Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/438

436 Great Jove beheld him as he crossed the plain,

And felt the woes of miserable man.

Then thus to Hermes: "Thou, whose constant cares

Still succour mortals, and attend their prayers!

Behold an object to thy charge consigned;

If ever pity touched thee for mankind,

Go, guard the sire; the observing foe prevent,

And safe conduct him to Achilles' tent."

The god obeys, his golden pinions binds,

And mounts incumbent on the wings of winds,

That high through fields of air his flight sustain,

O'er the wide earth, and o'er the boundless main:

Then grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly,

Or in soft slumbers seals the wakeful eye:

Thus armed, swift Hermes steers his airy way,

And stoops on Hellespont's resounding sea.

A beauteous youth, majestic and divine,

He seemed, fair offspring of some princely line!

Now twilight veiled the glaring face of day,

And clad the dusky fields in sober gray;

What time the herald and the hoary king,

Their chariot stopping at the silver spring,

That circling Ilus' ancient marble flows,

Allowed their mules and steeds a short repose.

Through the dim shade the herald first espies

A man's approach, and thus to Priam cries:

"I mark some foe's advance: O king! beware;

This hard adventure claims thy utmost care;

For much I fear destruction hovers nigh:

Our state asks counsel. Is it best to fly?

Or, old and helpless, at his feet to fall,

Two wretched suppliants, and for mercy call?"

The afflicted monarch shivered with despair;

Pale grew his face, and upright stood his hair;

Sunk was his heart; his colour went and came;

A sudden trembling shook his aged frame:

When Hermes, greeting, touched his royal hand,

And, gentle, thus accosts with kind demand:

"Say whither, father! when each mortal sight

Is sealed in sleep, thou wanderest through the night?

Why roam thy mules and steeds the plains along,

Through Grecian foes, so numerous and so strong?

What couldst thou hope, shouldst these thy treasures view:

These, who with endless hate thy race pursue?

For what defence, alas! couldst thou provide?

Thyself not young, a weak old man thy guide.

Yet suffer not thy soul to sink with dread;

From me no harm shall touch thy reverend head:

From Greece I'll guard thee too; for in those lines