Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) (5 page)

  
510
 
The mother first beheld with sad survey;
She rent her tresses, venerably grey,
And cast far off the regal veils away.
With piercing shrieks his bitter fate she moans,
While the sad father answers groans with groans;
  
515
Tears after tears his mournful cheeks o’erflow,
And the whole city wears one face of woe:
No less than if the rage of hostile fires,
From her foundations curling to her spires,
O’er the proud citadel at length should rise,
  
520
And the last blaze send Ilion to the skies.
The wretched Monarch of the falling state,
Distracted, presses to the Dardan gate:
Scarce the whole people stop his desp’rate course,
While strong affliction gives the feeble force:
  
525
Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro,
In all the raging impotence of woe.
At length he roll’d in dust, and thus begun,
Imploring all, and naming one by one:
‘Ah! let me, let me go where sorrow calls;
  
530
I, only I, will issue from your walls
(Guide or companion, friends! I ask ye none),
And bow before the murd’rer, of my son:
My grief perhaps his pity may engage;
Perhaps at least he may respect my age.
  
535
He has a father too; a man like me;
One not exempt from age and misery
(Vig’rous no more, as when his young embrace
Begot this pest of me, and all my race).
How many valiant sons, in early bloom,
  
540
Has that curs’d hand sent headlong to the tomb!
Thee, Hector! last; thy loss (divinely brave)!
Sinks my sad soul with sorrow to the grave.
Oh had thy gentle spirit pass’d in peace,
The son expiring in the sire’s embrace,
  
545
While both thy parents wept thy fatal hour,
And, bending o’er thee, mix’d the tender shower!
Some comfort that had been, some sad relief,
To melt in full satiety of grief!’
 
Thus wail’d the father, grov’ling on the ground,
  
550
And all the eyes of Ilion stream’d around.
 
Amidst her matrons Hecuba appears
(A mourning Princess, and a train in tears):
‘Ah! why has Heav’n prolong’d this hated breath,
Patient of horrors, to behold thy death?
  
555
O Hector! late thy parents’ pride and joy,
The boast of nations! the defence of Troy!
To whom her safety and her fame she owed,
Her Chief, her hero, and almost her God!
O fatal change! become in one sad day
  
560
A senseless corse! inanimated clay!’
 
But not as yet the fatal news had spread
To fair Andromache, of Hector dead;
As yet no messenger had told his Fate,
Nor ev’n his stay without the Scæan gate.
  
565
Far in the close recesses of the dome
Pensive she plied the melancholy loom;
A growing work employ’d her secret hours,
Confusedly gay with intermingled flowers.
Her fair-hair’d handmaids heat the brazen urn,
  
570
The bath preparing for her lord’s return:
In vain: alas! her lord returns no more!
Unbathed he lies, and bleeds along the shore!
Now from the walls the clamours reach her ear
And all her members shake with sudden fear;
  
575
Forth from her iv’ry hand the shuttle falls,
As thus, astonish’d, to her maids she calls:
 
‘Ah, follow me’ (she cried)! ‘what plaintive noise
Invades my ear? ‘T is sure my mother’s voice.
My falt’ring knees their trembling frame desert,
  
580
A pulse unusual flutters at my heart.
Some strange disaster, some reverse of fate
(Ye Gods avert it!) threats the Trojan state.
Far be the omen which my thoughts suggest!
But much I fear my Hector’s dauntless breast
  
585
Confronts Achilles; chased along the plain,
Shut from our walls! I fear, I fear him slain!
Safe in the crowd he ever scorn’d to wait,
And sought for glory in the jaws of Fate:
Perhaps that noble heat has cost his breath,
  
590
Now quench’d for ever in the arms of death.’
 
She spoke; and, furious, with distracted pace,
Fears in her heart, and anguish in her face,
Flies thro’ the dome (the maids her step pursue),
And mounts the walls, and sends around her view.
  
595
Too soon her eyes the killing object found,
The godlike Hector dragg’d along the ground.
A sudden darkness shades her swimming eyes:
She faints, she falls; her breath, her colour, flies.
Her hair’s fair ornaments, the braids that bound,
  
600
The net that held them, and the wreath that crown’d,
The veil and diadem, flew far away
(The gift of Venus on her bridal day).
Around, a train of weeping sisters stands,
To raise her sinking with assistant hands.
  
605
Scarce from the verge of death recall’d, again
She faints, or but recovers to complain:
 
‘O wretched husband of a wretched wife!
Born with one fate, to one unhappy life!
For sure one star its baneful beam display’d
  
610
On Priam’s roof, and Hippoplacia’s shade.
From diff’rent parents, diff’rent climes, we came,
At diff’rent periods, yet our fate the same!
Why was my birth to great Eëtion owed,
And why was all that tender care bestow’d?
  
