With any supper; nor would sit, they grew so stiff with fear
To see (so long from heavy fight) Aeacides appear.
Polydamas began to speak, who only could discern
Things future by things past, and was vow’d friend to Hector, born
In one night both. He thus advis’d: ‘Consider well, my friends,
In this so great and sudden change that now itself extends,
What change is best for us t’ oppose. To this stands my command:
Make now the town our strength; not here abide light’s rosy hand,
Our wall being far off, and our foe (much greater) still as near.
Till this foe came, I well was pleas’d to keep our watches here;
My fit hope of the fleet’s surprise inclin’d me so, but now
’Tis stronger guarded; and (their strength increas’d) we must allow
Our own proportionate amends. I doubt exceedingly
That this indifference of fight ’twixt us and th’ enemy,
And these bounds we prefix to them, will nothing so confine
Th’ uncurb’d mind of Aeacides. The height of his design
Aims at our city, and our wives, and all bars in his way
(Being back’d with less than walls) his pow’r will scorn to make his stay,
And over-run, as over-seen, and not his object. Then
Let Troy be freely our retreat, lest being enforc’d, our men
’Twixt this and that be taken up by vultures, who by night
May safe come off, it being a time untimely for his might
To spend at random. That being sure, if next light show us here
To his assaults, each man will wish that Troy his refuge were,
And then feel what he hears not now. I would to heaven mine ear
Were free even now of those complaints that you must after hear,
If ye remove not. If ye yield (though wearied with a fight)
So late and long, we shall have strength in counsel and the night.
And (where we here have no more force than need will force us to,
And which must rise out of our nerves) high ports, tow’rs, walls will do
What wants in us. And in the morn, all arm’d upon our tow’rs,
We all will stand out to our foe. Twill trouble all his pow’rs
To come from fleet and give us charge, when his high-crested horse
His rage shall satiate with the toil of this and that way’s course,
Vain entry seeking underneath our well-defended walls,
And he be glad to turn to fleet, about his funerals.
For of his entry here at home, what mind will serve his thirst,
Or ever feed him with sack’d Troy? The dogs shall eat him first.’
At this speech Hector bent his brows, and said, ‘This makes not great
Your grace with me, Polydamas, that argue for retreat
To Troy’s old prison; have we not enough of those tow’rs yet?
And is not Troy yet charg’d enough with impositions set
Upon her citizens to keep our men from spoil without,
But still we must impose within? That houses with our rout,
As well as purses, may be plagued? Before time, Priam’s town
Traffick’d with divers-languag’d men, and all gave the renown
Of rich Troy to it, brass and gold abounding: but her store
Is now from every house exhaust, possessions evermore
Are sold out into Phrygia, and lovely Maeonie,
And have been ever since Jove’s wrath. And now his clemency
Gives me the mean to quit our want with glory, and conclude
The Greeks in sea-bords and our seas, or slack it, and extrude
His offer’d bounty by our flight. Fool that thou art, bewray
This counsel to no common ear, for no man shall obey.
If any will, I’ll check his will. But what our self command,
Let all observe: take suppers all, keep watch of every hand.
If any Trojan have some spoil that takes his too much care,
Make him dispose it publicly; ’tis better any fare
The better for him than the Greeks. When light then decks the skies,
Let all arm for a fierce assault. If great Achilles rise,
And will enforce our greater toil, it may rise so to him;
On my back he shall find no wings, my spirit shall force my limb
To stand his worst, and give or take; Mars is our common lord,
And the desirous swordman’s life he ever puts to sword.’
This counsel gat applause of all, so much were all unwise.
Minerva robb’d them of their brains, to like the ill advice
The great man gave, and leave the good, since by the meaner given.
