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."

  To whom Achilles: "Be the ransom given,

  And we submit, since such the will of heaven."

  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."

  IRIS ADVISES PRIAM TO OBTAIN THE BODY OF HECTOR.

  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

  Sat bathed in tears, and answer'd groan with groan.

  And all amidst them lay the hoary sire,

  (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.

  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, 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 shall 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."

  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 where the treasures of his empire lay;

  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;

  Forsake these ramparts, and with gifts obtain

  The corse of Hector, at yon navy slain.

  Tell me thy thought: my heart impels to go

  Through hostile camps, and bears me to the foe."

  The hoary monarch thus. Her piercing cries

  Sad Hecuba renews, and then replies:

  "Ah! whither wanders thy distemper'd mind?

  And where the prudence now that awed mankind?

  Through Phrygia once and foreign regions known;

  Now all confused, distracted, overthrown!

  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.

  And what his mercy, thy slain sons declare;

  So brave! so many fallen! To claim 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, still 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

  My rage, and these barbarities repay!

  For ah! could Hector merit thus, whose breath

  Expired not meanly, in unactive death?

  He poured his latest blood in manly fight,

  And fell a hero in his country's right."

  "Seek not to stay me, nor my soul affright

  With words of omen, like a bird of night,

  (Replied unmoved the venerable man;)

  'Tis heaven commands me, and you urge in vain.

  Had any mortal voice the injunction laid,

  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 powers have doom'd my fall,

  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

  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;

  And last a large well-labour'd bowl had place,

  (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.

  Have ye no griefs at home, to fix ye 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;

  The same stern god to ruin gives you all:

  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!

  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,

  Polites, Paris, Agathon, he calls;

  His threats Deiphobus and Dius hear,

  Hippothous, Pammon, Helenes the seer,

  And generous Antiphon: for yet these nine

  Survived, sad relics of his numerous line.

  "Inglorious sons of an unhappy sire!

  Why did not all in Hector's cause expire?

  Wretch that I am! my bravest offspring slain.

  You, the disgrace of Priam's house, remain!

  Mestor the brave, renown'd in ranks of war,

  With Troilus, dreadful on his rushing car,

  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-matched 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 steed she stands,

  And thus consigns it to the monarch's hands:

  "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, inspires 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 bason 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:

  "O 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: Idaeus 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,

  Go, guard the sire: the observing foe prevent,

  And safe conduct him to Achilles' tent."

  The god obeys, his golden pinions binds,

  And mounts incumbent on the wings of winds,

  That high, through fields of air, his flight sustain,

  O'er the wide earth, and o'er the boundless main;

  Then grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly,

  Or in soft slumbers seals the wakeful eye:

  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!

  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)

  Allow'd their 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!

  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 shiver'd with despair;

  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, gentle, thus accosts with kind demand:

  "Say whither, father! when each mortal sight

  Is seal'd in sleep, thou wanderest through the night?

  Why roam thy mules and steeds the plains along,

  Through Grecian foes, so numerous and so strong?

  What couldst thou hope, should these thy treasures view;

  These, who with endless hate thy race pursue?

  For what defence, alas! could'st thou provide;

  Thyself not young, a weak old man thy guide?

  Yet suffer not thy soul to sink with dread;

  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."

  "Thy words, that speak benevolence of mind,

  Are true, my son! (the godlike sire rejoin'd:)

  Great are my hazards; but the gods survey

  My steps, and send thee, guardian of my way.

  Hail, and be bless'd! For scarce of mortal kind

  Appear thy form, thy feature, and thy mind."

  "Nor true are all thy words, nor erring wide;

  (The sacred messenger of heaven replied;)

  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?

  Or fliest 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,