Æolian Sisyphus, with wisdom bless’d,
In ancient time the happy walls possess’d,
Then call’d Ephyre: Glaucus was his son;
Great Glaucus, father of Bellerophon,
Who o’er the sons of men in beauty shined, 195
Loved for that valour which preserves mankind.
Then mighty Prœtus Argos’ sceptre sway’d,
Whose hard commands Bellerophon obey’d.
With direful jealousy the monarch raged,
And the brave Prince in numerous toils engaged, 200
For him, Antea burn’d with lawless flame,
And strove to tempt him from the paths of fame:
In vain she tempted the relentless youth,
Endued with wisdom, sacred fear, and truth.
Fired at his scorn, the Queen to Prœtus fled, 205
And begg’d revenge for her insulted bed:
Incens’d he heard, resolving on his fate;
But hospitable laws restrain’d his hate:
To Lycia the devoted youth he sent,
With tablets seal’d, that told his dire intent. 210
Now, bless’d by ev’ry Power who guards the good,
The Chief arrived at Xanthus’ silver flood:
There Lycia’s Monarch paid him honours due;
Nine days he feasted, and nine bulls he slew.
But when the tenth bright morning orient glow’d 215
The faithful youth his Monarch’s mandate shew’d:
The fatal tablets, till that instant seal’d,
The deathful secret to the King reveal’d.
First, dire Chimæra’s conquest was enjoin’d;
A mingled monster, of no mortal kind; 220
Behind, a dragon’s fiery tail was spread;
A goat’s rough body bore a lion’s head;
Her pitchy nostrils flaky flames expire;
Her gaping throat emits infernal fire.
‘This pest he slaughter’d (for he read the skies, 225
And trusted Heav’n’s informing prodigies);
Then met in arms the Solymæan crew
(Fiercest of men), and those the warrior slew.
Next the bold Amazons’ whole force defied;
And conquer’d still, for Heav’n was on his side. 230
‘Nor ended here his toils: his Lycian foes,
At his return, a treach’rous ambush rose,
With levell’d spears along the winding shore:
There fell they breathless, and return’d no more.
‘At length the Monarch with repentant grief 235
Confess’d the Gods, and god-descended Chief;
His daughter gave, the stranger to detain,
With half the honours of his ample reign.
The Lycians grant a chosen space of ground,
With woods, with vineyards, and with harvests crown’d. 240
There long the Chief his happy lot possess’d,
With two brave sons and one fair daughter bless’d:
(Fair ev’n in heav’nly eyes; her fruitful love
Crown’d with Sarpedon’s birth th’ embrace of Jove).
But when at last, distracted in his mind, 245
Forsook by Heav’n, forsaking human kind,
Wide o’er th’ Aleian field he chose to stray,
A long, forlorn, uncomfortable way!
Woes heap’d on woes consumed his wasted heart;
His beauteous daughter fell by Phœbe’s dart; 250
His eldest-born by raging Mars was slain,
In combat on the Solymæan plain.
Hippolochus survived; from him I came,
The honour’d author of my birth and name;
By his decree I sought the Trojan town, 255
By his instructions learn to win renown;
To stand the first in worth as in command,
To add new honours to my native land;
Before my eyes my mighty sires to place,
And emulate the glories of our race.’ 260
He spoke, and transport fill’d Tydides’ heart;
In earth the gen’rous warrior fix’d his dart,
Then friendly, thus, the Lycian prince address’d:
‘Welcome, my brave hereditary guest!
Thus ever let us meet with kind embrace, 265
Nor stain the sacred friendship of our race.
Know, Chief, our grandsires have been guests of old,
Œneus the strong, Bellerophon the bold;
Our ancient seat his honour’d presence graced,
Where twenty days in genial rites he pass’d. 270
The parting heroes mutual presents left;
A golden goblet was thy grandsire’s gift;
Œneus a belt of matchless work bestow’d,
That rich with Tyrian dye refulgent glow’d
(This from his pledge I learn’d, which, safely stored 275
Among my treasures, still adorns my board:
For Tydeus left me young, when Thebes’ wall
Beheld the sons of Greece untimely fall).
Mindful of this, in friendship let us join;
If Heav’n our steps to foreign lands incline, 280
My guest in Argos thou, and I in Lycia thine.
Enough of Trojans to this lance shall yield,
In the full harvest of yon ample field;
Enough of Greeks shall dye thy spear with gore;
But thou and Diomed be foes no more. 285
Now change we arms, and prove to either host
We guard the friendship of the line we boast.’
Thus having said, the gallant Chiefs alight,
Their hands they join, their mutual faith they plight;
Brave Glaucus then each narrow thought resign’d 290
(Jove warm’d his bosom and enlarged his mind);
For Diomed’s brass arms, of mean device,
For which nine oxen paid (a vulgar price),
He gave his own, of gold divinely wrought;
A hundred beeves the shining purchase bought. 295
Meantime the guardian of the Trojan state,
Great Hector, enter’d at the Scæan gate.
