第 20 节

starr’d with golden studs around: Then sternly silent sat. With like disdain The raging king return’d his frowns again.

To calm their passion with the words of age, Slow from his seat arose the Pylian sage, Experienced Nestor, in persuasion skill’d; Words, sweet as honey, from his lips distill’d:[58] Two generations now had pass’d away, Wise by his rules, and happy by his sway; Two ages o’er his native realm he reign’d, And now the example of the third remain’d. All view’d with awe the venerable man; Who thus with mild benevolence began:—

“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.”

This said, he ceased. The king of men replies: “Thy years are awful, and thy words are wise. But that imperious, that unconquer’d soul, No laws can limit, no respect control. Before his pride must his superiors fall; His word the law, and he the lord of all? Him must our hosts, our chiefs, ourself obey? What king can bear a rival in his sway? Grant that the gods his matchless force have given; Has foul reproach a privilege from heaven?”

Here on the monarch’s speech Achilles broke, And furious, thus, and interrupting spoke: “Tyrant, I well deserved thy galling chain, To live thy slave, and still to serve in vain, Should I submit to each unjust decree:— Command thy vassals, but command not me. Seize on Briseïs, whom the Grecians doom’d My prize of war, yet tamely see resumed; And seize secure; no more Achilles draws His conquering sword in any woman’s cause. The gods command me to forgive the past: But let this first invasion be the last: For know, thy blood, when next thou darest invade, Shall stream in vengeance on my reeking blade.”

At this they ceased: the stern debate expired: The chiefs in sullen majesty retired.

Achilles with Patroclus took his way Where near his tents his hollow vessels lay. Meantime Atrides launch’d with numerous oars A well-rigg’d ship for Chrysa’s sacred shores: High on the deck was fair Chryseïs placed, And sage Ulysses with the conduct graced: Safe in her sides the hecatomb they stow’d, Then swiftly sailing, cut the liquid road.

The host to expiate next the king prepares, With pure lustrations, and with solemn prayers. Wash’d by the briny wave, the pious train[59] Are cleansed; and cast the ablutions in the main. Along the shore whole hecatombs were laid, And bulls and goats to Phœbus’ altars paid; The sable fumes in curling spires arise, And waft their grateful odours to the skies.

The army thus in sacred rites engaged, Atrides still with deep resentment raged. To wait his will two sacred heralds stood, Talthybius and Eurybates the good. “Haste to the fierce Achilles’ tent (he cries), Thence bear Briseïs as our royal prize: Submit he must; or if they will not part, Ourself in arms shall tear her from his heart.”

The unwilling heralds act their lord’s commands; Pensive they walk along the barren sands: Arrived, the hero in his tent they find, With gloomy aspect on his arm reclined. At awful distance long they silent stand, Loth to advance, and speak their hard command; Decent confusion! This the godlike man Perceived, and thus with accent mild began:

“With leave and honour enter our abodes, Ye sacred ministers of men and gods![60] I know your message; by constraint you came; Not you, but your imperious lord I blame. Patroclus, haste, the fair Briseïs bring; Conduct my captive to the haughty king. But witness, heralds, and proclaim my vow, Witness to gods above, and men below! But first, and loudest, to your prince declare (That lawless tyrant whose commands you bear), Unmoved as death Achilles shall remain, Though prostrate Greece shall bleed at every vein: The raging chief in frantic passion lost, Blind to himself, and useless to his host, Unskill’d to judge the future by the past, In blood and slaughter shall repent at last.”

[Illustration: ] THE DEPARTURE OF BRISEIS FROM THE TENT OF ACHILLES

Patroclus now the unwilling beauty brought; She, in soft sorrows, and in pensive thought, Pass’d silent, as the heralds held her hand, And oft look’d back, slow-moving o’er the strand. Not so his loss the fierce Achilles bore; But sad, retiring to the sounding shore, O’er the wild margin of the deep he hung, That kindred deep from whence his mother sprung:[61] There bathed in tears of anger and disdain, Thus loud lamented to the stormy main:

“O parent goddess! since in early bloom Thy son must fall, by too severe a doom; Sure to so short a race of glory born, Great Jove in justice should this span adorn: Honour and fame at least the thunderer owed; And ill he pays the promise of a god, If yon proud monarch thus thy son defies, Obscures my glories, and resumes my prize.”

Far from the deep recesses of the main, Where aged Ocean holds his watery reign, The goddess-mother heard. The waves divide; And like a mist she rose above the tide; Beheld him mourning on the naked shores, And thus the sorrows of his soul explores. “Why grieves my son? Thy anguish let me share; Reveal the cause, and trust a parent’s care.”

He deeply sighing said: “To tell my woe Is but to mention what too well you know. From Thebé, sacred to Apollo’s name[62] (Aëtion’s realm), our conquering army came, With treasure loaded and triumphant spoils, Whose just division crown’d the soldier’s toils; But bright Chryseïs, heavenly prize! was led, By vote selected, to the general’s bed. The priest of Phœbus sought by gifts to g