How this mischance the Cyprian queen befell.
As late she tried with passion to inflame
The tender bosom of a Grecian dame,
Allured the fair with moving thoughts of joy,
To quit her country for some youth of Troy;
The clasping zone, with golden buckles bound,
Razed her soft hand with this lamented wound."
The sire of gods and men superior smiled,
And, calling Venus, thus addressed his child:
"Not these, O daughter, are thy proper cares,
Thee milder arts befit, and softer wars;
Sweet smiles are thine, and kind endearing charms;
To Mars and Pallas leave the deeds of arms."
Thus they in heaven; while on the plain below
The fierce Tydides charged his Dardan foe,
Flushed with celestial blood pursued his way,
And fearless dared the threatening god of day;
Already in his hopes he saw him killed,
Though screened behind Apollo's mighty shield.
Thrice, rushing furious, at the chief he struck;
His blazing buckler thrice Apollo shook:
He tried the fourth: when, breaking from the cloud,
A more than mortal voice was heard aloud:
"O son of Tydeus, cease! be wise, and see
How vast the difference of the gods and thee;
Distance immense! between the powers that shine
Above, eternal, deathless, and divine,
And mortal man! a wretch of humble birth,
A short-lived reptile in the dust of earth."
So spoke the god who darts celestial fires;
He dreads his fury, and some steps retires.
Then Phœbus bore the chief of Venus' race
To Troy's high fame, and to his holy place;
Latona there and Phœbe healed the wound;
With vigour armed him, and with glory crowned.
This done, the patron of the silver bow
A phantom raised, the same in shape and show
With great Æneas; such the form he bore,
And such in fight the radiant arms he wore.
Around the spectre bloody wars are waged,
And Greece and Troy with clashing shields engaged.
Meantime on Ilion's tower Apollo stood,
And, calling Mars, thus urged the raging god:
"Stern Power of arms, by whom the mighty fall,
Who bathe in blood, and shake the embattled wall!
Rise in thy wrath! to hell's abhorred abodes
Despatch yon Greek, and vindicate the gods.
First rosy Venus felt his brutal rage;
Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/113
Jump to navigation
Jump to search
This page has been validated.
510—558
BOOK V
111
