THUS by their leader’s care each martial band | |
| Moves into ranks, and stretches o’er the land. | |
| With shouts the Trojans, rushing from afar, | |
| Proclaim their motions, and provoke the war: | |
| So when inclement winters vex the plain | 5 |
| With piercing frosts, or thick-descending rain, | |
| To warmer seas the cranes embodied fly, | |
| With noise, and order, thro’ the midway sky; | |
| To pigmy nations wounds and death they bring, | |
| And all the war descends upon the wing. | 10 |
| But silent, breathing rage, resolv’d, and skill’d | |
| By mutual aids to fix a doubtful field, | |
| Swift march the Greeks: the rapid dust around | |
| Dark’ning arises from the labour’d ground. | |
| Thus from his flaggy wings when Notus sheds | 15 |
| A night of vapours round the mountain-heads, | |
| Swift-gliding mists the dusky fields invade, | |
| To thieves more grateful than the midnight shade; | |
| While scarce the swains their feeding flocks survey, | |
| Lost and confused amidst the thicken’d day: | 20 |
| So, wrapt in gath’ring dust, the Grecian train, | |
| A moving cloud, swept on, and hid the plain. | |
| Now front to front the hostile armies stand, | |
| Eager of fight, and only wait command: | |
| When, to the van, before the sons of fame | 25 |
| Whom Troy sent forth, the beauteous Paris came: | |
| In form a God! the panther’s speckled hide | |
| Flow’d o’er his armour with an easy pride; | |
| His bended bow across his shoulders flung, | |
| His sword beside him negligently hung; | 30 |
| Two pointed spears he shook with gallant grace, | |
| And dared the bravest of the Grecian race. | |
| As thus, with glorious air and proud disdain, | |
| He boldly stalk’d, the foremost on the plain, | |
| Him Menelaus, loved of Mars, espies, | 35 |
| With heart elated, and with joyful eyes: | |
| So joys a lion, if the branching deer | |
| Or mountain goat, his bulky prize, appear; | |
| In vain the youths oppose, the mastiffs bay, | |
| The lordly savage rends the panting prey. | 40 |
| Thus, fond of vengeance, with a furious bound, | |
| In clanging arms he leaps upon the ground | |
| From his high chariot: him, approaching near, | |
| The beauteous champion views with marks of fear, | |
| Smit with a conscious sense, retires behind, | 45 |
| And shuns the fate he well deserv’d to find. | |
| As when some shepherd, from the rustling trees | |
| Shot forth to view, a scaly serpent sees: | |
| Trembling and pale, he starts with wild affright, | |
| And, all confused, precipitates his flight: | 50 |
| So from the King the shining warrior flies, | |
| And plunged amid the thickest Trojans lies. | |
| As godlike Hector sees the Prince retreat, | |
| He thus upbraids him with a gen’rous heat: | |
| ‘Unhappy Paris! but to women brave! | 55 |
| So fairly form’d, and only to deceive! | |
| Oh, hadst thou died when first thou saw’st the light, | |
| Or died at least before thy nuptial rite! | |
| A better fate, than vainly thus to boast, | |
| And fly, the scandal of thy Trojan host. | 60 |
| Gods! how the scornful Greeks exult to see | |
| Their fears of danger undeceiv’d in thee! | |
| Thy figure promis’d with a martial air, | |
| But ill thy soul supplies a form so fair. | |
| In former days, in all thy gallant pride, | 65 |
| When thy tall ships triumphant stemm’d the tide, | |
| When Greece beheld thy painted canvas flow, | |
| And crowds stood wond’ring at the passing show; | |
| Say, was it thus, with such a baffled mien, | |
| You met th’ approaches of the Spartan Queen, | 70 |
| Thus from her realm convey’d the beauteous prize, | |
| And both her warlike lords outshined in Helen’s eyes? | |
| This deed, thy foes’ delight, thy own disgrace, | |
| Thy father’s grief, and ruin of thy race; | |
| This deed recalls thee to the proffer’d flight; | 75 |
| Or hast thou injured whom thou dar’st not right? | |
| Soon to thy cost the field would make thee know | |
| Thou keep’st the consort of a braver foe. | |
| Thy graceful form instilling soft desire, | |
| Thy curling tresses, and thy silver lyre, | 80 |
| Beauty and youth, in vain to these you trust, | |
| When youth and beauty shall be laid in dust: | |
