too partial, aid the Trojan arms? 675
Go, lest the haughty partner of my sway
With jealous eyes thy close access survey;
But part in peace, secure thy prayer is sped:
Witness the sacred honours of our head,
The nod that ratifies the will divine, 680
The faithful, fix’d, irrevocable sign;
This seals thy suit, and this fulfils thy vows—’
He spoke, and awful bends his sable brows,
Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod;
The stamp of Fate, and sanction of the God: 685
High Heav’n with trembling the dread signal took,
And all Olympus to the centre shook.
Swift to the seas profound the Goddess flies,
Jove to his starry mansion in the skies.
The shining Synod of th’ Immortals wait 690
The coming God, and from their thrones of state
Arising silent, rapt in holy fear,
Before the Majesty of Heav’n appear.
Trembling they stand, while Jove assumes the throne,
All, but the God’s imperious Queen alone: 695
Late had she view’d the silver-footed dame,
And all her passions kindled into flame.
‘Say, artful manager of Heav’n’ (she cries),
‘Who now partakes the secrets of the skies?
Thy Juno knows not the decrees of Fate, 700
In vain the partner of imperial state.
What fav’rite Goddess then those cares divides,
Which Jove in prudence from his consort hides?’
To this the Thund’rer: ‘Seek not thou to find
The sacred counsels of almighty mind: 705
Involved in darkness lies the great decree,
Nor can the depths of Fate be pierc’d by thee.
What fits thy knowledge, thou the first shalt know:
The first of Gods above and men below:
But thou, nor they, shall search the thoughts that roll 710
Deep in the close recesses of my soul.’
Full on the Sire, the Goddess of the skies
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 64
