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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341103" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Iliad: Book VI (excerpt)</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">He said, and pass'd with sad presaging heart<br> To seek his spouse, his soul's far dearer part;<br> At home he sought her, but he sought in vain:<br> She, with one maid of all her menial train,<br> Had thence retir'd; and, with her second joy,<br> The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy,<br> Pensive she stood on Ilion's tow'ry height,<br> Beheld the war, and sicken'd at the sight;<br> There her sad eyes in vain her lord explore,<br> Or weep the wounds her bleeding country bore.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> But he, who found not whom his soul desir'd,<br> Whose virtue charm'd him as her beauty fir'd,<br> Stood in the gates, and ask'd what way she bent<br> Her parting steps; if to the fane she went,<br> Where late the mourning matrons made resort,<br> Or sought her sisters in the Trojan court.<br> &quot;Not to the court&quot; replied th' attendant train,<br> &quot;Nor, mixed with matrons, to Minerva's fane;<br> To Ilion's steepy tow'r she bent her way,<br> To mark the fortunes of the doubtful day.<br> Troy fled, she heard, before the Grecian sword;<br> She heard, and trembled for her absent lord.<br> Distracted with surprise, she seem'd to fly,<br> Fear on her cheek and sorrow in her eye.<br> The nurse attended with her infant boy,<br> The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Hector, this heard, return'd without delay;<br> Swift through the town he trod his former way<br> Through streets of palaces and walks of state,<br> And met the mourner at the Scæan gate.<br> With haste to meet him sprung the joyful fair,<br> His blameless wife, E{&quot;e}tion's wealthy heir<br> (Cilician Thebè great E{&quot;e}tion sway'd,<br> And Hippoplacus' wide-extended shade);<br> The nurse stood near, in whose embraces prest<br> His only hope hung smiling at her breast,<br> Whom each soft charm and early grace adorn,<br> Fair as the new-born star that gilds the morn.<br> To this lov'd infant Hector gave the name<br> Scamandrius, from Scamander's honour'd stream;<br> Astyanax the Trojans call'd the boy,<br> From his great father, the defence of Troy.<br> Silent the warrior smil'd, and pleas'd, resign'd<br> To tender passions all his mighty mind:<br> His beauteous princess cast a mournful look,<br> Hung on his hand, and then dejected spoke;<br> Her bosom labour'd with a boding sigh,<br> And the big tear stood trembling in her eye.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Too daring prince! ah whither dost thou run?<br> Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and son!<br> And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be,<br> A widow I, a helpless orphan he!<br> For sure such courage length of life denies,<br> And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice.<br> Greece in her single heroes strove in vain;<br> Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain!<br> Oh, grant me, gods! e'er Hector meets his doom,<br> All I can ask of heav'n, an early tomb!<br> So shall my days in one sad tenor run,<br> And end with sorrows as they first begun.<br> No parent now remains, my griefs to share,<br> No father's aid, no mother's tender care.<br> The fierce Achilles wrapp'd our walls in fire,<br> Laid Thebè waste, and slew my warlike sire!<br> His fate compassion in the victor bred;<br> Stern as he was, he yet rever'd the dead,<br> His radiant arms preserv'd from hostile spoil,<br> And laid him decent on the fun'ral pile;<br> Then rais'd a mountain where his bones were burn'd:<br> The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorn'd;<br> Jove's sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow<br> A barren shade, and in his honour grow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;By the same arm my sev'n brave brothers fell;<br> In one sad day beheld the gates of hell:<br> While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed,<br> Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled!<br> My mother liv'd to bear the victor's bands,<br> The queen of Hippoplacia's sylvan lands;<br> Redeem'd too late, she scarce beheld again<br> Her pleasing empire and her native plain,<br> When, ah! oppress'd by life-consuming woe,<br> She fell a victim to Diana's bow.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Yet while my Hector still survives, I see<br> My father, mother, brethren, all, in thee:<br> Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all,<br> Once more will perish if my Hector fall.<br> Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share:<br> Oh, prove a husband's and a father's care!<br> That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy,<br> Where yon wild fig-trees join the wall of Troy:<br> Thou from this tow'r defend th' important post<br> There Agamemnon points his dreadful host,<br> That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain,<br> And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train.<br> Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have giv'n,<br> Or led by hopes, or dictated from heav'n.<br> Let others in the field their arms employ,<br> But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> The chief replied: &quot;That post shall be my care,<br> Not that alone, but all the works of war.<br> How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'd,<br> And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep the ground,<br> Attaint the lustre of my former name,<br> Should Hector basely quit the field of fame?<br> My early youth was bred to martial pains,<br> My soul impels me to th' embattled plains:<br> Let me be foremost to defend the throne,<br> And guard my father's glories, and my own.<br> Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates,<br> (How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!)<br> The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend,<br> And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end.<br> And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind,<br> My mother's death, the ruin of my kind,<br> Not Priam's hoary hairs defil'd with gore,<br> Not all my brothers gasping on the shore,<br> As thine, Andromache! thy griefs I dread;<br> I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led.<br> In Argive looms our battles to design,<br> And woes, of which so large a part was thine!<br> To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring<br> The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring!<br> There, while you groan beneath the load of life,<br> They cry, 'Behold the mighty Hector's wife!'<br> Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see,<br> Embitters all thy woes by naming me.<br> The thoughts of glory past and present shame,<br> A thousand griefs, shall waken at the name!<br> May I lie cold before that dreadful day,<br> Press'd with a load of monumental clay!<br> Thy Hector, wrapp'd in everlasting sleep,<br> Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> Thus having spoke, th' illustrious chief of Troy<br> Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy.<br> The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast,<br> Scar'd at the dazzling helm and nodding crest.<br> With secret pleasure each fond parent smil'd,<br> And Hector hasted to relieve his child;<br> The glitt'ring terrors from his brows unbound,<br> And plac'd the beaming helmet on the ground.<br> Then kiss'd the child, and, lifting high in air,<br> Thus to the gods preferr'd a father's pray'r:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;O thou! whose glory fills th' ethereal throne,<br> And all ye deathless pow'rs! protect my son!<br> Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown,<br> To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown,<br> Against his country's foes the war to wage,<br> And rise the Hector of the future age!<br> So when, triumphant from successful toils,<br> Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils,<br> Whole hosts may hail him with deserv'd acclaim,<br> And say, 'This chief transcends his father's fame':<br> While pleas'd, amidst the gen'ral shouts of Troy,<br> His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms,<br> Restor'd the pleasing burthen to her arms;<br> Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid,<br> Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd.<br> The troubled pleasure soon chastis'd by fear,<br> She mingled with the smile a tender tear.<br> The soften'd chief with kind compassion view'd,<br> And dried the falling drops, and thus pursu'd:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> &quot;Andromache! my soul's far better part,<br> Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart?<br> No hostile hand can antedate my doom,<br> Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb.<br> Fix'd is the term to all the race of earth,<br> And such the hard condition of our birth.<br> No force can then resist, no flight can save;<br> All sink alike, the fearful and the brave.<br> No more--but hasten to thy tasks at home,<br> There guide the spindle, and direct the loom;<br> Me glory summons to the martial scene,<br> The field of combat is the sphere for men.<br> Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,<br> The first in danger as the first in fame.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Alexander+Pope">Alexander Pope</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=341103" data-title="The Iliad: Book VI (excerpt) de Alexander Pope" data-description="He said, and pass'd with sad presaging heart
 To seek his spouse, his soul's far dearer part;
 At home he sought her, but he sought in vain:
 She, with one maid of all her menial train,
 Had thence retir'd; and, with her second joy,
 The young Ast..."></div>
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