Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series

by Alexander Pope

And left an empty helmet in his hand.

  The casque, enraged, amidst the Greeks he threw;

  The Greeks with smiles the polish’d trophy view.

  Then, as once more he lifts the deadly dart, 465

  In thirst of vengeance, at his rival’s heart,

  The Queen of Love her favour’d champion shrouds

  (For Gods can all things) in a veil of clouds.

  Rais’d from the field the panting youth she led,

  And gently laid him on the bridal bed, 470

  With pleasing sweets his fainting sense renews,

  And all the dome perfumes with heav’nly dews.

  Meantime the brightest of the female kind,

  The matchless Helen, o’er the walls reclin’d:

  To her, beset with Trojan beauties, came, 475

  In borrow’d form, the laughter-loving dame

  (She seem’d an ancient maid, well skill’d to cull

  The snowy fleece, and wind the twisted wool).

  The Goddess softly shook her silken vest

  That shed perfumes, and whisp’ring thus address’d: 480

  ‘Haste, happy nymph! for thee thy Paris calls

  Safe from the fight, in yonder lofty walls,

  Fair as a God! with odours round him spread

  He lies, and waits thee on the well-known bed,

  Not like a warrior parted from the foe, 485

  But some gay dancer in the public show.’

  She spoke, and Helen’s secret soul was mov’d;

  She scorn’d the champion, but the man she lov’d.

  Fair Venus’ neck, her eyes that sparkled fire,

  And breast, reveal’d the Queen of soft desire. 490

  Struck with her presence, straight the lively red

  Forsook her cheek; and trembling thus she said:

  ‘Then is it still thy pleasure to deceive?

  And woman’s frailty always to believe?

  Say, to new nations must I cross the main, 495

  Or carry wars to some soft Asian plain?

  For whom must Helen break her second vow?

  What other Paris is thy darling now?

  Left to Atrides (victor in the strife)

  An odious conquest and a captive wife, 500

  Hence let me sail: and, if thy Paris bear

  My absence ill, let Venus ease his care.

  A handmaid Goddess at his side to wait,

  Renounce the glories of thy heav’nly state,

  Be fix’d for ever to the Trojan shore, 505

  His spouse, or slave; and mount the skies no more.

  For me, to lawless love no longer led,

  I scorn the coward, and detest his bed;

  Else should I merit everlasting shame,

  And keen reproach from every Phrygian dame: 510

  Ill suits it now the joys of love to know,

  Too deep my anguish, and too wild my woe.’

  Then thus, incens’d, the Paphian Queen replies:

  ‘Obey the power from whom thy glories rise:

  Should Venus leave thee, ev’ry charm must fly, 515

  Fade from thy cheek, and languish in thy eye.

  Cease to provoke me, lest I make thee more

  The world’s aversion, than their love before;

  Now the bright prize for which mankind engage,

  Then, the sad victim of the public rage.’ 520

  At this, the fairest of her sex obey’d,

  And veil’d her blushes in a silken shade;

  Unseen, and silent, from the train she moves,

  Led by the Goddess of the smiles and loves.

  Arrived, and enter’d at the palace gate, 525

  The maids officious round their mistress wait:

  Then all, dispersing, various tasks attend;

  The Queen and Goddess to the Prince ascend.

  Full in her Paris’ sight the Queen of Love

  Had placed the beauteous progeny of Jove; 530

  Where, as he view’d her charms, she turn’d away

  Her glowing eyes, and thus began to say:

  ‘Is this the Chief, who, lost to sense of shame,

  Late fled the field, and yet survives his fame?

  Oh hadst thou died beneath the righteous sword 535

  Of that brave man whom once I call’d my lord!

  The boaster Paris oft desired the day

  With Sparta’s King to meet in single fray:

  Go now, once more thy rival’s rage excite,

  Provoke Atrides, and renew the fight: 540

  Yet Helen bids thee stay, lest thou unskill’d

  Shouldst fall an easy conquest on the field.’

