by Homer
Where you wild fig-trees join the wall of Troy:
Thou, from this tower defend th’ important post;
There Agamemnon points his dreadful host,
That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain,
And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train. 555
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have giv’n,
Or led by hopes, or dictated from Heav’n.
Let others in the field their arms employ,
But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy.’
The Chief replied: ‘That post shall be my car, 560
Nor that alone, but all the works of war.
How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown’d,
And Troy’s proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground,
Attaint the lustre of my former name,
Should Hector basely quit the field of fame? 565
My early youth was bred to martial pains,
My soul impels me to th’ embattled plains:
Let me be foremost to defend the throne,
And guard my father’s glories, and my own.
Yet come it will, the day decreed by Fates 570
(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates)!
The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend,
And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end.
And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind,
My mother’s death, the ruin of my kind, 575
Not Priam’s hoary hairs defiled with gore,
Not all my brothers gasping on the shore;
As thine, Andromache! thy griefs I dread;
I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led!
In Argive looms our battles to design, 580
And woes of which so large a part was thine!
To bear the victor’s hard commands, or bring
The weight of waters from Hyperia’s spring.
There, while you groan beneath the load of life,
They cry, Behold the mighty Hector’s wife! 585
Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see,
Embitters all thy woes by naming me.
The thoughts of glory past, and present shame,
A thousand griefs, shall waken at the name!
May I lie cold before that dreadful day, 590
Press’d with a load of monumental clay!
Thy Hector, wrapp’d in everlasting sleep,
Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep.’
Thus having spoke, th’ illustrious Chief of Troy
Stretch’d his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy. 595
The babe clung crying to his nurse’s breast,
Scared at the dazzling helm, and nodding crest.
With secret pleasure each fond parent smil’d,
And Hector hasted to relieve his child;
The glitt’ring terrors from his brows unbound, 600
And placed the beaming helmet on the ground.
Then kiss’d the child, and, lifting high in air,
Thus to the Gods preferr’d a father’s prayer:
‘O thou! whose glory fills th’ ethereal throne,
And all ye deathless Powers! protect my son! 605
Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown,
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown,
Against his country’s foes the war to wage,
And rise the Hector of the future age!
So when, triumphant from successful toils 610
Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils,
Whole hosts may hail him with deserv’d acclaim,
And say, This Chief transcends his father’s fame:
While pleas’d, amidst the gen’ral shouts of Troy,
His mother’s conscious heart o’erflows with joy.’ 615
He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms,
Restor’d the pleasing burden to her arms;
Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid,
Hush’d to repose, and with a smile survey’d.
The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear, 620
She mingled with the smile a tender tear.
The soften’d Chief with kind compassion view’d,
And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued:
‘Andromache! my soul’s far better part,
Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart? 625
No hostile hand can antedate my doom,
Till Fate condemns me to the silent tomb.
Fix’d is the term to all the race of earth,
And such the hard condition of our birth.
No force can then resist, no flight can save; 630
All sink alike, the fearful and the brave.
No more — but hasten to thy tasks at home,
There guide the spindle, and direct the loom:
Me glory summons to the martial scene,
The field of combat is the sphere for men. 635
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,
The first in danger as the first in fame.’
Thus having said, the glorious Chief resumes
His tow’ry helmet, black with shading plumes.
His Princess parts with a prophetic sigh, 640
Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye,
That stream’d at ev’ry look: then, moving slow,
Sought her own palace, and indulged her woe.
There, while her tears deplor’d the godlike man,
Thro’ all her train the soft infection ran; 645
The pious maids their mingled sorrows shed,
And mourn the living Hector as the dead.
But now, no longer deaf to honour’s call,
Forth issues Paris from the palace wall.
In brazen arms that cast a gleamy ray, 650
Swift thro’ the town the warrior bends his way.
The wanton courser thus, with reins unbound,
Breaks from his stall, and beats the trembling ground;
Pamper’d and proud he seeks the wonted tides,
And laves, in height of blood, his shining sides: 655
His head now freed he tosses to the skies;
His mane dishevell’d o’er his shoulders flies;
He snuffs the females in the distant plain,
And springs, exulting, to his fields again.
With equal triumph, sprightly, bold, and gay, 660
In arms refulgent as the God of Day,
The son of Priam, glorying in his might,
Rush’d forth with Hector to the fields of fight.
And now the warriors passing on the way,
The graceful Paris first excused his stay. 665
To whom the noble Hector thus replied:
‘O Chief! in blood, and now in arms, allied!
Thy power in war with justice none contest;
Known is thy courage, and thy strength confess’d.
What pity, sloth should seize a soul so brave, 670
Or godlike Paris live a woman’s slave!
My heart weeps blood at what the Trojans say,
And hopes thy deeds shall wipe the stain away.
