The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour collated with the ms. volume of his poems, and containing several pieces hitherto unpublished; with illustrative notes, and an account of the life of the author. By James Paterson |
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THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE. |
 | The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour |  |
THE PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.
[_]
FROM THE SIXTH ILIAD OF HOMER, TRANSLATED LITERALLY. Beginning verse 407.
Δαιμονιε, φθισει σε το σον μενος,------
O daring thou! to thy own strength a prey,
Nor pity moves thee for thy infant son,
Nor miserable me, a widow soon!
For, rushing on thy single might, at once
The Greeks will overwhelm thee. Better far
I had been wrapt in earth, than live of thee
Forlorn, and desolate; if thou must die,
What further comfort then for me remains,
What solace, but in tears? No father mine,
Nor mine no venerable mother's care.
Noble Achilles' hand my father slew,
And spread destruction through Cilicia's town,
Where many people dwelt, high-gated Thebes.
He slew Action, but despoiled him not,
For inly in his mind he feared the gods;
But burnt his body with his polished arms,
And o'er him reared a mound; the mountain nymphs,
The daughters fair of Egis-bearing Jove,
Planted with elms around the sacred place.
Seven brothers flourished in my father's house;
All in one day descended to the shades,
All slain by great Achilles, swift of foot,
Midst their white sheep, and heifers flexile-hoofed.
My mother, woody Hypoplacia's queen,
Brought hither, numbered in the victor's spoils;
Till loosed from bands, for gifts of mighty price,
By chace-delighting Dian's dart she fell,
Smote in my father's house. But Hector, thou,
Thou art my sire, my hoary mother thou,
My brother thou, thou husband of my youth!
Ah! pity, Hector, then; and in this tower
With us remain, nor render by thy fall
Him a sad orphan, me a widowed wife.
Here at this fig-tree station, where the town
Is easiest of ascent, and low the walls,
Here thrice the bravest of the foes have tried
To pass; each Ajax, brave Idomeneus,
The Atridæ too, and Tydeus' warlike son;
Whether some seer, in divination skilled,
Prompted the attempt, or their own valour dared
To execute a deed their wisdom planned.
Nor pity moves thee for thy infant son,
Nor miserable me, a widow soon!
For, rushing on thy single might, at once
The Greeks will overwhelm thee. Better far
I had been wrapt in earth, than live of thee
Forlorn, and desolate; if thou must die,
What further comfort then for me remains,
What solace, but in tears? No father mine,
Nor mine no venerable mother's care.
Noble Achilles' hand my father slew,
And spread destruction through Cilicia's town,
Where many people dwelt, high-gated Thebes.
He slew Action, but despoiled him not,
For inly in his mind he feared the gods;
But burnt his body with his polished arms,
And o'er him reared a mound; the mountain nymphs,
The daughters fair of Egis-bearing Jove,
Planted with elms around the sacred place.
Seven brothers flourished in my father's house;
All in one day descended to the shades,
166
Midst their white sheep, and heifers flexile-hoofed.
My mother, woody Hypoplacia's queen,
Brought hither, numbered in the victor's spoils;
Till loosed from bands, for gifts of mighty price,
By chace-delighting Dian's dart she fell,
Smote in my father's house. But Hector, thou,
Thou art my sire, my hoary mother thou,
My brother thou, thou husband of my youth!
Ah! pity, Hector, then; and in this tower
With us remain, nor render by thy fall
Him a sad orphan, me a widowed wife.
Here at this fig-tree station, where the town
Is easiest of ascent, and low the walls,
Here thrice the bravest of the foes have tried
To pass; each Ajax, brave Idomeneus,
The Atridæ too, and Tydeus' warlike son;
Whether some seer, in divination skilled,
Prompted the attempt, or their own valour dared
To execute a deed their wisdom planned.
To whom plume-nodding Hector thus replied:
These, woman, are my care; but much I fear
The Trojan youth, and long-gowned Trojan dames,
If, coward-like, I shun afar the fight.
Not so my courage bids; for I have learnt
Still to be brave, and foremost to defend
My father's mighty glories, and my own.
For well I know, and in my mind foresee,
A day will come, when sacred Ilion sinks,
Old Priam perishes, the people too
Of Priam aspen-speared. Yet not so much
The woes the Trojans yet in after-times
Must undergo, not Hecuba herself,
Nor princely Priam, nor my brothers dear,
Who, numerous and brave, fall'n in dust
Below the boasting foe, distract my soul,
As thou. Then when some brazen-coated Greek,
In the sad day of thy distress, shall drag
Thee weeping; or in Argos, breathing sad,
To some imperious mistress handmaid, thou
Shalt weave the web, or fetch the water's weight
From Messeis or Hyperia's springs, against
Thy will, but hard necessity compels.
Then shall he say, who sees thee sunk in tears,
Lo, Hector's wife! who far the chief of all
The Trojan steed-subduing race excell'd
Who fought at Ilion. Thus shall they say,
But thee new pangs shall seize; on thee shall come
Desire of such a husband, to repel
The evil hour: but may I low beneath
The monumental earth be laid to rest,
Nor thy soft sorrows, nor the melting voice
Of thy captivity, e'er reach my ear.
