Bold in battle, Lord of Heaven,
From his starry throne was driven :
Once he was; now past away,
Hushed his boast, and sunk his sway.
He, who next on high was set,
Found a rival stronger yet;
In the wrestling overthrown
Saturn's dynasty is gone.
Wisest he, who hymns to thee,
Jove, the song of victory!
Thou to Wisdom's fair abode
Leadest man thy rugged road,
Till he own thy wholesome rule:
All must learn in suffering's school.
ὥστε βίῃ καὶ χερσὶν, ὁ μὲν Κρόνῳ εἴκαθε τιμῆς,
ἡ δὲ 'Ρέῃ· ἔπεσον δ ̓ ἐνὶ κύμασιν Ωκεανοῖο.
οἱ δὲ τέως μακάρεσσι θεοῖς Τιτῆσιν ἄνασσον,
ὄφρα Ζεὺς ἔτι κοῦρος ἔτι φρεσὶ νήπια εἰδὼς
Δικταῖον ναίεσκεν ὑπὸ σπέος.
First (they sung) Ophion's own
Was Olympus' starry throne;
Daughter of the azure sea,
Shared his sway Eurynome:
He to Saturn quailed in fight;
She acknowledged Rhea's might;
Ocean to the vanquished gave
Refuge underneath his wave.
To the victor's bidding proud,
Titans, happy spirits, bowed;
'Neath Dictœan cavern's shade,
Jove, an infant yet, was laid,
Ere his childhood caught the gleam
Of Ambition's after-dream.
E'en in sleep, pangs felt before,
Treasured long in memory's store,
Bring in visions back their pain,
Melt into the heart again,
By its crossed affections taught
Chastened will and sobered thought:
Thus is man, by sorrow's rod,
Forced to bow his pride to God.
The Leader of the Grecian fleet,
Thus by experience taught, resigned
His will to Fortune's stroke unkind,
Nor blamed the prescient Sage;
With Fate unable to compete,
He calmed his stormy rage:
While, gazing oft where Chalcis stood
Across the frequent-ebbing flood,
The host in Aulis lay:
Ignoble leisure loathed the brave;
Keen blew those blasts from Strymon's wave,
That sailors oft dismay,
That drive the ship from port afar,
Nor leave unscathed or rope or spar :
With these pale Famine joined to mar
The wasting flower of Grecian war.
But when by that reluctant Seer,
Who pleaded Dian's will,
Was taught the remedy of ill
More than that ill severe,
The Atridæ heard the fatal sound;
They struck their sceptres on the ground,
The tears they laboured to restrain
Gushed forth, and told each hero's pain.
First spake the elder of the twain:
"An evil lot is mine to choose,
"Hard fate obedience to refuse,
"Hard fate to slay my child,
My home's bright ornament and pride;
""Twere hard if at the altar's side
"A Father's hand were crimson dyed,
"With virgin gore defiled:
"Still, to whichever part I lean,
"Is sorrow's threatening aspect seen!
"How may I leave my true allies?
"How quit the host I lead?
"To lay the storm, and calm the skies,
They well may claim the sacrifice;
"They well may bid her bleed!"
He spoke to heaven's control he bowed,
Like veering wind, his spirit proud,
Soon as fate's harness he had donned,
Was instant changed to fierce from fond;
Nor more from passion's blast secure
Was all that's holy, all that's pure.
The heart, once plotting foul offence,
Once lent to evil rede,
Soon gathers frantic confidence,
Soon ventures desperate deed:
Reason to wildest zeal gave way;
He summoned strength his child to slay,
Victim, to loose his fleet, and aid
War to avenge a woman made.
Her piteous cries, her tender age,
In love with war those chieftains sage
But lightly recked of there;
Her father's self but little heeded
His own dear name, so softly pleaded,
But bade them breathe the prayer.
Like kid they lift her from the ground,
Her form in flowing drapery wound,
Her head declining :
Her features fair around
In haste the bands they bound,
Tightened to curb the sound
Of words repining,
To bar the bitter thought's egress
From lips the seat of loveliness,
Lest from her frantic grief should fall
A curse upon her Father's hall.
Her veil, in saffron-coloured flow,"
Trailing swept the plain below:
(1) If Professor Scholefield's interpretation be adopted, the original may be thus rendered:
Then while the gory drops distain
With purple dye the verdant plain.
Her pleading eyes shot Pity's dart,'
To rankle in each murderer's heart,
Like form by painter's fancy dreamed,13
So pale, so fair, so still she seemed.
She longed to speak-for well she knew
Those warriors standing by,
For them, in days of brighter hue,
She'd breathed sweet melody.
Oft when she saw the brave resort,
And crowd her Father's princely court,
When the third cup at festal board 14
Was crowned to smiling Fortune's lord,
(Since even bashful maiden may
Breathe pure affection's simple lay,)
She loved her Sire to greet with song,
And honour mid the reveller's throng.
"And from about her shot darts of desire.
Into all eyes."
(13) Compare the description of Constance in Marmion :
"And there she stood so calm and pale,
That, but her breathing did not fail,
And motion slight of eye and head,
And of her bosom, warranted
That neither sense nor pulse she lacks,
You might have thought a form of wax,
Wrought to the very life, were there,
So still she was, so pale, so fair.”
(14) The third libation was always offered to Jupiter Soter, and was an acknowledgment of prosperity, which was considered as a boon resulting from his protection.
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