The Iliads of Homer Translated according to the Greek · Homer
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Again then he intends To force the life-blood of his foe, and ran on him amain, With shaken jav’lin; when the Queen, that lovers loves, again[1] Attended, and now ravish’d him from that encounter quite, With ease, and wondrous suddenly; for she, a Goddess, might. She hid him in a cloud of gold, and never made him known, Till in his chamber, fresh and sweet, she gently set him down, And went for Helen; whom she found in Scæa’s utmost height, To which whole swarms of city dames had climb’d to see the sight. To give her errand good success, she took on her the shape Of beldame Græa, who was brought by Helen, in her rape, From Lacedæmon, and had trust in all her secrets still, Being old, and had (of all her maids) the main bent of her will, And spun for her her finest wool.
Like her, Love’s Empress came, Pull’d Helen by the heav’nly veil, and softly said: “Madame, My lord calls for you, you must needs make all your kind haste home; He’s in your chamber, stays, and longs; sits by your bed; pray come, ’Tis richly made, and sweet; but he more sweet, and looks so clear, So fresh, and movingly attir’d, that, seeing, you would swear He came not from the dusky fight, but from a courtly dance, Or would to dancing.” This she made a charm for dalliance; Whose virtue Helen felt, and knew, by her so radiant eyes, White neck, and most enticing breasts, the deified disguise. At which amaz’d, she answer’d her: “Unhappy Deity! Why lov’st thou still in these deceits to wrap my phantasy? Or whither yet, of all the towns giv’n to their lust beside, In Phrygia, or Mæonia, com’st thou to be my guide, If there (of divers-languag’d men thou hast, as here in Troy, Some other friend to be my shame; since here thy latest joy By Menelaus now subdu’d, by him shall I be borne Home to his court, and end my life in triumphs of his scorn? And, to this end, would thy deceits my wanton life allure?
Hence, go thyself to Priam’s son and all the ways abjure Of Gods, or godlike-minded dames, nor ever turn again Thy earth-affecting feet to heav’n but for his sake sustain Toils here; guard, grace him endlessly, till he requite thy grace By giving thee my place with him; or take his servant’s place, If, all dishonourable ways, your favours seek to serve His never-pleas’d incontinence; I better will deserve, Than serve his dotage now. What shame were it for me to feed This lust in him; all honour’d dames would hate me for the deed! He leaves a woman’s love so sham’d, and shows so base a mind, To feel nor my shame nor his own; griefs of a greater kind Wound me than such as can admit such kind delights so soon.” The Goddess, angry that, past shame, her mere will was not done, Replied: “Incense me not, you wretch, lest, once incens’d, I leave Thy curs’d life to as strange a hate, as yet it may receive A love from me; and lest I spread through both hosts such despite, For those plagues they have felt for thee, that both abjure thee quite, And setting thee in midst of both, turn all their wraths on thee, And dart thee dead; that such a death may wreak thy wrong of me.” This strook the fair dame with such fear, it took her speech away, And, shadow’d in her snowy veil, she durst not but obey; And yet, to shun the shame she fear’d, she vanish’d undescried Of all the Trojan ladies there, for Venus was her guide. Arriv’d at home, her women both fell to their work in haste; When she, that was of all her sex the most divinely grac’d, Ascended to a higher room, though much against her will, Where lovely Alexander was, being led by Venus still.
The laughter-loving Dame discen’d her mov’d mind by her grace, And, for her mirth sake, set a stool, full before Paris’ face, Where she would needs have Helen sit; who, though she durst not choose But sit, yet look’d away for all the Goddess’ pow’r could use, And used her tongue too, and to chide whom Venus sooth’d so much, And chid, too, in this bitter kind: “And was thy cowardice such, So conquer’d, to be seen alive? O would to God, thy life Had perish’d by his worthy hand, to whom I first was wife! Before this, thou wouldst glorify thy valour and thy lance, And, past my first love’s, boast them far. Go once more, and advance Thy braves against his single pow’r; this foil might fall by chance. Poor conquer’d man! ’Twas such a chance, as I would not advise Thy valour should provoke again. Shun him, thou most unwise, Lest next, thy spirit sent to hell, thy body be his prise.” He answer’d: “Pray thee, woman, cease, to chide and grieve me thus. Disgraces will not ever last. Look on their end. On us Will other Gods, at other times, let fall the victor’s wreath, As on him Pallas put it now. Shall our love sink beneath The hate of fortune?
In love’s fire, let all hates vanish. Come, Love never so inflam’d my heart; no, not when, bringing home Thy beauty’s so delicious prise, on Cranaë’s blest shore I long’d for, and enjoy’d thee first.” With this he went before, She after, to the odorous bed. While these to pleasure yield, Perplex’d Atrides, savage-like, ran up and down the field, And ev’ry thickest troop of Troy, and of their far-call’d aid, Search’d for his foe, who could not be by any eye betray’d; Nor out of friendship (out of doubt) did they conceal his sight, All hated him so like their deaths, and ow’d him such despite. At last thus spake the king of men: “Hear me, ye men of Troy, Ye Dardans, and the rest, whose pow’rs you in their aids employ. The conquest on my brother’s part, ye all discern is clear, Do you then Argive Helena, with all her treasure here, Restore to us, and pay the mulct, that by your vows is due, Yield us an honour’d recompense, and, all that should accrue To our posterities, confirm; that when you render it, Our acts may here be memoris’d.” This all Greeks else thought fit. [1] _When the Queen, etc._—This place Virgil imitateth. The Gods in council, at the last, decree That famous Ilion shall expugned be; And that their own continu’d faults may prove The reasons that have so incensed Jove, Minerva seeks, with more offences done Against the lately injur’d Atreus’ son, (A ground that clearest would make seen their sin) To have the Lycian Pandarus begin. He (’gainst the truce with sacred cov’nants bound) Gives Menelaus a dishonour’d wound, Machaon heals him. Agamemnon then To mortal war incenseth all his men. The battles join; and, in the heat of fight, Cold death shuts many eyes in endless night.
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