<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=475843" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Metamorphoses: Book The Thirteenth</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">THE chiefs were set; the soldiers crown'd the<br> field:<br> To these the master of the seven-fold shield<br> Upstarted fierce: and kindled with disdain.<br> Eager to speak, unable to contain<br> His boiling rage, he rowl'd his eyes around<br> The shore, and Graecian gallies hall'd a-ground.<br> The Then stretching out his hands, O Jove, he cry'd,<br> Speeches of Must then our cause before the fleet be try'd?<br> Ajax and And dares Ulysses for the prize contend,<br> Ulysses In sight of what he durst not once defend?<br> But basely fled that memorable day,<br> When I from Hector's hands redeem'd the flaming<br> prey.<br> So much 'tis safer at the noisie bar<br> With words to flourish, than ingage in war.<br> By diff'rent methods we maintain our right,<br> Nor am I made to talk, nor he to fight.<br> In bloody fields I labour to be great;<br> His arms are a smooth tongue, and soft deceit:<br> Nor need I speak my deeds, for those you see,<br> The sun, and day are witnesses for me.<br> Let him who fights unseen, relate his own,<br> And vouch the silent stars, and conscious moon.<br> Great is the prize demanded, I confess,<br> But such an abject rival makes it less;<br> That gift, those honours, he but hop'd to gain,<br> Can leave no room for Ajax to be vain:<br> Losing he wins, because his name will be<br> Ennobled by defeat, who durst contend with me.<br> Were my known valour question'd, yet my blood<br> Without that plea wou'd make my title good:<br> My sire was Telamon, whose arms, employ'd<br> With Hercules, these Trojan walls destroy'd;<br> And who before with Jason sent from Greece,<br> In the first ship brought home the golden fleece.<br> Great Telamon from Aeacus derives<br> His birth (th' inquisitor of guilty lives<br> In shades below; where Sisyphus, whose son<br> This thief is thought, rouls up the restless heavy<br> stone),<br> Just Aeacus, the king of Gods above<br> Begot: thus Ajax is the third from Jove.<br> Nor shou'd I seek advantage from my line,<br> Unless (Achilles) it was mix'd with thine:<br> As next of kin, Achilles' arms I claim;<br> This fellow wou'd ingraft a foreign name<br> Upon our stock, and the Sisyphian seed<br> By fraud, and theft asserts his father's breed:<br> Then must I lose these arms, because I came<br> To fight uncall'd, a voluntary name,<br> Nor shunn'd the cause, but offer'd you my aid?<br> While he long lurking was to war betray'd:<br> Forc'd to the field he came, but in the reer;<br> And feign'd distraction to conceal his fear:<br> 'Till one more cunning caught him in the snare<br> (Ill for himself); and dragg'd him into war.<br> Now let a hero's arms a coward vest,<br> And he who shunn'd all honours, gain the best:<br> And let me stand excluded from my right,<br> Robb'd of my kinsman's arms, who first appear'd in<br> fight,<br> Better for us, at home had he remain'd,<br> Had it been true the madness which he feign'd,<br> Or so believ'd; the less had been our shame,<br> The less his counsell'd crime, which brands the<br> Grecian name;<br> Nor Philoctetes had been left inclos'd<br> In a bare isle, to wants and pains expos'd,<br> Where to the rocks, with solitary groans,<br> His suff'rings, and our baseness he bemoans:<br> And wishes (so may Heav'n his wish fulfill)<br> The due reward to him, who caus'd his ill.<br> Now he, with us to Troy's destruction sworn,<br> Our brother of the war, by whom are born<br> Alcides' arrows, pent in narrow bounds,<br> With cold and hunger pinch'd, and pain'd with<br> wounds,<br> To find him food and cloathing, must employ<br> Against the birds the shafts due to the fate of<br> Troy.<br> Yet still he lives, and lives from treason free,<br> Because he left Ulysses' company;<br> Poor Palamede might wish, so void of aid,<br> Rather to have been left, than so to death<br> betray'd.<br> The coward bore the man immortal spight,<br> Who sham'd him out of madness into fight:<br> Nor daring otherwise to vent his hate,<br> Accus'd him first of treason to the state;<br> And then for proof produc'd the golden store,<br> Himself had hidden in his tent before:<br> Thus of two champions he depriv'd our host,<br> By exile one, and one by treason lost.<br> Thus fights Ulysses, thus his fame extends,<br> A formidable man, but to his friends:<br> Great, for what greatness is in words, and sound,<br> Ev'n faithful Nestor less in both is found:<br> But that he might without a rival reign,<br> He left this faithful Nestor on the plain;<br> Forsook his friend ev'n at his utmost need,<br> Who tir'd, and tardy with his wounded steed,<br> Cry'd out for aid, and call'd him by his name;<br> But cowardice has neither ears nor shame;<br> Thus fled the good old man, bereft of aid,<br> And, for as much as lay in him, betray'd:<br> That this is not a fable forg'd by me,<br> Like one of his, an Ulyssean lie,<br> I vouch ev'n Diomede, who tho' his friend,<br> Cannot that act excuse, much less defend:<br> He call'd him back aloud, and tax'd his fear;<br> And sure enough he heard, but durst not hear.<br> The Gods with equal eyes on mortal look,<br> He justly was forsaken, who forsook:<br> Wanted that succour, he refus'd to lend,<br> Found ev'ry fellow such another friend:<br> No wonder, if he roar'd that all might hear;<br> His elocution was increas'd by fear:<br> I heard, I ran, I found him out of breath,<br> Pale, trembling, and half dead with fear of death.<br> Though he had judg'd himself by his own laws,<br> And stood condemn'd, I help'd the common cause:<br> With my broad buckler hid him from the foe<br> (Ev'n the shield trembled as he lay below);<br> And from impending Fate the coward freed:<br> Good Heav'n forgive me for so bad a deed!