Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/39

157—205 Would'st thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield,

The due reward of many a well-fought field?

The spoils of cities razed and warriors slain,

We share with justice, as with toil we gain:

But to resume whate'er thy avarice craves,

That trick of tyrants, may be borne by slaves.

Yet if our chief for plunder only fight,

The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite,

Whene'er, by Jove's decree, our conquering powers

Shall humble to the dust her lofty towers."

Then thus the king: "Shall I my prize resign

With tame content, and thou possessed of thine?

Great as thou art, and like a god in fight,

Think not to rob me of a soldier's right.

At thy demand shall I restore the maid?

First let the just equivalent be paid;

Such as a king might ask; and let it be

A treasure worthy her, and worthy me.

Or grant me this, or with a monarch's claim

This hand shall seize some other captive dame,

The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign,

Ulysses' spoils, or e'en thy own be mine.

The man who suffers, loudly may complain;

And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain.

But this when time requires. It now remains

We launch a bark to plough the watery plains,

And waft the sacrifice to Chrysa's shores,

With chosen pilots, and with labouring oars.

Soon shall the fair the sable ship ascend,

And some deputed prince the charge attend.

This Creta's king, or Ajax shall fulfil,

Or wise Ulysses see performed our will;

Or, if our royal pleasure shall ordain,

Achilles' self conduct her o'er the main;

Let fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage,

The god propitiate, and the pest assuage."

At this Pelides, frowning stern, replied:

"O tyrant, armed with insolence and pride,

Inglorious slave to interest, ever joined

With fraud, unworthy of a royal mind!

What generous Greek, obedient to thy word,

Shall form an ambush, or shall lift the sword?

What cause have I to war at thy decree?

The distant Trojans never injured me:

To Phthia's realms no hostile troops they led;

Safe to her vales my warlike coursers fed;

Far hence removed, the hoarse-resounding main,

And walls of rocks, secure my native reign,

Whose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace,