Say, shall I stay, or with despatch return?"
"There shalt thou stay" the king of men replied,
"Else may we miss to meet without a guide,
The paths so many, and the camp so wide.
Still, with your voice, the slothful soldiers raise,
Urge by their fathers' fame, their future praise.
Forget we now our state and lofty birth;
Not titles here, but works, must prove our worth;
To labour is the lot of man below;
And when Jove gave us life, he gave us woe."
This said, each parted to his several cares;
The king to Nestor's sable ship repairs;
The sage protector of the Greeks he found
Stretched in his bed, with all his arms around;
The various-coloured scarf, the shield he rears,
The shining helmet, and the pointed spears;
The dreadful weapons of the warrior's rage,
That, old in arms, disdained the peace of age.
Then, leaning on his hand his watchful head,
The hoary monarch raised his eyes, and said:
"What art thou, speak, that on designs unknown,
While others sleep, thus range the camp alone?
Seekest thou some friend, or nightly sentinel?
Stand off, approach not, but thy purpose tell."
"O son of Neleus," thus the king rejoined,
"Pride of the Greeks, and glory of thy kind!
Lo here the wretched Agamemnon stands,
The unhappy general of the Grecian bands;
Whom Jove decrees with daily cares to bend,
And woes, that only with his life shall end!
Scarce can my knees these trembling limbs sustain,
And scarce my heart support its load of pain.
No taste of sleep these heavy eyes have known;
Confused and sad, I wander thus alone,
With fears distracted, with no fixed design;
And all my people's miseries are mine.
If aught of use thy waking thought suggest,
Since cares, like mine, deprive thy soul of rest,
Impart thy counsel, and assist thy friend:
Now let us jointly to the trench descend,
At every gate the fainting guard excite,
Tired with the toils of day, and watch of night:
Else may the sudden foe our works invade,
So near, and favoured by the gloomy shade."
To him thus Nestor: "Trust the powers above,
Nor think proud Hector's hopes confirmed by Jove:
How ill agree the views of vain mankind,
And the wise counsels of the eternal mind!
Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/191
Jump to navigation
Jump to search
This page has been validated.
70—118
BOOK X
189
