Not to declare him openly in Troy
Till he should reach again the camp and fleet,
He told me the whole purpose of the Greeks.
Then, (many a Trojan slaughter’d,) he regain’d
The camp, and much intelligence he bore
To the Achaians. Oh what wailing then
Was heard of Trojan women! but my heart
Exulted, alter’d now, and wishing home;
For now my crime committed under force
Of Venus’. influence I deplored, what time
She led me to a country far remote,
A wand’rer from the matrimonial bed,
From my own child, and from my rightful Lord
Alike unblemish’d both in form and mind.
Helen! thou hast well spoken. All is true.
I have the talents fathom’d and the minds
Of num’rous Heroes, and have travell’d far
Yet never saw I with these eyes in man
Such firmness as the calm Ulysses own’d;
None such as in the wooden horse he proved,
Where all our bravest sat, designing woe
And bloody havoc for the sons of Troy.
Thou thither cam’st, impell’d, as it should seem,
By some divinity inclin’d to give
Victory to our foes, and with thee came
Godlike Deiphobus. Thrice round about
The hollow ambush, striking with thy hand
Its sides thou went’st, and by his name didst call
Each prince of Greece feigning his consort’s voice.
Myself with Diomede, and with divine
Ulysses, seated in the midst, the call
Heard plain and loud; we (Diomede and I)
With ardour burn’d either to quit the horse
So summon’d, or to answer from within.
But, all impatient as we were, Ulysses
Controul’d the rash design; so there the sons
Of the Achaians silent sat and mute,
And of us all Anticlus would alone
Have answer’d; but Ulysses with both hands
Compressing close his lips, saved us, nor ceased
Till Pallas thence conducted thee again.
Atrides! Menelaus! prince renown’d!
Hard was his lot whom these rare qualities
Preserved not, neither had his dauntless heart
Been iron, had he scaped his cruel doom.
But haste, dismiss us hence, that on our beds
Reposed, we may enjoy sleep, needful now.
To her attendant maidens to prepare
Beds in the portico with purple rugs
Resplendent, and with arras, overspread,
And cover’d warm with cloaks of shaggy pile.
Forth went the maidens, bearing each a torch,
And spread the couches; next, the herald them
Led forth, and in the vestibule the son
Of Nestor and the youthful Hero slept,
Telemachus; but in the interior house
Atrides, with the loveliest of her sex
Beside him, Helen of the sweeping stole.
But when Aurora, daughter of the dawn,
Glow’d in the East, then from his couch arose
The warlike Menelaus, fresh attir’d;
His faulchion o’er his shoulders slung, he bound
His sandals fair to his unsullied feet,
And like a God issuing, at the side
Sat of Telemachus, to whom he spake.
Hath hither led thee, to the land far-famed
Of Lacedæmon o’er the spacious Deep?
Public concern or private? Tell me true.
Atrides! Menelaus! prince renown’d!
News seeking of my Sire, I have arrived.
My household is devour’d, my fruitful fields
Are desolated, and my palace fill’d
With enemies, who while they mutual wage
Proud competition for my mother’s love,
My flocks continual slaughter, and my beeves.
For this cause, at thy knees suppliant, I beg
That thou wouldst tell me his disastrous end,
If either thou beheld’st with thine own eyes
His death, or from some wand’rer of the Greeks
Hast heard it; for no common woes, alas!
Was he ordain’d to share ev’n from the womb.
Neither through pity or o’erstrain’d respect
Flatter me, but explicit all relate
Which thou hast witness’d. If my noble Sire
E’er gratified thee by performance just
Of word or deed at Ilium, where ye fell
So num’rous slain in fight, oh recollect
Now his fidelity, and tell me true!
Gods! their ambition is to reach the bed
Of a brave man, however base themselves.
But as it chances, when the hart hath lay’d
Her fawns new-yean’d and sucklings yet, to rest
Within some dreadful lion’s gloomy den,
She roams the hills, and in the grassy vales
Feeds heedless, till the lion, to his lair
Return’d, destroys her and her little-ones,
So them thy Sire shall terribly destroy.
Jove, Pallas and Apollo! oh that such
As erst in well-built Lesbos, where he strove
With Philomelides, and threw him flat,
A sight at which Achaia’s sons rejoic’d,
Such, now, Ulysses might assail them all!
Short life and bitter nuptials should be theirs.
But thy enquiries neither indirect
Will I evade, nor give thee false reply,
But all that from the Antient of the Deep
I have receiv’d will utter, hiding nought.
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