<br> If still he will persist, and urge the strife,<br> First let him give me back his forfeit life:<br> Let him return to that opprobrious field;<br> Again creep under my protecting shield:<br> Let him lie wounded, let the foe be near,<br> And let his quiv'ring heart confess his fear;<br> There put him in the very jaws of Fate;<br> And let him plead his cause in that estate:<br> And yet when snatch'd from death, when from below<br> My lifted shield I loos'd, and let him go;<br> Good Heav'ns, how light he rose, with what a bound<br> He sprung from earth, forgetful of his wound;<br> How fresh, how eager then his feet to ply;<br> Who had not strength to stand, had speed to fly!<br> Hector came on, and brought the Gods along;<br> Fear seiz'd alike the feeble, and the strong:<br> Each Greek was an Ulysses; such a dread<br> Th' approach, and ev'n the sound of Hector bred:<br> Him, flesh'd with slaughter, and with conquest<br> crown'd,<br> I met, and over-turn'd him to the ground;<br> When after, matchless as he deem'd in might,<br> He challeng'd all our host to single fight;<br> All eyes were fix'd on me: the lots were thrown;<br> But for your champion I was wish'd alone:<br> Your vows were heard; we fought, and neither yield;<br> Yet I return'd unvanquish'd from the field.<br> With Jove to friend, th' insulting Trojan came,<br> And menac'd us with force, our fleet with flame.<br> Was it the strength of this tongue-valiant lord,<br> In that black hour, that sav'd you from the sword?<br> Or was my breast expos'd alone, to brave<br> A thousand swords, a thousand ships to save?<br> The hopes of your return! And can you yield,<br> For a sav'd fleet, less than a single shield?<br> Think it no boast, o Grecians, if I deem<br> These arms want Ajax, more than Ajax them:<br> Or, I with them an equal honour share;<br> They honour'd to be worn, and I to wear.<br> Will he compare my courage with his sleight?<br> As well he may compare the day with night.<br> Night is indeed the province of his reign:<br> Yet all his dark exploits no more contain<br> Than a spy taken, and a sleeper slain;<br> A priest made pris'ner, Pallas made a prey:<br> But none of all these actions done by day:<br> Nor ought of these was done, and Diomede away.<br> If on such petty merits you confer<br> So vast a prize, let each his portion share;<br> Make a just dividend; and if not all,<br> The greater part to Diomede will fall.<br> But why for Ithacus such arms as those,<br> Who naked, and by night invades his foes?<br> The glitt'ring helm by moonlight will proclaim<br> The latent robber, and prevent his game:<br> Nor cou'd he hold his tott'ring head upright<br> Beneath that morion, or sustain the weight;<br> Nor that right arm cou'd toss the beamy lance;<br> Much less the left that ampler shield advance;<br> Pond'rous with precious weight, and rough with cost<br> Of the round world in rising gold emboss'd.<br> That orb would ill become his hand to wield,<br> And look as for the gold he stole the shield;<br> Which, shou'd your error on the wretch bestow,<br> It would not frighten, but allure the foe:<br> Why asks he, what avails him not in fight,<br> And wou'd but cumber, and retard his flight,<br> In which his only excellence is plac'd?<br> You give him death, that intercept his haste.<br> Add, that his own is yet a maiden-shield,<br> Nor the least dint has suffer'd in the field,<br> Guiltless of fight: mine batter'd, hew'd, and<br> bor'd,<br> Worn out of service, must forsake his lord,<br> What farther need of words our right to scan?<br> My arguments are deeds, let action speak the man.<br> Since from a champion's arms the strife arose,<br> Go cast the glorious prize amid the foes;<br> Then send us to redeem both arms, and shield,<br> And let him wear, who wins 'em in the field.<br> He said: a murmur from a multitude,<br> Or somewhat like a stifled shout, ensu'd:<br> 'Till from his seat arose Laertes' son,<br> Look'd down a while, and paus'd, e'er he begun;<br> Then, to th' expecting audience, rais'd his look,<br> And not without prepar'd attention spoke:<br> Soft was his tone, and sober was his face;<br> Action his words, and words his action grace.<br> If Heav'n, my lords, had heard our common pray'r,<br> These arms had caus'd no quarrel for an heir;<br> Still great Achilles had his own possess'd,<br> And we with great Achilles had been bless'd;<br> But since hard Fate, and Heav'n's severe decree,<br> Have ravish'd him away from you, and me<br> (At this he sigh'd, and wip'd his eyes, and drew,<br> Or seem'd to draw, some drops of kindly dew),<br> Who better can succeed Achilles lost,<br> Than he, who gave Achilles to your hoast?<br> This only I request, that neither he<br> May gain, by being what he seems to be,<br> A stupid thing; nor I may lose the prize,<br> By having sense, which Heav'n to him denies:<br> Since great or small, the talent I enjoy'd<br> Was ever in the common cause employ'd;<br> Nor let my wit, and wonted eloquence,<br> Which often has been us'd in your defense,<br> And in my own, this only time be brought<br> To bear against my self, and deem'd a fault.<br> Make not a crime, where Nature made it none;<br> For ev'ry man may freely use his own.<br> The deeds of long-descended ancestors<br> Are but by grace of imputation ours,<br> Theirs in effect; but since he draws his line<br> From Jove, and seems to plead a right divine;<br> From Jove, like him, I claim my pedigree,<br> And am descended in the same degree:<br> My sire Laertes was Arcesius' heir,<br> Arcesius was the son of Jupiter:<br> No parricide, no banish'd man, is known<br> In all my line: let him excuse his own.<br> Hermes ennobles too my mother's side,<br> By both my parents to the Gods ally'd.<br> But not because that on the female part<br> My blood is better, dare I claim desert,<br> Or that my sire from parricide is free;<br> But judge by merit betwixt him, and me:<br> The prize be to the best; provided yet<br> That Ajax for a while his kin forget,<br> And his great sire, and greater uncle's name,<br> To fortifie by them his feeble claim:<br> Be kindred and relation laid aside,<br> And honour's cause by laws of honour try'd:<br> For if he plead proximity of blood;<br> That empty title is with ease withstood.<br> Peleus, the hero's sire, more nigh than he,<br> And Pyrrhus, his undoubted progeny,<br> Inherit first these trophies of the field;<br> To Scyros, or to Pthia, send the shield:<br> And Teucer has an uncle's right; yet he<br> Waves his pretensions, nor contends with me.<br> Then since the cause on pure desert is plac'd,<br> Whence shall I take my rise, what reckon last?<br> I not presume on ev'ry act to dwell,<br> But take these few, in order as they fell.<br> Thetis, who knew the Fates, apply'd her care<br> To keep Achilles in disguise from war;<br> And 'till the threatning influence was past,<br> A woman's habit on the hero cast:<br> All eyes were cozen'd by the borrow'd vest,<br> And Ajax (never wiser than the rest)<br> Found no Pelides there: at length I came<br> With proffer'd wares to this pretended dame;<br> She, not discover'd by her mien, or voice,<br> Betray'd her manhood by her manly choice;<br> And while on female toys her fellows look,<br> Grasp'd in her warlike hand, a javelin shook;<br> Whom, by this act reveal'd, I thus bespoke:<br> O Goddess-born! resist not Heav'n's decree,<br> The fall of Ilium is reserv'd for thee;<br> Then seiz'd him, and produc'd in open light,<br> Sent blushing to the field the fatal knight.<br> Mine then are all his actions of the war;<br> Great Telephus was conquer'd by my spear,<br> And after cur'd: to me the Thebans owe,<br> Lesbos, and Tenedos, their overthrow;<br> Syros and Cylla: not on all to dwell,<br> By me Lyrnesus, and strong Chrysa fell:<br> And since I sent the man who Hector slew,<br> To me the noble Hector's death is due:<br> Those arms I put into his living hand,<br> Those arms, Pelides dead, I now demand.<br> When Greece was injur'd in the Spartan prince,<br> And met at Aulis to avenge th' offence,<br> 'Twas a dead calm, or adverse blasts, that reign'd,<br> And in the port the wind-bound fleet detain'd:<br> Bad signs were seen, and oracles severe<br> Were daily thunder'd in our gen'ral's ear;<br> That by his daughter's blood we must appease<br> Diana's kindled wrath, and free the seas.<br> Affection, int'rest, fame, his heart assail'd:<br> But soon the father o'er the king prevail'd:<br> Bold, on himself he took the pious crime,<br> As angry with the Gods, as they with him.<br> No subject cou'd sustain their sov'reign's look,<br> 'Till this hard enterprize I undertook:<br> I only durst th' imperial pow'r controul,<br> And undermin'd the parent in his soul;<br> Forc'd him t' exert the king for common good,<br> And pay our ransom with his daughter's blood.<br> Never was cause more difficult to plead,<br> Than where the judge against himself decreed:<br> Yet this I won by dint of argument;<br> The wrongs his injur'd brother underwent,<br> And his own office, sham'd him to consent.<br> 'Tis harder yet to move the mother's mind,<br> And to this heavy task was I design'd:<br> Reasons against her love I knew were vain;<br> I circumvented whom I could not gain:<br> Had Ajax been employ'd, our slacken'd sails<br> Had still at Aulis waited happy gales.<br> Arriv'd at Troy, your choice was fix'd on me,<br> A fearless envoy, fit for a bold embassy:<br> Secure, I enter'd through the hostile court,<br> Glitt'ring with steel, and crowded with resort:<br> There, in the midst of arms, I plead our cause,<br> Urge the foul rape, and violated laws;<br> Accuse the foes, as authors of the strife,<br> Reproach the ravisher, demand the wife.<br> Priam, Antenor, and the wiser few,<br> I mov'd; but Paris, and his lawless crew<br> Scarce held their hands, and lifted swords; but<br> stood<br> In act to quench their impious thirst of blood:<br> This Menelaus knows; expos'd to share<br> With me the rough preludium of the war.<br> Endless it were to tell, what I have done,<br> In arms, or council, since the siege begun:<br> The first encounter's past, the foe repell'd,<br> They skulk'd within the town, we kept the field.<br> War seem'd asleep for nine long years; at length<br> Both sides resolv'd to push, we try'd our strength<br> Now what did Ajax, while our arms took breath,<br> Vers'd only in the gross mechanick trade of death?<br> If you require my deeds, with ambush'd arms<br> I trapp'd the foe, or tir'd with false alarms;<br> Secur'd the ships, drew lines along the plain,<br> The fainting chear'd, chastis'd the rebel-train,<br> Provided forage, our spent arms renew'd;<br> Employ'd at home, or sent abroad, the common cause<br> pursu'd.<br> The king, deluded in a dream by Jove,<br> Despair'd to take the town, and order'd to remove.<br> What subject durst arraign the Pow'r supream,<br> Producing Jove to justifie his dream?<br> Ajax might wish the soldiers to retain<br> From shameful flight, but wishes were in vain:<br> As wanting of effect had been his words,<br> Such as of course his thundring tongue affords.<br> But did this boaster threaten, did he pray,<br> Or by his own example urge their stay?<br> None, none of these: but ran himself away.<br> I saw him run, and was asham'd to see;<br> Who ply'd his feet so fast to get aboard, as he?<br> Then speeding through the place, I made a stand,<br> And loudly cry'd, O base degenerate band,<br> To leave a town already in your hand!<br> After so long expence of blood, for fame,<br> To bring home nothing, but perpetual shame!