Part 8

“O Jove, that Ida dost protect, and hast the titles won Most glorious, most invincible; and thou all-seeing Sun, All-hearing, all-recomforting; Floods; Earth; and Pow’rs beneath, That all the perjuries of men chastise ev’n after death! Be witnesses, and see perform’d the hearty vows we make.— If Alexander shall the life of Menelaus take, He shall from henceforth Helena, with all her wealth, retain, And we will to our household Gods, hoise sail, and home again. If, by my honour’d brother’s hand, be Alexander slain, The Trojans then shall his forc’d queen, with all her wealth, restore, And pay convenient fine to us, aid ours for evermore. If Priam and his sons deny to pay his, thus agreed, When Alexander shall be slain; or that perfidious deed, And for the fine, will I fight here, till dearly they repay, By death and ruin, the amends, that falsehood keeps away.” This said, the throats of both the lambs cut with his royal knife, He laid them panting on the earth, till, quite depriv’d of life, The steel had robb’d them of their strength; then golden cups they crown’d, With wine out of a cistern drawn; which pour’d upon the ground, They fell upon their humble knees to all the Deities, And thus pray’d one of both the hosts, that might do sacrifice: “O Jupiter, most high, most great, and all the deathless Pow’rs! Who first shall dare to violate the late sworn oaths of ours, So let the bloods and brains of them, and all they shall produce, Flow on the stain’d face of the earth, as now this sacred juice; And let their wives with bastardice brand all their future race.” Thus pray’d they; but, with wish’d effects, their pray’rs Jove did not grace; When Priam said: “Lords of both hosts, I can no longer stay To see my lov’d son try his life, and so must take my way To wind-exposéd Ilion. Jove yet and heav’n’s high States Know only, which of these must now pay tribute to the Fates.” Thus, putting in his coach the lambs, he mounts and reins his horse; Antenor to him; and to Troy, both take their speedy course. Then Hector, Priam’s martial son, stepp’d forth, and met the ground, With wise Ulysses, where the blows of combat must resound; Which done, into a helm they put two lots, to let them know Which of the combatants should first his brass-pil’d jav’lin throw; When all the people standing by, with hands held up to heav’n, Pray’d Jove the conquest might not be by force or fortune giv’n, But that the man, who was in right the author of most wrong, Might feel his justice, and no more these tedious wars prolong, But, sinking to the house of death, leave them (as long before) Link’d fast in leagues of amity, that might dissolve no more. Then Hector shook the helm that held the equal dooms of chance, Look’d back, and drew; and Paris first had lot to hurl his lance, The soldiers all sat down enrank’d, each by his arms and horse That then lay down and cool’d their hoofs. And now th’ allotted course Bids fair-hair’d Helen’s husband arm; who first makes fast his greaves With silver buckles to his legs; then on his breast receives The curets that Lycaon wore (his brother) but made fit For his fair body; next his sword he took, and fasten’d it, All damask’d, underneath his arm; his shield then grave and great His shoulders wore; and on his head his glorious helm he set, Topp’d with a plume of horse’s hair, that horribly did dance, And seem’d to threaten as he mov’d; at last he takes his lance, Exceeding big, and full of weight, which he with ease could use. In like sort, Sparta’s warlike king himself with arms indues. Thus arm’d at either army both, they both stood bravely in, Possessing both hosts with amaze, they came so chin to chin, And, with such horrible aspécts, each other did salute. A fair large field was made for them; where wraths, for hugeness mute, And mutual, made them mutually at either shake their darts Before they threw. Then Paris first with his long jav’lin parts; It smote Atrides’ orby targe, but ran not through the brass, For in it (arming well the shield) the head reflected was. Then did the second combatant apply him to his spear, Which ere he threw, he thus besought almighty Jupiter: “O Jove! Vouchsafe me now revenge, and that my enemy, For doing wrong so undeserv’d, may pay deservedly The pains he forfeited; and let these hands