  The Prince replies: ‘Ah cease, divinely fair,

  Nor add reproaches to the wounds I bear;

  This day the foe prevail’d by Pallas’ power; 545

  We yet may vanquish in a happier hour:

  There want not Gods to favour us above;

  But let the bus’ness of our life be love:

  These softer moments let delights employ,

  And kind embraces snatch the hasty joy. 550

  Not thus I lov’d thee, when from Sparta’s shore

  My forced, my willing, heav’nly prize I bore,

  When first entranc’d in Cranæ’s isle I lay,

  Mix’d with thy soul, and all dissolv’d away!’

  Thus having spoke, th’ enamour’d Phrygian boy 555

  Rush’d to the bed, impatient for the joy.

  Him Helen follow’d slow with bashful charms,

  And clasp’d the blooming hero in her arms.

  While these to love’s delicious rapture yield,

  The stern Atrides rages round the field: 560

  So some fell lion whom the woods obey,

  Roars thro’ the desert, and demands his prey.

  Paris he seeks, impatient to destroy,

  But seeks in vain along the troops of Troy;

  Ev’n those had yielded to a foe so brave 565

  The recreant warrior, hateful as the grave.

  Then speaking thus, the King of Kings arose:

  ‘Ye Trojans, Dardans, all our gen’rous foes!

  Hear and attest! from Heav’n with conquest crown’d,

  Our brother’s arms the just success have found. 570

  Be therefore now the Spartan wealth restor’d,

  Let Argive Helen own her lawful lord;

  Th’ appointed fine let Ilion justly pay,

  And age to age record this signal day.’

  He ceas’d; his army’s loud applauses rise, 575

  And the long shout runs echoing thro’ the skies.

  Iliad Book IV. The Breach of the Truce, and the First Battle

  THE ARGUMENT

  The Gods deliberate in council concerning the Trojan war: they agree upon the continuation of it, and Jupiter sends down Minerva to break the truce. She persuades Pandarus to aim an arrow at Menelaus, who is wounded, but cured by Machaon. In the mean time some of the Trojan troops attack the Greeks. Agamemnon is distinguished in all the parts of a good general; he reviews the troops, and exhorts the leaders, some by praises, and others by reproofs. Nestor is particularly celebrated for his military discipline. The battle joins, and great numbers are slain on both sides.

  The same day continues through this, as through the last book; as it does also through the two following, and almost to the end of the seventh book. The scene is wholly in the field before Troy.

  AND now Olympus’ shining gates unfold;

  The Gods, with Jove, assume their thrones of gold:

  Immortal Hebè, fresh with bloom divine,

  The golden goblet crowns with purple wine:

  While the full bowls flow round, the Powers employ 5

  Their careful eyes on long-contended Troy.

  When Jove, disposed to tempt Saturnia’s spleen,

  Thus waked the fury of his partial Queen:

  ‘Two Powers divine the son of Atreus aid,

  Imperial Juno, and the
Martial Maid: 10

  But high in Heav’n they sit, and gaze from far,

  The tame spectators of his deeds of war.

  Not thus fair Venus helps her favour’d knight,

  The Queen of Pleasures shares the toils of fight,

  Each danger wards, and, constant in her care, 15

  Saves in the moment of the last despair.

  Her act has rescued Paris’ forfeit life,

  Tho’ great Atrides gain’d the glorious strife.

  Then say, ye Powers! what signal issue waits

  To crown this deed, and finish all the Fates? 20

  Shall Heav’n by peace the bleeding kingdoms spare,

  Or rouse the Furies, and awake the war?

  Yet, would the Gods for human good provide,

  Atrides soon might gain his beauteous bride,

  Still Priam’s walls in peaceful honours grow, 25

  And thro’ his gates the crowding nations flow.’

  Thus while he spoke, the Queen of Heav’n, enraged,

  And Queen of War, in close consult engaged:

  Apart they sit, their deep designs employ,

  And meditate the future woes of Troy. 30

  Tho’ secret anger swell’d Minerva’s breast,

  The prudent Goddess yet her wrath suppress’d;

  But Juno, impotent of passion, broke

  Her sullen silence, and with fury spoke:

  ‘Shall then, O Tyrant of th’ ethereal reign! 35

  My schemes, my labours, and my hopes, be vain?

