Iliad on Dharma

“Thee, welcome, goddess! what occasion calls (So long a stranger) to these honour’d walls? ’Tis thine, fair Thetis, the command to lay, And Vulcan’s joy and duty to obey.”

“Thee first in virtue, as in power supreme, O king of nations! all thy Greeks proclaim; In every martial game thy worth attest, And know thee both their greatest and their best. Take then the prize, but let brave Merion bear This beamy javelin in thy brother’s war.”

“O heroes! worthy such a dauntless train, Whose godlike virtue we but urge in vain, (Exclaim’d the king), who raise your eager bands With great examples, more than loud commands. Ah! would the gods but breathe in all the rest Such souls as burn in your exalted breast, Soon should our arms with just success be crown’d, And Troy’s proud walls lie smoking on the ground.”

Thus he—“What methods yet, O chief! remain, To save your Troy, though heaven its fall ordain? There have been heroes, who, by virtuous care, By valour, numbers, and by arts of war, Have forced the powers to spare a sinking state, And gain’d at length the glorious odds of fate: But you, when fortune smiles, when Jove declares His partial favour, and assists your wars, Your shameful efforts ’gainst yourselves employ, And force the unwilling god to ruin Troy.”

“Is this the chief, who, lost to sense of shame, Late fled the field, and yet survives his fame? O hadst thou died beneath the righteous sword 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: Yet Helen bids thee stay, lest thou unskill’d Shouldst fall an easy conquest on the field.”

“My son (coerulean Thetis made reply, To fate submitting with a secret sigh,) The host to succour, and thy friends to save, Is worthy thee; the duty of the brave. But canst thou, naked, issue to the plains? Thy radiant arms the Trojan foe detains. Insulting Hector bears the spoils on high, But vainly glories, for his fate is nigh. Yet, yet awhile thy generous ardour stay; Assured, I meet thee at the dawn of day, Charged with refulgent arms (a glorious load), Vulcanian arms, the labour of a god.”

Thus spoke to Priam the celestial guide, And joyful thus the royal sire replied: “Blest is the man who pays the gods above The constant tribute of respect and love! Those who inhabit the Olympian bower My son forgot not, in exalted power; And heaven, that every virtue bears in mind, Even to the ashes of the just is kind. But thou, O generous youth! this goblet take, A pledge of gratitude for Hector’s sake; And while the favouring gods our steps survey, Safe to Pelides’ tent conduct my way.”

Thus pray’d Tydides, and Minerva heard, His nerves confirm’d, his languid spirits cheer’d; He feels each limb with wonted vigour light; His beating bosom claim’d the promised fight. “Be bold, (she cried), in every combat shine, War be thy province, thy protection mine; Rush to the fight, and every foe control; Wake each paternal virtue in thy soul: Strength swells thy boiling breast, infused by me, And all thy godlike father breathes in thee; Yet more, from mortal mists I purge thy eyes,[145] And set to view the warring deities. These see thou shun, through all the embattled plain; Nor rashly strive where human force is vain. If Venus mingle in the martial band, Her shalt thou wound: so Pallas gives command.”

“Lo! on the brink of fate Æneas stands, An instant victim to Achilles’ hands; By Phœbus urged; but Phœbus has bestow’d His aid in vain: the man o’erpowers the god. And can ye see this righteous chief atone With guiltless blood for vices not his own? To all the gods his constant vows were paid; Sure, though he wars for Troy, he claims our aid. Fate wills not this; nor thus can Jove resign The future father of the Dardan line:[266] The first great ancestor obtain’d his grace, And still his love descends on all the race: For Priam now, and Priam’s faithless kind, At length are odious to the all-seeing mind; On great Æneas shall devolve the reign, And sons succeeding sons the lasting line sustain.”