All took their suppers, but the Greeks spent all the heavy even
About Patroclus’ mournful rites, Pelides leading all
In all the forms of heaviness: he by his side did fall,
And his man-slaughtering hands impos’d into his oft-kiss’d breast;
Sighs blew up sighs, and lion-like, grac’d with a goodly crest,
That in his absence being robb’d by hunters of his whelps,
Returns to his so desolate den, and for his wanted helps
Beholding his unlook’d-for wants, flies roaring back again,
Hunts the sly hunter, many a vale resounding his disdain:
So mourn’d Pelides his late loss; so weighty were his moans
Which (for their dumb sounds) now gave words to all his Myrmidons:
‘O gods,’ said he, ‘how vain a vow I made to cheer the mind
Of sad Menoetius, when his son his hand to mine resign’d,
That high tower’d Opus he should see, and leave rac’t Ilion
With spoil and honour, ev’n with me! But Jove vouchsafes to none
Wish’d passages to all his vows; we both were destinate
To bloody one earth here in Troy, nor any more estate
In my return hath Peleus or Thetis; but because
I last must undergo the ground, I’ll keep no funeral laws
(O my Patroclus) for thy corse, before I hither bring
The arms of Hector and his head to thee for offering.
Twelve youths, the most renown’d of Troy, I’ll sacrifice beside,
Before thy heap of funeral, to thee unpacified.
In mean time, by our crooked sterns lie, drawing tears from me,
And round about thy honour’d corse these dames of Dardanie
And Ilion with the ample breasts (whom our long spears and pow’rs
And labours purchas’d from the rich, and by-us-ruin’d tow’rs,
And cities strong and populous with divers-languag’d men)
Shall kneel, and neither day nor night be licens’d to abstain
From solemn watches, their toil’d eyes held ope with endless tears.’
This passion past, he gave command to his near soldiers
To put a tripod to the fire, to cleanse the fester’d gore
From off the person. They obey’d, and presently did pour
Fresh water in it, kindled wood, and with an instant flame
The belly of the tripod girt, till fire’s hot quality came
Up to the water. Then they wash’d and fill’d the mortal wound
With wealthy oil of nine years old; then wrapp’d the body round
In largeness of a fine white sheet, and put it then in bed,
When all watch’d all night with their lord, and spent sighs on the dead.
Then Jove ask’d Juno, if at length she had suffic’d her spleen,
Achilles being won to arms? Or if she had not been
The natural mother of the Greeks, she did so still prefer
Their quarrel? She incens’d, ask’d why he still was taunting her
For doing good to those she lov’d, since man to man might show
Kind offices, though thrall to death, and though they did not know
Half such deep counsels as disclos’d beneath her far-seeing state –
She reigning queen of goddesses, and being ingenerate
Of one stock with himself, besides the state of being his wife.
And must her wrath, and ill to Troy, continue such a strife
From time to time, ’twixt him and her? This private speech they had,
And now the silver-footed queen had her ascension made
To that incorruptible house, that starry golden court
Of fiery Vulcan, beautiful amongst th’ immortal sort;
Which yet the lame god built himself: she found him in a sweat
About his bellows, and in haste had twenty tripods beat
To set for stools about the sides of his well-builded hall.
To whose feet little wheels of gold he put, to go withal,
And enter his rich dining room; alone, their motion free
And back again go out alone, miraculous to see.
And thus much he had done of them, yet handles were to add,
For which he now was making studs. And while their fashion had
Employment of his skilful hand, bright Thetis was come near,
Whom first fair well-hair’d Charis saw, that was the nuptial fere
Of famous Vulcan, who the hand of Thetis took, and said:
‘Why, fair-train’d, lov’d, and honour’d dame, are we thus visited
By your kind presence? You, I think, were never here before;
Come near, that I may banquet you, and make you visit more.’
She led her in, and in a chair of silver (being the fruit
Of Vulcan’s hand) she made her sit: a footstool, of a suit,
Apposing to her crystal feet, and call’d the god of fire.