615
Would I had never been! — Oh thou, the ghost
Of my dead husband! miserably lost!
Thou to the dismal realms for ever gone!
And I abandon’d, desolate, alone!
An only child, once comfort of my pains,
  
620
Sad product now of hapless love, remains!
No more to smile upon his sire! no friend
To help him now! no father to defend!
For should he ‘scape the sword, the common doom,
What wrongs attend him, and what griefs to come!
  
625
Ev’n from his own paternal roof expell’d,
Some stranger ploughs his patrimonial field.
The day that to the shades the father sends,
Robs the sad orphan of his father’s friends:
He, wretched outcast of mankind! appears
  
630
For ever sad, for ever bathed in tears;
Amongst the happy, unregarded he
Hangs on the robe or trembles at the knee;
While those his father’s former bounty fed,
Nor reach the goblet, nor divide the bread:
  
635
The kindest but his present wants allay,
To leave him wretched the succeeding day.
Frugal compassion! Heedless, they who boast
Both parents still, nor feel what he has lost,
Shall cry, Begone! thy father feasts not here:
  
640
The wretch obeys, retiring with a tear.
Thus wretched, thus retiring all in tears,
To my sad soul Astyanax appears!
Forc’d by repeated insults to return,
And to his widow’d mother vainly mourn.
  
645
He who, with tender delicacy bred,
With Princes sported, and on dainties fed,
And, when still ev’ning gave him up to rest,
Sunk soft in down upon the nurse’s breast,
Must — ah what must he not? Whom Ilion calls
  
650
Astyanax, from her well-guarded walls,
Is now that name no more, unhappy boy!
Since now no more thy father guards his Troy.
But thou, my Hector! liest exposed in air,
Far from thy parents’ and thy consort’s care,
  
655
Whose hand in vain, directed by her love,
The martial scarf and robe of triumph wove.
Now to devouring flames be these a prey,
Useless to thee, from this accursed day!
Yet let the sacrifice at least be paid,
  
660
An honour to the living, not the dead!’
 
So spake the mournful dame: her matrons hear,
Sigh back her sighs, and answer tear with tear.

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order

Priam Begs Achilles for Hector’s Corpse. Book XXIV

Translated by William Cowper

Watch’d, while the ancient King into the tent
Proceeded of Achilles dear to Jove.
Him there he found, and sitting found apart
His fellow-warriors, of whom two alone
Served at his side, Alcimus, branch of Mars
And brave Automedon; he had himself
Supp’d newly, and the board stood unremoved.
Unseen of all huge Priam enter’d, stood
Near to Achilles, clasp’d his knees, and kiss’d
Those terrible and homicidal hands
That had destroy’d so many of his sons.
As when a fugitive for blood the house
Of some chief enters in a foreign land,
All gaze, astonish’d at the sudden guest,
So gazed Achilles seeing Priam there,
 
And so stood all astonish’d, each his eyes
In silence fastening on his fellow’s face.
But Priam kneel’d, and suppliant thus began.

Think, oh Achilles, semblance of the Gods!
On thy own father full of days like me,
And trembling on the gloomy verge of life.
Some neighbor chief, it may be, even now
Oppresses him, and there is none at hand,
No friend to suocor him in his distress.
Yet, doubtless, hearing that Achilles lives,
He still rejoices, hoping, day by day,
That one day he shall see the face again
Of his own son from distant Troy return’d.
But me no comfort cheers, whose bravest sons,
So late the flower of Ilium, all are slain.
When Greece came hither, I had fifty sons;
Nineteen were children of one bed, the rest
Born of my concubines. A numerous house!
But fiery Mars hath thinn’d it. One I had,
One, more than all my sons the strength of Troy,
Whom standing for his country thou hast slain —
Hector — his body to redeem I come
Into Achaia’s fleet, bringing, myself,
Ransom inestimable to thy tent.
Reverence the Gods, Achilles! recollect
Thy father; for his sake compassion show
To me more pitiable still, who draw
Home to my lips (humiliation yet
Unseen on earth) his hand who slew my son.

So saying, he waken’d in his soul regret
Of his own sire; softly he placed his hand
On Priam’s hand, and push’d him gently away.
 
Remembrance melted both. Rolling before
Achilles’ feet, Priam his son deplored
Wide-slaughtering Hector, and Achilles wept
By turns his father, and by turns his friend
Patroclus; sounds of sorrow fill’d the tent.
But when, at length satiate, Achilles felt
His heart from grief, and all his frame relieved,
Upstarting from his seat, with pity moved
Of Priam’s silver locks and silver beard,
He raised the ancient father by his hand,
Whom in wing’d accents kind he thus bespake.