inflict those pains, By conqu’ring, ay, by conqu’ring dead, him on whom life complains; That any now, or anyone of all the brood of men To live hereafter, may with fear from all offence abstain, Much more from all such foul offence to him that was his host, And entertain’d him as the man whom he affected most.” This said, he shook and threw his lance; which strook through Paris’ shield, And, with the strength he gave to it, it made the curets yield, His coat of mail, his breast, and all, and drove his entrails in, In that low region where the guts in three small parts begin; Yet he, in bowing of his breast, prevented sable death. This taint he follow’d with his sword, drawn from a silver sheath, Which lifting high, he strook his helm full where his plume did stand, On which it piecemeal brake, and fell from his unhappy hand. At which he sighing stood, and star’d upon the ample sky, And said: “O Jove, there is no God giv’n more illiberally To those that serve thee than thyself, why have I pray’d in vain? I hop’d my hand should have reveng’d, the wrongs I still sustain, On him that did them, and still dares their foul defence pursue; And now my lance hath miss’d his end, my sword in shivers flew, And he ’scapes all.” With this, again he rush’d upon his guest, And caught him by the horse-hair plume, that dangled on his crest, With thought to drag him to the Greeks; which he had surely done, And so, besides the victory, had wondrous glory won, (Because the needle-painted lace, with which his helm was tied Beneath his chin, and so about his dainty throat implied, Had strangled him;) but that, in time, the Cyprian seed of Jove Did brake the string, with which was lin’d that which the needle wove, And was the tough thong of a steer; and so the victor’s palm Was, for so full a man-at-arms, only an empty helm. That then he swung about his head, and cast among his friends, Who scrambled, and took ’t up with shouts. Again then he intends To force the life-blood of his foe, and ran on him amain, With shaken jav’lin; when the Queen, that lovers loves, again[1] Attended, and now ravish’d him from that encounter quite, With ease, and wondrous suddenly; for she, a Goddess, might. She hid him in a cloud of gold, and never made him known, Till in his chamber, fresh and sweet, she gently set him down, And went for Helen; whom she found in Scæa’s utmost height, To which whole swarms of city dames had climb’d to see the sight. To give her errand good success, she took on her the shape Of beldame Græa, who was brought by Helen, in her rape, From Lacedæmon, and had trust in all her secrets still, Being old, and had (of all her maids) the main bent of her will, And spun for her her finest wool. Like her, Love’s Empress came, Pull’d Helen by the heav’nly veil, and softly said: “Madame, My lord calls for you, you must needs make all your kind haste home; He’s in your chamber, stays, and longs; sits by your bed; pray come, ’Tis richly made, and sweet; but he more sweet, and looks so clear, So fresh, and movingly attir’d, that, seeing, you would swear He came not from the dusky fight, but from a courtly dance, Or would to dancing.” This she made a charm for dalliance; Whose virtue Helen felt, and knew, by her so radiant eyes, White neck, and most enticing breasts, the deified disguise. At which amaz’d, she answer’d her: “Unhappy Deity! Why lov’st thou still in these deceits to wrap my phantasy? Or whither yet, of all the towns giv’n to their lust beside, In Phrygia, or Mæonia, com’st thou to be my guide, If there (of divers-languag’d men thou hast, as here in Troy, Some other friend to be my shame; since here thy latest joy By Menelaus now subdu’d, by him shall I be borne Home to his court, and end my life in triumphs of his scorn? And, to this end, would thy deceits my wanton life allure? Hence, go thyself to Priam’s son and all the ways abjure Of Gods, or godlike-minded dames, nor ever turn again Thy earth-affecting feet to heav’n but for his sake sustain Toils here; guard, grace him endlessly, till he requite thy grace By giving thee my place with him; or take his servant’s place, If, all dishonourable ways, your favours seek to serve His never-pleas’d incontinence; I better will deserve, Than serve his dotage now. What shame were it for me to feed This lust