Beneath the beech-trees’ consecrated shades,
The Trojan matrons and the Trojan maids
Around him flock’d, all press’d with pious care 300
For husbands, brothers, sons, engaged in war.
He bids the train in long procession go,
And seek the Gods, t’ avert th’ impending woe.
And now to Priam’s stately courts he came,
Rais’d on arch’d columns of stupendous frame; 305
O’er these a range of marble structure runs;
The rich pavilions of his fifty sons,
In fifty chambers lodg’d: and rooms of state
Opposed to those, where Priam’s daughters sate:
Twelve domes for them and their lov’d spouses shone, 310
Of equal beauty, and of polish’d stone.
Hither great Hector pass’d, nor pass’d unseen
Of royal Hecuba, his mother Queen
(With her Laödicé, whose beauteous face
Surpass’d the nymphs of Troy’s illustrious race). 315
Long in a strict embrace she held her son,
And press’d his hand, and tender thus begun:
‘O Hector! say, what great occasion calls
My son from fight, when Greece surrounds our walls?
Com’st thou to supplicate th’ almighty Power, 320
With lifted hands from Ilion’s lofty tower?
Stay, till I bring the cup with Bacchus crown’d,
In Jove’s high name, to sprinkle on the ground,
And pay due vows to all the Gods around.
Then with a plenteous draught refresh thy soul, 325
And draw new spirits from the gen’rous bowl;
Spent as thou art with long laborious fight,
The brave defender of thy countr
y’s right.’
‘Far hence be Bacchus’ gifts’ (the Chief rejoin’d);
‘Inflaming wine, pernicious to mankind, 330
Unnerves the limbs, and dulls the noble mind.
Let Chiefs abstain, and spare the sacred juice,
To sprinkle to the Gods, its better use.
By me that holy office were profaned;
Ill fits it me, with human gore distain’d, 335
To the pure skies these horrid hands to raise,
Or offer Heav’n’s great Sire polluted praise.
You with your matrons, go, a spotless train!
And burn rich odours in Minerva’s fane.
The largest mantle your full wardrobes hold, 340
Most prized for art, and labour’d o’er with gold,
Before the Goddess’ honour’d knees be spread,
And twelve young heifers to her altar led.
So may the Power, atoned by fervent prayer,
Our wives, our infants, and our city spare, 345
And far avert Tydides’ wasteful ire,
Who mows whole troops, and makes all Troy retire.
Be this, O mother, your religious care;
I go to rouse soft Paris to the war;
If yet, not lost to all the sense of shame, 350
The recreant warrior hear the voice of Fame.
Oh would kind earth the hateful wretch embrace,
That pest of Troy, that ruin of our race!
Deep to the dark abyss might he descend,
Troy yet should flourish, and my sorrows end.’ 355
This heard, she gave command; and summon’d came
Each noble matron, and illustrious dame.
The Phrygian Queen to her rich wardrobe went,
Where treasured odours breathed a costly scent.
There lay the vestures of no vulgar art, 360
Sidonian maids embroider’d ev’ry part,
Whom from soft Sidon youthful Paris bore,
With Helen touching on the Tyrian shore.
Here as the Queen revolv’d with careful eyes
The various textures and the various dyes. 365
She chose a veil that shone superior far,
And glowed refulgent as the morning star,
Herself with this the long procession leads;
The train majestically slow proceeds.
Soon as to Ilion’s topmost tower they come, 370
And awful reach the high Palladian dome,
Antenor’s consort, fair Theano, waits
As Pallas’ priestess, and unbars the gates.
With hands uplifted, and imploring eyes,
They fill the dome with supplicating cries. 375
The priestess then the shining veil displays,
Placed on Minerva’s Knees, and thus she prays:
‘Oh awful Goddess! ever-dreadful Maid,
Troy’s strong defence, unconquer’d Pallas, aid!
Break thou Tydides’ spear, and let him fall 380
Prone on the dust before the Trojan wall.
So twelve young heifers, guiltless of the yoke,
Shall fill thy temple with a grateful smoke.
But thou, atoned by penitence and prayer,
Ourselves, our infants, and our city spare!’ 385
So pray’d the priestess in her holy fane;
So vow’d the matrons, but they vow’d in vain.
While these appear before the Power with prayers,
Hector to Paris’ lofty dome repairs.
Himself the mansion rais’d, from every part 390
Assembling architects of matchless art.
Near Priam’s court and Hector’s palace stands
The pompous structure, and the town commands.
A spear the hero bore of wondrous strength,
Of full ten cubits was the lance’s length; 395
The steely point with golden ringlets join’d,
Before him brandish’d, at each motion shined.
Thus ent’ring, in the glitt’ring rooms he found
His brother-Chief, whose useless arms lay round.
His eyes delighting with their splendid show, 400
Bright’ning the shield, and polishing the bow.
Beside him Helen with her virgins stands,
Guides their rich labours, and instructs their hands.
Him thus inactive, with an ardent look
The Prince beheld, and high resenting spoke: 405
‘Thy hate to Troy is this the time to shew?
(Oh wretch ill-fated, and thy country’s foe!)