But he who found not whom his soul desired, Whose virtue charm’d him as her beauty fired, Stood in the gates, and ask’d “what way she bent Her parting step? If to the fane she went, Where late the mourning matrons made resort; Or sought her sisters in the Trojan court?” “Not to the court, (replied the attendant train,) Nor mix’d with matrons to Minerva’s fane: To Ilion’s steepy tower she bent her way, To mark the fortunes of the doubtful day. Troy fled, she heard, before the Grecian sword; She heard, and trembled for her absent lord: Distracted with surprise, she seem’d to fly, Fear on her cheek, and sorrow in her eye. The nurse attended with her infant boy, The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy.”

“Fear not, O father! no ill news I bear; From Jove I come, Jove makes thee still his care; For Hector’s sake these walls he bids thee leave, And bear what stern Achilles may receive; Alone, for so he wills; no Trojan near, Except, to place the dead with decent care, Some aged herald, who with gentle hand May the slow mules and funeral car command. Nor shalt thou death, nor shalt thou danger dread: Safe through the foe by his protection led: Thee Hermes to Pelides shall convey, Guard of thy life, and partner of thy way. Fierce as he is, Achilles’ self shall spare Thy age, nor touch one venerable hair; Some thought there must be in a soul so brave, Some sense of duty, some desire to save.”

Paris from far the moving sight beheld, With pity soften’d and with fury swell’d: His honour’d host, a youth of matchless grace, And loved of all the Paphlagonian race! With his full strength he bent his angry bow, And wing’d the feather’d vengeance at the foe. A chief there was, the brave Euchenor named, For riches much, and more for virtue famed. Who held his seat in Corinth’s stately town; Polydus’ son, a seer of old renown. Oft had the father told his early doom, By arms abroad, or slow disease at home: He climb’d his vessel, prodigal of breath, And chose the certain glorious path to death. Beneath his ear the pointed arrow went; The soul came issuing at the narrow vent: His limbs, unnerved, drop useless on the ground, And everlasting darkness shades him round.

While thus they communed, from the Olympian bowers Jove orders Iris to the Trojan towers: “Haste, winged goddess! to the sacred town, And urge her monarch to redeem his son. Alone the Ilian ramparts let him leave, And bear what stern Achilles may receive: Alone, for so we will; no Trojan near Except, to place the dead with decent care, Some aged herald, who with gentle hand May the slow mules and funeral car command. Nor let him death, nor let him danger dread, Safe through the foe by our protection led: Him Hermes to Achilles shall convey, Guard of his life, and partner of his way. Fierce as he is, Achilles’ self shall spare His age, nor touch one venerable hair: Some thought there must be in a soul so brave, Some sense of duty, some desire to save.”

“Now speed thy hasty course along the fleet, There call great Ajax, and the prince of Crete; Ourself to hoary Nestor will repair; To keep the guards on duty be his care, (For Nestor’s influence best that quarter guides, Whose son with Merion, o’er the watch presides.”) To whom the Spartan: “These thy orders borne, Say, shall I stay, or with despatch return?” “There shall thou stay, (the king of men replied,) Else may we miss to meet, without a guide, The paths so many, and the camp so wide. Still, with your voice the slothful soldiers raise, Urge by their fathers’ fame their future praise. Forget we now our state and lofty birth; Not titles here, but works, must prove our worth. To labour is the lot of man below; And when Jove gave us life, he gave us woe.”

“Oh, generous brother! (if the guilty dame That caused these woes deserve a sister’s name!) Would heaven, ere all these dreadful deeds were done, The day that show’d me to the golden sun 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? Heaven fill’d up all my ills, and I accursed 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 The gods have link’d our miserable doom, Our present woe, and infamy to come: Wide shall it spread, and last through ages long, Example sad! and theme of future song.”