<br> These words, or what I have forgotten since<br> (For grief inspir'd me then with eloquence),<br> Reduc'd their minds; they leave the crowded port,<br> And to their late forsaken camp resort:<br> Dismay'd the council met: this man was there,<br> But mute, and not recover'd of his fear:<br> Thersites tax'd the king, and loudly rail'd,<br> But his wide opening mouth with blows I seal'd.<br> Then, rising, I excite their souls to fame,<br> And kindle sleeping virtue into flame.<br> From thence, whatever he perform'd in fight<br> Is justly mine, who drew him back from flight.<br> Which of the Grecian chiefs consorts with thee?<br> But Diomede desires my company,<br> And still communicates his praise with me.<br> As guided by a God, secure he goes,<br> Arm'd with my fellowship, amid the foes:<br> And sure no little merit I may boast,<br> Whom such a man selects from such an hoast;<br> Unforc'd by lots I went without affright,<br> To dare with him the dangers of the night:<br> On the same errand sent, we met the spy<br> Of Hector, double-tongu'd, and us'd to lie;<br> Him I dispatch'd, but not 'till undermin'd,<br> I drew him first to tell, what treach'rous Troy<br> design'd:<br> My task perform'd, with praise I had retir'd,<br> But not content with this, to greater praise<br> aspir'd:<br> Invaded Rhesus, and his Thracian crew,<br> And him, and his, in their own strength I slew;<br> Return'd a victor, all my vows compleat,<br> With the king's chariot, in his royal seat:<br> Refuse me now his arms, whose fiery steeds<br> Were promis'd to the spy for his nocturnal deeds:<br> Yet let dull Ajax bear away my right,<br> When all his days out-balance this one night.<br> Nor fought I darkling still: the sun beheld<br> With slaughter'd Lycians when I strew'd the field:<br> You saw, and counted as I pass'd along,<br> Alastor, Chromius, Ceranos the strong,<br> Alcander, Prytanis, and Halius,<br> Noemon, Charopes, and Ennomus;<br> Coon, Chersidamas; and five beside,<br> Men of obscure descent, but courage try'd:<br> All these this hand laid breathless on the ground;<br> Nor want I proofs of many a manly wound:<br> All honest, all before: believe not me;<br> Words may deceive, but credit what you see.<br> At this he bar'd his breast, and show'd his<br> scars,<br> As of a furrow'd field, well plow'd with wars;<br> Nor is this part unexercis'd, said he;<br> That gyant-bulk of his from wounds is free:<br> Safe in his shield he fears no foe to try,<br> And better manages his blood, than I:<br> But this avails me not; our boaster strove<br> Not with our foes alone, but partial Jove,<br> To save the fleet: this I confess is true<br> (Nor will I take from any man his due):<br> But thus assuming all, he robs from you.<br> Some part of honour to your share will fall,<br> He did the best indeed, but did not all.<br> Patroclus in Achilles' arms, and thought<br> The chief he seem'd, with equal ardour fought;<br> Preserv'd the fleet, repell'd the raging fire,<br> And forc'd the fearful Trojans to retire.<br> But Ajax boasts, that he was only thought<br> A match for Hector, who the combat sought:<br> Sure he forgets the king, the chiefs, and me:<br> All were as eager for the fight, as he:<br> He but the ninth, and not by publick voice,<br> Or ours preferr'd, was only Fortune's choice:<br> They fought; nor can our hero boast th' event,<br> For Hector from the field unwounded went.<br> Why am I forc'd to name that fatal day,<br> That snatch'd the prop and pride of Greece away?<br> I saw Pelides sink, with pious grief,<br> And ran in vain, alas! to his relief;<br> For the brave soul was fled: full of my friend<br> I rush'd amid the war, his relicks to defend:<br> Nor ceas'd my toil, 'till I redeem'd the prey,<br> And, loaded with Achilles, march'd away:<br> Those arms, which on these shoulders then I bore,<br> 'Tis just you to these shoulders should restore.<br> You see I want not nerves, who cou'd sustain<br> The pond'rous ruins of so great a man:<br> Or if in others equal force you find,<br> None is endu'd with a more grateful mind.<br> Did Thetis then, ambitious in her care,<br> These arms thus labour'd for her son prepare;<br> That Ajax after him the heav'nly gift shou'd wear!<br> For that dull soul to stare with stupid eyes,<br> On the learn'd unintelligible prize!<br> What are to him the sculptures of the shield,<br> Heav'n's planets, Earth, and Ocean's watry field?<br> The Pleiads, Hyads; less, and greater Bear,<br> Undipp'd in seas; Orion's angry star;<br> Two diff'ring cities, grav'd on either hand;<br> Would he wear arms he cannot understand?<br> Beside, what wise objections he prepares<br> Against my late accession to the wars?<br> Does not the fool perceive his argument<br> Is with more force against Achilles bent?<br> For if dissembling be so great a crime,<br> The fault is common, and the same in him:<br> And if he taxes both of long delay,<br> My guilt is less, who sooner came away.<br> His pious mother, anxious for his life,<br> Detain'd her son; and me, my pious wife.<br> To them the blossoms of our youth were due,<br> Our riper manhood we reserv'd for you.<br> But grant me guilty, 'tis not much my care,<br> When with so great a man my guilt I share:<br> My wit to war the matchless hero brought,<br> But by this fool I never had been caught.<br> Nor need I wonder, that on me he threw<br> Such foul aspersions, when he spares not you:<br> If Palamede unjustly fell by me,<br> Your honour suffer'd in th' unjust decree:<br> I but accus'd, you doom'd: and yet he dy'd,<br> Convinc'd of treason, and was fairly try'd:<br> You heard not he was false; your eyes beheld<br> The traytor manifest; the bribe reveal'd.