Paris and Greece against us both conspire,
Thy close resentment, and their vengeful ire.
For thee great Ilion’s guardian heroes fall, 410
Till heaps of dead alone defend her wall;
For thee the soldier bleeds, the matron mourns,
And wasteful war in all its fury burns.
Ungrateful man! deserves not this thy care,
Our troops to hearten, and our toils to share? 415
Rise, or behold the conqu’ring flames ascend,
And all the Phrygian glories at an end.’
‘Brother, ‘t is just’ (replied the beauteous youth),
‘Thy free remonstrance proves thy worth and truth:
Yet charge my absence less, oh gen’rous Chief! 420
On hate to Troy, than conscious shame and grief.
Here, hid from human eyes, thy brother sate,
And mourn’d in secret his and Ilion’s fate.
‘T is now enough: now glory spreads her charms,
And beauteous Helen calls her Chief to arms. 425
Conquest to-day my happier sword may bless,
‘T is man’s to fight, but Heav’n’s to give success.
But while I arm, contain thy ardent mind;
Or go, and Paris shall not lag behind.’
He said, nor answer’d Priam’s warlike son; 430
When Helen thus with lowly grace begun:
‘Oh gen’rous brother! if the guilty dame
That caus’d these woes deserves a sister’s name!
Would Heav’n, ere all these dreadful deeds were done,
The day that shew’d me to the golden sun 435
Had seen my death! Why did not whirlwinds bear
The fatal infant to the fowls of air?
Why sunk I not beneath the whelming tide,
And midst the roarings of the waters died?
Heav’n fill’d up all my ills, and I accurst 440
Bore all, and Paris of those ills the worst.
Helen at least a braver spouse might claim,
Warm’d with some Virtue, some regard of Fame!
Now, tired with toils, thy fainting limbs recline,
With toils sustain’d for Paris’ sake and mine: 445
The Gods have link’d our miserable doom,
Our present woe and infamy to come:
Wide shall it spread, and last thro’ ages long,
Example sad! and theme of future song.’
The Chief replied: ‘This Time forbids to rest: 450
The Trojan bands, by hostile fury press’d,
Demand their Hector, and his arm require;
The combat urges, and my soul’s on fire.
Urge thou thy knight to march where glory calls,
And timely join me, ere I leave the walls. 455
Ere yet I mingle in the direful fray,
My wife, my infant, claim a moment’s stay:
This day (perhaps the last that sees me here)
Demands a parting word, a tender tear:
This day some God, who hates our Trojan land, 460
May vanquish Hector by a Grecian hand.’
He said, and pass’d with sad presaging heart
To seek his spouse, his soul’s far dearer part;
At home he sought her, but he sought in vain:
She, with one maid of all her menial train, 465
Had thence retired; and, w
ith her second joy,
The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy,
Pensive she stood on Ilion’s tow’ry height,
Beheld the war, and sicken’d at the sight;
There her sad eyes in vain her lord explore, 470
Or weep the wounds her bleeding country bore.
But he who found not whom his soul desired,
Whose virtue charm’d him as her beauty fired,
Stood in the gates, and asked what way she bent
Her parting steps? If to the fane she went, 475
Where late the mourning matrons made resort;
Or sought her sisters in the Trojan court?
‘Not to the court’ (replied th’ attendant train),
‘Nor, mixed with matrons, to Minerva’s fane:
To Ilion’s steepy tower she bent her way, 480
To mark the fortunes of the doubtful day.
Troy fled, she heard, before the Grecian sword:
She heard, and trembled for her distant lord;
Distracted with surprise, she seemed to fly,
Fear on her cheek, and sorrow in her eye. 485
The nurse attended with her infant boy,
The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy.’
Hector, this heard, return’d without delay;
Swift thro’ the town he trod his former way,
Thro’ streets of palaces and walks of state; 490
And met the mourner at the Scæan gate.
With haste to meet him sprung the joyful fair,
His blameless wife, Eëtion’s wealthy heir
(Cicilian Thebé great Eëtion sway’d,
And Hippoplacus’ wide-extended shade): 495
The nurse stood near, in whose embraces press’d,
His only hope hung smiling at her breast,
Whom each soft charm and early grace adorn,
Fair as the new-born that gilds the morn.
To this lov’d infant Hector gave the name 500
Scamandrius, from Scamander’s honour’d stream:
Astyanax the Trojans call’d the boy,
From his great father, the defence of Troy.
Silent the warrior smil’d, and, pleas’d, resign’d
To tender passions all his mighty mind: 505
His beauteous Princess cast a mournful look,
Hung on his hand, and then dejected spoke;
Her bosom labour’d with a boding sigh,
And the big tear stood trembling in her eye.
‘Too daring Prince! ah, whither dost thou run? 510
Ah too forgetful of thy wife and son!
And think’st thou not how wretched we shall be,
A widow I, a helpless orphan he!
For sure such courage length of life denies,
And thou must fall, thy virtue’s sacrifice. 515
Greece in her single heroes strove in vain;
Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain!
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 77
