Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/297

Those, my sole oracles, inspire my rage:
I made him tyrant; gave him power to wrong
E'en me: I felt it; and shall feel it long.
The maid, my black-eyed maid, he forced away,
Due to the toils cf many a well-fought day;
Due to my conquest of her father's reign;
Due to the votes of all the Grecian train.
From me he forced her, me the bold and brave;
Disgraced, dishonoured, like the meanest slave.
But bear we this———The wrongs I grieve are past;
'Tis time our fury should relent at last:
I fixed its date; the day I wished appears;
Now Hector to my ships his battle bears,
The flames my eyes, the shouts invade my ears.
Go, then, Patroclus! court fair honour's charms
In Troy's famed fields, and in Achilles' arms:
Lead forth my martial Myrmidons to fight,
Go, save the fleets, and conquer in my right.
See the thin relics of their baffled band,
At the last edge of yon deserted land!
Behold all Ilion on their ships descends;
How the cloud blackens, how the storm impends!
It was not thus, when, at my sight amazed,
Troy saw and trembled as this helmet blazed:
Had not the injurious king our friendship lost,
Yon ample trench had buried half her host.
No camps, no bulwarks, now the Trojans fear,
Those are not dreadful, no Achilles there:
No longer flames the lance of Tydeus' son;
No more your general calls his heroes on;
Hector alone I hear; his dreadful breath
Commands your slaughter, or proclaims your death.
Yet now, Patroclus, issue to the plain;
Now save the ships, the rising fires restrain,
And give the Greeks to visit Greece again.
But heed my words, and mark a friend's command,
Who trusts his fame and honours in thy hand.
And from thy deeds expects the Achaian host
Shall render back the beauteous maid he lost:
Rage uncontrolled through all the hostile crew,
But touch not Hector; Hector is my due.
Though Jove in thunder should command the war,
Be just, consult my glory, and forbear.
The fleet once saved, desist from farther chase,
Nor lead to Dion's walls the Grecian race;
Some adverse god thy rashness may destroy;
Some god, like Phœbus, ever kind to Troy.
Let Greece, redeemed from this destructive strait,
Do her own work, and leave the rest to fate.