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Yet still one comfort in his soul may rise;
He hears his son still lives to glad his eyes;
And, hearing, still may hope a better day
May send him thee, to chase that foe away.
No comfort to my griefs, no hopes, remain :
The best, the bravest, of my sons is slain !
Yet what a race! ere Greece to Ilion came,
The pledge of many a loved and loving dame!
Nineteen one mother bore - Dead, all are dead!
How oft, alas! has wretched Priam bled!
Still one was left, their loss to recompense;
His father's hope, his country's last defence.
Him too, thy rage has slain! beneath thy steel,
Unhappy, in his country's cause he fell!
For him, through hostile camps I bend my way,
For him, thus prostrate at thy feet I lay ;
Large gifts proportion'd to thy wrath I bear;
O hear the wretched and the gods revere !
Think of thy father and this face behold!
See him in me, as helpless and as old!
Though not so wretched, there he yields to me,
The first of men in sovereign misery!
Thus forced to kneel, thus groveling to embrace
The scourge and ruin of my realm and race;
Suppliant my children's murderer to implore,
And kiss those hands yet reeking with their gore.
2. As Cupid, the sliest young wanton alive, Of its hoard of sweet honey was robbing a hive, The sentinel bee buzz'd with anger and grief, And darted his sting in the hand of the thief.
He sobb'd, blew his fingers, stamp'd hard on the ground,
And, leaping in anguish, show'd Venus the wound;
Then began in a sorrowful tone to complain,
That an insect so little should cause so great pain.
Αυτας παναποτμος εγω, επεί άριστους υἱας τεκον
Εν εύρεση Τροιη, δ' ουτινα των λελειφθαι φημι.
Ησαν μοι πεντηκοντα, ὁτ υίες Αχαιων ηλυθον
Εννεακαιδεκα μοι μεν ησαν, εκ της νηδύος,
Τους δ' αλλους γυναικες ετικτον μοι ενι μεγαροισι.
Των μεν Αρης θουρος ύπο έλυσεν πολλων γουνατ
Ος δε οἷος μοι την, δε είλυτο αστυ και αυτους,
Τον συ κτεινας πρωην, αμυνόμενον πατρής περί,
Έκτορα· εἶνεχ' του νυν ἱκανει Αχαιων νηας,
Παρα σειο λυσόμενος, φερω δ' απερεισι αποινα.
Αλλ' θεους αιδειο, αυτον τ' ελεησον, Αχιλευ,
Σου μνησαμενος πατρος· εγω δ ελεεινότερος περ,
Ετλην δ', οἳ τις ουπω αλλος επιχθονιος βροτος,
Ορεγεσθαι στομα ποτι χειρ' παιδοφόνοιο ανδρος·
2. Τον Ερωτα ποτ' κλεπταν κακα μελισσα κεντασε,
Συλευμένον κήριον εκ σιμβλων ακρα δε χειρών
Δακτυλα ὑπενευξεν πανθ'· ὁ δ ̓ αλγεε, και εφυσση χερ
Και επάταξε ταν γαν, και άλατο ταδ Αφροδιτα
Ταν οδυναν δειξεν, και μέμφετο ὁττιγε τυτθον
Θηριον μελισσα εντι, και άλικα ποιει τραύματα.
Venus, smiling her son in such taking to see,
Said, "Cupid, you put me in mind of a bee;
You're just such a busy, diminutive thing,
Yet you make woeful wounds with a desperate sting."
3. Forth from the portals rush th' intrepid pair, Opposed their breasts, and stood themselves the war. So two wild boars spring furious from their den, Roused with the cries of dogs and voice of men ; On every side the crackling trees they tear,
And root the shrubs and lay the forest bare;
They gnash their tusks, with fire their eye-balls roll,
Till some wide wound lets out their mighty soul.
