The Third Volume of the Works of Mr. William Congreve containing Poems upon Several Occasions |
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| THE LAMENTATIONS OF Hecuba, Adromache, and Helen, Over the dead Body of HECTOR.
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| II. |
| III. |
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| VII. |
| VIII. |
 | The Third Volume of the Works of Mr. William Congreve |  |
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THE LAMENTATIONS OF Hecuba, Adromache, and Helen, Over the dead Body of HECTOR.
Connexion of this with the former Translation.
Priam, at last, moves Achilles to Compassion, and after having made him Presents of great Value, obtains the Body of his Son. Mercury awakens Priam early in the Morning, and advises him to haste away with the Body, least Agamemnon should be informed of his being in the Camp: He himself helps to harness the Mules and Horses, and conveys him safely, and without Noise, Chariot and all, from among the Grecian Tents; then flies up to Heav'n, leaving Priam and Idæus to travel on with the Body toward Troy.
Now did the Saffron Morn her Beams display,
Gilding the Face of Universal Day;
When mourning Priam to the Town return'd;
Slowly his Chariot mov'd, as that had mourn'd;
The Mules, beneath the mangled Body go,
As bearing (now) unusual Weight of Woe.
To Pergamus high top Cassandra flies,
Thence, she afar the sad Procession spies:
Her Father and Idæus first appear,
Then Hector's Corps extended on a Bier;
At which, her boundless Grief loud Cries began,
And, thus lamenting, thro' the Streets she ran:
Hither, ye wretched Trojans, hither all!
Behold the Godlike Hector's Funeral!
If e'er you went with Joy, to see him come
Adorn'd with Conquest and with Lawrels home,
Assemble now, his Ransom'd Body see,
What once was all your Joy, now all your Misery!
Gilding the Face of Universal Day;
887
Slowly his Chariot mov'd, as that had mourn'd;
The Mules, beneath the mangled Body go,
As bearing (now) unusual Weight of Woe.
To Pergamus high top Cassandra flies,
Thence, she afar the sad Procession spies:
Her Father and Idæus first appear,
Then Hector's Corps extended on a Bier;
At which, her boundless Grief loud Cries began,
And, thus lamenting, thro' the Streets she ran:
Hither, ye wretched Trojans, hither all!
Behold the Godlike Hector's Funeral!
If e'er you went with Joy, to see him come
Adorn'd with Conquest and with Lawrels home,
Assemble now, his Ransom'd Body see,
What once was all your Joy, now all your Misery!
She spake, and strait the num'rous Crowd obey'd,
Nor Man, nor Woman, in the City staid;
Common Consent of Grief had made 'em one,
With clam'rous Moan to Scæas Gate they run,
There the lov'd Body of their Hector meet,
Which they, with loud and fresh Lamentings, greet.
His Rev'rend Mother, and his Tender Wife,
Equal in Love, in Grief had equal Strife:
In Sorrow they no Moderation knew,
But wildly wailing, to the Chariot flew;
There strove the rolling Wheels to hold, while each
Attempted first his breathless Corps to reach;
Aloud they beat their Breasts, and tore their Hair,
Rending around with Shrieks the suff'ring Air.
Nor Man, nor Woman, in the City staid;
888
With clam'rous Moan to Scæas Gate they run,
There the lov'd Body of their Hector meet,
Which they, with loud and fresh Lamentings, greet.
His Rev'rend Mother, and his Tender Wife,
Equal in Love, in Grief had equal Strife:
In Sorrow they no Moderation knew,
But wildly wailing, to the Chariot flew;
There strove the rolling Wheels to hold, while each
Attempted first his breathless Corps to reach;
Aloud they beat their Breasts, and tore their Hair,
Rending around with Shrieks the suff'ring Air.
Now had the Throng of People stopt the Way,
Who would have there lamented all the Day,
But Priam from his Chariot rose, and spake,
Trojans enough; Truce with your Sorrows make;
Give way to me, and yield the Chariot Room;
First let me bear my Hector's Body home,
Then mourn your fill. At this the Croud gave way,
Yielding, like Waves of a divided Sea.