| Troy yet may wake, and one avenging blow | |
| Crush the dire author of his country’s woe.’ | |
| His silence here, with blushes, Paris breaks: | 85 |
| ‘’T is just, my brother, what your anger speaks: | |
| But who like thee can boast a soul sedate, | |
| So firmly proof to all the shocks of Fate? | |
| Thy force, like steel, a temper’d hardness shews, | |
| Still edged to wound, and still untired with blows, | 90 |
| Like steel, uplifted by some strenuous swain, | |
| With falling woods to strow the wasted plain. | |
| Thy gifts I praise; nor thou despise the charms | |
| With which a lover golden Venus arms; | |
| Soft moving speech, and pleasing outward show, | 95 |
| No wish can gain them, but the Gods bestow. | |
| Yet wouldst thou have the proffer’d combat stand, | |
| The Greeks and Trojans seat on either hand; | |
| Then let a mid-way space our hosts divide, | |
| And on that stage of war the cause be tried: | 100 |
| By Paris there the Spartan King be fought, | |
| For beauteous Helen and the wealth she brought; | |
| And who his rival can in arms subdue, | |
| His be the fair, and his the treasure too. | |
| Thus with a lasting league your toils may cease, | 105 |
| And Troy possess her fertile fields in peace; | |
| Thus may the Greeks review their native shore, | |
| Much famed for gen’rous steeds, for beauty more.’ | |
| He said. The challenge Hector heard with joy, | |
| Then with his spear restrain’d the youth of Troy, | 110 |
| Held by the midst, athwart; and near the foe | |
| Advanced with steps majestically slow; | |
| While round his dauntless head the Grecians pour | |
| Their stones and arrows in a mingled shower. | |
| Then thus the Monarch, great Atrides, cried: | 115 |
| ‘Forbear, ye warriors! lay the darts aside: | |
| A parley Hector asks, a message bears; | |
| We know him by the various plume he wears.’ | |
| Awed by his high command the Greeks attend, | |
| The tumult silence, and the fight suspend. | 120 |
| While from the centre Hector rolls his eyes | |
| On either host, and thus to both applies: | |
| ‘Hear, all ye Trojan, all ye Grecian bands! | |
| What Paris, author of the war, demands. | |
| Your shining swords within the sheath restrain, | 125 |
| And pitch your lances in the yielding plain. | |
| Here, in the midst, in either army’s sight, | |
| He dares the Spartan King to single fight; | |
| And wills, that Helen and the ravish’d spoil, | |
| That caus’d the contest, shall reward the toil. | 130 |
| Let these the brave triumphant victor grace, | |
| And diff’ring nations part in leagues of peace.’ | |
| He spoke: in still suspense on either side | |
| Each army stood. The Spartan Chief replied: | |
| ‘Me too, ye warriors, hear, whose fatal right | 135 |
| A world engages in the toils of fight— | |
| To me the labour of the field resign; | |
| Me Paris injured; all the war be mine. | |
| Fall he that must, beneath his rival’s arms, | |
| And live the rest secure of future harms. | 140 |
| Two lambs, devoted by your country’s rite, | |
| To Earth a sable, to the Sun a white, | |
| Prepare, ye Trojans! while a third we bring | |
| Select to Jove, th’ inviolable King. | |
| Let rev’rend Priam in the truce engage, | 145 |
| And add the sanction of consid’rate age; | |
| His sons are faithless, headlong in debate, | |
| And youth itself an empty wav’ring state: | |
| Cool age advances venerably wise, | |
| Turns on all hands its deep-discerning eyes; | 150 |
| Sees what befell, and what may yet befall, | |
| Concludes from both, and best provides for all.’ | |
| The nations hear, with rising hopes possess’d, | |
| And peaceful prospects dawn in every breast. | |
| Within the lines they drew their steeds around, | 155 |
| And from their chariots issued on the ground: | |
| Next all, unbuckling the rich mail they wore, | |
| Laid their bright arms along the sable shore. | |
| On either side the meeting hosts are seen | |
| With lances fix’d, and close the space between. | 160 |
| Two heralds now, despatch’d to Troy, invite | |
| The Phrygian monarch to the peaceful rite; | |
| Talthybius hastens to the fleet, to bring | |
| The lamb for Jove, th’ inviolable King. | |
| Meantime, to beauteous Helen, from the skies | 165 |