<br> That Philoctetes is on Lemnos left,<br> Wounded, forlorn, of human aid bereft,<br> Is not my crime, or not my crime alone;<br> Defend your justice, for the fact's your own:<br> 'Tis true, th' advice was mine; that staying there<br> He might his weary limbs with rest repair,<br> From a long voyage free, and from a longer war.<br> He took the counsl, and he lives at least;<br> Th' event declares I counsell'd for the best:<br> Though faith is all in ministers of state;<br> For who can promise to be fortunate?<br> Now since his arrows are the Fate of Troy,<br> Do not my wit, or weak address, employ;<br> Send Ajax there, with his persuasive sense,<br> To mollifie the man, and draw him thence:<br> But Xanthus shall run backward; Ida stand<br> A leafless mountain; and the Grecian band<br> Shall fight for Troy; if, when my councils fail,<br> The wit of heavy Ajax can prevail.<br> Hard Philoctetes, exercise thy spleen<br> Against thy fellows, and the king of men;<br> Curse my devoted head, above the rest,<br> And wish in arms to meet me breast to breast:<br> Yet I the dang'rous task will undertake,<br> And either die my self, or bring thee back.<br> Nor doubt the same success, as when before<br> The Phrygian prophet to these tents I bore,<br> Surpriz'd by night, and forc'd him to declare<br> In what was plac'd the fortune of the war,<br> Heav'n's dark decrees, and answers to display,<br> And how to take the town, and where the secret lay:<br> Yet this I compass'd, and from Troy convey'd<br> The fatal image of their guardian-maid;<br> That work was mine; for Pallas, though our friend,<br> Yet while she was in Troy, did Troy defend.<br> Now what has Ajax done, or what design'd?<br> A noisie nothing, and an empty wind.<br> If he be what he promises in show,<br> Why was I sent, and why fear'd he to go?<br> Our boasting champion thought the task not light<br> To pass the guards, commit himself to night;<br> Not only through a hostile town to pass,<br> But scale, with steep ascent, the sacred place;<br> With wand'ring steps to search the cittadel,<br> And from the priests their patroness to steal:<br> Then through surrounding foes to force my way,<br> And bear in triumph home the heavn'ly prey;<br> Which had I not, Ajax in vain had held,<br> Before that monst'rous bulk, his sev'nfold shield.<br> That night to conquer Troy I might be said,<br> When Troy was liable to conquest made.<br> Why point'st thou to my partner of the war?<br> Tydides had indeed a worthy share<br> In all my toil, and praise; but when thy might<br> Our ships protected, did'st thou singly fight?<br> All join'd, and thou of many wert but one;<br> I ask'd no friend, nor had, but him alone:<br> Who, had he not been well assur'd, that art,<br> And conduct were of war the better part,<br> And more avail'd than strength, my valiant friend<br> Had urg'd a better right, than Ajax can pretend:<br> As good at least Eurypilus may claim,<br> And the more mod'rate Ajax of the name:<br> The Cretan king, and his brave charioteer,<br> And Menelaus bold with sword, and spear:<br> All these had been my rivals in the shield,<br> And yet all these to my pretensions yield.<br> Thy boist'rous hands are then of use, when I<br> With this directing head those hands apply.<br> Brawn without brain is thine: my prudent care<br> Foresees, provides, administers the war:<br> Thy province is to fight; but when shall be<br> The time to fight, the king consults with me:<br> No dram of judgment with thy force is join'd:<br> Thy body is of profit, and my mind.<br> By how much more the ship her safety owes<br> To him who steers, than him that only rows;<br> By how much more the captain merits praise,<br> Than he who fights, and fighting but obeys;<br> By so much greater is my worth than thine,<br> Who canst but execute, what I design.<br> What gain'st thou, brutal man, if I confess<br> Thy strength superior, when thy wit is less?<br> Mind is the man: I claim my whole desert,<br> From the mind's vigour, and th' immortal part.<br> But you, o Grecian chiefs, reward my care,<br> Be grateful to your watchman of the war:<br> For all my labours in so long a space,<br> Sure I may plead a title to your grace:<br> Enter the town, I then unbarr'd the gates,<br> When I remov'd their tutelary Fates.<br> By all our common hopes, if hopes they be<br> Which I have now reduc'd to certainty;<br> By falling Troy, by yonder tott'ring tow'rs,<br> And by their taken Gods, which now are ours;<br> Or if there yet a farther task remains,<br> To be perform'd by prudence, or by pains;<br> If yet some desp'rate action rests behind,<br> That asks high conduct, and a dauntless mind;<br> If ought be wanting to the Trojan doom,<br> Which none but I can manage, and o'ercome,<br> Award, those arms I ask, by your decree:<br> Or give to this, what you refuse to me.<br> He ceas'd: and ceasing with respect he bow'd,<br> And with his hand at once the fatal statue show'd.<br> Heav'n, air and ocean rung, with loud applause,<br> And by the gen'ral vote he gain'd his cause.<br> Thus conduct won the prize, when courage fail'd,<br> And eloquence o'er brutal force prevail'd.<br> The Death of He who cou'd often, and alone, withstand<br> Ajax The foe, the fire, and Jove's own partial hand,<br> Now cannot his unmaster'd grief sustain,<br> But yields to rage, to madness, and disdain;<br> Then snatching out his fauchion, Thou, said he,<br> Art mine; Ulysses lays no claim to thee.<br> O often try'd, and ever-trusty sword,<br> Now do thy last kind office to thy lord:<br> 'Tis Ajax who requests thy aid, to show<br> None but himself, himself cou'd overthrow:<br> He said, and with so good a will to die,<br> Did to his breast the fatal point apply,<br> It found his heart, a way 'till then unknown,<br> Where never weapon enter'd, but his own.<br> No hands cou'd force it thence, so fix'd it stood,<br> 'Till out it rush'd, expell'd by streams of<br> spouting blood.