Who would have there lamented all the Day,
But Priam from his Chariot rose, and spake,
Trojans enough; Truce with your Sorrows make;
Give way to me, and yield the Chariot Room;
First let me bear my Hector's Body home,
889
Yielding, like Waves of a divided Sea.
Idæus to the Palace drove, then laid,
With Care, the Body on a Sumptuous Bed,
And round about were skilful Singers plac'd,
Who wept, and sigh'd, and in sad Notes express'd
Their Moan; All in a Chorus did agree
Of Universal, Mournful Harmony.
When, first, Andromache, her Passion broke,
And thus (close pressing his pale Cheeks) she spoke.
With Care, the Body on a Sumptuous Bed,
And round about were skilful Singers plac'd,
Who wept, and sigh'd, and in sad Notes express'd
Their Moan; All in a Chorus did agree
Of Universal, Mournful Harmony.
When, first, Andromache, her Passion broke,
And thus (close pressing his pale Cheeks) she spoke.
Andromache's Lamentation.
O my lost Husband! let me ever mourn
Thy early Fate, and too untimely Urn:
In the full Pride of Youth thy Glories fade,
And thou in Ashes must with them be laid.
Thy early Fate, and too untimely Urn:
In the full Pride of Youth thy Glories fade,
And thou in Ashes must with them be laid.
Why is my Heart thus miserably torn!
Why am I thus distress'd! why thus forlorn!
Am I that wretched Thing, a Widow left?
Why do I live, who am of thee bereft!
Yet I were blest, were I alone undone;
Alas, my Child! where can an Infant run?
Unhappy Orphan! thou in Woes art nurst;
Why were you born?—I am with Blessings curst!
For long e'er thou shalt be to Manhood grown,
Wide Desolation will lay waste this Town:
Who is there now that can Protection give,
Since He, who was her Strength, no more doth live?
Who of her Rev'rend Matrons will have Care?
Who save her Children from the Rage of War?
For He to all Father and Husband was,
And all are Orphans now, and Widows by his Loss
Soon will the Grecians, now, insulting come,
And bear us Captives to their distant Home;
I, with my Child, must the same Fortune share,
And all alike, be Pris'ners of the War;
'Mongst base-born Wretches he his Lot must have,
And be to some inhuman Lord, a Slave.
Else some avenging Greek, with Fury fill'd,
Or for an only Son, or Father kill'd
By Hector's Hand, on him will vent his Rage,
And with his Blood his Thirsty Grief asswage;
For many fell by his relentless Hand,
Biting that Ground, which with their Blood was stain'd.
Why am I thus distress'd! why thus forlorn!
890
Why do I live, who am of thee bereft!
Yet I were blest, were I alone undone;
Alas, my Child! where can an Infant run?
Unhappy Orphan! thou in Woes art nurst;
Why were you born?—I am with Blessings curst!
For long e'er thou shalt be to Manhood grown,
Wide Desolation will lay waste this Town:
Who is there now that can Protection give,
Since He, who was her Strength, no more doth live?
Who of her Rev'rend Matrons will have Care?
Who save her Children from the Rage of War?
For He to all Father and Husband was,
And all are Orphans now, and Widows by his Loss
Soon will the Grecians, now, insulting come,
And bear us Captives to their distant Home;
I, with my Child, must the same Fortune share,
And all alike, be Pris'ners of the War;
'Mongst base-born Wretches he his Lot must have,
And be to some inhuman Lord, a Slave.
891
Or for an only Son, or Father kill'd
By Hector's Hand, on him will vent his Rage,
And with his Blood his Thirsty Grief asswage;
For many fell by his relentless Hand,
Biting that Ground, which with their Blood was stain'd.