  Have I, for this, shook Ilion with alarms,

  Assembled nations, set two worlds in arms?

  To spread the war, I flew from shore to shore;

  Th’ immortal coursers scarce the labour bore. 40

  At length ripe vengeance o’er their heads impends,

  But Jove himself the faithless race defends;

  Loth as thou art to punish lawless lust,

  Not all the Gods are partial and unjust.’

  The Sire whose thunder shakes the cloudy skies, 45

  Sighs from his inmost soul, and thus replies:

  ‘Oh lasting rancour! oh insatiate hate

  To Phrygia’s monarch and the Phrygian state!

  What high offence has fired the wife of Jove?

  Can wretched mortals harm the Powers above? 50

  That Troy and Troy’s whole race thou wouldst confound,

  And yon fair structures level with the ground?

  Haste, leave the skies, fulfil thy stern desire,

  Burst all her gates, and wrap her walls in fire!

  Let Priam bleed! if yet thou thirst for more, 55

  Bleed all his sons, and Ilion float with gore,

  To boundless vengeance the wide realm be giv’n

  Till vast destruction glut the Queen of Heav’n!

  So let it be, and Jove his peace enjoy,

  When Heav’n no longer hears the name of Troy. 60

  But should this arm prepare to wreak our hate

  On thy lov’d realms, whose guilt demands their fate,

  Presume not thou the lifted bolt to stay,

  Remember Troy, and give the vengeance way,

  For know, of all the numerous towns that rise 65

  Beneath the rolling sun, and starry skies,

  Which Gods have rais’d, or earth-born men enjoy;

  None stands so dear to Jove as sacred Troy.

  No mortals merit more distinguish’d grace

  Than godlike Priam, or than Priam’s race: 70

  Still to our name their hecatombs expire,

  And altars blaze with unextinguish’d fire.’

  At this the Goddess roll’d her radiant eyes,

  Then on the Thund’rer fix’d them, and replies:

  ‘Three towns are Juno’s on the Grecian plains, 75

  More dear than all th’ extended earth contains,

  Mycenæ, Argos, and the Spartan wall;

  These thou may’st raze, nor I forbid their fall:

  ‘T is not in me the vengeance to remove;

  The crime ‘s sufficient that they share my love. 80

  Of power superior, why should I complain?

  Resent I may, but must resent in vain.

  Yet some distinction Juno might require,

  Sprung with thyself from one celestial sire,

  A Goddess born to share the realms above, 85

  And styled the consort of the thund’ring Jove:

  Nor thou a wife and sister’s right deny;

  Let both consent, and both by turns comply;

  So shall the Gods our joint decrees obey,

  And Heav’n shall act as we direct the way. 90

  See ready Pallas waits thy high commands,

  To raise in arms the Greek and Phrygian bands;

  Their sudden friendship by her arts may cease,

  And the proud Trojans first infringe the peace.’

  The Sire of men, and Monarch of the sky, 95

  Th’ advice approv’d, and bade Minerva fly,

  Dissolve the league, and all her arts employ

  To make the breach the faithless act of Troy.

  Fired with the charge, she headlong urged her flight

  And shot like lightning from Olympus’ height. 100

  As the red comet, from Saturnius sent

  To fright the nations with a dire portent

  (A fatal sign to armies on the plain,

  Or trembling sailors on the wintry main),

  With sweeping glories glides along in air, 105

  And shakes the sparkles from its blazing hair;

  Between both armies thus, in open sight,

  Shot the bright Goddess in a trail of light.

  With eyes erect, the gazing hosts admire

  The Power descending, and the Heav’ns on fire! 110

  ‘The Gods’ (they cried), ‘the Gods this signal sent,

  And Fate now labours with some vast event:

  Jove seals the league, or bloodier scenes prepares;

  Jove, the great arbiter of peace and wars!’