| The various Goddess of the Rainbow flies | |
| (Like fair Laödicè in form and face, | |
| The loveliest nymph of Priam’s royal race); | |
| Her in the palace, at her loom she found; | |
| The golden web her own sad story crown’d. | 170 |
| The Trojan wars she weav’d (herself the prize), | |
| And the dire triumphs of her fatal eyes. | |
| To whom the Goddess of the Painted Bow: | |
| ‘Approach, and view the wondrous scene below! | |
| Each hardy Greek, and valiant Trojan knight, | 175 |
| So dreadful late, and furious for the fight, | |
| Now rest their spears, or lean upon their shields; | |
| Ceas’d is the war, and silent all the fields. | |
| Paris alone and Sparta’s King advance, | |
| In single fight to toss the beamy lance; | 180 |
| Each met in arms, the fate of combat tries, | |
| Thy love the motive, and thy charms the prize.’ | |
| This said, the many-colour’d maid inspires | |
| Her husband’s love, and wakes her former fires; | |
| Her country, parents, all that once were dear, | 185 |
| Rush to her thought, and force a tender tear. | |
| O’er her fair face a snowy veil she threw | |
| And, softly sighing, from the loom withdrew. | |
| Her handmaids Clymenè and Æthra wait | |
| Her silent footsteps to the Scæan gate. | 190 |
| There sat the seniors of the Trojan race | |
| (Old Priam’s Chiefs, and most in Priam’s grace); | |
| The King the first; Thymœtes at his side; | |
| Lampus and Clytius, long in council tried; | |
| Panthus, and Hicetaœn, once the strong; | 195 |
| And next the wisest of the rev’rend throng, | |
| Antenor grave, and sage Ucalegon, | |
| Lean’d on the walls, and bask’d before the sun. | |
| Chiefs, who no more in bloody fights engage, | |
| But, wise thro’ time, and narrative with age, | 200 |
| In summer-days like grasshoppers rejoice, | |
| A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice. | |
| These, when the Spartan Queen approach’d the tower, | |
| In secret own’d resistless Beauty’s power: | |
| They cried, ‘No wonder, such celestial charms | 205 |
| For nine long years have set the world in arms! | |
| What winning graces! what majestic mien! | |
| She moves a Goddess, and she looks a Queen. | |
| Yet hence, oh Heav’n! convey that fatal face, | |
| And from destruction save the Trojan race.’ | 210 |
| The good old Priam welcom’d her, and cried, | |
| ‘Approach, my child, and grace thy father’s side. | |
| See on the plain thy Grecian spouse appears, | |
| The friends and kindred of thy former years. | |
| No crime of thine our present suff’rings draws, | 215 |
| Not thou, but Heav’n’s disposing will, the cause; | |
| The Gods these armies and this force employ, | |
| The hostile Gods conspire the fate of Troy. | |
| But life thine eyes, and say, what Greek is he | |
| (Far as from hence these aged orbs can see), | 220 |
| Around whose brow such martial graces shine, | |
| So tall, so awful, and almost divine? | |
| Tho’ some of larger stature tread the green, | |
| None match his grandeur and exalted mien: | |
| He seems a monarch and his country’s pride.’ | 225 |
| Thus ceas’d the King, and thus the Fair replied: | |
| ‘Before thy presence, father, I appear | |
| With conscious shame and reverential fear, | |
| Ah! had I died, ere to these walls I fled, | |
| False to my country, and my nuptial bed, | 230 |
| My brothers, friends, and daughter left behind, | |
| False to them all, to Paris only kind! | |
| For this I mourn, till grief or dire disease | |
| Shall waste the form whose crime it was to please! | |
| The King of Kings, Atrides, you survey, | 235 |
| Great in war, and great in arts of sway: | |
| My brother once, before my days of shame: | |
| And oh! that still he bore a brother’s name!’ | |
| With wonder Priam view’d the godlike man, | |
| Extoll’d the happy Prince, and thus began: | 240 |
| ‘O blest Atrides! born to prosp’rous fate, | |
| Successful monarch of a mighty state! | |
| How vast thy empire! Of yon matchless train | |
| What numbers lost, what numbers yet remain! | |
| In Phrygia once were gallant armies known, | 245 |
| In ancient time, when Otreus fill’d the throne; | |
| When godlike Mygdon led their troops of horse, | |
