Complete works of homer, p.51
Complete Works of Homer, page 51
If ten or twenty times so much as friends would rate thy price
Were tendered here, with vows of more, to buy the cruelties
I here have vowed, and after that thy father with his gold
Would free thyself, all that should fail to let thy mother hold
Solemnities of death with thee, and do thee such a grace
To mourn thy whole corse on a bed, which piecemeal I'll deface
With fowls and dogs." He, dying, said: " I, knowing thee well, foresaw
Thy now tried tyranny, nor hoped for any other law,
Of nature, or of nations; and that fear forced much more
Than death my flight, which never touched at Hector's foot before.
A soul of iron informs thee. Mark, what vengeance th' equal fates
Will give me of thee for this rage, when in the Sctean gates
Phoebus and Paris meet with thee." Thus death's hand closed his eyes,
His soul flying his fair limbs to hell, mourning his destinies,
To part so with his youth and strength. Thus dead, thus Thetis' son
His prophecy answered : "Die thou now. When my short thread is spun,
I'll bear it as the will of Jove." This said, his brazen spear
He drew, and stuck by; then his arms, that all embrued were,
He spoiled his shoulders of. Then all the Greeks ran in to him
To see his person, and admired his terror-stirring, limb;
Yet none stood by that gave no wound to his so goodly form;
When each to other said : " O Jove, he is not in the storm
He came to fleet in with his fire, he handles now more soft."
“O friends," said stern Aeacides, " now that the Gods have brought
This man thus down, I'll freely say, he brought more bane to Greece
Than all his aiders. Try we then, thus armed at every piece,
And girding all Troy with our host, if now their hearts will leave
Their city clear, her clear stay slain, and all their lives receive,
Or hold yet, Hector being no more. But why use I a word
Of any act but what concerns my friend? Dead, undeplored,
Unsepulchred, he lies at fleet, unthought on. Never hour
Shall make his dead state, while the quick enjoys me, and this pow'r
To move these movers. Though in hell, men say, that such as die
Oblivion seizeth, yet in hell in me shall Memory
Hold all her forms still of my friend. Now, youths of Greece, to fleet
Bear we this body, pseans sing, and all our navy greet
With endless honour; we have slain Hector, the period
Of all Troy's glory, to whose worth all vowed as to a god."
This said, a work not worthy him he set to; of both feet
He bore the nerves through from the heel to th' ankle, and then knit
Both to his chariot with a thong of whitleather, his head
Trailing the centre. Up he got to chariot, where he laid
The arms repurchased, and scourged on his horse that freely flew.
A whirlwind made of startled dust drave with them as they drew,
With which were all his black-brown curls knotted in heaps and filed.
And there lay Troy's late Gracious, by Jupiter exiled
To all disgrace in his own land, and by his parents seen;
When, like her son's head, all with dust Troy's miserable queen
Distained her temples, plucking off her honoured hair, and tore
Her royal garments, shrieking out. In like kind Priam bore
His sacred person, like a wretch that never saw good day,
Broken with outcries. About both the people prostrate lay,
Held down with clamour; all the town veiled with a cloud of tears.
Ilion, with all his tops on fire, and all the massacres,
Left for the Greeks, could put on looks of no more overthrow
Than now frayed life. And yet the king did all their looks outshow.
The wretched people could not bear his sovereign wretchedness,
Plaguing himself so, thrusting out, and praying all the press
To open him the Dardan ports, that he alone might fetch
His dearest son in, and (all filed with tumbling) did beseech
Each man by name, thus: " Loved friends, be you content, let me,
Though much ye grieve, be that poor mean to our sad remedy
Now in our wishes; I will go and pray this impious man,
Author of horrors, making proof if age's reverence can
Excite his pity. His own sire is old like me; and he
That got him to our griefs, perhaps, may, for my likeness, be
Mean for our ruth to him. Alas, you have no cause of cares
Compared with me! I many sons, graced with their freshest years,
Have lost by him, and all their deaths in slaughter of this one
(Afflicted man) are doubled. This will bitterly set gone
My soul to hell. O would to heaven I could but hold him dead
In these pined arms, then tears on tears might fall, till all were shed
In common fortune! Now amaze their natural course doth stop,
And pricks a mad vein." Thus he mourned, and with him all brake ope
Their store of sorrows. The poor queen amongst the women wept,
Turned into anguish: " O my son," she cried out, " why still kept
Patient of horrors is my life, when thine is vanished?
My days thou glorifidest, my nights rung of some honoured deed
Done by thy virtues, joy to me, profit to all our care.
