As their first mover, and gives power to any work I will.’
He said; and his black eyebrows bent; above his deathless head
Th’ ambrosian curls flow’d; great heaven shook, and both were severed,
Their counsels broken. To the depth of Neptune’s kingdom, div’d
Thetis from heaven’s height: Jove arose, and all the gods receiv’d
(All rising from their thrones) their sire, attending to his court:
None sate when he arose; none delay’d the furnishing his port
Till he came near: all met with him, and brought him to his throne.
Nor sate great Juno ignorant, when she beheld alone
Old Nereus’ silver-footed seed with Jove, that she had brought
Counsels to heaven; and straight her tongue had teeth in it, that wrought
This sharp invective: ‘Who was that (thou craftiest counsellor
Of all the gods), that so apart some secret did implore?
Ever apart from me, thou lov’st to counsel and decree
Things of more close trust, than thou think’st are fit t’impart to me:
Whatever thou determin’st, I must ever be denied
The knowledge of it by thy will.’ To her speech thus replied
The father both of men and gods: ‘Have never hope to know
My whole intentions, though my wife: it fits not, nor would show
Well to thine own thoughts: but what fits thy woman’s ear to hear,
Woman, nor man, nor god shall know before it grace thine ear:
Yet what apart from men and gods I please to know, forbear
T’examine, or inquire of that.’ She with the cow’s fair eyes,
Respected Juno, this return’d: ‘Austere king of the skies,
What hast thou utter’d! When did I before this time inquire,
Or sift thy counsels? Passing close you are still; your desire
Is serv’d with such care, that I fear you can scarce vouch the deed
That makes it public; being seduc’d by this old sea-god’s seed,
That could so early use her knees, embracing thine. I doubt
The late act of thy bowed head, was for the working out
Of some boon she ask’d; that her son, thy partial hand would please
With plaguing others.’ ‘Wretch!’ said he, ‘thy subtle jealousies
Are still exploring: my designs can never ’scape thine eye,
Which yet thou never canst prevent. Thy curiosity
Makes thee less car’d for at my hands, and horrible the end
Shall make thy humour. If it be what thy suspects intend,
What then? ’Tis my free will it should: to which let way be given
With silence; curb your tongue in time, lest all the gods in heaven
Too few be and too weak to help thy punish’d insolence,
When my inaccessible hands shall fall on thee.’ The sense
Of this high threat’ning made her fear, and silent she sate down,
Humbling her great heart. All the gods in court of Jove did frown
At this offence giv’n: amongst whom heav’n’s famous artizan,
Ephaistus, in his mother’s care this comely speech began
‘Believe it, these words will breed wounds beyond our powers to bear,
If thus for mortals ye fall out. Ye make a tumult here
That spoils our banquet. Evermore worst matters put down best.
But, mother, though yourself be wise, yet let your son request
His wisdom’s audience. Give good terms to our lov’d father Jove,
For fear he take offence again, and our kind banquet prove
A wrathful battle. If he will, the heavenly light’ner can
Take you and toss you from your throne; his power Olympian
Is so surpassing. Soften then with gentle speech his spleen,
And drink to him; I know his heart will quickly down again.’
This said, arising from his throne, in his lov’d mother’s hand
He put the double-handled cup, and said: ‘Come, do not stand
On these cross humours; suffer, bear, though your great bosom grieve,
And lest blows force you, all my aid not able to relieve
Your hard condition, though these eyes behold it, and this heart
Sorrow to think it; ’tis a task too dangerous to take part
Against Olympius. I myself the proof of this still feel:
When other gods would fain have help’d, he took me by the heel,
And hurl’d me out of heaven: all day I was in falling down;
And I, together set: my life almost set too: yet there
The Sintii cheer’d and took me up.’ This did to laughter cheer
White-wristed Juno, who now took the cup of him, and smil’d.
The sweet peace-making draught went round, and lame Ephaistus fil’d
Nectar to all the other gods. A laughter never left,
Shook all the blessed deities, to see the lame so deft
At that cup service. All that day even till the sun went down,
They banqueted; and had such cheer as did their wishes crown.
Nor had they music less divine: Apollo there did touch
His most sweet harp; to which with voice, the Muses pleas’d as much.
But when the sun’s fair light was set – each godhead to his house
Address’d for sleep, where every one with art most curious,
By heaven’s great both-foot-halting god a several roof had built –
Even he to sleep went by whose hand heaven is with lightning gilt,
High Jove, where he had us’d to rest, when sweet sleep seiz’d his eyes;
By him the golden-thron’d queen slept, the queen of deities.
The end of the first book
Book 2
The Argument
Jove calls a vision up from Somnus’ den,
To bid Atrides muster up his men.
