Know'st thou what clamours will disturb my reign,
What my stunned ears from Juno must sustain?
In council she gives licence to her tongue,
Loquacious, brawling, ever in the wrong;
And now she will my partial power upbraid,
If, alienate from Greece, I give the Trojans aid.
But thou depart, and shun her jealous sight,
The care be mine to do Pelides right.
Go then, and on the faith of Jove rely,
When, nodding to thy suit, he bows the sky.
This ratifies the irrevocable doom;
The sign ordained, that what I will shall come;
The stamp of heaven, and seal of fate.-He said,
And shook the sacred honours of his head:
With terror trembled heaven's subsiding hill,
And from his shaken curls ambrosial dews distil.
The Goddess goes exulting from his sight,
And seeks the seas profound, and leaves the realms of light.
He moves into his hall; the Powers resort, Each from his house, to fill the sovereign's court; Nor waiting summons, nor expecting stood, But met with reverence, and received the God. He mounts the throne; and Juno took her place, But sullen discontent sate lowering on her face. With jealous eyes, at distance she had seen, Whispering with Jove, the silver-footed queen; Then, impotent of tongue, her silence broke, Thus turbulent, in rattling tone, she spoke.
Author of ills, and close contriver Jove, Which of thy dames, what prostitute of love, Has held thy ear so long, and begged so hard, For some old service done, some new reward? Apart you talked, for that's your special care; The consort never must the council share. One gracious word is for a wife too much; Such is a marriage vow, and Jove's own faith is such.
Then thus the sire of Gods, and men below:-
What I have hidden, hope not thou to know.
Even goddesses are women; and no wife
Has power to regulate her husband's life.
Counsel she may; and I will give thy ear
The knowledge first of what is fit to hear.
What I transact with others, or alone,
Beware to learn, nor press too near the throne.
To whom the Goddess, with the charming eyes :-
What hast thou said, O tyrant of the skies!
When did I search the secrets of thy reign,
Though privileged to know, but privileged in vain?
But well thou dost, to hide from common sight
Thy close intrigues, too bad to bear the light.
Nor doubt I, but the silver-footed dame,
Tripping from sea, on such an errand came,
To grace her issue at the Grecians' cost,
And, for one peevish man, destroy an host.-
To whom the Thunderer made this stern reply:-
My household curse! my lawful plague! the spy
Of Jove's designs! his other squinting eye!
Why this vain prying, and for what avail?
Jove will be master still, and Juno fail.
Should thy suspicious thoughts divine aright,
Thou but becom'st more odious to my sight
For this attempt; uneasy life to me,
Still watched and importuned, but worse for thee.
Curb that impetuous tongue, before too late
The Gods behold, and tremble at thy fate;
Pitying, but daring not, in thy defence,
'To lift a hand against Omnipotence.-
This heard, the imperious queen sate mute with fear,
Nor further durst incense the gloomy Thunderer: Silence was in the court at this rebuke;
Nor could the Gods abashed sustain their sovereign's look.
The limping Smith observed the saddened feast,
And, hopping here and there, himself a jest,
Put in his word, that neither might offend,
To Jove obsequious, yet his mother's friend.-
What end in heaven will be of civil war,
If Gods of pleasure will for mortals jar?
Such discord but disturbs our jovial feast;
One grain of bad embitters all the best.
Mother, though wise yourself, my counsel weigh;
"Tis much unsafe my sire to disobey;
Not only you provoke him to your cost,
But mirth is marred, and the good chear is lost.
Tempt not his heavy hand, for he has power
To throw you headlong from his heavenly tower;
But one submissive word, which you let fall,
Will make him in good humour with us all.-
He said no more, but crowned a bowl unbid,
The laughing nectar overlooked the lid;
Then put it to her hand, and thus pursued:
This cursed quarrel be no more renewed:
Be, as becomes a wife, obedient still;
Though grieved, yet subject to her husband's will.
I would not see you beaten; yet afraid
Of Jove's superior force, I dare not aid.
Too well I know him, since that hapless hour
When I, and all the Gods, employed our power
To break your bonds; me by the heel he drew,
And o'er heaven's battlements with fury threw.
All day I fell; my flight at morn begun,
And ended not but with the setting sun.
Pitched on my head, at length the Lemnian ground Received my battered skull, the Sinthians healed my
At Vulcan's homely mirth his mother smiled, And, smiling, took the cup the clown had filled. The reconciler-bowl went round the board, Which, emptied, the rude skinker still restored.
Loud fits of laughter seized the guests, to see
The limping God so deft at his new ministry.
The feast continued till declining light;
They drank, they laughed, they loved, and then 'twas night.
Nor wanted tuneful harp, nor vocal quire,
The Muses sung, Apollo touched the lyre.
Drunken at last, and drowsy, they depart
Each to his house, adorned with laboured art
Of the lame architect. The thundering God,
Even he, withdrew to rest, and had his load;
His swimming head to needful sleep applied,
And Juno lay unheeded by his side.
THE SIXTH BOOK OF THE ILIAD.
Hector returning from the field of battle, to visit Helen, his sister-inlaw, and his brother Paris, who had fought unsuccessfully, hand to hand with Menelaus, from thence goes to his own palace to see his wife Andromache, and his infant son Astyanax. The descrip tion of that interview is the subject of this translation.
THUS having said, brave Hector went to see
His virtuous wife, the fair Andromache.
He found her not at home; for she was gone,
Attended by her maid and infant son,
To climb the steepy tower of Ilion;
From whence, with heavy heart, she might survey
The bloody business of the dreadful day.
Her mournful eyes she cast around the plain,
And sought the lord of her desires in vain.
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