Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/442

440 Expels him helpless from his peaceful state;

Think, from some powerful foe thou see'st him fly,

And beg protection with a feeble cry.

Yet still one comfort in his soul may rise;

He hears his son still lives to glad his eyes;

And, hearing, still may hope a better day

May send him thee, to chase that foe away.

No comfort to my griefs, no hopes remain,

The best, the bravest of my sons are slain!

Yet what a race! ere Greece to Ilion came,

The pledge of many a loved and loving dame!

Nineteen one mother bore—Dead, all are dead!

How oft, alas! has wretched Priam bled!

Still one was left, their loss to recompense;

His father's hope, his country's last defence.

Him too thy rage has slain! beneath thy steel,

Unhappy, in his country's cause, he fell!

For him, through hostile camps I bent my way,

For him thus prostrate at thy feet I lay;

Large gifts, proportioned to thy wrath, I bear:

Oh, hear the wretched, and the gods revere!

Think of thy father, and this face behold!

See him in me, as helpless and as old;

Though not so wretched: there he yields to me,

The first of men in sovereign misery.

Thus forced to kneel, thus grovelling to embrace

The scourge and ruin of my realm and race:

Suppliant my children's murderer to implore,

And kiss those hands yet reeking with their gore!"

These words soft pity in the chief inspire,

Touched with the dear remembrance of his sire.

Then with his hand, as prostrate still he lay,

The old man's cheek he gently turned away.

Now each by turns indulged the gush of woe;

And now the mingled tides together flow:

This low on earth, that gently bending o'er,

A father one, and one a son deplore:

But great Achilles different passions rend,

And now his sire he mourns, and now his friend.

The infectious softness through the heroes ran;

One universal solemn shower began;

They bore as heroes, but they felt as man.

Satiate at length with unavailing woes,

From the high throne divine Achilles rose;

The reverend monarch by the hand he raised;

On his white beard and form majestic gazed,

Not unrelenting: then serene began

With words to soothe the miserable man:

"Alas! what weight of anguish hast thou known,