“Cursed is the man, and void of law and right, Unworthy property, unworthy light, Unfit for public rule, or private care, That wretch, that monster, who delights in war; Whose lust is murder, and whose horrid joy, To tear his country, and his kind destroy! This night, refresh and fortify thy train; Between the trench and wall let guards remain: Be that the duty of the young and bold; But thou, O king, to council call the old; Great is thy sway, and weighty are thy cares; Thy high commands must spirit all our wars. With Thracian wines recruit thy honour’d guests, For happy counsels flow from sober feasts. Wise, weighty counsels aid a state distress’d, And such a monarch as can choose the best. See what a blaze from hostile tents aspires, How near our fleet approach the Trojan fires! Who can, unmoved, behold the dreadful light? What eye beholds them, and can close to-night? This dreadful interval determines all; To-morrow, Troy must flame, or Greece must fall.”

Swift to the battlement the victor flies, Tugs with full force, and every nerve applies: It shakes; the ponderous stones disjointed yield; The rolling ruins smoke along the field. A mighty breach appears; the walls lie bare; And, like a deluge, rushes in the war. At once bold Teucer draws the twanging bow, And Ajax sends his javelin at the foe; Fix’d in his belt the feather’d weapon stood, And through his buckler drove the trembling wood; But Jove was present in the dire debate, To shield his offspring, and avert his fate. The prince gave back, not meditating flight, But urging vengeance, and severer fight; Then raised with hope, and fired with glory’s charms, His fainting squadrons to new fury warms. “O where, ye Lycians, is the strength you boast? Your former fame and ancient virtue lost! The breach lies open, but your chief in vain Attempts alone the guarded pass to gain: Unite, and soon that hostile fleet shall fall: The force of powerful union conquers all.”

“Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run? 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. Greece in her single heroes strove in vain; Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain. O grant me, gods, ere Hector meets his doom, All I can ask of heaven, an early tomb! So shall my days in one sad tenor run, And end with sorrows as they first begun. No parent now remains my griefs to share, No father’s aid, no mother’s tender care. The fierce Achilles wrapt our walls in fire, Laid Thebe waste, and slew my warlike sire! His fate compassion in the victor bred; Stern as he was, he yet revered the dead, His radiant arms preserved from hostile spoil, And laid him decent on the funeral pile; Then raised a mountain where his bones were burn’d, The mountain-nymphs the rural tomb adorn’d, Jove’s sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow A barren shade, and in his honour grow.

Nor yet the pile, where dead Patroclus lies, Smokes, nor as yet the sullen flames arise; But, fast beside, Achilles stood in prayer, Invoked the gods whose spirit moves the air, And victims promised, and libations cast, To gentle Zephyr and the Boreal blast: He call’d the aerial powers, along the skies To breathe, and whisper to the fires to rise. The winged Iris heard the hero’s call, And instant hasten’d to their airy hall, Where in old Zephyr’s open courts on high, Sat all the blustering brethren of the sky. She shone amidst them, on her painted bow; The rocky pavement glitter’d with the show. All from the banquet rise, and each invites The various goddess to partake the rites. “Not so (the dame replied), I haste to go To sacred Ocean, and the floods below: Even now our solemn hecatombs attend, And heaven is feasting on the world’s green end With righteous Ethiops (uncorrupted train!) Far on the extremest limits of the main. But Peleus’ son entreats, with sacrifice, The western spirit, and the north, to rise! Let on Patroclus’ pile your blast be driven, And bear the blazing honours high to heaven.”

As when a lion, rushing from his den, Amidst the plain of some wide-water’d fen, (Where numerous oxen, as at ease they feed, At large expatiate o’er the ranker mead) Leaps on the herds before the herdsman’s eyes; The trembling herdsman far to distance flies; Some lordly bull (the rest dispersed and fled) He singles out; arrests, and lays him dead. Thus from the rage of Jove-like Hector flew All Greece in heaps; but one he seized, and slew: Mycenian Periphes, a mighty name, In wisdom great, in arms well known to fame; The minister of stern Eurystheus’ ire Against Alcides, Copreus was his sire: The son redeem’d the honours of the race, A son as generous as the sire was base; O’er all his country’s youth conspicuous far In every virtue, or of peace or war: But doom’d to Hector’s stronger force to yield! Against the margin of his ample shield He struck his hasty foot: his heels up-sprung; Supine he fell; his brazen helmet rung. On the fallen chief the invading Trojan press’d, And plunged the pointed javelin in his breast. His circling friends, who strove to guard too late The unhappy hero, fled, or shared his fate.

