For each brave champion, when the combat ends, 955 With flowers high-wrought, not blacken'd yet by flame.

Through the broad shield, but at the corselet stay'd :
Not thus the foe: his javelin aiım'd above

With him the sword and studded belt remains.

Then hurl'd the hero thundering on the ground

A mass of iron (an enormous round),
Whose weight and size the circling Greeks admire, 975
Rude from the furnace, and but shaped by fire.

This inighty quoit Aëtion wont to rear,
And from his whirling arm dismiss in air:
The giant by Achilles slain, he stow'd
Among his spoils this memorable load.
For this, he bids those nervous artists vie,
That teach the disk to sound along the sky.
Let him whose might can hurl this bowl, arise;

Who farthest hurls it, takes it as his prize
If he be one, enrich'd with large domain
Of downs for flocks, and arable for grain,
Sınall stock of irou needs that man provide;
His hinds and swains whole years shall be supplied

5 But haste and summon to our courts above
The azure queen: let her persuasion move
Her furious son from Priam to receive
The proffer'd ransom, and the corse to leave.
He added not; and Iris from the skies,
10 Swift as a whirlwind, on the inessage flies,
Meteorous the face of ocean sweeps,
Refulgent gliding o'er the sable deeps.
Between where Samos wide his forests spreads,
And rocky Imbrus lifts its pointed heads,
Down plunged the maid (the parted waves resound); 105
She plunged, and instant shot the dark profound.
As, bearing death in the fallacious bait,
From the bent angle sinks the leaden weight;
So pass'd the goddess through the closing wave,
Where Thetis sorrow'd in her sacred cave:

20 There placed amidst her melancholy train
(The blue-hair'd sisters of the sacred main),
Pensive she sat, revolving fates to come,
And wept her godlike son's approaching doom.

Then thus the goddess of the painted bow: 25 Arise, O Thetis! from thy seats below; 'Tis Jove that calls. And why (the dame replies) Calls Jove his Thetis to the hated skies? Sad object as I am for heavenly sight! Ah, nay my sorrows ever shun the light! 30 Howe'er, be heaven's almighty sire obey'dShe spake, and veil'd her head in sable shade, Which flowing long, her graceful person clad; And forth she paced majestically sad.

Then through the world of waters they repair

35 (The way fair Iris led) to upper air.

The deeps dividing, o'er the coast they rise,
And touch with momentary flight the skies.
There in the lighting's blaze the sire they found,
And all the gods in shining synod round.
40 Thetis approach'd with anguish in her face
(Minerva rising, gave the mourner place),
E'en Juno sought her sorrows to console,
And offer'd from her hand the nectar-bowl:

She tasted, and resign'd it: then began 45 The sacred sire of gods and mortal inan:

Suffice, we know and we partake thy cares :
But yield to fate, and hear what Jove declares
Nine days are past, since all the court above
In Hector's cause have moved the ear of Jove:、
Twas voted, Hermes from his godlike foe
By stealth should bear him, but we will'd not so:
We will, thy son himself the corse restore,
And to his conquest add this glory more.
Then hie thee to him, and our mandate bear;
Tell him he tempts the wrath of heaven too far:
Nor let him more (our anger if he dread)
Vent his mad vengeance on the sacred dead:
But yield to ransom and the father's prayer.
The mournful father Iris shall prepare
With gifts to sue, and offer to his hands
Whate'er his honour asks or heart demands.

His word the silver-footed queen attends,
And from Olympus' snowy tops descends.
Arrived, she heard the voice of loud lament,
And echoing groans that shook the lofty tent.
His friends prepare the victim, and dispose
Repast unheeded, while he vents his woes;
The goddess seats her by her pensive son,
She press'd his hand, and tender thus begun:

How long, unhappy! shall thy sorrows flow;
And thy heart waste with life-consuming woe:
Mindless of food, or love, whose pleasing reign
Soothes weary life, and softens human pain?
O snatch the moments yet within thy power;
Not long to live, indulge the amorous hour!
Lo! Jove himself (for Jove's command I bear)
Forbids to tempt the wrath of Heaven too far.
No longer then (his fury if thou dread)
Detain the relics of great Hector dead;
Nor vent on senseless earth thy vengeance vain:
But yield to ransom, and restore the slain.

