Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/144

Be what ye seem, unanimated clay;
Myself will dare the danger of the day.
'Tis man's bold task the generous strife to try,
But in the hands of God is victory."
⁠These words scarce spoke, with generous ardour pressed,
His manly limbs in azure arms he dressed:
That day, Atrides, a superior hand
Had stretched thee breathless on the hostile strand;
But all at once, thy fury to compose,
The kings of Greece, an awful band, arose:
E'en he their chief, great Agamemnon, pressed
Thy daring hand, and this advice addressed:
"Whither, O Menelaüs! wouldst thou run,
And tempt a fate which prudence bids thee shun?
Grieved though thou art, forbear the rash design;
Great Hector's arm is mightier far than thine.
E'en fierce Achilles learned its force to fear,
And trembling met this dreadful son of war.
Sit thou secure amidst thy social band;
Greece in our cause shall arm some powerful hand.
The mightiest warrior of the Achaian name,
Though bold, and burning with desire of fame,
Content, the doubtful honour might forgo,
So great the danger, and so brave the foe."
⁠He said, and turned his brother's vengeful mind;
He stooped to reason, and his rage resigned,
No longer bent to rush on certain harms:
His joyful friends unbrace his azure arms.
⁠He from whose lips divine persuasion flows,
Grave Nestor, then, in graceful act arose.
Thus to the kings he spoke: "What grief, what shame,
Attend on Greece, and all the Grecian name!
How shall, alas! her hoary heroes mourn
Their sons degenerate, and their race a scorn!
What tears shall down thy silver beard be rolled,
O Peleus, old in arms, in wisdom old!
Once with what joy the generous prince would hear
Of every chief who fought this glorious war,
Participate their fame, and pleased inquire
Each name, each action, and each hero's sire?
Gods! should he see our warriors trembling stand,
And trembling all before one hostile hand;
How would he lift his aged arms on high,
Lament inglorious Greece, and beg to die!
Oh! would to all the immortal Powers above,
Minerva, Phœbus, and almighty Jove!
Years might again roll back, my youth renew,

And give this arm the spring which once it knew: