The Portable Roman Reader (Portable Library) (35 page)

All bare and open to the day,
There stood an altar in its place,
And, close beside, an aged bay,
That drooping o‘er the altar leaned,
And with its shade the home-gods screened.
Here Hecuba and all her train
Were seeking refuge, but in vain,
Huddling like doves by storms dismayed,
And clinging to the gods for aid.
But soon as Priam caught her sight,
Thus in his youthful armor dight,
“What madness,” cries she, “wretched spouse,
Has placed that helmet on your brows?
Say, whither fare you? times so dire
Bent knees, not lifted arms require:
Could Hector now before us stand,
No help were in my Hector’s hand.
Take refuge here, and learn at length
The secret of an old man’s strength:
One altar shall protect us all:
Here bide with us, or with us fall.”
She speaks, and guides his trembling feet
To join her in the hallowed seat.

 

See, fled from murdering Pyrrhus, runs
Polites, one of Priam’s sons:
Through foes, through javelins, wounded sore,
He circles court and corridor,
While Pyrrhus follows in his rear
With outstretched hand and levelled spear;
Till just before his parents’ eyes,
All bathed in blood, he falls and dies.
With death in view, the unchilded sire
Checked not the utterance of his ire:
“May Heaven. if Heaven be just to heed
Such horrors, render worthy meed,”
He cries, “for this atrocious deed,
Which makes me see my darling die,
And stains with blood a father’s eye.
But he to whom you feign you owe
Your birth, Achilles, ‘twas not so
He dealt with Priam, though his foe:
He feared the laws of right and truth:
He heard the suppliant’s prayer with ruth,
Gave Hector’s body to the tomb,
And sent me back in safety home.”
So spoke the sire, and speaking threw
A feeble dart, no blood that drew:
The ringing metal turned it back,
And left it dangling, weak and slack.
Then Pyrrhus: “Take the news below,
And to my sire Achilles go:
Tell him of his degenerate seed,
And that and this my bloody deed.
Now die”: and to the altar-stone
Along the marble floor
He dragged the father, sliddering on
E’en in his child’s own gore:
His left hand in his hair he wreathed,
While with the right he plied
His flashing sword, and hilt-deep sheathed
Within the old man’s side.
So Priam’s fortunes closed at last:
So passed he, seeing as he passed
His Troy in flames, his royal tower
Laid low in dust by hostile power,
Who once o‘er lands and peoples proud
Sat, while before him Asia bowed:
Now on the shore behold him dead,
A nameless trunk, a trunkless head.

O then I felt, as ne‘er before,
Chill horror to my bosom’s core.
I seemed my aged sire to see,
Beholding Priam, old as he,
Gasp out his life: before my eyes
Forlorn Creusa seemed to rise,
Our palace, sacked and desolate,
And young Iulus, left to fate.
Then, looking round, the place I eyed,
To see who yet were at my side.
Some by the flames were swallowed: some
Had leapt to earth: the end was come.

 

I stood alone, when lo! I mark
In Vesta’s temple crouching dark
The traitress Helen: the broad blaze
Gives me full light, as round I gaze.
She, shrinking from the Trojan’s hate
Made frantic by their city’s fate,
Nor dreading less the Danaan sword,
The vengeance of her injured lord—
She, Troy’s and Argos’ common fiend,
Sat cowering, by the altar screened.
My blood was fired: fierce passion woke
To quit Troy’s fall by one sure stroke.
“What? to Mycenæ shall she go,
A conqueress, in a pageant show,
See home, sire, children, spouse again,
With Phrygian menials in her train?
Good Priam slaughtered? Troy no more?
The Dardan plains afloat with gore?
No; though no glory be to gain
From vengeance on a woman ta‘en,
Yet he that rids the world of guilt
May claim the praise of blood well spilt:
’Twere joy to satiate righteous ire,
And slake my country’s funeral fire.”
Thus was I raving, past control,
In aimless turbulence of soul,
When sudden dawning on the night
(Ne‘er had I known her face so bright)
My mother flashed upon my sight,
Confessed a goddess, with the mien
And stature that in heaven are seen:
Reproachfully my hand she pressed,
And thus from roseate lips addressed:
“My son, what cruel wrongs excite
Your wrath to such pernicious height?
What mean you by this madness? where
Left you that love to me you bear?
And will you not at least inquire
What fate betides your time-worn sire?
If your Creusa still survive?
If young Ascanius be alive?
All these are trembling as for life,
With Grecian bands around them rife,
And, but for me, had sunk o’erpowered
By flame, or by the sword devoured.
Not the loathed charms of Sparta’s dame,
Nor Paris, victim of your blame—
No, ‘tis the Gods, the Gods destroy
This mighty realm, and pull down Troy.
Behold! for I will purge the haze
That darkles round your mortal gaze
And blunts its keenness—mark me still,
Nor disobey your mother’s will—
Here, where you see huge blocks unfixed,
And dust and smoke in whirlwind mixed,
Great Neptune with his three-forked mace
Upheaves the ramparts from their place,
And rocks the town from cope to base.
Here Juno at the Scæan gates,
Begirt with steel, impatient waits,
And clamorous from the navy calls
Her comrades to the captured walls.
Look back; see Pallas o’er the tower
With cloud and Gorgon redly lower.
E‘en Jove to Greece his strength affords,
And fights from heaven ’gainst Dardan swords.
Then fly, and give the struggle o‘er;
Myself will guard you, till once more
You stand before your father’s door.”
She spoke, and vanished from my sight,
Lost in the darkness of the night.
Dire presences their forms disclose,
And powers of terror, Ilium’s foes.

 

That vision showed me Neptune’s town
In blazing ruin sinking down:
As rustics strive with many a stroke
To fell some venerable oak,
It still keeps nodding to its doom,
Still bows its head, and shakes its plume,
Till, by degrees o‘ercome, one groan
It heaves, and on the hill lies prone.
Down from my perilous height I glide,
Safe sheltered by my heavenly guide,
So thread my way through foes and fire:
The darts give place, the flames retire.

 

But when I gained Anchises’ door,
And stood within my home once more,
My sire, whom I had hoped to bear
Safe to the hills with chiefest care,
Refused to lengthen out his span
And live on earth an exiled man.
“You, you,” he cries, “bestir your flight,
Whose blood is warm, whose limbs are light:
Had Heaven not willed my life to cease,
Heaven would have kept my home in peace.
Enough, that I have once been saved,
Survivor of a town enslaved.
Now leave me: be your farewell said
To this my corpse, and count me dead.
My hand shall win me death: the foe
Such mercy as I need will show,
Will strip my spoils, and pass for brave.
He lacks not much that lacks a grave.
Long have I lived to curse my birth,
A useless cumberer of the earth,
E‘en from the day when Heaven’s dread sire
In anger scathed me with his fire.”

 

So talked he, obstinately set:
While we, our eyes with sorrow wet,
All on our knees, wife, husband, boy,
Implore—O let him not destroy
Himself and us, nor lend his weight
To the incumbent load of fate!
He hears not, but refuses still,
Unchanged alike in place and will.
Desperate, again to arms I fly,
And make my wretched choice to die:
For what deliverance now was mine,
What help in fortune or design?
“What? leave my sire behind and flee?
Such words from you? such words to me?
The watch that guards a parent’s lip,
Lets it such dire suggestion slip?
If Heaven in truth has willed to spare
No relic of a town so fair,
If you and all wherein you joy
Must burn to feed the flames of Troy,
See there, Death waits you at the door:
See Pyrrhus, steeped in Priam’s gore,
Repeats his double crime once more:
The son before his father’s eyes,
The father at the altar dies.
O mother! was it then for this
I passed where fires and javelins hiss
Safe in thy conduct, but to see
Foes in my home’s dear sanctuary,
All murdered, father, wife, and child,
Each in the other’s blood defiled?
My arms! my arms! the fatal day
Calls, and the vanquished must obey;
Return me to the Danaan crew!
Let me the yielded fight renew!
No; one at least these walls contain
Who will not unavenged be slain.”

Once more I gird me for the field,
And to my arm make fast my shield,
And issue from the door; when see!
Creusa clings around my knee,
And offers with a tender grace
Iulus to his sire’s embrace:
“If but to perish forth you fare,
Take us with you, your fate to share;
But if you hope that help may come
From sword and shield, first guard your home
Think, think to whom you leave your child,
Your sire, and her whom bride you styled”
So cried she, and the tearful sound
Was filling all the chambers round,
When sudden in the house we saw
A sight for wonderment and awe:
Between us while Iulus stands
‘Mid weeping eyes and clasping hands,
Lo! from the summit of his head
A lambent flame was seen to spread,
Sport with his locks in harmless play,
And grazing round his temples stray.
We hurrying strive his hair to quench,
And the blest flame with water drench.
But sire Anchises to the skies
In rapture lifts voice, hands, and eyes:
“Vouchsafe this once, almighty Jove,
If prayer thy righteous will can move,
And if our care have earned us thine,
Give aid, and ratify this sign.”
Scarce had the old man said, when hark!
It thundered left, and through the dark
A meteor with a train of light
Athwart the sky gleamed dazzling bright.
Right o’er our palace-roof it crossed,
Then in Idæan woods was lost,
Still glittering on: a fiery trail
Succeeds, and sulphurous fumes exhale.
At this my sire his form uprears,
Salutes the Gods, the star reveres:
“Lead on, blest sign! no more I crave:
Gods, save my house, my grandchild save!
You sent this augury of joy;
Where you are present, there is Troy.
I yield, I yield, nor longer shun
To share the exile of my son.”