<br> The fruitful blood produc'd a flow'r, which grew<br> On a green stem; and of a purple hue:<br> Like his, whom unaware Apollo slew:<br> Inscrib'd in both, the letters are the same,<br> But those express the grief, and these the name.<br> The Story of The victor with full sails for Lemnos stood<br> Polyxena and (Once stain'd by matrons with their husbands'<br> Hecuba blood),<br> Thence great Alcides' fatal shafts to bear,<br> Assign'd to Philoctetes' secret care.<br> These with their guardian to the Greeks convey'd,<br> Their ten years' toil with wish'd success repaid.<br> With Troy old Priam falls: his queen survives;<br> 'Till all her woes compleat, transform'd she<br> grieves<br> In borrow'd sounds, nor with an human face,<br> Barking tremendous o'er the plains of Thrace.<br> Still Ilium's flames their pointed columns raise,<br> And the red Hellespont reflects the blaze.<br> Shed on Jove's altar are the poor remains<br> Of blood, which trickl'd from old Priam's veins.<br> Cassandra lifts her hands to Heav'n in vain,<br> Drag'd by her sacred hair; the trembling train<br> Of matrons to their burning temples fly:<br> There to their Gods for kind protection cry;<br> And to their statues cling 'till forc'd away,<br> The victor Greeks bear off th' invidious prey.<br> From those high tow'rs Astyanax is thrown,<br> Whence he was wont with pleasure to look down.<br> When oft his mother with a fond delight<br> Pointed to view his father's rage in fight,<br> To win renown, and guard his country's right.<br> The winds now call to sea; brisk northern gales<br> Sing in the shrowds, and court the spreading sails.<br> Farewel, dear Troy, the captive matrons cry;<br> Yes, we must leave our long-lov'd native sky.<br> Then prostrate on the shore they kiss the sand,<br> And quit the smoking ruines of the land.<br> Last Hecuba on board, sad sight! appears;<br> Found weeping o'er her children's sepulchres:<br> Drag'd by Ulysses from her slaughter'd sons,<br> Whilst yet she graspt their tombs, and kist their<br> mouldring bones.<br> Yet Hector's ashes from his urn she bore,<br> And in her bosom the sad relique wore:<br> Then scatter'd on his tomb her hoary hairs,<br> A poor oblation mingled with her tears.<br> Oppos'd to Ilium lye the Thracian plains,<br> Where Polymestor safe in plenty reigns.<br> King Priam to his care commits his son,<br> Young Polydore, the chance of war to shun.<br> A wise precaution! had not gold, consign'd<br> For the child's use, debauch'd the tyrant's mind.<br> When sinking Troy to its last period drew,<br> With impious hands his royal charge he slew;<br> Then in the sea the lifeless coarse is thrown;<br> As with the body he the guilt could drown.<br> The Greeks now riding on the Thracian shore,<br> 'Till kinder gales invite, their vessels moor.<br> Here the wide-op'ning Earth to sudden view<br> Disclos'd Achilles, great as when he drew<br> The vital air, but fierce with proud disdain,<br> As when he sought Briseis to regain;<br> When stern debate, and rash injurious strife<br> Unsheath'd his sword, to reach Atrides' life.<br> And will ye go? he said. Is then the name<br> Of the once great Achilles lost to fame?<br> Yet stay, ungrateful Greeks; nor let me sue<br> In vain for honours to my Manes due.<br> For this just end, Polyxena I doom<br> With victim-rites to grace my slighted tomb.<br> The phantom spoke; the ready Greeks obey'd,<br> And to the tomb led the devoted maid<br> Snatch'd from her mother, who with pious care<br> Cherish'd this last relief of her despair.<br> Superior to her sex, the fearless maid,<br> Approach'd the altar, and around survey'd<br> The cruel rites, and consecrated knife,<br> Which Pyrrhus pointed at her guiltless life,<br> Then as with stern amaze intent he stood,<br> &quot;Now strike,&quot; she said; &quot;now spill my genr'ous<br> blood;<br> Deep in my breast, or throat, your dagger sheath,<br> Whilst thus I stand prepar'd to meet my death.<br> For life on terms of slav'ry I despise:<br> Yet sure no God approves this sacrifice.<br> O cou'd I but conceal this dire event<br> From my sad mother, I should dye content.<br> Yet should she not with tears my death deplore,<br> Since her own wretched life demands them more.<br> But let not the rude touch of man pollute<br> A virgin-victim; 'tis a modest suit.<br> It best will please, whoe'er demands my blood,<br> That I untainted reach the Stygian flood.<br> Yet let one short, last, dying prayer be heard;<br> To Priam's daughter pay this last regard;<br> 'Tis Priam's daughter, not a captive, sues;<br> Do not the rites of sepulture refuse.<br> To my afflicted mother, I implore,<br> Free without ransom my dead corpse restore:<br> Nor barter me for gain, when I am cold;<br> But be her tears the price, if I am sold:<br> Time was she could have ransom'd me with gold&quot;.<br> Thus as she pray'd, one common shower of tears<br> Burst forth, and stream'd from ev'ry eye but hers.<br> Ev'n the priest wept, and with a rude remorse<br> Plung'd in her heart the steel's resistless force.<br> Her slacken'd limbs sunk gently to the ground,<br> Dauntless her looks, unalter'd by the wound.<br> And as she fell, she strove with decent pride<br> To hide, what suits a virgin's care to hide.<br> The Trojan matrons the pale corpse receive,<br> And the whole slaughter'd race of Priam grieve,<br> Sad they recount the long disastrous tale;<br> Then with fresh tears, thee, royal maid, bewail;<br> Thy widow'd mother too, who flourish'd late<br> The royal pride of Asia's happier state:<br> A captive lot now to Ulysses born;<br> Whom yet the victor would reject with scorn,<br> Were she not Hector's mother: Hector's fame<br> Scarce can a master for his mother claim!<br> With strict embrace the lifeless coarse she view'd;<br> And her fresh grief that flood of tears renew'd,<br> With which she lately mourn'd so many dead;<br> Tears for her country, sons, and husband shed.