Wretched indeed! ah what must thou have felt!
How hast thou dared to seek alone the fleet
Of the Achaians, and his face by whom
So many of thy valiant sons have fallen?
Thou hast a heart of iron, terror-proof.
Come — sit beside me — let us, if we may,
Great mourners both, bid sorrow sleep awhile.
There is no profit of our sighs and tears;
For thus, exempt from care themselves, the Gods
Ordain man’s miserable race to mourn.
Fast by the threshold of Jove’s courts are placed
Two casks, one stored with evil, one with good,
From which the God dispenses as he wills.
For whom the glorious Thunderer mingles both,
He leads a life checker’d with good and ill
Alternate; but to whom he gives unmixt
The bitter cup, he makes that man a curse,
His name becomes a by-word of reproach,
His strength is hunger-bitten, and he walks
The blessed earth, unblest, go where he may.
So was my father Peleus at his birth
Nobly endow’d with plenty and with wealth
Distinguish’d by the Gods past all mankind,
Lord of the Myrmidons, and, though a man,
Yet match’d from heaven with an immortal bride.
But even him the Gods afflict, a son
Refusing him, who might possess his throne
 
Hereafter; for myself, his only heir,
Pass as a dream, and while I live, instead
Of solacing his age, here sit, before
Your distant walls, the scourge of thee and thine.
Thee also, ancient Priam, we have heard
Reported, once possessor of such wealth
As neither Lesbos, seat of Macar, owns,
Nor eastern Phrygia, nor yet all the ports
Of Hellespont, but thou didst pass them all
In riches, and in number of thy sons.
But since the Powers of heaven brought on thy land
This fatal war, battle and deeds of death
Always surround the city where thou reign’st.
Cease, therefore, from unprofitable tears,
Which, ere they raise thy son to life again
Shall, doubtless, find fresh cause for which to flow.

To whom the ancient King godlike replied.
Hero, forbear. No seat is here for me,
While Hector lies unburied in your camp.
Loose him, and loose him now, that with these eyes
I may behold my son; accept a price
Magnificent, which may’st thou long enjoy,
And, since my life was precious in thy sight,
May’st thou revisit safe thy native shore!

To whom Achilles, lowering, and in wrath.
Urge me no longer, at a time like this,
With that harsh note; I am already inclin’d
To loose him. Thetis, my own mother came
Herself on that same errand, sent from Jove.
Priam! I understand thee well. I know
That, by some God conducted, thou hast reach’d
Achaia’s fleet; for, without aid divine,
No mortal even in his prime of youth,
Had dared the attempt; guards vigilant as ours
 
He should not easily elude, such gates,
So massy, should not easily unbar.
Thou, therefore, vex me not in my distress,
Lest I abhor to see thee in my tent,
And, borne beyond all limits, set at nought
Thee, and thy prayer, and the command of Jove.

He said; the old King trembled, and obey’d.
Then sprang Pelides like a lion forth,
Not sole, but with his two attendant friends
Alcimus and Automedon the brave,
For them (Patroclus slain) he honor’d most
Of all the Myrmidons. They from the yoke
Released both steeds and mules, then introduced
And placed the herald of the hoary King.
They lighten’d next the litter of its charge
Inestimable, leaving yet behind
Two mantles and a vest, that, not unveil’d,
The body might be borne back into Troy.
Then, calling forth his women, them he bade
Lave and anoint the body, but apart,
Lest haply Priam, noticing his son,
Through stress of grief should give resentment scope,
And irritate by some affront himself
To slay him, in despite of Jove’s commands.
They, therefore, laving and anointing first
The body, cover’d it with cloak and vest;
Then, Peleus’ son disposed it on the bier,
Lifting it from the ground, and his two friends
Together heaved it to the royal wain.
Achilles, last, groaning, his friend invoked.

 
Patroclus! should the tidings reach thine ear,
Although in Ades, that I have released
The noble Hector at his father’s suit,
Resent it not; no sordid gifts have paid
His ransom-price, which thou shalt also share.

So saying, Achilles to his tent return’d,
And on the splendid couch whence he had risen
Again reclined, opposite to the seat
Of Priam, whom the hero thus bespake.

