While he, indulging thus his wrath, disgraced
Brave Hector, the Immortals, at that sight
With pity moved, exhorted Mercury
The watchful Argicide, to steal him thence.
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That counsel pleased the rest, but neither pleased
Juno, nor Neptune, nor the blue-eyed maid.
They still, as at the first, held fast their hate
Of sacred Troy, detested Priam still,
And still his people, mindful of the crime
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Of Paris, who when to his rural hut
They came, those Goddesses affronting, praise
And admiration gave to Her alone
Who with vile lusts his preference repaid.
But when the twelfth ensuing morn arose,
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Apollo, then, the Immortals thus address'd.
Ye Gods, your dealings now injurious seem
And cruel. Was not Hector wont to burn
Thighs of fat goats and bullocks at your shrines?
Whom now, though dead, ye cannot yet endure
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To rescue, that Andromache once more
Might view him, his own mother, his own son,
His father and the people, who would soon
Yield him his just demand, a funeral fire.
But, oh ye Gods! your pleasure is alone
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To please Achilles, that pernicious Chief,
Who neither right regards, nor owns a mind
That can relent, but as the lion, urged
By his own dauntless heart and savage force,
Invades without remorse the rights of man,
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That he may banquet on his herds and flocks,
So Peleus' son all pity from his breast
Hath driven, and shame, man's blessing
or his curse.
For whosoever hath a loss sustain'd
Still dearer, whether of his brother born
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From the same womb, or even of his son,
When he hath once bewail'd him, weeps no more,
For fate itself gives man a patient mind.
Yet Peleus' son, not so contented, slays
Illustrious Hector first, then drags his corse
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In cruel triumph at his chariot-wheels
Around Patroclus' tomb; but neither well
He acts, nor honourably to himself,
Who may, perchance, brave though he be, incur
Our anger, while to gratify revenge
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He pours dishonour thus on senseless clay.
To whom, incensed, Juno white-arm'd replied.
And be it so; stand fast this word of thine,
God of the Silver bow! if ye account
Only such honour to Achilles due
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As Hector claims; but Hector was by birth
Mere man, and suckled at a woman's breast.
Not such Achilles; him a Goddess bore,
Whom I myself nourish'd, and on my lap
Fondled, and in due time to Peleus gave
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In marriage, to a Chief beloved in heaven
Peculiarly; ye were yourselves, ye Gods!
Partakers of the nuptial feast, and thou
Wast present also with thine harp in hand,
Thou comrade of the vile! thou faithless ever!
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