Nor knew great Hector how his legions yield, (Wrapp’d in the cloud and tumult of the field:) Wide on the left the force of Greece commands, And conquest hovers o’er th’ Achaian bands; With such a tide superior virtue sway’d, And he that shakes the solid earth gave aid. But in the centre Hector fix’d remain’d, Where first the gates were forced, and bulwarks gain’d; There, on the margin of the hoary deep, (Their naval station where the Ajaces keep. And where low walls confine the beating tides, Whose humble barrier scarce the foe divides; Where late in fight both foot and horse engaged, And all the thunder of the battle raged,) There join’d, the whole Bœotian strength remains, The proud Iaonians with their sweeping trains, Locrians and Phthians, and th’ Epaean force; But join’d, repel not Hector’s fiery course. The flower of Athens, Stichius, Phidas, led; Bias and great Menestheus at their head: Meges the strong the Epaean bands controll’d, And Dracius prudent, and Amphion bold: The Phthians, Medon, famed for martial might, And brave Podarces, active in the fight. This drew from Phylacus his noble line; Iphiclus’ son: and that (Oïleus) thine: (Young Ajax’ brother, by a stolen embrace; He dwelt far distant from his native place, By his fierce step-dame from his father’s reign Expell’d and exiled for her brother slain:) These rule the Phthians, and their arms employ, Mix’d with Bœotians, on the shores of Troy.

He said: deep silence held the Grecian band; Silent, unmov’d in dire dismay they stand; A pensive scene! till Tydeus’ warlike son Roll’d on the king his eyes, and thus begun: “When kings advise us to renounce our fame, First let him speak who first has suffer’d shame. If I oppose thee, prince! thy wrath withhold, The laws of council bid my tongue be bold. Thou first, and thou alone, in fields of fight, Durst brand my courage, and defame my might: Nor from a friend the unkind reproach appear’d, The Greeks stood witness, all our army heard. The gods, O chief! from whom our honours spring, The gods have made thee but by halves a king: They gave thee sceptres, and a wide command; They gave dominion o’er the seas and land; The noblest power that might the world control They gave thee not—a brave and virtuous soul. Is this a general’s voice, that would suggest Fears like his own to every Grecian breast? Confiding in our want of worth, he stands; And if we fly, ’tis what our king commands. Go thou, inglorious! from the embattled plain; Ships thou hast store, and nearest to the main; A noble care the Grecians shall employ, To combat, conquer, and extirpate Troy. Here Greece shall stay; or, if all Greece retire, Myself shall stay, till Troy or I expire; Myself, and Sthenelus, will fight for fame; God bade us fight, and ’twas with God we came.”

“Though great in all, thou seem’st averse to lend Impartial audience to a faithful friend; To gods and men thy matchless worth is known, And every art of glorious war thy own; But in cool thought and counsel to excel, How widely differs this from warring well! Content with what the bounteous gods have given, Seek not alone to engross the gifts of Heaven. To some the powers of bloody war belong, To some sweet music and the charm of song; To few, and wondrous few, has Jove assign’d A wise, extensive, all-considering mind; Their guardians these, the nations round confess, And towns and empires for their safety bless. If Heaven have lodged this virtue in my breast, Attend, O Hector! what I judge the best, See, as thou mov’st, on dangers dangers spread, And war’s whole fury burns around thy head. Behold! distress’d within yon hostile wall, How many Trojans yield, disperse, or fall! What troops, out-number’d, scarce the war maintain! And what brave heroes at the ships lie slain! Here cease thy fury: and, the chiefs and kings Convoked to council, weigh the sum of things. Whether (the gods succeeding our desires) To yon tall ships to bear the Trojan fires; Or quit the fleet, and pass unhurt away, Contented with the conquest of the day. I fear, I fear, lest Greece, not yet undone, Pay the large debt of last revolving sun; Achilles, great Achilles, yet remains On yonder decks, and yet o’erlooks the plains!”