| And I, to join them, rais’d the Trojan force; | |
| Against the manlike Amazons we stood, | |
| And Sangar’s stream ran purple with their blood. | 250 |
| But far inferior those, in martial grace | |
| And strength of numbers, to this Grecian race.’ | |
| This said, once more he view’d the warrior train: | |
| ‘What ’s he, whose arms lie scatter’d on the plain? | |
| Broad is his breast, his shoulders larger spread, | 255 |
| Tho’ great Atrides overtops his head. | |
| Nor yet appear his care and conduct small; | |
| From rank to rank he moves, and orders all. | |
| The stately ram thus measures o’er the ground, | |
| And, master of the flocks, surveys them round.’ | 260 |
| Then Helen thus: ‘Whom your discerning eyes | |
| Have singled out, is Ithacus the wise: | |
| A barren island boasts his glorious birth; | |
| His fame for wisdom fills the spacious earth.’ | |
| Antenor took the word, and thus began: | 265 |
| ‘Myself, O King! have seen that wondrous man; | |
| When, trusting Jove and hospitable laws, | |
| To Troy he came, to plead the Grecian cause | |
| (Great Menelaus urged the same request); | |
| My house was honour’d with each royal guest: | 270 |
| I knew their persons, and admired their parts, | |
| Both brave in arms, and both approv’d in arts. | |
| Erect, the Spartan most engaged our view, | |
| Ulysses seated greater rev’rence drew. | |
| When Atreus’ son harangued the list’ning train, | 275 |
| Just was his sense, and his expression plain, | |
| His words succinct, yet full, without a fault; | |
| He spoke no more than just the thing he ought. | |
| But when Ulysses rose, in thought profound, | |
| His modest eyes he fix’d upon the ground; | 280 |
| As one unskill’d or dumb, he seem’d to stand, | |
| Nor rais’d his head, nor stretch’d his sceptred hand; | |
| But when he speaks, what elocution flows! | |
| Soft as the fleeces of descending snows, | |
| The copious accents fall, with easy art; | 285 |
| Melting they fall, and sink into the heart! | |
| Wond’ring we hear, and, fix’d in deep surprise, | |
| Our ears refute the censure of our eyes.’ | |
| The King then ask’d (as yet the camp he view’d), | |
| ‘What Chief is that, with giant strength endued, | 290 |
| Whose brawny shoulders, and whose swelling chest, | |
| And lofty stature, far exceed the rest?’ | |
| ‘Ajax the great’ (the beauteous Queen replied), | |
| ‘Himself a host: the Grecian strength and pride. | |
| See! bold Idomeneus superior towers | 295 |
| Amidst yon circle of his Cretan powers, | |
| Great as a God! I saw him once before, | |
| With Menelaus on the Spartan shore. | |
| The rest I know, and could in order name; | |
| All valiant Chiefs, and men of mighty fame. | 300 |
| Yet two are wanting of the numerous train, | |
| Whom long my eyes have sought, but sought in vain; | |
| Castor and Pollux, first in martial force, | |
| One bold on foot, and one renown’d for horse. | |
| My brothers these; the same our native shore, | 305 |
| One house contain’d us, as one mother bore. | |
| Perhaps the Chiefs, from warlike toils at ease, | |
| For distant Troy refused to sail the seas: | |
| Perhaps their sword some nobler quarrel draws, | |
| Ashamed to combat in their sister’s cause.’ | 310 |
| So spoke the Fair, nor knew her brothers’ doom, | |
| Wrapt in the cold embraces of the tomb; | |
| Adorn’d with honours in their native shore, | |
| Silent they slept, and heard of wars no more. | |
| Meantime, the heralds thro’ the crowded town | 315 |
| Bring the rich wine and destin’d victims down. | |
| Idæus’ arms the golden goblets press’d, | |
| Who thus the venerable King address’d: | |
| ‘Arise, O father of the Trojan state! | |
| The nations call, thy joyful people wait, | 320 |
| To seal the truce, and end the dire debate. | |
| Paris, thy son, and Sparta’s King advance, | |
| In measured lists to toss the weighty lance; | |
| And who his rival shall in arms subdue, | |
| His be the dame, and his the treasure too. | 325 |
| Thus with a lasting league our toils may cease, | |
| And Troy possess her fertile fields in peace: | |
| So shall the Greeks review their native shore, | |
| Much famed for gen’rous steeds, for beauty more.’ | |