Haste then, in all their glorious labours share;
For much they suffer, for thy sake, in war. 675
These ills shall cease, whene’er by Jove’s decree
We crown the bowl to Heav’n and Liberty:
While the proud foe his frustrate triumphs mourns,
And Greece indignant thro’ her seas returns.’
List of Poems in Alphabetical Order
List of Poets in Alphabetical Order
The Death of Hector: Book XXII
What God, O Muse! assisted Hector’s force,
With Fate itself so long to hold the course?
Phæbus it was: who, in his latest hour, 265
Endued his knees with strength, his nerves with power;
And great Achilles, lest some Greek’s advance
Should snatch the glory from his lifted lance,
Sign’d to the troops, to yield his foe the way,
And leave untouch’d the honours of the day. 270
Jove lifts the golden balances, that show
The fates of mortal men, and things below:
Here each contending hero’s lot he tries,
And weighs, with equal hand, their destinies.
Low sinks the scale surcharg’d with Hector’s fate; 275
Heavy with death it sinks, and Hell receives the weight.
Then Phæbus left him. Fierce Minerva flies
To stern Pelides, and, triumphing, cries:
‘Oh lov’d of Jove! this day our labours cease,
And conquest blazes with full beams on Greece. 280
Great Hector falls; that Hector famed so far,
Drunk with renown, insatiable of war,
Falls by thy hand, and mine! nor force nor flight
Shall more avail him, nor his God of Light.
See, where in vain he supplicates above, 285
Roll’d at the feet of unrelenting Jove!
Rest here: myself will lead the Trojan on,
And urge to meet the fate he cannot shun.’
Her voice divine the Chief with joyful mind
Obey’d, and rested, on his lance reclin’d. 290
While like Deïphobus the Martial Dame
(Her face, her gesture, and her arms, the same),
In show an aid, by hapless Hector’s side
Approach’d, and greets him thus with voice belied:
‘Too long, O Hector! have I borne the sight 295
Of this distress, and sorrow’d in thy flight:
It fits us now a noble stand to make,
And here, as brothers, equal fates partake.’
Then he: ‘O Prince! allied in blood and fame,
Dearer than all that own a brother’s name; 300
Of all that Hecuba to Priam bore,
Long tried, long lov’d; much lov’d, but honour’d more!
Since you of all our numerous race alone
Defend my life, regardless of your own.’
Again the Goddess: ‘Much my father’s prayer, 305
And much my mother’s, press’d me to forbear:
My friends embraced my knees, adjured my stay,
But stronger love impell’d, and I obey.
Come then, the glorious conflict let us try,
Let the steel sparkle and the jav’lin fly; 310
Or let us stretch Achilles on the field,
Or to his arm our bloody trophies yield.’
Fraudful she said; then swiftly march’d before;
The Dardan hero shuns his foe no more.
Sternly they met. The silence Hector broke; 315
His dreadful plumage nodded as he spoke:
‘Enough, O son of Peleus! Troy has view’d
Her walls thrice circled, and her Chief pursued.
But now some God within me bids me try
Thine, or my fate: I kill thee, or I die. 320
Yet on the verge of battle let us stay,
And for a moment’s space suspend the day:
Let Heav’n’s high Powers be call’d to arbitrate
The just conditions of this stern debate
(Eternal witnesses of all below, 325
And faithful guardians of the treasured vow)!
To them I swear: if, victor in the strife,
Jove by these hands shall shed thy noble life,
No vile dishonour shall thy corse pursue;
Stripp’d of its arms alone (the conqueror’s due), 330
The rest to Greece uninjur’d I ‘ll restore:
Now plight thy mutual oath, I ask no more.’
‘Talk not of oaths’ (the dreadful Chief replies,
While anger flash’d from his disdainful eyes),
‘Detested as thou art, and ought to be, 335
Nor oath nor pact Achilles plights with thee;
Such pacts, as lambs and rabid wolves combine,
Such leagues, as men and furious lions join,
To such I call the Gods! one constant state
Of lasting rancour and eternal hate: 340
No thought but rage, and never-ceasing strife,
Till death extinguish rage, and thought, and life.
Rouse then thy forces this important hour,
Collect thy soul, and call forth all thy power.
No farther subterfuge, no farther chance; 345
‘T is Pallas, Pallas gives thee to my lance.
Each Grecian ghost by thee deprived of breath,
Now hovers round, and calls thee to thy death.’
He spoke, and launch’d his jav’lin at the foe;
But Hector shunn’d the meditated blow: 350
He stoop’d, while o’er his head the flying spear
Sung innocent, and spent its force in air.