For Thetis was arriv’d (she said) and entertain’d desire
Of some grace, that his art might grant. ‘Thetis to me,’ said he,
‘Is mighty, and most reverend, as one that nourish’d me
When grief consum’d me, being cast from heav’n by want of shame
In my proud mother, who, because she brought me forth so lame,
Would have me made away, and then I had been much distress’d
Had Thetis and Eurynome in either’s silver breast
Not rescu’d me – Eurynome, that to her father had
Reciprocal Oceanus; nine years with them I made
A number of well-arted things, round bracelets, buttons brave,
Whistles and carquenets: my forge stood in a hollow cave,
About which (murmuring with foam) th’ unmeasur’d ocean
Was ever beating, my abode known not to god nor man
But Thetis and Eurynome, and they would see me still.
They were my loving guardians; now then the starry hill,
And our particular roof thus grac’d with bright-hair’d Thetis here,
It fits me always to repay, a recompense as dear
To her thoughts as my life to me. Haste, Charis, and appose
Some dainty guest-rites to our friend, while I my bellows loose
From fire, and lay up all my tools.’ Then from an anvil rose
Th’ unwieldy monster, halted down, and all awry he went.
He took his bellows from the fire, and every instrument
Lock’d safe up in a silver chest. Then with a sponge he drest
His face all over, neck and hands, and all his hairy breast:
Put on his coat, his sceptre took, and then went halting forth,
Handmaids of gold attending him, resembling in all worth
Living young damsels, fill’d with minds and wisdom, and were train’d
In all immortal ministry, virtue and voice contain’d,
And mov’d with voluntary pow’rs: and these still waited on
Their fiery sov’reign; who (not apt to walk) sate near the throne
Of fair-hair’d Thetis, took her hand, and thus he courted her:
‘For what affair, O fair-train’d queen, rev’rend to me and dear,
Is our court honour’d with thy state, that hast not heretofore
Perform’d this kindness? Speak thy thoughts, thy suit can be no more
Than my mind gives me charge to grant, can my pow’r get it wrought,
Or that it have not only pow’r of only act in thought.’
She thus: ‘O Vulcan, is there one of all that are of heav’n,
That in her never-quiet mind Saturnius hath giv’n
So much affliction as to me, whom only he subjects
(Of all the sea-nymphs) to a man, and makes me bear th’ affects
Of his frail bed – and all against the freedom of my will?
And he worn to his root with age; from him another ill
Ariseth to me: Jupiter, you know, hath giv’n a son
(The excellent’st of men) to me; whose education
On my part well hath answered his own worth, having grown,
As in a fruitful soil a tree that puts not up alone
His body to a naked height, but jointly gives his growth
A thousand branches; yet to him so short a life I brought,
That never I shall see him more return’d to Peleus’ court.
And all that short life he hath spent in most unhappy sort.
For first he won a worthy dame, and had her by the hands
Of all the Grecians; yet this dame Atrides countermands,
For which in much disdain he mourn’d, and almost pin’d away;
And yet for this wrong he receiv’d some honour, I must say –
The Greeks being shut up at their ships, not suffer’d to advance
A head out of their batter’d sterns; and mighty suppliance
By all their grave men hath been made, gifts, honours, all propos’d
For his reflection; yet he still kept close, and saw enclos’d
Their whole host in this general plague. But now his friend put on
His arms, being sent by him to field, and many a Myrmidon
In conduct of him: all the day they fought before the gates
Of Scaea, and most certainly that day had seen the dates
Of all Troy’s honours in her dust, if Phoebus (having done
Much mischief more) the envied life of good Menoetius’ son
Had not with partial hands enforc’d, and all the honour given
To Hector, who hath priz’d his arms; and therefore I am driven
T’embrace thy knees for new defence to my lov’d son: alas,
His life prefix’d so short a date had need spend that with grace!
A shield then for him, and a helm, fair greaves, and curets such
As may renown thy workmanship, and honour him as much,
I sue for at thy famous hands.’ ‘Be confident,’ said he,
‘Let these wants breed thy thoughts no care; I would it lay in me
To hide him from his heavy death, when fate shall seek for him,