Classic Poem

Translated from the Greek of Homer ,

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 Idaeus 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're you went with Joy, to jee 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 streight 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 Scaea 's 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 rowling 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 stop'd 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 Crowd gave way,
Opening a Pass, like Waves of a divided Sea.
Idaeus 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 .
Andromache alone, no Notes cou'd find,
No Musick wild enough for her distracted Mind;
Her Grief, long smother'd, now from silence broke,
And thus; (close pressing his pale Cheeks) she spoke.

A NDROMACHE '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.
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 Life 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're 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.
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 wou'd 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 wou'd with Tears repeat.
She spake, and wept afresh, when all around
A gen'ral 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.

H ECUBA ' 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 Heavn's peculiar Care!
From fierce Achilles ' Chains thy Corps was freed;
So kind a Fate was for none else decreed:
For all my other Sons, ta'ne 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 us'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 Phaebus 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.

H ELEN ' s Lamentation .

O Hector , thou wert rooted in my Heart,
No Brother there had half so large a Part!
Scarce my own Lord, to whom such Love I bore,
That I forsook my Home; scarce he had more!
O would I ne're had seen that fatal day,
Would I had perish'd, when I came away.
Now, twenty Years are past, since that sad hour.
When first I landed on this ruin'd Shoar.
For Ruin (sure) and I, together came!
Yet all this time, from thee I ne're had blame,
Not one ungentle word, or look of Scorn,
Which I too often have from others born.
When you from their Reproach have set me free,
And kindly have reprov'd their Cruelty;
If by my Sisters, and 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 ere I pass,
And fly with Horrour from my hated Face.
This said; she wept, and the vast Throng was mov'd,
And with a general Sigh her Grief approv'd.
When Priam (who had heard the mourning Crowd)
Rose from his Seat, and thus he spake aloud.
Ceaje 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 .
He spake, and all obey'd as with one mind,
Chariots were brought, and Mules and Oxen joyn'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 quencht the remaining Flame.
His Brothers then, and Friends search'd ev'ry where,
And gathering 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're 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.