‘Me too, ye warriors, hear, whose fatal right 135
A world engages in the toils of fight —
To me the labour of the field resign;
Me Paris injured; all the war be mine.
Fall he that must, beneath his rival’s arms,
And live the rest secure of future harms. 140
Two lambs, devoted by your country’s rite,
To Earth a sable, to the Sun a white,
Prepare, ye Trojans! while a third we bring
Select to Jove, th’ inviolable King.
Let rev’rend Priam in the truce engage, 145
And add the sanction of consid’rate age;
His sons are faithless, headlong in debate,
And youth itself an empty wav’ring state:
Cool age advances venerably wise,
Turns on all hands its deep-discerning eyes; 150
Sees what befell, and what may yet befall,
Concludes from both, and best provides for all.’
The nations hear, with rising hopes possess’d,
And peaceful prospects dawn in every breast.
Within the lines they drew their steeds around, 155
And from their chariots issued on the ground:
Next all, unbuckling the rich mail they wore,
Laid their bright arms along the sable shore.
On either side the meeting hosts are seen
With lances fix’d, and close the space between. 160
Two heralds now, despatch’d to Troy, invite
The Phrygian monarch to the peaceful rite;
Talthybius hastens to the fleet, to bring
The lamb for Jove, th’ inviolable King.
Meantime, to beauteous Helen, from the skies 165
The various Goddess of the Rainbow flies
(Like fair Laödicè in form and face,
The loveliest nymph of Priam’s royal race);
Her in the palace, at her loom she found;
The golden web her own sad story crown’d. 170
The Trojan wars she weav’d (herself the prize),
And the dire triumphs of her fatal eyes.
To whom the Goddess of the Painted Bow:
‘Approach, and view the wondrous scene below!
Each hardy Greek, and valiant Trojan knight, 175
So dreadful late, and furious for the fight,
Now rest their spears, or lean upon their shields;
Ceas’d is the war, and silent all the fields.
Paris alone and Sparta’s King advance,
In single fight to toss the beamy lance; 180
Each met in arms, the fate of combat tries,
Thy love the motive, and thy charms the prize.’
This said, the many-colour’d maid inspires
Her husband’s love, and wakes her former fires;
Her country, parents, all that once were dear, 185
Rush to her thought, and force a tender tear.
O’er her fair face a snowy veil she threw
And, softly sighing, from the loom withdrew.
Her handmaids Clymenè and Æthra wait
Her silent footsteps to the Scæan gate. 190
There sat the seniors of the Trojan race
(Old Priam’s Chiefs, and most in Priam’s grace);
The King the first; Thymœtes at his side;
Lampus and Clytius, long in council tried;
Panthus, and Hicetaœn, once the strong; 195
And next the wisest of the rev’rend throng,
Antenor grave, and sage Ucalegon,
Lean’d on the walls, and bask’d before the sun.
Chiefs, who no more in bloody fights engage,
But, wise thro’ time, and narrative with age, 200
In summer-days like grasshoppers rejoice,
A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice.
These, when the Spartan Queen approach’d the tower,
In secret own’d resistless Beauty’s power:
They cried, ‘No wonder, such celestial charms 205
For nine long years have set the world in arms!
What winning graces! what majestic mien!
She moves a Goddess, and she looks a Queen.
Yet hence, oh Heav’n! convey that fatal face,
And from destruction save the Trojan race.’ 210
The good old Priam welcom’d her, and cried,
‘Approach, my child, and grace thy father’s side.
See on the plain thy Grecian spouse appears,
The friends and kindred of thy former years.
No crime of thine our present suff’rings draws, 215
Not thou, but Heav’n’s disposing will, the cause;
The Gods these armies and this force employ,
The hostile Gods conspire the fate of Troy.
But life thine eyes, and say, what Greek is he
(Far as from hence these aged orbs can see), 220
Around whose brow such martial graces shine,
So tall, so awful, and almost divine?
Tho’ some of larger stature tread the green,
None match his grandeur and exalted mien:
He seems a monarch and his country’s pride.’ 225
Thus ceas’d the King, and thus the Fair replied:
‘Before thy presence, father, I appear
With conscious shame and reverential fear,
Ah! had I died, ere to these walls I fled,
False to my country, and my nuptial bed, 230
My brothers, friends, and daughter left behind,
False to them all, to Paris only kind!
For this I mourn, till grief or dire disease
Shall waste the form whose crime it was to please!
The King of Kings, Atrides, you survey, 235
Great in war, and great in arts of sway:
My brother once, before my days of shame:
And oh! that still he bore a brother’s name!’
With wonder Priam view’d the godlike man,
Extoll’d the happy Prince, and thus began: 240
‘O blest Atrides! born to prosp’rous fate,
Successful monarch of a mighty state!
How vast thy empire! Of yon matchless train
What numbers lost, what numbers yet remain!
