"From Book VI of Homer's Iliad" by Alexander Pope (1688 - 1744) The chief replied: "That post shall be my care,Not that alone, but all the works of war.How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'd,And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the groundAttaint the lustre of my former name,Should Hector basely quit the field of fame?My early youth was bred to martial pains,My soul impels me to the embattled plains!Let me be foremost to defend the throne,And guard my father's glories, and my own."Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates!(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!)The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend,And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end.And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind,My mother's death, the ruin of my kind,Not Priam's hoary hairs defiled with gore,Not all my brothers gasping on the shore;As thine, Andromache! Thy griefs I dread:I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led!In Argive looms our battles to design,And woes, of which so large a part was thine!To bear the victor's hard commands, or bringThe weight of waters from Hyperia's spring.There while you groan beneath the load of life,They cry, 'Behold the mighty Hector's wife!'Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see,Imbitters all thy woes, by naming me.The thoughts of glory past, and present shame,A thousand griefs shall waken at the name!May I lie cold before that dreadful day,Press'd with a load of monumental clay!Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep,Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep."Thus having spoke, the illustrious chief of TroyStretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy.The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast,Scared at the dazzling helm, and nodding crest.With secret pleasure each fond parent smiled,And Hector hasted to relieve his child,The glittering terrors from his brows unbound,And placed the beaming helmet on the ground;Then kiss'd the child, and, lifting high in air,Thus to the gods preferr'd a father's prayer:"O thou! whose glory fills the ethereal throne,And all ye deathless powers! protect my son!Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown,To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown,Against his country's foes the war to wage,And rise the Hector of the future age!So when triumphant from successful toilsOf heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils,Whole hosts may hail him with deserved acclaim,And say, 'This chief transcends his father's fame:'While pleased amidst the general shouts of Troy,His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy."He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms,Restored the pleasing burden to her arms;Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid,Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd.The troubled pleasure soon chastised by fear,She mingled with a smile a tender tear.The soften'd chief with kind compassion view'd,And dried the falling drops, and thus pursued:
"Andromache! my soul's far better part,Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart?No hostile hand can antedate my doom,Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb.Fix'd is the term to all the race of earth;And such the hard condition of our birth:No force can then resist, no flight can save,All sink alike, the fearful and the brave.No more—but hasten to thy tasks at home,There guide the spindle, and direct the loom:Me glory summons to the martial scene,The field of combat is the sphere for men.Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,The first in danger as the first in fame."
Love these threads