Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/443

Unhappy prince! thus guardless and alone
To pass through foes, and thus undaunted face
The man whose fury has destroyed thy race!
Heaven sure has armed thee with a heart of steel,
A strength proportioned to the woes you feel.
Rise, then: let reason mitigate our care:
To mourn, avails not: man is born to bear.
Such is, alas I the gods' severe decree;
They, only they, are blest, and only free.
Two urns by Jove's high throne have ever stood,
The source of evil one, and one of good;
From thence the cup of mortal man he fills,
Blessings to these, to those distributes ills;
To most he mingles both: the wretch decreed
To taste the bad, unmixed, is cursed indeed:
Pursued by wrongs, by meagre famine driven,
He wanders, outcast both of earth and heaven.
The happiest taste not happiness sincere,
But find the cordial draught is dashed with care.
Who more than Peleus shone in wealth and power?
What stars concurring blessed his natal hour!
A realm, a goddess, to his wishes given,
Graced by the gods with all the gifts of heaven!
One evil, yet, o'ertakes his latest day;
No race succeeding to imperial sway:
An only son! and he, alas I ordained
To fall untimely in a foreign land!
See him, in Troy, the pious care decline
Of his weak age, to live the curse of thine!
Thou too, old man, hast happier days beheld;
In riches once, in children once excelled;
Extended Phrygia owned thy ample reign,
And all fair Lesbos' blissful seats contain,
And all wide Hellespont's unmeasured main.
But since the god his hand has pleased to turn,
And fill thy measure from his bitter urn,
What sees the sun, but hapless heroes' falls?
War, and the blood of men, surround thy walls!
What must be, must be. Bear thy lot, nor shed
These unavailing sorrows o'er the dead;
Thou canst not call him from the Stygian shore,
But thou, alas! mayst live, to suffer more!"
To whom the king: "O favoured of the skies!
Here let me grow to earth! since Hector lies
On the bare beach, deprived of obsequies.
O give me Hector;, to my eyes restore
His corse, and take the gifts: I ask no more!
Thou, as thou mayst, these boundless stores enjoy;
Safe mayst thou sail, and turn thy wrath from Troy;