In Phrygia once were gallant armies known, 245
In ancient time, when Otreus fill’d the throne;
When godlike Mygdon led their troops of horse,
And I, to join them, rais’d the Trojan force;
Against the manlike Amazons we stood,
And Sangar’s stream ran purple with their blood. 250
But far inferior those, in martial grace
And strength of numbers, to this Grecian race.’
This said, once more he view’d the warrior train:
‘What ‘s he, whose arms lie scatter’d on the plain?
Broad is his breast, his shoulders larger spread, 255
Tho’ great Atrides overtops his head.
Nor yet appear his care and conduct small;
From rank to rank he moves, and orders all.
The stately ram thus measures o’er the ground,
And, master of the flocks, surveys them round.’ 260
Then Helen thus: ‘Whom your discerning eyes
Have singled out, is Ithacus the wise:
A barren island boasts his glorious birth;
His fame for wisdom fills the spacious earth.’
Antenor took the word, and thus began: 265
‘Myself, O King! have seen that wondrous man;
When, trusting Jove and hospitable laws,
To Troy he came, to plead the Grecian cause
(Great Menelaus urged the same request);
My house was honour’d with each royal guest: 270
I knew their persons, and admired their parts,
Both brave in arms, and both approv’d in arts.
Erect, the Spartan most engaged our view,
Ulysses seated greater rev’rence drew.
When Atreus’ son harangued the list’ning train, 275
Just was his sense, and his expression plain,
His words succinct, yet full, without a fault;
He spoke no more than just the thing he ought.
But when Ulysses rose, in thought profound,
His modest eyes he fix’d upon the ground; 280
As one unskill’d or dumb, he seem’d to stand,
Nor rais’d his head, nor stretch’d his sceptred hand;
But when he speaks, what elocution flows!
Soft as the fleeces of descending snows,
The copious accents fall, with easy art; 285
Melting they fall, and sink into the heart!
Wond’ring we hear, and, fix’d in deep surprise,
Our ears refute the censure of our eyes.’
The King then ask’d (as yet the camp he view’d),
‘What Chief is that, with giant strength endued, 290
Whose brawny shoulders, and whose swelling chest,
And lofty stature, far exceed the rest?’
‘Ajax the great’ (the beauteous Queen replied),
‘Himself a host: the Grecian strength and pride.
See! bold Idomeneus superior towers 295
Amidst yon circle of his Cretan powers,
Great as a God! I saw him once before,
With Menelaus on the Spartan shore.
The rest I know, and could in order name;
All valiant Chiefs, and men of mighty fame. 300
Yet two are wanting of the numerous train,
Whom long my eyes have sought, but sought in vain;
Castor and Pollux, first in martial force,
One bold on foot, and one renown’d for horse.
My brothers these; the same our native shore, 305
One house contain’d us, as one mother bore.
Perhaps the Chiefs, from warlike toils at ease,
For distant Troy refused to sail the seas:
Perhaps their sword some nobler quarrel draws,
Ashamed to combat in their sister’s cause.’ 310
So spoke the Fair, nor knew her brothers’ doom,
Wrapt in the cold embraces of the tomb;
Adorn’d with honours in their native shore,
Silent they slept, and heard of wars no more.
Meantime, the heralds thro’ the crowded town 315
Bring the rich wine and destin’d victims down.
Idæus’ arms the golden goblets press’d,
Who thus the venerable King address’d:
‘Arise, O father of the Trojan state!
The nations call, thy joyful people wait, 320
To seal the truce, and end the dire debate.
Paris, thy son, and Sparta’s King advance,
In measured lists to toss the weighty lance;
And who his rival shall in arms subdue,
His be the dame, and his the treasure too. 325
Thus with a lasting league our toils may cease,
And Troy possess her fertile fields in peace:
So shall the Greeks review their native shore,
Much famed for gen’rous steeds, for beauty more.’
With grief he heard, and bade the Chiefs prepare 330
To join his milk-white coursers to the car:
He mounts the seat, Antenor at his side;
The gentle steeds thro’ Scæa’s gates they guide:
Next from the car, descending on the plain,
Amid the Grecian host and Trojan train 335
Slow they proceed: the sage Ulysses then
Arose, and with him rose the King of men.
On either side a sacred herald stands;
The wine they mix, and on each monarch’s hands
Pour the full urn; then draws the Grecian lord 340
His cutlass, sheathed beside his pond’rous sword;
From the sign’d victims crops the curling hair,
The heralds part it, and the Princes share;
Then loudly thus before th’ attentive bands
He calls the Gods, and spreads his lifted hands: 345
‘O first and greatest Power! whom all obey,
Who high on Ida’s holy mountain sway,
Eternal Jove! and you bright Orb that roll
From east to west, and view from pole to pole!
Thou mother Earth! and all ye living Floods! 350
Infernal Furies, and Tartarean Gods,
Who rule the dead, and horrid woes prepare
For perjured Kings, and all who falsely swear!