  They said, while Pallas thro’ the Trojan throng 115

  (In shape a mortal) pass’d disguised along.

  Like bold Laödocus, her course she bent,

  Who from Antenor traced his high descent.

  Amidst the ranks Lycaön’s son she found,

  The warlike Pandarus, for strength renown’d; 120

  Whose squadrons, led from black Æsepus’ flood,

  With flaming shields in martial circle stood.

  To him the Goddess: ‘Phrygian! canst thou hear

  A well-timed counsel with a willing ear?

  What praise were thine, could’st thou direct thy dart, 125

  Amidst his triumph, to the Spartan’s heart?

  What gifts from Troy, from Paris, wouldst thou gain,

  Thy country’s foe, the Grecian glory, slain?

  Then seize th’ occasion, dare the mighty deed,

  Aim at his breast, and may that aim succeed! 130

  But first, to speed the shaft, address thy vow

  To Lycian Phœbus with the silver bow,

  And swear the firstlings of thy flock to pay

  On Zelia’s altars, to the God of Day.’

  He heard, and madly at the motion pleas’d, 135

  His polish’d bow with hasty rashness seiz’d.

  ‘T was form’d of horn, and smooth’d with artful toil;

  A mountain goat resign’d the shining spoil,

  Who pierc’d long since beneath his arrows bled;

  The stately quarry on the cliffs lay dead, 140

  And sixteen palms his brow’s large honours spread:

  The workman join’d, and shaped the bended horns,

  And beaten gold each taper point adorns.

  This, by the Greeks unseen, the warrior bends,

  Screen’d by the shields of his surrounding friends. 145

  There meditates the mark, and, crouching low,

  Fits the
sharp arrow to the well-strung bow.

  One, from a hundred feather’d deaths he chose,

  Fated to wound, and cause of future woes.

  Then offers vows with hecatombs to crown 150

  Apollo’s altars in his native town.

  Now with full force the yielding horn he bends,

  Drawn to an arch, and joins the doubling ends;

  Close to his breast he strains the nerve below,

  Till the barb’d point approach the circling bow; 155

  Th’ impatient weapon whizzes on the wing;

  Sounds the tough horn, and twangs the quiv’ring string.

  But thee, Atrides! in that dangerous hour

  The Gods forget not, nor thy guardian Power.

  Pallas assists, and (weaken’d in its force) 160

  Diverts the weapon from its destin’d course:

  So from her babe, when slumber seals his eye,

  The watchful mother wafts th’ envenom’d fly.

  Just where his belt with golden buckles join’d,

  Where linen folds the double corslet lin’d, 165

  She turn’d the shaft, which, hissing from above,

  Pass’d the broad belt, and thro’ the corslet drove;

  The folds it pierc’d, the plaited linen tore,

  And razed the skin, and drew the purple gore.

  As when some stately trappings are decreed 170

  To grace a monarch on his bounding steed,

  A nymph, in Caria or Mæönia bred,

  Stains the pure iv’ry with a lively red;

  With equal lustre various colours vie,

  The shining whiteness, and the Tyrian dye: 175

  So, great Atrides! shew’d thy sacred blood,

  As down thy snowy thigh distill’d the streaming flood.

  With horror seiz’d, the King of men descried

  The shaft infix’d, and saw the gushing tide:

  Nor less the Spartan fear’d, before he found 180

  The shining barb appear above the wound.

  Then, with a sigh that heav’d his manly breast,

  The royal brother thus his grief express’d,

  And grasp’d his hand; while all the Greeks around

  With answering sighs return’d the plaintive sound: 185

  ‘Oh dear as life! did I for this agree

  The solemn truce, a fatal truce to thee!

  Wert thou exposed to all the hostile train,

  To fight for Greece, and conquer to be slain?

  The race of Trojans in thy ruin join, 190

  And faith is scorn’d by all the perjured line.

  Not thus our vows, confirm’d with wine and gore,

  Those hands we plighted, and those oaths we swore,

  Shall all be vain: when Heav’n’s revenge is slow,

  Jove but prepares to strike the fiercer blow. 195