Fierce was thy Father (O my Child) in War,
And never did his Foe in Battel spare;
Thence come these Suff'rings, which so much have cost,
Much Woe to all, but sure to me the most.
I saw him not, when in the Pangs of Death,
Nor did my Lips receive his latest Breath;
Why held he not to me his dying Hand?
And why receiv'd not I his last Command?
Something he would have said, had I been there,
Which I should still in sad Remembrance bear;
For I could never, never Words forget,
Which Night and Day, I should with Tears repeat.
And never did his Foe in Battel spare;
Thence come these Suff'rings, which so much have cost,
Much Woe to all, but sure to me the most.
I saw him not, when in the Pangs of Death,
Nor did my Lips receive his latest Breath;
Why held he not to me his dying Hand?
And why receiv'd not I his last Command?
Something he would have said, had I been there,
Which I should still in sad Remembrance bear;
For I could never, never Words forget,
Which Night and Day, I should with Tears repeat.
892
She spake, and wept afresh, when all around,
A general Sigh diffus'd a mournful Sound.
A general Sigh diffus'd a mournful Sound.
Then, Hecuba, who long had been opprest
With boiling Passions in her aged Breast,
Mingling her Words with Sighs and Tears, begun
A Lamentation for her Darling Son.
With boiling Passions in her aged Breast,
Mingling her Words with Sighs and Tears, begun
A Lamentation for her Darling Son.
Hecuba's Lamentation.
Hector, my Joy, and to my Soul more dear
Than all my other num'rous Issue were;
O my last Comfort, and my best Belov'd!
Thou, at whose Fall, ev'n Jove himself was mov'd,
And sent a God his dread Commands to bear,
So far thou wert high Heav'n's peculiar Care!
From fierce Achilles' Chains thy Corps was freed;
So kind a Fate was for none else decreed:
My other Sons, made Pris'ners by his Hands,
Were sold like Slaves, and shipt to foreign Lands.
Thou too wert sentenc'd by his barb'rous Doom,
And dragg'd, when dead, about Patroclus Tomb,
His lov'd Patroclus, whom thy Hands had slain;
And yet that Cruelty was urg'd in vain,
Since all could not restore his Life again.
Now fresh and glowing, even in Death thou art,
And fair as he who fell by Phœbus' Dart.
Than all my other num'rous Issue were;
O my last Comfort, and my best Belov'd!
Thou, at whose Fall, ev'n Jove himself was mov'd,
And sent a God his dread Commands to bear,
So far thou wert high Heav'n's peculiar Care!
From fierce Achilles' Chains thy Corps was freed;
So kind a Fate was for none else decreed:
My other Sons, made Pris'ners by his Hands,
Were sold like Slaves, and shipt to foreign Lands.
893
And dragg'd, when dead, about Patroclus Tomb,
His lov'd Patroclus, whom thy Hands had slain;
And yet that Cruelty was urg'd in vain,
Since all could not restore his Life again.
Now fresh and glowing, even in Death thou art,
And fair as he who fell by Phœbus' Dart.
Here weeping Hecuba her Passion stay'd,
And Universal Moan again was made;
When Helen's Lamentation hers supply'd,
And thus, aloud, that fatal Beauty cry'd.
And Universal Moan again was made;
When Helen's Lamentation hers supply'd,
And thus, aloud, that fatal Beauty cry'd.
Helen's Lamentation.
O Hector, thou wert rooted in my Heart,
No Brother there had half so large a Part:
Not less than twenty Years are now pass'd o're,
Since first I landed on the Trojan Shore;
Since I with Godlike Paris fled from home;
(Would I had dy'd before that Day had come!)
In all which time (so gentle was thy Mind)
I ne'er could charge thee with a Deed unkind;
Not one untender Word, or Look of Scorn,
Which I too often have from others born.
But you from their Reproach still set me free,
And kindly have reprov'd their Cruelty;
If by my Sisters, or the Queen revil'd,
(For the good King, like you, was ever mild)
Your Kindness still has all my Grief beguil'd.