The King – to Greeks dissembling his desire –
Persuades them to their country to retire.
By Pallas’ will, Ulysses stays their flight,
And wise old Nestor heartens them to fight.
They take their meat: which done, to arms they go
And march in good array against the foe.
So those of Troy: when Iris from the sky,
Of Saturn’s son performs the embassy.
Another Argument
Beta the dream and synod cites;
And catalogues the naval knights.
Book 2
The other gods, and knights at arms, all night slept; only Jove
Sweet slumber seiz’d not: he discours’d how best he might approve
His vow made for Achilles’ grace; and make the Grecians find
His miss in much death. All ways cast, this counsel serv’d his mind
With most allowance: to dispatch a harmful dream to greet
The king of men; and gave this charge: ‘Go to the Achive fleet,
Pernicious dream, and being arriv’d in Agamemnon’s tent,
Deliver truly all this charge: command him to convent
His whole host arm’d before these towers; for now Troy’s broad-way’d town
He shall take in: the heaven-hous’d gods are now indifferent grown;
Juno’s request hath won them: Troy now under imminent ills
At all parts labours.’ This charge heard the vision straight fulfils;
The ships reach’d, and Atrides’ tent in which h
e found him laid;
Divine sleep pour’d about his powers. He stood above his head
Like Nestor (grac’d of old men most), and this did intimate:
‘Sleeps the wise Atreus’ tame-horse son? A counsellor of state
Must not the whole night spend in sleep: to whom the people are
For guard committed, and whose life stands bound to so much care.
Now hear me then (Jove’s messenger), who though far off from thee,
Is near thee yet in love and care; and gives command by me,
To arm thy whole host. Thy strong hand the broad-way’d town of Troy
Shall now take in: no more the gods dissentiously employ
Their high-hous’d powers: Juno’s suit hath won them all to her;
And ill fates overhang these towers, address’d by Jupiter.
Fix in thy mind this; nor forget to give it action, when
Sweet sleep shall leave thee.’ Thus, he fled; and left the king of men
Repeating in discourse his dream; and dreaming still, awake,
Of power, not ready yet for act. O fool! He thought to take
Jove had in purpose; who prepar’d, by strong light, sighs and cares
For Greeks and Trojans. The dream gone, his voice still murmured
About the king’s ears: who sate up, put on him in his bed
His silken inner weed, fair, new, and then in haste arose;
Cast on his ample mantle, tied to his soft feet fair shoes;
His silver-hilted sword he hung about his shoulders, took
His father’s sceptre never stain’d; which then abroad he shook,
And went to fleet. And now great heaven goddess Aurora scal’d,
To Jove and all gods bringing light, when Agamemnon call’d
His heralds, charging them aloud to call to instant court
The thick-hair’d Greeks. The heralds call’d, the Greeks made quick resort.
The council chiefly he compos’d of old great minded men,
At Nestor’s ships, the Pylian king: all there assembled, then
Thus Atreus’ son began the court: ‘Hear, friends: a dream divine
Amidst the calm night in my sleep did through my shut eyes shine,
Within my fantasy: his form did passing naturally
Resemble Nestor: such attire, a stature just as high,
He stood above my head, and words thus fashion’d did relate:
“Sleeps the wise Atreus’-tame-horse son? A counsellor of state
Must not the whole night spend in sleep: to whom the people are
For guard committed, and whose life stands bound to so much care.
Now hear me then (Jove’s messenger), who though far off from thee,
Is near thee yet in love and care; and gives command by me,
To arm thy whole host. Thy strong hand the broad-way’d town of Troy
Shall now take in: no more the gods dissentiously employ
Their high-hous’d powers: Saturnia’s suit hath won them all to her;
And ill fates over-hang these towers, address’d by Jupiter.
Fix in thy mind this.” This express’d, he took wing, and away;
And sweet sleep left me: let us then by all our means assay
To arm our army; I will first (as far as fits our right)
Try their addictions, and command with full sail’d ships our flight:
Which if they yield to, oppose you.’ He sate, and up arose
Nestor, of sandy Pylos king: who, willing to dispose
Their counsel to the public good, propos’d this to the state:
‘Princes and councillors of Greece, if any should relate
This vision but the king himself, it might be held a tale,
And move the rather our retreat: but since our general
Affirms he saw it, hold it true; and all our best means make
To arm our army.’ This speech us’d, he first the council brake:
The other sceptre-hearing states arose too, and obey’d
The people’s rector. Being abroad, the earth was overlaid
With flockers to them that came forth: as when of frequent bees
Swarms rise out of a hollow rock, repairing the degrees
Of their egression endlessly, with ever rising new
From forth their sweet nest; as their store, still as it faded, grew,
And never would cease sending forth her clusters to the spring,
They still crowd out so, this flock here, that there, belabouring
The loaded flowers: so from the ships and tents the army’s store
Troop’d to these princes, and the court, along th’ unmeasur’d shore:
Amongst whom Jove’s ambassadress, Fame in her virtue shin’d,
Exciting greediness to hear. The rabble thus inclin’d,
Hurried together; uproar seiz’d the high court; earth did groan
Beneath the settling multitude: tumult was there alone.