<br> With the thick gushing stream she bath'd the wound;<br> Kiss'd her pale lips; then weltring on the ground,<br> With wonted rage her frantick bosom tore;<br> Sweeping her hair amidst the clotted gore;<br> Whilst her sad accents thus her loss deplore.<br> &quot;Behold a mother's last dear pledge of woe!<br> Yes, 'tis the last I have to suffer now.<br> Thou, my Polyxena, my ills must crown:<br> Already in thy Fate, I feel my own.<br> 'Tis thus, lest haply of my numerous seed<br> One should unslaughter'd fall, even thou must<br> bleed:<br> And yet I hop'd thy sex had been thy guard;<br> But neither has thy tender sex been spar'd.<br> The same Achilles, by whose deadly hate<br> Thy brothers fell, urg'd thy untimely fate!<br> The same Achilles, whose destructive rage<br> Laid waste my realms, has robb'd my childless age.<br> When Paris' shafts with Phoebus' certain aid<br> At length had pierc'd this dreaded chief, I said,<br> Secure of future ills, he can no more:<br> But see, he still pursues me as before.<br> With rage rekindled his dead ashes burn;<br> And his yet murd'ring ghost my wretched house must<br> mourn.<br> This tyrant's lust of slaughter I have fed<br> With large supplies from my too-fruitful bed.<br> Troy's tow'rs lye waste; and the wide ruin ends<br> The publick woe; but me fresh woe attends.<br> Troy still survives to me; to none but me;<br> And from its ills I never must be free.<br> I, who so late had power, and wealth, and ease,<br> Bless'd with my husband, and a large encrease,<br> Must now in poverty an exile mourn;<br> Ev'n from the tombs of my dead offspring torn:<br> Giv'n to Penelope, who proud of spoil,<br> Allots me to the loom's ungrateful toil;<br> Points to her dames, and crys with scorning mien:<br> See Hector's mother, and great Priam's queen!<br> And thou, my child, sole hope of all that's lost,<br> Thou now art slain, to sooth this hostile ghost.<br> Yes, my child falls an offering to my foe!<br> Then what am I, who still survive this woe?<br> Say, cruel Gods! for what new scenes of death<br> Must a poor aged wretch prolong this hated breath?<br> Troy fal'n, to whom could Priam happy seem?<br> Yet was he so; and happy must I deem<br> His death; for O! my child, he saw not thine,<br> When he his life did with his Troy resign.<br> Yet sure due obsequies thy tomb might grace;<br> And thou shalt sleep amidst thy kingly race.<br> Alas! my child, such fortune does not wait<br> Our suffering house in this abandon'd state.<br> A foreign grave, and thy poor mother's tears<br> Are all the honours that attend thy herse.<br> All now is lost!- Yet no; one comfort more<br> Of life remains, my much-lov'd Polydore.<br> My youngest hope: here on this coast he lives,<br> Nurs'd by the guardian-king, he still survives.<br> Then let me hasten to the cleansing flood,<br> And wash away these stains of guiltless blood.&quot;<br> Streit to the shore her feeble steps repair<br> With limping pace, and torn dishevell'd hair<br> Silver'd with age. &quot;Give me an urn,&quot; she cry'd,<br> &quot;To bear back water from this swelling tide&quot;:<br> When on the banks her son in ghastly hue<br> Transfix'd with Thracian arrows strikes her view.<br> The matrons shriek'd; her big-swoln grief surpast<br> The pow'r of utterance; she stood aghast;<br> She had nor speech, nor tears to give relief;<br> Excess of woe suppress'd the rising grief.<br> Lifeless as stone, on Earth she fix'd her eyes;<br> And then look'd up to Heav'n with wild surprise.<br> Now she contemplates o'er with sad delight<br> Her son's pale visage; then her aking sight<br> Dwells on his wounds: she varys thus by turns,<br> Wild as the mother-lion, when among<br> The haunts of prey she seeks her ravish'd young:<br> Swift flies the ravisher; she marks his trace,<br> And by the print directs her anxious chase.<br> So Hecuba with mingled grief, and rage<br> Pursues the king, regardless of her age.<br> She greets the murd'rer with dissembled joy<br> Of secret treasure hoarded for her boy.<br> The specious tale th' unwary king betray'd.<br> Fir'd with the hopes of prey: &quot;Give quick,&quot; he said<br> With soft enticing speech, &quot;the promis'd store:<br> Whate'er you give, you give to Polydore.<br> Your son, by the immortal Gods I swear,<br> Shall this with all your former bounty share.&quot;<br> She stands attentive to his soothing lyes,<br> And darts avenging horrour from her eyes.<br> Then full resentment fires her boyling blood:<br> She springs upon him, 'midst the captive crowd<br> (Her thirst of vengeance want of strength<br> supplies):<br> Fastens her forky fingers in his eyes:<br> Tears out the rooted balls; her rage pursues,<br> And in the hollow orbs her hand imbrews.<br> The Thracians, fir'd, at this inhuman scene,<br> With darts, and stones assail the frantick queen.<br> She snarls, and growls, nor in an human tone;<br> Then bites impatient at the bounding stone;<br> Extends her jaws, as she her voice would raise<br> To keen invectives in her wonted phrase;<br> But barks, and thence the yelping brute betrays.<br> Still a sad monument the place remains,<br> And from this monstrous change its name obtains:<br> Where she, in long remembrance of her ills,<br> With plaintive howlings the wide desart fills.<br> Greeks, Trojans, friends, and foes, and Gods<br> above<br> Her num'rous wrongs to just compassion move.<br> Ev'n Juno's self forgets her ancient hate,<br> And owns, she had deserv'd a milder fate.<br> The Funeral of Yet bright Aurora, partial as she was<br> Memnon To Troy, and those that lov'd the Trojan cause,<br> Nor Troy, nor Hecuba can now bemoan,<br> But weeps a sad misfortune, more her own.