Minerva watch’d it falling on the land,
Then drew, and gave to great Achilles’ hand,
Unseen of Hector, who, elate with joy, 355
Now shakes his lance, and braves the dread of Troy:
‘The life you boasted to that jav’lin giv’n,
Prince! you have miss’d. My fate depends on Heav’n.
To thee (presumptuous as thou art) unknown
Or what must prove my fortune, or thy own. 360
Boasting is but an art, our fears to blind,
And with false terrors sink another’s mind.
But know, whatever fate I am to try,
By no dishonest wound shall Hector die;
I shall not fall a fugitive at least, 365
My soul shall bravely issue from my breast.
But first, try thou my arm; and may this dart
End all my country’s woes, deep buried in thy heart!’
The weapon flew, its course unerring held;
Unerring, but the heav’nly shield repell’d 370
The mortal dart; resulting with a bound
From off the ringing orb, it struck the ground.
Hector beheld his jav’lin fall in vain,
Nor other lance nor other hope remain;
He calls Deïphobus, demands a spear, 375
In vain, for no Deïphobus was there.
All comfortless he stands: then, with a sigh,
‘‘T is so — Heav’n wills it, and my hour is nigh!
I deem’d Deïphobus had heard my call,
But he secure lies guarded in the wall. 380
A God deceiv’d me; Pallas, ‘t was thy deed:
Death and black Fate approach! ‘t is I must bleed:
No refuge now, no succour from above,
Great Jove deserts me, and the son of Jove,
Propitious once, and kind! Then welcome Fate! 385
‘T is true I perish, yet I perish great:
Yet in a mighty deed I shall expire,
Let future ages hear it, and admire!’
Fierce, at the word, his weighty sword he drew,
And, all collected, on Achilles flew. 390
So Jove’s bold bird, high balanc’d in the air,
Stoops from the clouds to truss the quiv’ring hare.
Nor less Achilles his fierce soul prepares;
Before his breast the flaming shield he bears,
Refulgent orb! above his fourfold cone 395
The gilded horse-hair sparkled in the sun,
Nodding at ev’ry step (Vulcanian frame)!
And as he mov’d, his figure seem’d on flame.
As radiant Hesper shines with keener light,
Far-beaming o’er the silver host of night, 400
When all the starry train emblaze the sphere:
So shone the point of great Achilles’ spear.
In his right hand he waves the weapon round,
Eyes the whole man, and meditates the wound:
But the rich mail Patroclus lately wore, 405
Securely cased the warrior’s body o’er.
One place at length he
spies, to let in Fate,
Where ‘twixt the neck and throat the jointed plate
Gave entrance: thro’ that penetrable part
Furious he drove the well-directed dart: 410
Nor pierc’d the windpipe yet, nor took the power
Of speech, unhappy! from thy dying hour.
Prone on the field the bleeding warrior lies,
While thus, triumphing, stern Achilles cries:
‘At last is Hector stretch’d upon the plain, 415
Who fear’d no vengeance for Patroclus slain:
Then, Prince! you should have fear’d, what now you feel;
Achilles absent was Achilles still.
Yet a short space the great avenger stay’d,
Then low in dust thy strength and glory laid. 420
Peaceful he sleeps, with all our rites adorn’d,
For ever honour’d, and for ever mourn’d:
While, cast to all the rage of hostile power,
Thee birds shall mangle, and thee dogs devour.’
Then Hector, fainting at th’ approach of death: 425
‘By thy own soul! by those who gave thee breath!
By all the sacred prevalence of prayer;
Ah, leave me not for Grecian dogs to tear!
The common rites of sepulture bestow,
To soothe a father’s and a mother’s woe; 430
Let their large gifts procure an urn at least,
And Hector’s ashes in his country rest.’
‘No, wretch accurs’d!’ relentless he replies
(Flames, as he spoke, shot flashing from his eyes),
‘Not those who gave me breath should bid me spare, 435
Nor all the sacred prevalence of prayer.
Could I myself the bloody banquet join!
No — to the dogs that carcass I resign.
Should Troy to bribe me bring forth all her store,
And, giving thousands, offer thousands more; 440
Should Dardan Priam, and his weeping dame,
Drain their whole realm to buy one funeral flame;
Their Hector on the pile they should not see,
Nor rob the vultures of one limb of thee.’
Then thus the Chief his dying accents drew: 445
‘Thy rage, implacable! too well I knew:
The Furies that relentless breast have steel’d,
And curs’d thee with a heart that cannot yield.
Yet think, a day will come, when Fate’s decree
And angry Gods shall wreak this wrong on thee; 450
Phœbus and Paris shall avenge my fate,
And stretch thee here, before this Scæan gate.’
He ceas’d: the Fates suppress’d his lab’ring breath,
And his eyes stiffen’d at the hand of death;
To the dark realm the spirit wings its way 455