Around their heads the whistling javelins sung,
With sounding strokes their brazen targets rung;
Fierce was the fight, while yet the Grecian powers
Maintain'd the walls, and mann'd the lofty towers:
To save their fleet, their last efforts they try,
And stones and darts in mingled tempests fly.
As when sharp Boreas blows abroad, and brings
The dreary winter on his frozen wings;
Beneath the low hung clouds the sheets of snow
Descend, and whiten all the fields below;
So fast the darts on either army pour,
So down the rampires rolls the rocky shower;
Heavy and thick resound the batter'd shields,
And the deaf echo rattles round the fields.
4. Who, full of wiles, his neighbour's harm contrives, False to himself, against himself he strives;
For he that harbours evil in his mind,
Will from his evil thoughts but evil find;
Γελάσασα χα ματης, τυ δ' ουκ εσσι ισος μελίσσαις ;
Χώ τυτθος της μεν, δε ποιεις τα τραύματα άλικα ;
3. Εκ δε τω αϊξαντε, μαχεσθην προσθε πυλάων,
Εοικοτε συεσσιν αγροτεροισι, τω τ' εν ορεσσιν
Δέχεται ιοντα κολοσυρτον κυνων ηδε ανδρων,
Δοχμω τ' αΐσσοντε ύλην αγνυτον σφισιν περί,
Εκταμνοντες πρυμνην, ύπαι δε τε κομπος οδόντων
Γίγνεται, είσομε τις τε έληται εκ θυμον βαλων.
Ως χαλκος φαεινος κομπεί επι στήθεσφι των,
Βαλλομένων αντην γαρ εμάχοντο μαλα κρατερως,
Πεποιθότες λαοισιν καθύπερθε, ηδη βιηφιν.
Οἱ δ' άρα χερμαδίοισιν απο εὔδμητων πύργων
Βαλλον, σφων τ' αυτων αμυνόμενοι, και κλισιάων,
Ωκυπόρων νηων τ'· νιφαδες δ ̓ ὡς ἔραζε πιπτον,
Ας τ' ανεμος ζωής, δονήσας σκιόεντα νεφεα,
Κατέχευεν ταρφειας επι πουλυβοτείρῃ. χθονι
Ως βελε ερρεον εκ των χειρών, ημεν Αχαιών,
Ηδη και εκ Τρωων· αμφ' κορυθες δ' αΰτευν αυον,
Βαλλόμεναι μυλακεσσι, ασπίδες και ομφαλοεσσαι.
4. Ανης τευχων κακα αλλῳ τευχει κακα οἱ αὐτῷ Η δε βουλη κακη κακιστη τῳ βουλευσαντι.
And, lo! the eye of Jove, that all things knows, Can, when he will, the heart of man disclose; Open the guilty bosom all within,
And trace the infant thoughts of future sin.
O! when I hear the upright man complain,
And, by his injuries, the judge arraign,
If to be wicked is to find success,
But interest only ever keep in view
But, by reflection better taught, I find
We see the present, to the future blind.
Trust to the will of Jove and wait the end,
And good shall always your good acts attend.
These doctrines, Perses, treasure in thy heart,
And never from the paths of justice part;
Never by brutal violence be sway'd;
But be the will of Jove in these obey'd.
In these the brute creation men exceed;
They, void of reason, by each other bleed;
While man by justice should be kept in awe,
Justice, of nature well ordain'd the law.
Who right espouses through a righteous love,
Shall meet the bounty of the hands of Jove:
But he that will not be by laws confined,
Whom not the sacrament of oaths can bind,
Who, with a willing soul, can justice leave,
A wound immortal shall that man receive;
His house's honour daily shall decline:
Fair flourish shall the just from line to line.
O Perses, foolish Perses, bow thine ear
To the good counsels of a soul sincere.
To wickedness the road is quickly found,
Short is the way and on an easy ground.
The paths of virtue must be reach'd by toil,
Arduous and long, and on a rugged soil,
Thorny the gate, but when the top you gain,
Fair is the future, and the prospect plain.