All made a God of thee, and thou mad'st them all that they are,
Now under fate, now dead." These two thus vented as they could
Their sorrow's furnace : Hector's wife not having yet been told
So much as of his stay without. She in her chamber close
Sat at her loom; a piece of work, graced with a both sides' gloss,
Strewed curiously with varied flowers, her pleasure was; her care,
To heat a caldron for her lord, to bathe him turned from war,
Of which she chief charge gave her maids. Poor dame, she little knew
How much her cares lacked of his case! But now the clamour flew
Up to her turret; then she shook, her work fell from her hand,
And up she started, called her maids, she needs must understand
That ominous outcry : " Come," said she, " I hear through all this cry
My mother's voice shriek; to my throat my heart bounds; ecstasy
Utterly alters me; some fate is near the hapless sons
Of fading Priam. Would to God my words' suspicions
No ear had heard yet! O I fear, and that most heartily,
That with some stratagem the son of Peleus hath put by
The wall of Ilion my lord, and, trusty of his feet,
Obtained the chase of him alone, and now the curious heat
Of his still desperate spirit is cooled. It let him never keep
In guard of others : before all his violent foot must step,
Or his place forfeited he held." Thus fury-like she went,
Two women, as she willed, at hand, and made her quick ascent
Up to the tow'r and press of men, her spirit in uproar. Round
She cast her greedy eye, and saw her Hector slain, and bound
T' Achilles' chariot, manlessly dragged to the Grecian fleet.
Black night struck through her, under her trance took away her feet,
And back she shrunk with such a sway that off her head-tire flew,
Her coronet, caul, ribands, veil that golden Venus threw
On her white shoulders that high day when warlike Hector won
Her hand in nuptials in the court of king Eetion,
And that great dower then given with her. About her, on their knees,
Her husband's sisters, brothers' wives, fell round, and by degrees
Recovered her. Then, when again her respirations found
Free pass (her mind and spirit met) these thoughts her words did sound
“O Hector, O me, cursed dame, both born beneath one fate,
Thou here, I in Cilician Thebes, where Placus doth elate
His shady forehead, in the court where king Eetion,_
Hapless, begot unhappy me, which would he had not done,
To live past thee! Thou now art dined to Pluto's gloomy throne,
Sunk through the coverts of the earth; I, in a hell of moan,
Left here thy widow; one poor babe born to unhappy hoth,
Whom thou leav'st helpless as he thee, he bom to all the wroth
Of woe and labour. Lands left him will others seize upon;
The orphan day of all friends' helps rohs every mother's son.
An orphan all men suffer sad; his eyes stand still with tears;
Need tries his father's friends, and fails; of all his favourers,
If one the cup gives, 'tis not long, the wine he finds in it
Scarce moists his palate; if he chance to gain the grace to sit,
Surviving fathers' sons repine, use contumelies, strike,
Bid, ' leave us, where's thy father's place?' He weeping with dislike,
Retires to me, to me alas! Astyanax is he
Born to these miseries. He that late fed on his father's knee,
To whom all knees bowed, daintiest fare apposed him, and when sleep
Lay on his temples, his cries stilled, his heart even laid in steep
Of all things precious, a soft hed, a careful nurse's arms,
Took him to guardiance. But now as huge a world of harms
Lies on his sufferance; now thou want'st thy father's hand to friend,
O my Astyanax; O my lord, thy hand that did defend
These gates of Ilion, these long walls by thy arm measured still
Amply and only. Yet at fleet thy naked corse must fill
Yile worms, when dogs are satiate, far from thy parents' care,
Far from those funeral ornaments that thy mind would prepare
(So sudden being the chance of arms) ever expecting death.
Which task, though my heart would not serve t' employ my hands beneath,
1 made my women yet perform. Many, and much in price,
Were those integuments they wrought t' adorn thy exsequies;
Which, since they fly thy use, thy corse not laid in their attire,
Thy sacrifice they shall be made; these hands in mischievous fire
Shall vent their vanities. And yet, being consecrate to thee,
They shall be kept for citizens, aud their fair wives, to see."
Thus spake she weeping; all the dames endeavouring to cheer
Her desert state, fearing their own, wept with her tear for tear.
BOOK XXIII.
ARGUMENT.
Achilles orders justs of exsequies
For his Patroclus; and doth sacrifice
Twelve Trojan princes, most loved hounds and horse,
And other offerings, to the honoured corse.
He institutes, besides, a Funeral Game;
Where Diomed,for horse-race, wins the fame;
For foot, Ulysses; others otherwise
Strive, and obtain; and end the Exsequies.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT.
Psi sings the rites of the decease,
Ordained by great Aeacides.
THUS mourned all Troy. But when at fleet and Hellespontus' shore
The Greeks arrived, each to his ship; only the Conqueror
Kept undispersed his Myrmidons, and said: "Loved countrymen,
Disjoin not we chariots and horse, but, bearing hard our rein,
With state of both, march soft and close, and mourn about the corse;
'Tis proper honour to the dead. Then take we out our horse,
When with our friends' kind woe our hearts have felt delight to do
A virtuous soul right, and then sup." This said, all full of woe
Circled the corse; Achilles led, and thrice, about him close,
All bore their goodly-coated horse. Amongst all Thetis rose,
And stirred up a delight in grief, till all their arms with tears,
And all,the sands, were wet; so much they loved that Lord of Fears.