He said, then took the chariot at a bound, And snatch’d the reins, and whirl’d the lash around: Before the inspiring god that urged them on, The coursers fly with spirit not their own. And now they reach’d the naval walls, and found The guards repasting, while the bowls go round; On these the virtue of his wand he tries, And pours deep slumber on their watchful eyes: Then heaved the massy gates, removed the bars, And o’er the trenches led the rolling cars. Unseen, through all the hostile camp they went, And now approach’d Pelides’ lofty tent. On firs the roof was raised, and cover’d o’er With reeds collected from the marshy shore; And, fenced with palisades, a hall of state, (The work of soldiers,) where the hero sat: Large was the door, whose well-compacted strength A solid pine-tree barr’d of wondrous length: Scarce three strong Greeks could lift its mighty weight, But great Achilles singly closed the gate. This Hermes (such the power of gods) set wide; Then swift alighted the celestial guide, And thus reveal’d—”Hear, prince! and understand Thou ow’st thy guidance to no mortal hand: Hermes I am, descended from above, The king of arts, the messenger of Jove, Farewell: to shun Achilles’ sight I fly; Uncommon are such favours of the sky, Nor stand confess’d to frail mortality. Now fearless enter, and prefer thy prayers; Adjure him by his father’s silver hairs, His son, his mother! urge him to bestow Whatever pity that stern heart can know.”

On this bright sceptre now the king reclined, And artful thus pronounced the speech design’d: “Ye sons of Mars, partake your leader’s care, Heroes of Greece, and brothers of the war! Of partial Jove with justice I complain, And heavenly oracles believed in vain A safe return was promised to our toils, Renown’d, triumphant, and enrich’d with spoils. Now shameful flight alone can save the host, Our blood, our treasure, and our glory lost. So Jove decrees, resistless lord of all! At whose command whole empires rise or fall: He shakes the feeble props of human trust, And towns and armies humbles to the dust. What shame to Greece a fruitful war to wage, Oh, lasting shame in every future age! Once great in arms, the common scorn we grow, Repulsed and baffled by a feeble foe. So small their number, that if wars were ceased, And Greece triumphant held a general feast, All rank’d by tens, whole decades when they dine Must want a Trojan slave to pour the wine.[84] But other forces have our hopes o’erthrown, And Troy prevails by armies not her own. Now nine long years of mighty Jove are run, Since first the labours of this war begun: Our cordage torn, decay’d our vessels lie, And scarce insure the wretched power to fly. Haste, then, for ever leave the Trojan wall! Our weeping wives, our tender children call: Love, duty, safety, summon us away, ’Tis nature’s voice, and nature we obey. Our shatter’d barks may yet transport us o’er, Safe and inglorious, to our native shore. Fly, Grecians, fly, your sails and oars employ, And dream no more of heaven-defended Troy.”

“What shame, what woe is this to Greece! what joy To Troy’s proud monarch, and the friends of Troy! That adverse gods commit to stern debate The best, the bravest, of the Grecian state. Young as ye are, this youthful heat restrain, Nor think your Nestor’s years and wisdom vain. A godlike race of heroes once I knew, Such as no more these aged eyes shall view! Lives there a chief to match Pirithous’ fame, Dryas the bold, or Ceneus’ deathless name; Theseus, endued with more than mortal might, Or Polyphemus, like the gods in fight? With these of old, to toils of battle bred, In early youth my hardy days I led; Fired with the thirst which virtuous envy breeds, And smit with love of honourable deeds, Strongest of men, they pierced the mountain boar, Ranged the wild deserts red with monsters’ gore, And from their hills the shaggy Centaurs tore: Yet these with soft persuasive arts I sway’d; When Nestor spoke, they listen’d and obey’d. If in my youth, even these esteem’d me wise; Do you, young warriors, hear my age advise. Atrides, seize not on the beauteous slave; That prize the Greeks by common suffrage gave: Nor thou, Achilles, treat our prince with pride; Let kings be just, and sovereign power preside. Thee, the first honours of the war adorn, Like gods in strength, and of a goddess born; Him, awful majesty exalts above The powers of earth, and sceptred sons of Jove. Let both unite with well-consenting mind, So shall authority with strength be join’d. Leave me, O king! to calm Achilles’ rage; Rule thou thyself, as more advanced in age. Forbid it, gods! Achilles should be lost, The pride of Greece, and bulwark of our host.”