Ever in Tears let me your Loss bemoan,
Who had no Friend alive, but you alone:
All will reproach me now, where-e'er I pass,
And fly with Horror from my hated Face.
This said; she wept, and the vast Throng was mov'd,
And with a gen'ral Sigh her Grief approv'd.
When Priam (who had heard the mourning Crowd)
Rose from his Seat, and thus he spake aloud.
No Brother there had half so large a Part:
Not less than twenty Years are now pass'd o're,
Since first I landed on the Trojan Shore;
Since I with Godlike Paris fled from home;
(Would I had dy'd before that Day had come!)
894
I ne'er could charge thee with a Deed unkind;
Not one untender Word, or Look of Scorn,
Which I too often have from others born.
But you from their Reproach still set me free,
And kindly have reprov'd their Cruelty;
If by my Sisters, or the Queen revil'd,
(For the good King, like you, was ever mild)
Your Kindness still has all my Grief beguil'd.
Ever in Tears let me your Loss bemoan,
Who had no Friend alive, but you alone:
All will reproach me now, where-e'er I pass,
And fly with Horror from my hated Face.
This said; she wept, and the vast Throng was mov'd,
And with a gen'ral Sigh her Grief approv'd.
When Priam (who had heard the mourning Crowd)
Rose from his Seat, and thus he spake aloud.
Cease your Lamentings, Trojans, for a while,
And fell down Trees to build a Fun'ral Pile;
Fear not an Ambush by the Grecians laid,
For with Achilles twelve Days Truce I made.
And fell down Trees to build a Fun'ral Pile;
895
For with Achilles twelve Days Truce I made.
He spake, and all obey'd as with one Mind,
Chariots were brought, and Mules and Oxen join'd;
Forth from the City all the People went,
And nine Days Space was in that Labour spent;
The Tenth, a most stupendous Pile they made,
And on the Top the Manly Hector laid,
Then gave it Fire; while all, with weeping Eyes,
Beheld the rolling Flames and Smoak arise.
All Night they wept, and all the Night it burn'd;
But when the Rosie Morn with Day return'd,
About the Pile the thronging People came,
And with black Wine quench'd the remaining Flame.
His Brothers then, and Friends search'd ev'ry where,
And gath'ring up his snowy Bones with Care,
Wept o'er 'em; when an Urn of Gold was brought,
Wrapt in soft Purple Palls, and richly wrought,
In which the Sacred Ashes were interr'd,
Then o'er his Grave a Monument they rear'd.
Mean time, strong Guards were plac'd, and careful Spies,
To watch the Grecians, and prevent Surprize.
The Work once ended, all the vast Resort
Of mourning People went to Priam's Court;
There they refresh'd their weary Limbs with Rest,
Ending the Fun'ral with a Solemn Feast.
Chariots were brought, and Mules and Oxen join'd;
Forth from the City all the People went,
And nine Days Space was in that Labour spent;
The Tenth, a most stupendous Pile they made,
And on the Top the Manly Hector laid,
Then gave it Fire; while all, with weeping Eyes,
Beheld the rolling Flames and Smoak arise.
All Night they wept, and all the Night it burn'd;
But when the Rosie Morn with Day return'd,
About the Pile the thronging People came,
And with black Wine quench'd the remaining Flame.
His Brothers then, and Friends search'd ev'ry where,
And gath'ring up his snowy Bones with Care,
896
Wrapt in soft Purple Palls, and richly wrought,
In which the Sacred Ashes were interr'd,
Then o'er his Grave a Monument they rear'd.
Mean time, strong Guards were plac'd, and careful Spies,
To watch the Grecians, and prevent Surprize.
The Work once ended, all the vast Resort
Of mourning People went to Priam's Court;
There they refresh'd their weary Limbs with Rest,
Ending the Fun'ral with a Solemn Feast.
| The Third Volume of the Works of Mr. William Congreve | |