in him; all honour’d dames would hate me for the deed! He leaves a woman’s love so sham’d, and shows so base a mind, To feel nor my shame nor his own; griefs of a greater kind Wound me than such as can admit such kind delights so soon.” The Goddess, angry that, past shame, her mere will was not done, Replied: “Incense me not, you wretch, lest, once incens’d, I leave Thy curs’d life to as strange a hate, as yet it may receive A love from me; and lest I spread through both hosts such despite, For those plagues they have felt for thee, that both abjure thee quite, And setting thee in midst of both, turn all their wraths on thee, And dart thee dead; that such a death may wreak thy wrong of me.” This strook the fair dame with such fear, it took her speech away, And, shadow’d in her snowy veil, she durst not but obey; And yet, to shun the shame she fear’d, she vanish’d undescried Of all the Trojan ladies there, for Venus was her guide. Arriv’d at home, her women both fell to their work in haste; When she, that was of all her sex the most divinely grac’d, Ascended to a higher room, though much against her will, Where lovely Alexander was, being led by Venus still. The laughter-loving Dame discen’d her mov’d mind by her grace, And, for her mirth sake, set a stool, full before Paris’ face, Where she would needs have Helen sit; who, though she durst not choose But sit, yet look’d away for all the Goddess’ pow’r could use, And used her tongue too, and to chide whom Venus sooth’d so much, And chid, too, in this bitter kind: “And was thy cowardice such, So conquer’d, to be seen alive? O would to God, thy life Had perish’d by his worthy hand, to whom I first was wife! Before this, thou wouldst glorify thy valour and thy lance, And, past my first love’s, boast them far. Go once more, and advance Thy braves against his single pow’r; this foil might fall by chance. Poor conquer’d man! ’Twas such a chance, as I would not advise Thy valour should provoke again. Shun him, thou most unwise, Lest next, thy spirit sent to hell, thy body be his prise.” He answer’d: “Pray thee, woman, cease, to chide and grieve me thus. Disgraces will not ever last. Look on their end. On us Will other Gods, at other times, let fall the victor’s wreath, As on him Pallas put it now. Shall our love sink beneath The hate of fortune? In love’s fire, let all hates vanish. Come, Love never so inflam’d my heart; no, not when, bringing home Thy beauty’s so delicious prise, on Cranaë’s blest shore I long’d for, and enjoy’d thee first.” With this he went before, She after, to the odorous bed. While these to pleasure yield, Perplex’d Atrides, savage-like, ran up and down the field, And ev’ry thickest troop of Troy, and of their far-call’d aid, Search’d for his foe, who could not be by any eye betray’d; Nor out of friendship (out of doubt) did they conceal his sight, All hated him so like their deaths, and ow’d him such despite. At last thus spake the king of men: “Hear me, ye men of Troy, Ye Dardans, and the rest, whose pow’rs you in their aids employ. The conquest on my brother’s part, ye all discern is clear, Do you then Argive Helena, with all her treasure here, Restore to us, and pay the mulct, that by your vows is due, Yield us an honour’d recompense, and, all that should accrue To our posterities, confirm; that when you render it, Our acts may here be memoris’d.” This all Greeks else thought fit.

THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.

[1] _When the Queen, etc._—This place Virgil imitateth.

THE FOURTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ILIADS

THE ARGUMENT

The Gods in council, at the last, decree That famous Ilion shall expugned be; And that their own continu’d faults may prove The reasons that have so incensed Jove, Minerva seeks, with more offences done Against the lately injur’d Atreus’ son, (A ground that clearest would make seen their sin) To have the Lycian Pandarus begin. He (’gainst the truce with sacred cov’nants bound) Gives Menelaus a dishonour’d wound, Machaon heals him. Agamemnon then To mortal war incenseth all his men. The battles join; and, in the heat of fight, Cold death shuts many eyes in endless night.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT

In Delta is the Gods’ Assize; The truce is broke; wars freshly rise.