Thrice three vociferous heralds rose to check the rout, and get
Ear to their Jove-kept governors, and instantly was set
The huge confusion: every man set fast, the clamour ceas’d.
Then stood divine Atrides up, and in his hand compress’d
His sceptre, th’ elaborate work of fiery Mulciber:
Who gave it to Saturnian Jove; Jove to his messenger;
His messenger, Argicides, to Pelops, skill’d in horse;
Pelops to Atreus, chief of men; he dying, gave it course
To Prince Thyestes, rich in herds; Thyestes to the hand
Of Agamemnon render’d it, and with it the command
Of many isles, and Argos all. On this he leaning, said
‘O friends, great sons of Danaus, servants of Mars, Jove laid
A heavy curse on me, to vow, and bind it with the bent
Of his high forehead, that (this Troy of all her people spent)
I should return, yet now to mock our hopes built on his vow,
And charge ingloriously my flight: when such an overthrow
Of brave friends I have authored. But to his mightiest will
We must submit us, that hath raz’d and will be razing still
Men’s footsteps from so many towns: because his power is most,
He will destroy most. But how vile, such and so great an host
Will show to future times, that match’d with lesser numbers far,
We fly, not putting on the crown of our so long-held war:
Of which there yet appears no end. Yet should our foes and we
Strike truce, and number both our powers, Troy taking all that be
Her arm’d inhabitants, and we in tens should all sit down
At our truce banquet, every ten allow’d one of the town
To fill his feast-cup, many tens would their attendant want:
So much I must affirm our power exceeds th’ inhabitant.
But their auxiliary bands, those brandishers of spears,
(From many cities drawn) are they that are our hinderers,
Not suff’ring well-rais’d Troy to fall. Nine years are ended now
Since Jove our conquest vow’d, and now our vessels rotten grow.
Our tackling fails; our wives, young sons, sit in their doors and long
For our arrival: yet the work that should have wreak’d our wrong,
And made us welcome, lies unwrought. Come then, as I bid all
Obey, and fly to our lov’d home: for now, nor ever, shall
Our utmost take in broad
-way’d Troy.’ This said, the multitude
Was all for home; and all men else, that what this would conclude
Had not discover’d. All the crowd was shov’d about the shore,
In sway, like rude and raging waves rous’d with the fervent blore
Of th’ east and south winds, when they break from Jove’s clouds, and are borne
On rough backs of th’ Icarian seas: or like a field of corn
High grown, that Zephyr’s vehement gusts bring easily underneath,
And make the stiff up-bristled ears do homage to his breath:
For even so easily, with the breath Atrides us’d, was sway’d
The violent multitude. To fleet with shouts, and disarray’d,
All rush’d; and with a fog of dust their rude feet dimm’d the day;
Each cried to other, ‘Cleanse our ships; come, launch, aboard, away.’
The clamour of the runners home reach’d heaven; and then past fate,
The Greeks had left Troy, had not then the goddess of estate
Thus spoke to Pallas: ‘O foul shame! Thou untam’d seed of Jove,
Shall thus the sea’s broad back be charg’d with these our friends’ remove,
Thus leaving Argive Helen here? Thus Priam grac’d? Thus Troy?
In whose fields, far from their lov’d own, for Helen’s sake, the joy
And life of so much Grecian birth is vanish’d! Take thy way
T’ our brass-arm’d people, speak them fair, let not a man obey
The charge now given, nor launch one ship.’ She said, and Pallas did
As she commanded: from the tops of heaven’s steep hill she slid,
And straight the Greeks’ swift ships she reach’d: Ulysses (like to Jove
In gifts of counsel) she found out; who to that base remove
Stirr’d not a foot, nor touch’d a ship, but griev’d at heart to see
That fault in others. To him close, the blue-eyed deity
Made way, and said: ‘Thou wisest Greek, divine Laertes’ son,
Thus fly ye homewards to your ships? Shall all thus headlong run?
Glory to Priam thus ye leave, glory to all his friends,
If thus ye leave her here, for whom so many violent ends
Have clos’d your Greek eyes, and so far from their so loved home.
Go to these people, use no stay; with fair terms overcome
Their foul endeavour: not a man, a flying sail let hoice.’