And where the treasures of his empire lay;
140 Then call'd his queen, and thus began to say:

Unhappy consort of a king distress'd!
Partake the troubles of thy husband's breast:
I saw descend the messenger of Jove,
Who bids me try Achilles' mind to move;
145 Forsake these ramparts, and with gifts obtain
The corse of Hector, at yon navy slain.
Tell me thy thought: my heart impells to go
Through hostile camps, and bears me to the foe.

The hoary monarch thus: Her piercing cries

50 Sad Hecuba renews, and then replies.

235

240

Ah! whither wanders thy distemper'd mind?
And where the prudence now that awed mankind?
Through Phrygia once, and foreign regions known; 215

Now all confused, distracted, overthrown!

55 Singly to pass through hosts of foes! to face
(O heart of steel!) the murderer of thy race!
To view that deathful eye, and wander o'er
Those hands, yet red with Hector's noble gore!
Alas! my lord! he knows not how to spare,

160 And what his mercy, thy slain sons declare;
So brave! so many fallen! To calm his rage
Vain were thy dignity, and vain thy age.
No-pent in this sad palace, let us give
To grief the wretched days we have to live.
Still, s till for Hector let our sorrows flow,
Born to his own and to his parents' woe!
Doom'd from the hour his luckless life begun,
To dogs, to vultures, and to Peleus' son!
Oh! in his dearest blood might I allay

250

255

260

1/0 My rage, and these barbarities repay!

For ah! could Hector merit thus, whose breath
Expired not meanly in inactive death?
He pour'd his latest blood in manly fight,
And fell a hero in his country's right.

265

To whom Achilles: Be the ransom given,

175

Seek not to stay me, nor my soul affright

And we submit, since such the will of Heaven.
While thus they communed, from the Olympian bowers (Replied unmoved the venerable man);

With words of omen, like a bird of night

Jove orders Iris to the Trojan towers.

"Tis Heaven commands me, and you urge in vain. 270

Had any mortal voice the injunction laid,

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 conımand.
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,

180 Nor augur, priest, nor seer, had been obey'd.
A present goddess brought the high command;
I saw, I heard her, and the word shall stand.
I go, ye gods! obedient to your call:
If in yon camp your power have doom'd my fall,

185 Content-By the same hand let me expire!
Add to the slaughter'd son the wretched sire!
One cold embrace at least may be allow'd,
And my last tears flow mingled with his blood!
From forth his open'd stores, this said, he drew

275

280

Some sense of duty, some desire to save.
Then down her bow the winged Iris drives,
And swift at Priam's mournful court arrives;.
Where the sad sons beside their father's throne
Sate bathed in tears, and answer'd groan with groan.
And all amidst them lay the hoary sire

190 Twelve costly carpets of refulgent hue:
As many vests, as many mantles told,
And twelve fair veils, and garments stiff with gold.
Two tripods next, and twice two chargers shine,
With ten pure talents from the richest mine;
195 And last a large well-labour'd bowl had place

285

290

(Sad scene of woe!): his face his wrapp'd attire Conceal'd from sight; with frantic hands he spread A shower of ashes o'er his neck and head.

200

From room to room his pensive daughters roam;
Whose shrieks and clamours fill the vaulted dome:
Mindful of those who, late their pride and joy,
Lie pale and breathless round the fields of Troy!
Before the king Jove's messenger appears,
And thus in whispers greets his trembling ears,

Fear not, oh father! no ill news I bear;

(The pledge of treaties once with friendly Thrace).
Seem'd all too mean the stores he could employ,
For one last look to buy him back to Troy!

Lo! the sad father, frantic with his pain,
Around him furious drives his menial train:
In vain each slave with duteous care attends;
Each office hurts him, and each face offends.
What make ye here, officious crowds? (he cries)
Hence! nor obtrude your anguish on my eyes.
205 Have ye no griefs at home, to fix you there?
Am I the only object of despair?
Am I become my people's common show,
Set up by Jove your spectacle of woe?
No, you must feel him too: yourselves must fall;

From Jove I come, Jove makes thee still his care; 210 The saine stern god to ruin gives you all :
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 conımand.
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.