| With grief he heard, and bade the Chiefs prepare | 330 |
| To join his milk-white coursers to the car: | |
| He mounts the seat, Antenor at his side; | |
| The gentle steeds thro’ Scæa’s gates they guide: | |
| Next from the car, descending on the plain, | |
| Amid the Grecian host and Trojan train | 335 |
| Slow they proceed: the sage Ulysses then | |
| Arose, and with him rose the King of men. | |
| On either side a sacred herald stands; | |
| The wine they mix, and on each monarch’s hands | |
| Pour the full urn; then draws the Grecian lord | 340 |
| His cutlass, sheathed beside his pond’rous sword; | |
| From the sign’d victims crops the curling hair, | |
| The heralds part it, and the Princes share; | |
| Then loudly thus before th’ attentive bands | |
| He calls the Gods, and spreads his lifted hands: | 345 |
| ‘O first and greatest Power! whom all obey, | |
| Who high on Ida’s holy mountain sway, | |
| Eternal Jove! and you bright Orb that roll | |
| From east to west, and view from pole to pole! | |
| Thou mother Earth! and all ye living Floods! | 350 |
| Infernal Furies, and Tartarean Gods, | |
| Who rule the dead, and horrid woes prepare | |
| For perjured Kings, and all who falsely swear! | |
| Hear, and be witness. If, by Paris slain, | |
| Great Menelaus press the fatal plain; | 355 |
| The dame and treasures let the Trojan keep; | |
| And Greece returning plough the wat’ry deep. | |
| If by my brother’s lance the Trojan bleed, | |
| Be his the wealth and beauteous dame decreed: | |
| Th’ appointed fine let Ilion justly pay, | 360 |
| And age to age record the signal day. | |
| This if the Phrygians shall refuse to yield, | |
| Arms must revenge, and Mars decide the field.’ | |
| With that the Chief the tender victims slew, | |
| And in the dust their bleeding bodies threw: | 365 |
| The vital spirit issued at the wound, | |
| And left the members quiv’ring on the ground. | |
| From the same urn they drink the mingled wine, | |
| And add libations to the Powers divine. | |
| While thus their prayers united mount the sky: | 370 |
| ‘Hear, mighty Jove! and hear, ye Gods on high! | |
| And may their blood, who first the league confound, | |
| Shed like this wine, disdain the thirsty ground; | |
| May all their consorts serve promiscuous lust, | |
| And all their race be scatter’d as the dust!’ | 375 |
| Thus either host their imprecations join’d, | |
| Which Jove refused, and mingled with the wind. | |
| The rites now finish’d, rev’rend Priam rose, | |
| And thus express’d a heart o’ercharged with woes: | |
| ‘Ye Greeks and Trojans, let the Chiefs engage, | 380 |
| But spare the weakness of my feeble age: | |
| In yonder walls that object let me shun, | |
| Nor view the danger of so dear a son. | |
| Whose arms shall conquer, and what Prince shall fall, | |
| Heav’n only knows, for Heav’n disposes all.’ | 385 |
| This said, the hoary King no longer stay’d, | |
| But on his car the slaughter’d victims laid; | |
| Then seiz’d the reins his gentle steeds to guide, | |
| And drove to Troy, Antenor at his side. | |
| Bold Hector and Ulysses now dispose | 390 |
| The lists of combat, and the ground enclose; | |
| Next to decide by sacred lots prepare, | |
| Who first shall lance his pointed spear in air. | |
| The people pray with elevated hands, | |
| And words like these are heard thro’ all the bands: | 395 |
| ‘Immortal Jove! high Heav’n’s superior lord, | |
| On lofty Ida’s holy mount ador’d! | |
| Whoe’er involv’d us in this dire debate, | |
| Oh give that author of the war to Fate | |
| And shades eternal! let division cease, | 400 |
| And joyful nations join in leagues of peace.’ | |
| With eyes averted Hector hastes to turn | |
| The lots of fight, and shakes the brazen urn. | |
| Then, Paris, thine leap’d forth; by fatal chance | |
| Ordain’d the first to whirl the mighty lance. | 405 |
| Both armies sat, the combat to survey, | |
| Beside each Chief his azure armour lay, | |
| And round the lists the gen’rous coursers neigh. | |
| The beauteous warrior now arrays for fight, | |
| In gilded arms magnificently bright: | 410 |
| The purple cuishes clasp his thighs around, | |
| With flowers adorn’d, with silver buckles bound: | |