He ceased: and near and yet more near
The loud flame strikes on eye and ear.
“Come, mount my shoulders, dear my sire:
Such load my strength shall never tire.
Now, whether fortune smiles or lowers,
One risk, one safety shall be ours.
My son shall journey at my side,
My wife her steps by mine shall guide,
At distance safe. What next I say,
Attend, my servants, and obey.
Without the city stands a mound
With Ceres’ ruined temple crowned:
A cypress spreads its branches near,
Hoar with hereditary fear.
Part we our several ways, to meet
At length beside that hallowed seat.
You, father, in your arms upbear
Troy’s household gods with duteous care:
For me, just ‘scaped from battle-fray,
On holy things a hand to lay
Were desecration, till I lave
My body in the running wave.”
So saying, in a lion’s hide
I robe my shoulders, mantling wide,
And stoop beneath the precious load:
Iulus fastens to my side,
His steps scarce matching with my stride:
My wife behind me takes her road.
We travel darkling in the shade,
And I, whom through that fearful night
Nor volleyed javelins had dismayed
Nor foeman hand to hand in fight,
Now start at every sound, in dread
For him I bore and him I led.

And now the gates I neared at last,
And all the journey seemed o‘erpast,
When trampling feet my ear assail;
My father, peering through the gloom,
Cries “Haste, my son! 0 haste! they come:
I see their shields, their glittering mail.”
’Twas then, alas! some power unkind
Bereft me of my wildered mind.
While unfrequented paths I thread,
And shun the roads that others tread,
My wife Creusa—did she stray,
Or halt exhausted by the way?
I know not—parted from our train,
Nor ever crossed our sight again.
Nor e‘er my eyes her figure sought,
Nor e’er towards her turned my thought,
Till when at Ceres’ hallowed spot
We mustered, she alone was not,
And her companions, spouse and son,
Looked round and saw themselves undone.
Ah, that sad hour! whom spared I then,
In my wild grief, of gods and men?
What woe, in all the town o‘erthrown,
Thought I more cruel than my own?
My father and my darling boy,
And, last not least, the gods of Troy,
To my retainers I confide
And in the winding valley hide,
While to the town once more I go,
And shining armor round me throw,
Resolved through Troy to measure back
From end to end my perilous track.

 

First to the city’s shadowed gate
I turn me, whence we passed so late,
My footsteps through the darkness trace,
And cast my eyes from place to place.
A shuddering on my spirit falls,
And e‘en the silence’ self appals.
Then to my palace I repair,
In hope, in hope, to find her there:
In vain, the foes had forced the door,
And flooded all the mansions o’er.
Fanned by the wind, the flame upsoars
Roof-high; the hot blast skyward roars.
Departing thence, I seek the tower,
The ruined seat of Priam’s power.
There Phoenix and Ulysses fell
In the void courts by Juno’s cell
Were set the spoil to keep;
Snatched from the burning shrines away,
There Ilium’s mighty treasure lay,
Rich altars, bowls of massy gold,
And captive raiment, rudely rolled
In one promiscuous heap;
While boys and matrons, wild with fear,
In long array were standing near.
With desperate daring I essayed
To send my voice along the shade,
Roused the still streets, and called in vain
Creusa o‘er and o’er again.
Thus while in agony I pressed
From house to house the endless quest,
The pale sad spectre of my wife
Confronts me, larger than in life.
I stood appalled, my hair erect,
And fear my tongue-tied utterance checked,
While gently she her speech addressed,
And set my troubled heart at rest;
“Why grieve so madly, husband mine?
Nought here has chanced without design:
Fate and the Sire of all decree
Creusa shall not cross the sea.
Long years of exile must be yours,
Vast seas must tire your laboring oars;
At length Hesperia you shall gain,
Where through a rich and peopled plain
Soft Tiber rolls his tide:
There a new realm, a royal wife,
Shall build again your shattered life.
Weep not your dear Creusa’s fate:
Ne‘er through Mycenæ’s haughty gate
A captive shall I ride,
Nor swell some Grecian matron’s train,
I, born of Dardan princes’ strain,
To Venus’ seed allied:
Heaven’s mighty Mother keeps me here:
Farewell, and hold our offspring dear.”
Then, while I dewed with tears my cheek,
And strove a thousand things to speak,
She melted into night:
Thrice I essayed her neck to clasp:
Thrice the vain semblance mocked my grasp,
As wind or slumber light.
So now, the long, long night o’erpast,
I reach my weary friends at last.
There with amazement I behold
New-mustering comrades, young and old,
Sons, mothers, bound from home to flee,
A melancholy company.
They meet, prepared to brave the seas
And sail with me where‘er I please.
Now, rising o’er the heights of Ide,
Shone the bright star, day’s orient guide:
The Danaans swarmed at every door,
Nor seemed there hope of safety more:
I yield to fate, take up my sire,
And to the mountain’s shade retire.