Nor is great Hector lost by me alone;
Your sole defence, your guardian power, is gone !
I see your blood the fields of Phrygia drown,
I see the ruins of your smoking town! -
215 O send me, gods! ere that sad day shall come,
A willing ghost to Pluto's dreary dome!
He said, and feebly drives his friends away:
The sorrowing friends his frantic rage obey.
Next on his sons his erring fury falls,

She spoke, and vanish'd. Priam bids prepare
His gentle mules, and harness to the car;
There, for the gifts, a polish'd casket lay;
His pious sons the king's command obey.
Then pass'd the monarch to his bridal-room,
Where cedar-beams the lofty roofs perfume,

And last great Hector, more than man divine,
For sure he seem'd not of terrestrial line!
All those relentless Mars untimely slew,
And left me these, a soft and servile crew,
Whose days the feast and wanton dance employ,
Gluttons and flatterers, the contempt of Troy!
Why teach ye not my rapid wheels to run,
And speed my journey to redeem my son?
The sons their father's wretched age revere,

Forgive his anger, and produce the car.
High on the seat the cabinet they bind:
The new-made car with solid beauty shined;
Box was the yoke, emboss'd with costly pains,
And hung with ringlets to receive the reins;
Nine cubits long, the traces swept the ground;
These to the chariot's polish'd pole they bound,
Then fix'd a ring the running reins to guide
And close beneath the gather'd ends were tied.
Next with the gifts (the price of Hector slain)
The sad attendants load the groaning wain:
Last to the yoke the well-match'd mules they bring
(The gift of Mysia to the Trojan king).
But the fair horses, long his darling care,
Himself received, and harness'd to his car:
Grieved as he was, he not this task denied:
The hoary herald help'd him at his side.
While careful these the gentle coursers join'd,
Sad Hecuba approach'd with anxious mind;
A golden bowl that foam'd with fragrant wine
(Libation destined to the power divine),
Held in her right, before the steeds she stands,
And thus consigns it to the monarch's hands:

Thus arm'd, swift Hermes steers his airy way,
And stoops on Hellespont's resounding sea.
A beauteous youth, majestic and divine,
He seem'd; fair offspring of some princely line!

425

335 Now twilight veil'd the glaring face of day,
And clad the dusky fields in sober grey;
What time the herald and the hoary king
(Their chariots stopping at the silver spring,
That circling Ilus' ancient marble flows),

340 Allow'd the mules and steeds a short repose.
Through the dim shade the herald first espies
A man's approach, and thus to Priam cries:
I mark some foe's advance: O king! beware;
This hard adventure claims thy utmost care:

345 For, much I fear, destruction hovers nigh;
Our state asks counsel. Is it best to fly?
Or, old and helpless, at his feet to fall
(Two wretched suppliants), and for mercy call?

The afflicted monarch shivered with despair;
350 Pale grew his face, and upright stood his hair;
Sunk was his heart: his colour went and came:
A sudden trembling shook his aged frame:
When Hermes, greeting, touch'd his royal hand,
And gently thus accosts with kind demand:

356

360

Take this, and pour to Jove: that, safe from harms,
His grace restore thee to our roof and arms.
Since victor of thy fears, and slighting mine,
Heaven or thy soul inspire this bold design:
Pray to that God, who high on Ida's brow
Surveys thy desolated realms below,
His winged messenger to send from high,
And lead thy way with heavenly augury:
Let the strong sovereign of the plumy race
Tower on the right of yon ethereal space.
That sign beheld, and strengthen'd from above,
Boldly pursue the journey mark'd by Jove;
But if the god his augury denies,
Suppress thy impulse, nor reject advice.
'Tis just (said Priam) to the sire above
To raise our hands; for who so good as Jove?
He spoke, and bade the attendant handmaid bring

The purest water of the living spring;
(Her ready hands the ewer and basin held):
Then took the golden cup his queen had fill'd;
On the mid pavement pours the rosy wine,
Uplifts his eyes, and calls the power divine:
Oh first, and greatest! heaven's imperial lord !

On lofty Ida's holy hill adored!

To stern Achilles now direct my ways,
And teach him mercy when a father prays.
If such thy will, despatch from yonder sky
Thy sacred bird, celestial augury!
Let the strong sovereign of the plumy race
Tower on the right of yon ethereal space:
So shall thy suppliant, strengthen'd from above,
Fearless pursue the journey mark'd by Jove.

Jove heard his prayer, and from the throne on high
Despatch'd his bird, celestial augury!