<br> Her offspring Memnon, by Achilles slain,<br> She saw extended on the Phrygian plain:<br> She saw, and strait the purple beams, that grace<br> The rosie morning, vanish'd from her face;<br> A deadly pale her wonted bloom invades,<br> And veils the lowring skies with mournful shades.<br> But when his limbs upon the pile were laid,<br> The last kind duty that by friends is paid,<br> His mother to the skies directs her flight,<br> Nor cou'd sustain to view the doleful sight:<br> But frantick, with her loose neglected hair,<br> Hastens to Jove, and falls a suppliant there.<br> O king of Heav'n, o father of the skies,<br> The weeping Goddess passionately cries,<br> Tho' I the meanest of immortals am,<br> And fewest temples celebrate my fame,<br> Yet still a Goddess, I presume to come<br> Within the verge of your etherial dome:<br> Yet still may plead some merit, if my light<br> With purple dawn controuls the Pow'rs of night;<br> If from a female hand that virtue springs,<br> Which to the Gods, and men such pleasure brings.<br> Yet I nor honours seek, nor rites divine,<br> Nor for more altars, or more fanes repine;<br> Oh! that such trifles were the only cause,<br> From whence Aurora's mind its anguish draws!<br> For Memnon lost, my dearest only child,<br> With weightier grief my heavy heart is fill'd;<br> My warrior son! that liv'd but half his time,<br> Nipt in the bud, and blasted in his prime;<br> Who for his uncle early took the field,<br> And by Achilles' fatal spear was kill'd.<br> To whom but Jove shou'd I for succour come?<br> For Jove alone cou'd fix his cruel doom.<br> O sov'reign of the Gods accept my pray'r,<br> Grant my request, and sooth a mother's care;<br> On the deceas'd some solemn boon bestow,<br> To expiate the loss, and ease my woe.<br> Jove, with a nod, comply'd with her desire;<br> Around the body flam'd the fun'ral fire;<br> The pile decreas'd, that lately seem'd so high,<br> And sheets of smoak roll'd upward to the sky:<br> As humid vapours from a marshy bog,<br> Rise by degrees, condensing into fog,<br> That intercept the sun's enliv'ning ray,<br> And with a cloud infect the chearful day.<br> The sooty ashes wafted by the air,<br> Whirl round, and thicken in a body there;<br> Then take a form, which their own heat, and fire<br> With active life, and energy inspire.<br> Its lightness makes it seem to fly, and soon<br> It skims on real wings, that are its own;<br> A real bird, it beats the breezy wind,<br> Mix'd with a thousand sisters of the kind,<br> That, from the same formation newly sprung,<br> Up-born aloft on plumy pinions hung.<br> Thrice round the pile advanc'd the circling throng.<br> Thrice, with their wings, a whizzing consort rung.<br> In the fourth flight their squadron they divide,<br> Rank'd in two diff'rent troops, on either side:<br> Then two, and two, inspir'd with martial rage,<br> From either troop in equal pairs engage.<br> Each combatant with beak, and pounces press'd,<br> In wrathful ire, his adversary's breast;<br> Each falls a victim, to preserve the fame<br> Of that great hero, whence their being came.<br> From him their courage, and their name they take,<br> And, as they liv'd, they dye for Memnon's sake.<br> Punctual to time, with each revolving year,<br> In fresh array the champion birds appear;<br> Again, prepar'd with vengeful minds, they come<br> To bleed, in honour of the souldier's tomb.<br> Therefore in others it appear'd not strange,<br> To grieve for Hecuba's unhappy change:<br> But poor Aurora had enough to do<br> With her own loss, to mind another's woe;<br> Who still in tears, her tender nature shews,<br> Besprinkling all the world with pearly dews.<br> The Voyage of Troy thus destroy'd, 'twas still deny'd by Fate,<br> Aeneas The hopes of Troy should perish with the state.<br> His sire, the son of Cytherea bore,<br> And household-Gods from burning Ilium's shore,<br> The pious prince (a double duty paid)<br> Each sacred burthen thro' the flames convey'd.<br> With young Ascanius, and this only prize,<br> Of heaps of wealth, he from Antandros flies;<br> But struck with horror, left the Thracian shore,<br> Stain'd with the blood of murder'd Polydore.<br> The Delian isle receives the banish'd train,<br> Driv'n by kind gales, and favour'd by the main.<br> Here pious Anius, priest, and monarch reign'd,<br> And either charge, with equal care sustain'd,<br> His subjects rul'd, to Phoebus homage pay'd,<br> His God obeying, and by those obey'd.<br> The priest displays his hospitable gate,<br> And shows the riches of his church, and state<br> The sacred shrubs, which eas'd Latona's pain,<br> The palm, and olive, and the votive fane.<br> Here grateful flames with fuming incense fed,<br> And mingled wine, ambrosial odours shed;<br> Of slaughter'd steers the crackling entrails<br> burn'd:<br> And then the strangers to the court return'd.<br> On beds of tap'stry plac'd aloft, they dine<br> With Ceres' gift, and flowing bowls of wine;<br> When thus Anchises spoke, amidst the feast:<br> Say, mitred monarch, Phoebus' chosen priest,<br> Or (e'er from Troy by cruel Fate expell'd)<br> When first mine eyes these sacred walls beheld,<br> A son, and twice two daughters crown'd thy bliss?<br> Or errs my mem'ry, and I judge amiss?<br> The royal prophet shook his hoary head,<br> With snowy fillets bound, and sighing, said:</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Ovid">Ovid</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=475843" data-title="Metamorphoses: Book The Thirteenth de Ovid" data-description="THE chiefs were set; the soldiers crown'd the field: To these the master of the seven-fold shield Upstarted fierce: and kindled with disdain. Eager to speak, unable to contain His boiling rage, he rowl'd his eyes around The shore, and ..."></div> </div> </div>

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