Priam! at thy request thy son is loosed,
And lying on his bier; at dawn of day
Thou shalt both see him and convey him hence
Thyself to Troy. But take we now repast;
For even bright-hair’d Niobe her food
Forgat not, though of children twelve bereft,
Of daughters six, and of six blooming sons.
Apollo these struck from his silver bow,
And those shaft-arm’d Diana, both incensed
That oft Latona’s children and her own
Numbering, she scorn’d the Goddess who had borne
Two only, while herself had twelve to boast.
Vain boast! those two sufficed to slay them all.
Nine days they welter’d in their blood, no man
Was found to bury them, for Jove had changed
To stone the people; but themselves, at last,
The Powers of heaven entomb’d them on the tenth.
Yet even she, once satisfied with tears,
Remember’d food; and now the rocks among
And pathless solitudes of Sipylus,
The rumor’d cradle of the nymphs who dance
On Acheloüs’ banks, although to stone
Transform’d, she broods her heaven-inflicted woes.
Come, then, my venerable guest! take we
Refreshment also; once arrived in Troy
With thy dear son, thou shalt have time to weep
Sufficient, nor without most weighty cause.

So spake Achilles, and, upstarting, slew
A sheep white-fleeced, which his attendants flay’d,
 
And busily and with much skill their task
Administ’ring, first scored the viands well,
Then pierced them with the spits, and when the roast
Was finish’d, drew them from the spits again.
And now, Automedon dispensed around
The polish’d board bread in neat baskets piled,
Which done, Achilles portion’d out to each
His share, and all assail’d the ready feast.
But when nor hunger more nor thirst they felt,
Dardanian Priam, wond’ring at his bulk
And beauty (for he seem’d some God from heaven)
Gazed on Achilles, while Achilles held
Not less in admiration of his looks
Benign, and of his gentle converse wise,
Gazed on Dardanian Priam, and, at length
(The eyes of each gratified to the full)
The ancient King thus to Achilles spake.

Hero! dismiss us now each to our bed,
That there at ease reclined, we may enjoy
Sweet sleep; for never have these eyelids closed
Since Hector fell and died, but without cease
I mourn, and nourishing unnumber’d woes,
Have roll’d me in the ashes of my courts.
But I have now both tasted food, and given
Wine to my lips, untasted till with thee.

So he, and at his word Achilles bade
His train beneath his portico prepare
With all dispatch two couches, purple rugs,
And arras, and warm mantles over all.
Forth went the women bearing lights, and spread
A couch for each, when feigning needful fear,
Achilles thus his speech to Priam turn’d.

My aged guest beloved; sleep thou without;
 
Lest some Achaian chief (for such are wont
Ofttimes, here sitting, to consult with me)
Hither repair; of whom should any chance
To spy thee through the gloom, he would at once
Convey the tale to Agamemnon’s ear,
Whence hindrance might arise, and the release
Haply of Hector’s body be delay’d.
But answer me with truth. How many days
Wouldst thou assign to the funereal rites
Of noble Hector, for so long I mean
Myself to rest, and keep the host at home?

Then thus the ancient King godlike replied.
If thou indeed be willing that we give
Burial to noble Hector, by an act
So generous, O Achilles! me thou shalt
Much gratify; for we are shut, thou know’st,
In Ilium close, and fuel must procure
From Ida’s side remote; fear, too, hath seized
On all our people. Therefore thus I say.
Nine days we wish to mourn him in the house;
To his interment we would give the tenth,
And to the public banquet; the eleventh
Shall see us build his tomb; and on the twelfth
(If war we must) we will to war again.

To whom Achilles, matchless in the race.
So be it, ancient Priam! I will curb
Twelve days the rage of war, at thy desire.

He spake, and at his wrist the right hand grasp’d
Of the old sovereign, to dispel his fear.
Then in the vestibule the herald slept
And Priam, prudent both, but Peleus’ son
In the interior tent, and at his side
Brisëis, with transcendent beauty adorn’d.

 
Now all, all night, by gentle sleep subdued,
Both Gods and chariot-ruling warriors lay,
But not the benefactor of mankind,
Hermes; him sleep seized not, but deep he mused
How likeliest from amid the Grecian fleet
He might deliver by the guard unseen
The King of Ilium; at his head he stood
In vision, and the senior thus bespake.

Ah heedless and secure! hast thou no dread
Of mischief, ancient King, that thus by foes
Thou sleep’st surrounded, lull’d by the consent
And sufferance of Achilles? Thou hast given
Much for redemption of thy darling son,
But thrice that sum thy sons who still survive
Must give to Agamemnon and the Greeks
For
thy
redemption, should they know thee here.

He ended; at the sound alarm’d upsprang
The King, and roused his herald. Hermes yoked
Himself both mules and steeds, and through the camp
Drove them incontinent, by all unseen.

List of Poems in Alphabetical Order

List of Poets in Alphabetical Order