Ye sacred nine! celestial Muses! tell, Who faced him first, and by his prowess fell? The great Iphidamas, the bold and young, From sage Antenor and Theano sprung; Whom from his youth his grandsire Cisseus bred, And nursed in Thrace where snowy flocks are fed. Scarce did the down his rosy cheeks invest, And early honour warm his generous breast, When the kind sire consign’d his daughter’s charms (Theano’s sister) to his youthful arms. But call’d by glory to the wars of Troy, He leaves untasted the first fruits of joy; From his loved bride departs with melting eyes, And swift to aid his dearer country flies. With twelve black ships he reach’d Percope’s strand, Thence took the long laborious march by land. Now fierce for fame, before the ranks he springs, Towering in arms, and braves the king of kings. Atrides first discharged the missive spear; The Trojan stoop’d, the javelin pass’d in air. Then near the corslet, at the monarch’s heart, With all his strength, the youth directs his dart: But the broad belt, with plates of silver bound, The point rebated, and repell’d the wound. Encumber’d with the dart, Atrides stands, Till, grasp’d with force, he wrench’d it from his hands; At once his weighty sword discharged a wound Full on his neck, that fell’d him to the ground. Stretch’d in the dust the unhappy warrior lies, And sleep eternal seals his swimming eyes. Oh worthy better fate! oh early slain! Thy country’s friend; and virtuous, though in vain! No more the youth shall join his consort’s side, At once a virgin, and at once a bride! No more with presents her embraces meet, Or lay the spoils of conquest at her feet, On whom his passion, lavish of his store, Bestow’d so much, and vainly promised more! Unwept, uncover’d, on the plain he lay, While the proud victor bore his arms away.

As when the hand of Jove a tempest forms, And rolls the cloud to blacken heaven with storms, Dark o’er the fields the ascending vapour flies, And shades the sun, and blots the golden skies: So from the ships, along the dusky plain, Dire Flight and Terror drove the Trojan train. Even Hector fled; through heads of disarray The fiery coursers forced their lord away: While far behind his Trojans fall confused; Wedged in the trench, in one vast carnage bruised: Chariots on chariots roll: the clashing spokes Shock; while the madding steeds break short their yokes. In vain they labour up the steepy mound; Their charioteers lie foaming on the ground. Fierce on the rear, with shouts Patroclus flies; Tumultuous clamour fills the fields and skies; Thick drifts of dust involve their rapid flight; Clouds rise on clouds, and heaven is snatch’d from sight. The affrighted steeds their dying lords cast down, Scour o’er the fields, and stretch to reach the town. Loud o’er the rout was heard the victor’s cry, Where the war bleeds, and where the thickest die, Where horse and arms, and chariots lie o’erthrown, And bleeding heroes under axles groan. No stop, no check, the steeds of Peleus knew: From bank to bank the immortal coursers flew. High-bounding o’er the fosse, the whirling car Smokes through the ranks, o’ertakes the flying war, And thunders after Hector; Hector flies, Patroclus shakes his lance; but fate denies. Not with less noise, with less impetuous force, The tide of Trojans urge their desperate course, Than when in autumn Jove his fury pours, And earth is loaden with incessant showers; (When guilty mortals break the eternal laws, Or judges, bribed, betray the righteous cause;) From their deep beds he bids the rivers rise, And opens all the flood-gates of the skies: The impetuous torrents from their hills obey, Whole fields are drown’d, and mountains swept away; Loud roars the deluge till it meets the main; And trembling man sees all his labours vain!

