AN GAODHAL.
974
(See continuance of the glossary on inside of
back page.)
Pope's Translation of the Dialogue Between
Andromache and Hector.
Too daring prince, ah, whether dost thou run,
Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and son,
And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be,
A widow I, an helpless orphan he!
For sure such courage length of life denies;
And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice.
Greece in her single heroes strove in vain,
Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain !
Oh grant me, Gods, ere Hector meets his doom,
All I can ask of heaven, an early tomb.
So shall my days in one sad tenor run,
And end with sorrow as they first begun.
No parents now remains my griefs to share.
No father's aid, no mother's tender care.
The fierce Achilles wrapp'd our walls in fire,
Laid Thebe weste, and slew my warlike sire.
His fate compassion in the victor bred;
Stern as he was, he yet rever'd the dead,
His radiant arms preserv'd from hostile spoil
And laid him decent on the funeral pile:
Then rais'd a mountain where his bones were burn'd
The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorn'd,
Jove's sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow
A barren shade, and in his honour grow.
By the same arm my seven brave brothers fell,
In one sad day beheld the gates of hell:
While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed;
Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled.
My mother liv'd to bear the victor's bands,
The queen of Hippoplacia's sylvan lands :
Redeem'd too late, she scarce beheld again
Her pleasing empire and her native plain,
When ah, opprest by life-consuming woe,
She fell a victim to Diana's bow.
Yet, while my Hector survives, I see
My father, mother, brethren, all, in thee —
Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all
Once more will perish, if my Hector fall.
Thy wife, thy infant in thy danger share —
Oh prove a husband's and a father's care.
That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy
Where yon wild fig-trees join the walls of Troy;
Thou from this tower defend th' important post;
There Agamemnon points his dreadful host,
That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain,
And there the vengful Spartan fires his train.
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given,
Or led by hopes, or dictated from heaven.
Let others in the field their arms employ,
But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy.
The chief replied: That post shall be my care,
Not that alone, but all the works of war.
How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'd,
And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep th'
[ground
Attaint the lustre of my former name,
Should Hector basely quit the field of fame.
My early youth was bred to martial pains.
My soul impels me to th' embattle plains, —
Let me be foremost to defend the throne,
And guard my father's glories, and my own.
Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates —
(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates)
The day when thou, imperial Troy, must bend,
And see thy warrior fall, the glories end.
And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind,
My mother's death, the ruin of my kind.
Not Priam's hoary hairs defil'd with gore,
Not all my brothers gasping on the shore ;
As thine, Andromache! thy griefs I dread —
I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led,
In Argive looms our battles to design,
And woes, of which so large a part was thine.
To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring
The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring.
There, while you groan beneath the load of life,
The cry, behold the mighty Hector's wife?
Some haughty Greek, who lives thy woes to see,
Embitters all thy woes, by naming me.
The thoughts of glory past, and present shame,
A thousand griefs shall waken at the name,
May I lie cold before that dreadful day,
Prest with a load of monumental clay.
Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep,
Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep.
Thus having spoke, th' illustrious chief of Troy
Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy.
The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast,
Scar'd at the dazzling helm, and nodding crest.
With secret pleasure each fond parent smil'd,
And Hector hasted to relieve his child,
The glittering terrors from his brows unbound,
And plac'd the beaming helmet on the ground.
Then kiss'd the child, and, lifting high in air,
Thus to the gods preferr'd a father's prayer.
Oh, thou! whose glory fills th' eternal throne,
And all ye deathless powers! protect my son!
Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown,
To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown,
Against his country's foes the war to wage,
And rise the Hector of the future age!
So when triumphant from successful toils
Of heroes slain he bears the reeking spoils,
Whole hosts may hail him with deserv'd acclaim,
And say, this chief transcends his father's fame, —
While pleas'd, amidst the general shout of Troy
His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy.
He spoke, and fondly gazing on her charms,
Restored the pleasing burthen to her arms;
Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid,
Hush'd in repose, and with a smile survey'd.
The trouble pleasure soon chastis'd by fear,
She mingled with a smile a tender tear.
The soften'd chief with kind compassion view'd,
And dry'd the falling drops, and thus pursu'd, —
Andromache! my soul's far better part,
Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart?
No hostile hand can antedate my doom,
Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb.
Fix'd is the term to all the race of earth,
And such the hard condition of our birth.
No force can then resist, no flight can save —
All sink alike, the fearful and the brave.
No more — but hasten to thy tasks at home,
There guide the spindle, and direct the loom —
Me glory summons to the martial scene,
The field of combat is the sphere for men.
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,
The first in danger, as the first in fame.
Thus having said, the glorious chief resumes
His towery helmet, black with shading plumes.
His princess parts with a prophetic sigh,
Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye,
That stream'd at every look — the moving slow,
Sought her own palace, and indulg'd her woe.
There, while her tears deplor'd the godlike man,
Through all her train the soft infection ran,
The pious maids their mingled sorrows shed,
And mourn the living Hector as the dead.