| Lycaön’s corslet his fair body dress’d, | |
| Braced in, and fitted to his softer breast; | |
| A radiant baldric, o’er his shoulder tied, | 415 |
| Sustain’d the sword that glitter’d at his side: | |
| His youthful face a polish’d helm o’erspread; | |
| The waving horse-hair nodded on his head: | |
| His figured shield, a shining orb, he takes, | |
| And in his hand a pointed jav’lin shakes. | 420 |
| With equal speed, and fired by equal charms, | |
| The Spartan hero sheathes his limbs in arms. | |
| Now round the lists th’ admiring armies stand, | |
| With jav’lins fix’d, the Greek and Trojan band. | |
| Amidst the dreadful vale the Chiefs advance, | 425 |
| All pale with rage, and shake the threat’ning lance. | |
| The Trojan first his shining jav’lin threw: | |
| Full on Atrides’ ringing shield it flew, | |
| Nor pierc’d the brazen orb, but with a bound | |
| Leap’d from the buckler blunted on the ground. | 430 |
| Atrides then his massy lance prepares, | |
| In act to throw, but first prefers his prayers: | |
| ‘Give me, great Jove! to punish lawless lust, | |
| And lay the Trojan gasping in the dust; | |
| Destroy th’ aggressor, aid my righteous cause, | 435 |
| Avenge the breach of hospitable laws! | |
| Let this example future times reclaim, | |
| And guard from wrong fair friendship’s holy name.’ | |
| He said, and, pois’d in air, the jav’lin sent; | |
| Thro’ Paris’ shield the forceful weapon went, | 440 |
| His corslet pierces, and his garment rends, | |
| And, glancing downward, near his flank descends. | |
| The wary Trojan, bending from the blow, | |
| Eludes the death, and disappoints his foe: | |
| But fierce Atrides waved his sword, and struck | 445 |
| Full on his casque; the crested helmet shook; | |
| The brittle steel, unfaithful to his hand, | |
| Broke short: the fragments glitter’d on the sand; | |
| The raging warrior to the spacious skies | |
| Rais’d his upbraiding voice, and angry eyes: | 450 |
| ‘Then is it vain in Jove himself to trust? | |
| And is it thus the Gods assist the just? | |
| When crimes provoke us, Heav’n success denies: | |
| The dart falls harmless, and the falchion flies.’ | |
| Furious he said, and toward the Grecian crew | 455 |
| (Seiz’d by the crest) th’ unhappy warrior drew; | |
| Struggling he follow’d, while th’ embroider’d thong, | |
| That tied his helmet, dragg’d the Chief along. | |
| Then had his ruin crown’d Atrides’ joy, | |
| But Venus trembled for the Prince of Troy: | 460 |
| Unseen she came, and burst the golden band; | |
| And left an empty helmet in his hand. | |
| The casque, enraged, amidst the Greeks he threw; | |
| The Greeks with smiles the polish’d trophy view. | |
| Then, as once more he lifts the deadly dart, | 465 |
| In thirst of vengeance, at his rival’s heart, | |
| The Queen of Love her favour’d champion shrouds | |
| (For Gods can all things) in a veil of clouds. | |
| Rais’d from the field the panting youth she led, | |
| And gently laid him on the bridal bed, | 470 |
| With pleasing sweets his fainting sense renews, | |
| And all the dome perfumes with heav’nly dews. | |
| Meantime the brightest of the female kind, | |
| The matchless Helen, o’er the walls reclin’d: | |
| To her, beset with Trojan beauties, came, | 475 |
| In borrow’d form, the laughter-loving dame | |
| (She seem’d an ancient maid, well skill’d to cull | |
| The snowy fleece, and wind the twisted wool). | |
| The Goddess softly shook her silken vest | |
| That shed perfumes, and whisp’ring thus address’d: | 480 |
| ‘Haste, happy nymph! for thee thy Paris calls | |
| Safe from the fight, in yonder lofty walls, | |
| Fair as a God! with odours round him spread | |
| He lies, and waits thee on the well-known bed, | |
| Not like a warrior parted from the foe, | 485 |
| But some gay dancer in the public show.’ | |
| She spoke, and Helen’s secret soul was mov’d; | |
| She scorn’d the champion, but the man she lov’d. | |
| Fair Venus’ neck, her eyes that sparkled fire, | |
| And breast, reveal’d the Queen of soft desire. | 490 |
| Struck with her presence, straight the lively red | |
| Forsook her cheek; and trembling thus she said: | |
| ‘Then is it still thy pleasure to deceive? | |