Then to the centre fell the prince; and, putting in the breast
Of his slain friend his slaught'ring hands, began to all the rest
Words to their tears: " Rejoice," said he, " O my Patroclus, thou
Courted by Dis now. Now I pay to thy late overthrow
All my revenges vowed before. Hector lies slaughtered here
Dragged at my chariot, and our dogs shall all in pieces tear
His hated limbs. Twelve Trojan youths, born of their noblest strains,
I took alive; and, yet enraged, will empty all their veins
Of vital spirits, sacrificed before thy heap of fire."
This said, a work unworthy him he put upon his ire,
And trampled Hector under foot at his friend's feet. The rest
Disarmed, took horse from chariot, and all to sleep addressed
At his black vessel. Infinite were those that rested there.
Himself yet sleeps not, now his spirits were wrought about the cheer
Fit for so high a funeral. About the steel used then
Oxen iu heaps lay bellowing, preparing food for men;
Bleating of sheep and goats filled air; numbers of white-toothed swine,
Swimming in fat, lay singeing there. The person of the slain
Was girt with slaughter. All this done, all the Greek kings conveyed
Achilles to the King of men; his rage not yet allayed
For his Patroclus. Being arrived at Agamemnon's tent,
Himself bade heralds put to fire a caldron, and present
The service of it to the prince, to try if they could win
His pleasure to admit their pains to cleanse the blood soaked in
About his conquering hands and brows. " Not by the King of Heaven,"
He swore. " The laws of friendship damn this false-heart licence given
To men that lose friends. Not a drop shall touch me till I put
Patroclus in the funeral pile, before these curls be cut,
His tomb erected. 'Tis the last of all care I shall take,
While I consort the careful. Yet, for your entreaties' sake,
And though I loathe food, I will eat. But early in the morn,
Atrides, use your strict command that loads of wood be borne
To our designed place, all that fits to light home such a one
As is to pass the shades of death, that fire enough sot gone
His person quickly from our eyes, and our diverted men
May ply their business." This all ears did freely entertain,
And found observance. Then they supped with all things fit, and all
Repaired to tents and rest. The friend the shores maritimal
Sought for his bed, and found a place, fair, and upon which played
The munnuring billows. There his limbs to rest, not sleep, he laid,
Heavily sighing. Round about, silent knd not too near,
Stood all his Myrmidons, when straight, so over-laboured were
His goodly lineaments with chase of Hector, that, beyond
His resolution not to sleep, Sleep cast his sudden bond
Over his sense, and loosed his care. Then of his wretched friend
The Soul appeared; at every part the form did comprehend
His likeness; his fair eyes, his voice, his stature, every weed
His person wore, it fantasied; and stood above his head
This sad speech uttering: " Dost thou sleep? JEacides, am I
Forgotten of thee? Being alive, I found thy memory
Ever respectful; but now, dead, thy dying love abates.
Inter me quickly, enter me in Pluto's iron gates,
For now the souls (the shades) of men, fled from this being, beat
My spirit from rest, and stay my much-desired receipt
Amongst souls placed beyond the flood. Now every way I err
About this broad-doored house of Dis. O help then to prefer
My soul yet further! Here I mourn, but, had the funeral fire
Consumed my body, never more my spirit should retire
From hell's low region; from thence souls never are retrieved
To talk with friends here; nor shall I; a hateful fate deprived
My being here, that at my birth was fixed, and to such fate
Even thou, O godlike man, art marked; the deadly Ilion gate
Must entertain thy death. O then, I charge thee now, take care
That our bones part not; but as life combined in equal fare
Our loving beings, so let death. When from Opunta's tow'rs
My father brought me to your roofs (since, 'gainst my will, my pow'rs
Incensed, and indiscreet at dice, slew fair Amphidamas)
Then Peleus entertained me well; then in thy charge I was
By his injunction and thy love; and therein let me still
Receive protection. Both our bones, provide in thy last will,
That one urn may contain; and make that vessel all of gold,
That Thetis gave thee, that rich urn." This said, Sleep ceased to hold
Achilles' temples, and the Shade thus he received : " O friend,
What needed these commands? My care, before, meant to commend
My bones to thine, and in that urn. Be sure thy will is done.
A little stay yet, let's delight, with some full passion
Of woe enough, either's affects; embrace we." Opening thus
His greedy arms, he felt no friend; like matter vaporous
The Spirit vanished under earth, and' murmured in his stoop.
Achilles started, both his hands he clapped, and lifted up,
In this sort wond'ring: " O ye Gods, I see we have a soul
In th' und'er-dwellings, and a kind of man-resembling idol;
The soul's seat yet, all matter felt, stays with the carcass here.
O friends, hapless Patroclus' soul did all this night appear
Weeping and making moan to me, commanding everything
That I intended towards him; so truly figuring
Himself at all parts, as was strange." This accident did turn
To much more sorrow, and begat a greediness to mourn
In all that heard. When mourning thus, the rosy Morn arose,