“Give me, great Jove! to punish lawless lust, And lay the Trojan gasping in the dust: Destroy the aggressor, aid my righteous cause, Avenge the breach of hospitable laws! Let this example future times reclaim, And guard from wrong fair friendship’s holy name,” He said, and poised in air the javelin sent, Through Paris’ shield the forceful weapon went, His corslet pierces, and his garment rends, And glancing downward, near his flank descends. The wary Trojan, bending from the blow, Eludes the death, and disappoints his foe: But fierce Atrides waved his sword, and strook Full on his casque: the crested helmet shook; The brittle steel, unfaithful to his hand, Broke short: the fragments glitter’d on the sand. The raging warrior to the spacious skies Raised his upbraiding voice and angry eyes: “Then is it vain in Jove himself to trust? And is it thus the gods assist the just? When crimes provoke us, Heaven success denies; The dart falls harmless, and the falchion flies.” Furious he said, and towards the Grecian crew (Seized by the crest) the unhappy warrior drew; Struggling he followed, while the embroider’d thong That tied his helmet, dragg’d the chief along. Then had his ruin crown’d Atrides’ joy, But Venus trembled for the prince of Troy: Unseen she came, and burst the golden band; 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, 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. Raised from the field the panting youth she led, And gently laid him on the bridal bed, With pleasing sweets his fainting sense renews, And all the dome perfumes with heavenly dews. Meantime the brightest of the female kind, The matchless Helen, o’er the walls reclined; To her, beset with Trojan beauties, came, In borrow’d form, the laughter-loving dame.

But if a clamorous vile plebeian rose, Him with reproof he check’d or tamed with blows. “Be still, thou slave, and to thy betters yield; Unknown alike in council and in field! Ye gods, what dastards would our host command! Swept to the war, the lumber of a land. Be silent, wretch, and think not here allow’d That worst of tyrants, an usurping crowd. To one sole monarch Jove commits the sway; His are the laws, and him let all obey.”[86]

“What needs, O monarch! this invidious praise, Ourselves to lessen, while our sire you raise? Dare to be just, Atrides! and confess Our value equal, though our fury less. With fewer troops we storm’d the Theban wall, And happier saw the sevenfold city fall,[137] In impious acts the guilty father died; The sons subdued, for Heaven was on their side. Far more than heirs of all our parents’ fame, Our glories darken their diminish’d name.”

“Monarch of nations! whose superior sway Assembled states, and lords of earth obey, The laws and sceptres to thy hand are given, And millions own the care of thee and Heaven. O king! the counsels of my age attend; With thee my cares begin, with thee must end. Thee, prince! it fits alike to speak and hear, Pronounce with judgment, with regard give ear, To see no wholesome motion be withstood, And ratify the best for public good. Nor, though a meaner give advice, repine, But follow it, and make the wisdom thine. Hear then a thought, not now conceived in haste, At once my present judgment and my past. When from Pelides’ tent you forced the maid, I first opposed, and faithful, durst dissuade; But bold of soul, when headlong fury fired, You wronged the man, by men and gods admired: Now seek some means his fatal wrath to end, With prayers to move him, or with gifts to bend.”

“The praise of wisdom, in thy youth obtain’d, An act so rash, Antilochus! has stain’d. Robb’d of my glory and my just reward, To you, O Grecians! be my wrong declared: So not a leader shall our conduct blame, Or judge me envious of a rival’s fame. But shall not we, ourselves, the truth maintain? What needs appealing in a fact so plain? What Greek shall blame me, if I bid thee rise, And vindicate by oath th’ ill-gotten prize? Rise if thou darest, before thy chariot stand, The driving scourge high-lifted in thy hand; And touch thy steeds, and swear thy whole intent Was but to conquer, not to circumvent. Swear by that god whose liquid arms surround The globe, and whose dread earthquakes heave the ground!”