| And woman’s frailty always to believe? | |
| Say, to new nations must I cross the main, | 495 |
| Or carry wars to some soft Asian plain? | |
| For whom must Helen break her second vow? | |
| What other Paris is thy darling now? | |
| Left to Atrides (victor in the strife) | |
| An odious conquest and a captive wife, | 500 |
| Hence let me sail: and, if thy Paris bear | |
| My absence ill, let Venus ease his care. | |
| A handmaid Goddess at his side to wait, | |
| Renounce the glories of thy heav’nly state, | |
| Be fix’d for ever to the Trojan shore, | 505 |
| His spouse, or slave; and mount the skies no more. | |
| For me, to lawless love no longer led, | |
| I scorn the coward, and detest his bed; | |
| Else should I merit everlasting shame, | |
| And keen reproach from every Phrygian dame: | 510 |
| Ill suits it now the joys of love to know, | |
| Too deep my anguish, and too wild my woe.’ | |
| Then thus, incens’d, the Paphian Queen replies: | |
| ‘Obey the power from whom thy glories rise: | |
| Should Venus leave thee, ev’ry charm must fly, | 515 |
| Fade from thy cheek, and languish in thy eye. | |
| Cease to provoke me, lest I make thee more | |
| The world’s aversion, than their love before; | |
| Now the bright prize for which mankind engage, | |
| Then, the sad victim of the public rage.’ | 520 |
| At this, the fairest of her sex obey’d, | |
| And veil’d her blushes in a silken shade; | |
| Unseen, and silent, from the train she moves, | |
| Led by the Goddess of the smiles and loves. | |
| Arrived, and enter’d at the palace gate, | 525 |
| The maids officious round their mistress wait: | |
| Then all, dispersing, various tasks attend; | |
| The Queen and Goddess to the Prince ascend. | |
| Full in her Paris’ sight the Queen of Love | |
| Had placed the beauteous progeny of Jove; | 530 |
| Where, as he view’d her charms, she turn’d away | |
| Her glowing eyes, and thus began to say: | |
| ‘Is this the Chief, who, lost to sense of shame, | |
| Late fled the field, and yet survives his fame? | |
| Oh hadst thou died beneath the righteous sword | 535 |
| Of that brave man whom once I call’d my lord! | |
| The boaster Paris oft desired the day | |
| With Sparta’s King to meet in single fray: | |
| Go now, once more thy rival’s rage excite, | |
| Provoke Atrides, and renew the fight: | 540 |
| Yet Helen bids thee stay, lest thou unskill’d | |
| Shouldst fall an easy conquest on the field.’ | |
| The Prince replies: ‘Ah cease, divinely fair, | |
| Nor add reproaches to the wounds I bear; | |
| This day the foe prevail’d by Pallas’ power; | 545 |
| We yet may vanquish in a happier hour: | |
| There want not Gods to favour us above; | |
| But let the bus’ness of our life be love: | |
| These softer moments let delights employ, | |
| And kind embraces snatch the hasty joy. | 550 |
| Not thus I lov’d thee, when from Sparta’s shore | |
| My forced, my willing, heav’nly prize I bore, | |
| When first entranc’d in Cranæ’s isle I lay, | |
| Mix’d with thy soul, and all dissolv’d away!’ | |
| Thus having spoke, th’ enamour’d Phrygian boy | 555 |
| Rush’d to the bed, impatient for the joy. | |
| Him Helen follow’d slow with bashful charms, | |
| And clasp’d the blooming hero in her arms. | |
| While these to love’s delicious rapture yield, | |
| The stern Atrides rages round the field: | 560 |
| So some fell lion whom the woods obey, | |
| Roars thro’ the desert, and demands his prey. | |
| Paris he seeks, impatient to destroy, | |
| But seeks in vain along the troops of Troy; | |
| Ev’n those had yielded to a foe so brave | 565 |
| The recreant warrior, hateful as the grave. | |
| Then speaking thus, the King of Kings arose: | |
| ‘Ye Trojans, Dardans, all our gen’rous foes! | |
| Hear and attest! from Heav’n with conquest crown’d, | |
| Our brother’s arms the just success have found. | 570 |
| Be therefore now the Spartan wealth restor’d, | |
| Let Argive Helen own her lawful lord; | |
| Th’ appointed fine let Ilion justly pay, | |
| And age to age record this signal day.’ | |
| He ceas’d; his army’s loud applauses rise, | 575 |
| And the long shout runs echoing thro’ the skies. | |
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