On many-cragg'd Olympus' highest ridge,
And sate before him. Then, her left hand clasp'd
Around his knees, her right beneath his chin
Extended held, in word and posture thus
A suppliant, the Saturnian king besought:
"Oh Father Jove! if ere by word or deed
I could delight thee, now fulfil my wish:
Give honour to my son, whose days are short
Among the living: for the king of men,
Ev'n Agamemnon, hath entreated him
With foul reproach, and seizing on his prize.
Retains her. But, oh wise, oh heavenly Jove!
Honour him thou! vouchsafe the Trojan host
The victory, till that the Greeks regard
With reverent fear, and magnify my son!"
She said. The Gatherer of the clouds of heav'n
Answer'd her nothing; but immoveable,
Sate long in silence. She, as she had grasp❜d
His knees, so clinging held them; and again,
Not so repuls'd, demanded: " Openly
Grant me this promise, and confirm the same, Or now refuse me; for in thee abides
No fear. Then speak, that I may know too well
How little honour'd in thy thoughts am I O'er all the Goddesses in heaven." But Jove, Gatherer of clouds, sigh'd heavily, and spake: "It is a deed of mischief thou hast done; Turning on me the bickering enmity
Of Juno, who will goad me with her taunts.
Ev'n now unceasingly, though still in vain,
Before th' Immortals she rebukes me thus,
And speaks of succour'd Troy. But go, depart,
Lest Juno should perceive thee. Leave to me
The care of this; and that thou may'st believe,
I give the nod, that greatest sign in heav'n:
If I but bend this brow, that will'd decree
Is past recall; unchangeable it stands;
Its truth is sure, nor shall its promise fail."
He spoke, and bowed his forehead, knitted stern
With dark'ning brows; the agitated locks,
Dropping ambrosia, round th' immortal head
Of Heaven's King shook and rock'd th' Olympian hill.
So their deep consult ended, they at once Both parted: She from off the gilded mount Leap'd headlong down into the depths of sea:
Jove pass'd within his palace. All the Gods
Rose, and stood up together from their seats,
To meet the Sire of Heaven. His coming none
Awaited there, but towards his entrance turn'd
And stood: he pass'd and sate upon his throne.
STRAIGHT to his roomy palace Hector came;
But found not in the mansion her he sought,
White-arm'd Andromache. She, with her son,
And her robed handmaid, stood upon the tower
Wailing with loud lament. But when in vain
He sought within her house his blameless wife,
Hector, advanced upon the threshold, stood
And to the damsels spake: "Now tell me true,
Ye damsels! whither from her house went forth
The fair Andromache? say, doth she seek
Her husband's sisters, or her brethren's wives,
Or at Minerva's temple join the train
Of Trojan women, who propitiate now
With offerings the tremendous Deity?"
The careful woman of the household then Address'd reply: "To tell thee, Hector, truth, As thou requirest, neither doth she seek
Her husband's sisters, nor her brethren's wives, Nor at Minerva's temple join the train
Of Trojan women, who propitiate now
With offerings the tremendous Deity.
But she has mounted on a massive tower
Of Troy; for that she heard the Trojan host Were worsted, while the strength of Greeks prevail'd.
So hastening rush'd she to the city wall,
Like to one frantic, with the nurse and child."
The woman of the household said: and forth
Sprang Hector from the mansion, and trod back
His footsteps through the stately rows of streets.
Crossing the spacious city, he now reach'd
The Scean gates; through them his passage lay
Forth to the field. But then his high-dower'd wife
Came running on his steps; Andromache,
Æetion's daughter; who in woody tracts
Of Hypoplacian Thebes once stretch'd his sway
O'er the Cilicians. So his daughter lived,
The bride of Hector with the brazen helm;
Who now came running on his steps; while close
The handmaid follow'd her, and at her breast
The babe, as yet a tender innocent,
Darling of Hector, fair as any star,
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