Hear, and be witness. If, by Paris slain,
Great Menelaus press the fatal plain; 355
The dame and treasures let the Trojan keep;
And Greece returning plough the wat’ry deep.
If by my brother’s lance the Trojan bleed,
Be his the wealth and beauteous dame decreed:
Th’ appointed fine let Ilion justly pay, 360
And age to age record the signal day.
This if the Phrygians shall refuse to yield,
Arms must revenge, and Mars decide the field.’
With that the Chief the tender victims slew,
And in the dust their bleeding bodies threw: 365
The vital spirit issued at the wound,
And left the members quiv’ring on the ground.
From the same urn they drink the mingled wine,
And add libations to the Powers divine.
While thus their prayers united mount the sky: 370
‘Hear, mighty Jove! and hear, ye Gods on high!
And may their blood, who first the league confound,
Shed like this wine, disdain the thirsty ground;
May all their consorts serve promiscuous lust,
And all their race be scatter’d as the dust!’ 375
Thus either host their imprecations join’d,
Which Jove refused, and mingled with the wind.
The rites now finish’d, rev’rend Priam rose,
And thus express’d a heart o’ercharged with woes:
‘Ye Greeks and Trojans, let the Chiefs engage, 380
But spare the weakness of my feeble age:
In yonder walls that object let me shun,
Nor view the danger of so dear a son.
Whose arms shall conquer, and what Prince shall fall,
Heav’n only knows, for Heav’n disposes all.’ 385
This said, the hoary King no longer stay’d,
But on his car the slaughter’d victims laid;
Then seiz’d the reins his gentle steeds to guide,
And drove to Troy, Antenor at his side.
Bold Hector and Ulysses now dispose 390
The lists of combat, and the ground enclose;
Next to decide by sacred lots prepare,
Who first shall lance his pointed spear in air.
The people pray with elevated hands,
And words like these are heard thro’ all the bands: 395
‘Immortal Jove! high Heav’n’s superior lord,
On lofty Ida’s holy mount ador’d!
Whoe’er involv’d us in this dire debate,
Oh give that author of the war to Fate
And shades eternal! let division cease, 400
And joyful nations join in leagues of peace.’
With eyes averted Hector hastes to turn
The lots of fight, and shakes the brazen urn.
Then, Paris, thine leap’d forth; by fatal chance
Ordain’d the first to whirl the mighty lance. 405
Both armies sat, the combat to survey,
Beside each Chief his azure armour lay,
And round the lists the gen’rous coursers neigh.
The beauteous warrior now arrays for fight,
In gilded arms magnificently bright: 410
The purple cuishes clasp his thighs around,
With flowers a
dorn’d, with silver buckles bound:
Lycaön’s corslet his fair body dress’d,
Braced in, and fitted to his softer breast;
A radiant baldric, o’er his shoulder tied, 415
Sustain’d the sword that glitter’d at his side:
His youthful face a polish’d helm o’erspread;
The waving horse-hair nodded on his head:
His figured shield, a shining orb, he takes,
And in his hand a pointed jav’lin shakes. 420
With equal speed, and fired by equal charms,
The Spartan hero sheathes his limbs in arms.
Now round the lists th’ admiring armies stand,
With jav’lins fix’d, the Greek and Trojan band.
Amidst the dreadful vale the Chiefs advance, 425
All pale with rage, and shake the threat’ning lance.
The Trojan first his shining jav’lin threw:
Full on Atrides’ ringing shield it flew,
Nor pierc’d the brazen orb, but with a bound
Leap’d from the buckler blunted on the ground. 430
Atrides then his massy lance prepares,
In act to throw, but first prefers his prayers:
‘Give me, great Jove! to punish lawless lust,
And lay the Trojan gasping in the dust;
Destroy th’ aggressor, aid my righteous cause, 435
Avenge the breach of hospitable laws!
Let this example future times reclaim,
And guard from wrong fair friendship’s holy name.’
He said, and, pois’d in air, the jav’lin sent;
Thro’ Paris’ shield the forceful weapon went, 440
His corslet pierces, and his garment rends,
And, glancing downward, near his flank descends.
The wary Trojan, bending from the blow,
Eludes the death, and disappoints his foe:
But fierce Atrides waved his sword, and struck 445
Full on his casque; the crested helmet shook;
The brittle steel, unfaithful to his hand,
Broke short: the fragments glitter’d on the sand;
The raging warrior to the spacious skies
Rais’d his upbraiding voice, and angry eyes: 450
‘Then is it vain in Jove himself to trust?
And is it thus the Gods assist the just?
When crimes provoke us, Heav’n success denies:
The dart falls harmless, and the falchion flies.’
Furious he said, and toward the Grecian crew 455
(Seiz’d by the crest) th’ unhappy warrior drew;
Struggling he follow’d, while th’ embroider’d thong,
That tied his helmet, dragg’d the Chief along.
Then had his ruin crown’d Atrides’ joy,
But Venus trembled for the Prince of Troy: 460
Unseen she came, and burst the golden band;
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 69
