Farewell, fallen brothers; though this life be o'er, There's another, in which we shall meet you once more!
ACHILLES TO THE ENVOYS OF AGAMEMNON
Agamemnon had sent envoys to Achilles to sue for a reconciliation.
I must with plainness speak my fixed resolve; For I abhor the man,-not more the gates Of hell itself!-whose words belie his heart. So shall not mine! My judgment undisguised Is this that neither Agamemnon me
Nor all the Greeks shall move.
For ceaseless toil
Wins here no thanks: one recompense awaits
The sedentary and the most alert.
The brave and base in equal honor stand,
And drones and heroes fall unwept alike.
I, after all my labors, who exposed
My life continual in the field, have earned
No very sumptuous prize. As the poor bird
Gives to her unfledged brood a morsel gained
After long search, though wanting it herself,
So I have worn out many sleepless nights,
And waded deep through many a bloody day
In battle for their wives. I have destroyed
Twelve cities with my fleet; and twelve save one,
On foot contending in the fields of Troy.
From all these cities precious spoil I took
Abundant, and to Agamemnon's hand
Gave all the treasure. He within his ships
Abode the while, and, having all received,
Little distributed, and much retained.
He gave, however, to the kings and chiefs
A portion; and they keep it. Me alone,
Of all the Grecian host, hath he despoiled.
My bride, my soul's delight, is in his hands.-
Tell him my reply;
And tell it him aloud, that other Greeks
May indignation feel like me, if, armed
Always in impudence, he seek to wrong
Them also. Let him not henceforth presume,
Canine and hard in aspect though he be,
To look me in the face. I will not share
His counsels, neither will I aid his works.
Let it suffice him, that he wronged me once,
Received me once: hence forth his glozing arts
Are lost on me. But, let him rot in peace,
Crazed as he is, and, by the stroke of Jove,
Infatuate! I detest his gifts; and him
So honor as the thing which most I scorn.
And would he give me twenty times the worth
Of this his offer,-all the treasured heaps
Which he possesses, or shall yet possess,
All that Orchomenos within her walls,
And all that opulent Egyptian Thebes
Receives, the city with a hundred gates,
Whence twenty thousand chariots rush to war,-
And would he give me riches as the sands,
And as the dust of earth,-no gifts from him
Should soothe me, till my soul were first avenged
For all the offensive license of his tongue.
I will not wed the daughter of your chief,-
Of Agamemnon. Could she vie in charms
With golden Venus,-had she all the skill
Of blue-eyed Pallas,-even so endowed,
She were no bride for me.
Bear ye mine answer back!
HECTOR'S ATTACK ON THE GRECIAN FLEET
So hung the war in balance,
Till Jove himself superior fame, at length,
To Priameian Hector gave, who sprang
First through the wall. In lofty sounds that reached
Their utmost ranks, he called on all his host:
"Now press them! Now, ye Trojans, steed-renowned,
Rush on! Break through the Grecian rampart! Hurl
At once devouring flames into the fleet!"
Such was his exhortation. They, his voice
All hearing, with close-ordered ranks, direct
Bore on the barrier, and up-swarming showed
On the high battlement their glittering spears.
But Hector seized a stone, of ample base,
But tapering to a point; before the gate
It stood. No two men, mightiest of a land
(Such men as now are mighty), could with ease
Have heaved it from the earth up to a wain;
He swung it easily alone,-so light
The son of Saturn made it in his hand.
As in one hand with ease the shepherd bears
A ram's fleece home, nor toils beneath the weight,
So Hector, right toward the planks of those
Majestic folding-gates, close-jointed, firm
And solid, bore the stone. Two bars within
Their corresponding force combined transverse
To guard them, and one bolt secured the bars.
He stood fast by them, parting wide his feet
For 'vantage sake, and smote them in the midst.
He burst both hinges; inward fell the rock
Ponderous, and the portals roared; the bars
Endured not, and the planks, riven by the force
Of that huge mass, flew scattered on all sides.
In leaped the godlike hero at the breach,
Gloomy as night in aspect, but in arms
All-dazzling, and he grasped two quivering spears.
Him entering with a leap the gates no force
Whate'er of opposition had repressed,
Save the gods alone. Fire filled his eyes.
Turning, he bade the multitude without
Ascend the rampart. They his voice obeyed:
Part climbed the wall, part poured into the gate;
The Grecians to their hollow galleys flew,
Scattered; and tumult infinite arose.
CATO ON THE SOUL'S IMMORTALITY
The poet represents Cato as a philosopher debating with himself whether he should follow the guidance of Plato, whose treatise he is holding in his hand, or whether he should, after the fashion of the then pagan world, end his "weariness" with the sword.
It must be so! Plato, thou reasonest well:
Else whence this fond desire, this pleasing hope,
This longing after immortality?
Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror
Of falling into naught? Why shrinks the soul
Back on herself, and shudders at destruction?
'Tis the divinity that stirs within us;
'Tis heaven itself that points out a hereafter,
And intimates eternity to man.-
Eternity! thou pleasing, dreadful thought!
Through what variety of untried being,
Through what new forms and changes must we pass?
The wide, the unbounded prospect lies before me;
But shadows, clouds, and darkness rest upon it.
Here will I hold:-If there's a Power above,-
And that there is, all nature cries aloud
Through all her works,-He must delight in virtue;
And that which He delights in must be happy.
But when? or how? This world was made for
Caesar.
I'm weary of conjectures; this must end 'em!
(Taking up the sword.)
Thus am I doubly armed: my life and death,
My bane and antidote, are both before me.
This in a moment brings me to an end;
But this assures me I shall never die.
The soul, secure in her existence, smiles
At the drawn dagger, and defies its point.
The stars shall fade away, the sun himself
Grow dim with age, and nature sink in years,—
Thou still shalt flourish in eternal youth,
Unhurt amidst the war of elements,
The wreck of matter and the crush of worlds.
RICHELIEU TO KING LOUIS
-BULWER LYTTON.
My liege, your anger can recall your trust,
Annul my office, spoil me of my lands,
Rifle my coffers; but by name, my deeds,
Are royal in a land beyond your sceptre.
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