The swift-wing'd chaser of the feather'd game,
And known to gods by Percnos' lofty name.
Wide as appears some palace-gate display'd,
So broad, his pinions stretch'd their ample shade,
As stooping dexter with resounding wings
The imperial bird descends in airy rings.
A dawn of joy in every face appears;

The mourning matron dries her timorous tears:
Swift on his car the impatient monarch sprung;
The brazen portal in his passage rung.
The mules preceding draw the loaded wain,
Charged with the gifts: Idæus holds the rein:
The king himself his gentle steeds controls,
And through surrounding friends the chariot rolls.
On his slow wheels the following people wait,
Mourn at each step, and give him up to fate;
With hands uplifted, eye him as he pass'd,
And gaze upon him as they gazed their last.
Now forward fares the father on his way,
Through the lone fields, and back to Ilion they.
Great Jove beheld him as he cross'd the plain,
And felt the woes of miserable man
'Then thus to Hermes: Thou whose constant cares
Still succour mortals, and attend their prayers;
Behold an object to thy charge consign'd
If ever pity touch'd thee for mankind,

+30

435

440

445

Say whither, father! when each mortal sight
Is seal'd in sleep, thou wander'st through the night?
Why roam thy mules and steeds the plains along.
Through Grecian foes, so numerous and so strong? 450
What couldst thou hope, should these thy treasures

view;

These, who with endless hate thy race pursue?
For what defence, alas! couldst thou provide;
Thyself not young, a weak old man thy guide?
Yet suffer not thy soul to sink with dread:

365 From me no harm shall touch thy reverend head;
From Greece I'll guard thee too; for in those lines
The living image of my father shines.

455

Thy words, that speak benevolence of mind,
Are true, my son! (the godlike sire rejoin'd):

460

370 Great are my hazards: but the gods survey
My steps, and send thee, guardian of my way.
Hail, and be blest! For scarce of mortal kind
Appear thy form, thy feature, and thy mind.

375 (The sacred messenger of heaven replied).

385

465

470

475

Nor true are all thy words, nor erring wide
But say, convey'st thou through the lonely plains
What yet most precious of thy store remains,
To lodge in safety with some friendly hand:
Prepared, perchance, to leave thy native land!
380 Or fly'st thou now? What hopes can Troy retain,
Thy matchless son, her guard and glory, slain?
The king, alarm'd: Say what, and whence thou art,
Who search the sorrows of a parent's heart,
And know so well how godlike Hector died?
Thus Priam spoke, and Hermes thus replied:
You tempt me, father, and with pity touch:
On this sad subject you inquire too much.
Oft have these eyes that godlike Hector view'd
In glorious fight, with Grecian blood imbrued
390 I saw him when, like Jove, his flames he toss'd
On thousand ships, and wither'd half an host.
I saw, but help'd not: stern Achilles' ire
Forbade assistance, and enjoy'd the fire.
For him I serve, of Myrmidonian race;
395 One ship convey'd us from our native place;
Polyctor is my sire, an honour'd name,
Old like thyself, and not unknown to fame:
Of seven his sons, by whom the lot was cast
To serve our prince, it fell on me, the last.
400 To watch this quarter my adventure falls:

For with the morn the Greeks attack your walls
Sleepless they sit, impatient to engage,
And scarce their rulers check the martial rage.
If then thou art of stern Pelides' train

405 (The mournful monarch thus rejoin'd again),
Ah, tell me truly, where, oh! where are laid
My son's dear relics! what befalls him dead?
Have dogs dismember'd (on the naked plains),
Or yet unınangled rest his cold remains?

505 Each look'd on other, none the silence broke,
Till thus at last the kingly suppliant spoke:
Ah think, thou favour'd of the powers divine..
Think of thy father's age, and pity mine!
In me, that father's reverend image trace,

510 Those silver hairs, that venerable face;

515

This the twelth evening since he rested there,
Untouch'd by worms, untainted by the air.
Still as Aurora's ruddy beam is spread,
Round his friend's tomb Achilles drags the dead:
Yet undisfigured or in limb or face,
All fresh he lies, with every living grace,
Majestical in death! No stains are found
O'er all the corse, and closed is every wound;
Though many a wound they gave. Some heavenly care,
Some hand divine, preserves him ever fair:
Or all the host of heaven, to whom he led
A life so grateful, still regard him dead.
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.
E'en 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