These, woman, are my care; but much I fear
The Trojan youth, and long-gowned Trojan dames,
If, coward-like, I shun afar the fight.
Not so my courage bids; for I have learnt
Still to be brave, and foremost to defend
My father's mighty glories, and my own.
For well I know, and in my mind foresee,
A day will come, when sacred Ilion sinks,
Old Priam perishes, the people too
Of Priam aspen-speared. Yet not so much
The woes the Trojans yet in after-times
Must undergo, not Hecuba herself,
Nor princely Priam, nor my brothers dear,
Who, numerous and brave, fall'n in dust
Below the boasting foe, distract my soul,
As thou. Then when some brazen-coated Greek,
In the sad day of thy distress, shall drag
Thee weeping; or in Argos, breathing sad,
To some imperious mistress handmaid, thou
Shalt weave the web, or fetch the water's weight
From Messeis or Hyperia's springs, against
Thy will, but hard necessity compels.
Then shall he say, who sees thee sunk in tears,
Lo, Hector's wife! who far the chief of all
The Trojan steed-subduing race excell'd
Who fought at Ilion. Thus shall they say,
But thee new pangs shall seize; on thee shall come
Desire of such a husband, to repel
The evil hour: but may I low beneath
167
Nor thy soft sorrows, nor the melting voice
Of thy captivity, e'er reach my ear.
So saying, the illustrious Hector stretch'd
His hands to reach his child; the child averse,
In the soft bosom of the fair-zon'd nurse
Weeping, fell back, abhorrent, from his sire
Of warlike aspect: for he fear'd the shine
Of armour, and the horse-hair horrid crest
That nodded dreadful on the helmet's top.
The loving father smil'd, the mother smil'd;
Straight from his head th' illustrous Hector took
His helm, and plac'd it blazing on the ground;
Then fondled in his arms his much lov'd son
He took; thus praying Jove, and all the gods:
His hands to reach his child; the child averse,
In the soft bosom of the fair-zon'd nurse
Weeping, fell back, abhorrent, from his sire
Of warlike aspect: for he fear'd the shine
Of armour, and the horse-hair horrid crest
That nodded dreadful on the helmet's top.
The loving father smil'd, the mother smil'd;
Straight from his head th' illustrous Hector took
His helm, and plac'd it blazing on the ground;
Then fondled in his arms his much lov'd son
He took; thus praying Jove, and all the gods:
Jove and ye other gods, grant this my son,
Grant he may too become, as I am now,
The grace of Troy, the same in martial strength,
And rule his Ilion with a monarch's sway;
That men may say, when he returns from fight,
“This youth transcends his sire:” Then may he bear
The bloody spoils aloft of hostile chiefs
In battle slain, and joy his mother's heart.
Grant he may too become, as I am now,
The grace of Troy, the same in martial strength,
And rule his Ilion with a monarch's sway;
That men may say, when he returns from fight,
“This youth transcends his sire:” Then may he bear
The bloody spoils aloft of hostile chiefs
In battle slain, and joy his mother's heart.
He said: and to his much lov'd spouse resign'd
His child; she on her fragrant bosom lull'd
Smiling thro' tears, receiv'd him: at the sight,
Compassion touch'd her husband's heart; her cheek
With gentle blandishment he stroak'd, and spoke:
His child; she on her fragrant bosom lull'd
Smiling thro' tears, receiv'd him: at the sight,
Compassion touch'd her husband's heart; her cheek
With gentle blandishment he stroak'd, and spoke:
O best beloved! oh sadden not thy heart
With grief beyond due bounds. I trust, no hand
Shall send me down to shades obscure, before
My day of doom decreed; for well I ween
No man of mortal men escapes from death,
Fearful or bold: whoe'er is born must die.
But thou returning to thy home, attend
The spindle, and the loom, thy peaceful cares,
And call thy duteous maidens round to share
Their tasks by thee assign'd; for war belongs
To men, and chief to me, of Ilion's sons.
With grief beyond due bounds. I trust, no hand
Shall send me down to shades obscure, before
My day of doom decreed; for well I ween
No man of mortal men escapes from death,
Fearful or bold: whoe'er is born must die.
But thou returning to thy home, attend
The spindle, and the loom, thy peaceful cares,
And call thy duteous maidens round to share
Their tasks by thee assign'd; for war belongs
To men, and chief to me, of Ilion's sons.
This said, illustrious Hector seiz'd his helm,
And to her home return'd his much lov'd spouse,
Oft looking back, and shedding tears profuse.
Then sudden at the lofty dome arriv'd,
With chambers fair adorn'd, where Hector dwelt,
The godlike Hector! There again she wept!
In his own house the living Hector wept;
For now foreboding in their fears, no more
They hop'd to meet him with returning step
From battle, 'scap'd the rage and force of Greece.
And to her home return'd his much lov'd spouse,
Oft looking back, and shedding tears profuse.
Then sudden at the lofty dome arriv'd,
With chambers fair adorn'd, where Hector dwelt,
The godlike Hector! There again she wept!
In his own house the living Hector wept;
For now foreboding in their fears, no more
They hop'd to meet him with returning step
From battle, 'scap'd the rage and force of Greece.
| The poems and songs of William Hamilton of Bangour | |