To whom the latent god: O king, forbear
To tempt my youth, for apt is youth to err :
But can I, absent from my prince's sight,
Take gifts in secret that must shun the light?
What from our master's interest thus we draw,
Is but a licensed theft that 'scapes the law
Respecting him, my soul abjures the offence;
And as the crime, I dread the consequence.
Thee, far as Argos, pleased I could convey,
Guard of thy life and partner of thy way;
On thee attend, thy safety to maintain,
O'er pathless forests or the roaring main.

strength

His trembling limbs, his helpless person, see!
In all my equal but in misery!
Yet now, perhaps, some turn of human fate
Expels him helpless from his peaceful state;
Think, from some powerful foe thou see'st him fly
And beg protection with a feeble cry.
Yet still one comfort in his soul may rise;
He hears his son still lives to glad his eyes;
And hearing, still may hope a better day
520 May send him thee, to chase that foe away.
No comfort to my griefs, no hopes remain,
The best, the bravest of my sons are slain!
Yet what a race, ere Greece to Ilion came,
The pledge of many a loved and loving dame!
525 Nineteen one mother bore-Dead, all are dead!
How oft, alas! has wretched Priam bled !
Still one was left, their loss to recompense;
His father's hope, his country's last defence.
Him too thy rage has slain! beneath thy steel

530 Unhappy in his country's cause he fell!

For him, through hostile camps I bend my way,
For him thus prostrate at thy feet Ilay;
Large gifts proportion'd to thy wrath I bear;
Oh hear the wretched, and the gods revere!

535 Think of thy father, and this face behold?
See him in me, as helpless and as old,
Though not so wretched there he yields to me,
The first of men in sovereign misery:
Thus forced to kneel, thus groveling to embrace
The scourge and ruin of my realnı and race;
Suppliant my children's murderer to implore,
And kiss those hands yet reeking with their gore!

540

These words soft pity in the chief inspire,
Touch'd with the dear remembrance of his sire

600

605

610

615

620

625

630

635

545 Then with his hand (as prostrate still he lay)
The old man's cheek he gently turn'd away.
Now each by turns indulged the gush of woe;
And now the mingled tides together flow;
This low on earth, that gently bending o'er,'

640

550 A father one, and one a son deplore:

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.
Of fir 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 sate.
Large was the door, whose well-compacted
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 owest 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:
Uncominon 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.

Thus having said, he vanish'd from his eyes,
And in a moment shot into the skies:
The king, confirm'd from heaven, alighted there,
And left his aged herald on the car.
With solemn pace through various rooms he went,
And found Achilles in his inner tent:
There sate the hero; Alcimus the brave,
And Great Automedon, attendance gave:
These served his person at the royal feast:
Around, at awful distance, stood the rest.

Unseen by these, the king his entry made;
And, prostrate now before Achilles laid,
Sudden (a venerable sight) appears:
Embraced his knees, and bathed his hands in tears.
Those direful hands his kisses press'd, imbrued

E'en with the best, the dearest of his blood!

560

But great Achilles different passions rend,
And now his sire he mourns, and now his friend.
The infectious softness through the heroes ran:
One universal solemn shower began;

555 They bore as heroes, but they felt as man.
Satiate at length with unavailing woes,
From the high throne divine Achilles rose;
The reverend monarch by the hand he raised;
On his white beard and form majestic gazed,
Not unrelenting: then serene began
With words to soothe the miserable man.
Alas! what weight of anguish hast thou known i
Unhappy prince! thus guardless and alone
To pass through foes, and thus undaunted face
565 The man whose fury has destroy'd thy race!

645

650

655

585 Graced by the gods with all the gifts of heaven:
One evil, yet, o'ertakes his latest day:
No race succeeding to imperial sway:
An only son; and he (alas!) ordain'd.
To fall untimely in a foreign land.

As when a wretch (who, conscious of his crime, 590 See him, in Troy, the pious care decline
Pursued for murder, flies his native clime)

Just gains some frontier, breathless, pale, amazed!
All gaze, all wonder: thus Achilles gazed:
Thus stood the attendants stupid with surprise:
All mute, yet seem to question with their eyes;

Of his weak age, to live the curse of thine!
Thou too, old man, hast happier days beheld.,
In riches once, in children once excell'd:
Extended Phrygia own'd thy ample reign,
595 And all fair Lesbos' blissful seats contain,
And all wide Hellespont's unmeasured main.

675

680

685