File:Pope's translation of Homer's Iliad, books I, VI, XXII, XXIV; (1900) (14584543239).jpg

Identifier: popestranslation00home (find matches)
Title: Pope's translation of Homer's Iliad, books I, VI, XXII, XXIV;
Year: 1900 (1900s)
Authors: Homer Pope, Alexander, 1688-1744 Lawton, William Cranston, 1853-1941
Subjects: Achilles (Greek mythology) Epic poetry, Greek
Publisher: New York and Chicago, Globe school book co
Contributing Library: The Library of Congress
Digitizing Sponsor: The Library of Congress

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her breast,Whom each soft charm and early grace adorn,Fair as the new-born star that gilds the morn. noo To this lovd infant Hector gave the name Scamandrius, from Scamanders honourd stream;Astyanax the Trojans calld the boy,From his great father, the defence of Troy.Silent the warrior smild, and pleasd, resignd 505 To tender passions all his mighty mind:His beauteous princess cast a mournful look,Hung on his hand, and then dejected spoke;Her bosom labourd with a boding sigh,And the big tear stood trembling in her eye. 510 Too daring prince ! ah whither dost thou run \Ah too forgetful of thy wife and son!And thinkst thou not how wretched we shall be,A widow I, an helpless orphan he!For sure such courage length of life denies, 515 And thou must fall, thy virtues sacrifice.Greece in her single heroes strove in vain;Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain!Oh grant me, gods ! eer Hector meets his doom,All I can ask of heavn, an early tomb! 520 So shall my days in one sad tenor run.
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BOOK VI 55 And end with sorrows as they first begun. No parent now remains, my griefs to share, No fathers aid, no mothers tender care. The fierce Achilles wrapt our walls in fire,525 Laid Thebe waste, and slew my warlike sire! His fate compassion in the victor bred; Stern as he was, he yet reverd the dead, His radiant arms preservd from hostile spoil, And laid him decent on the funral pile;530 Then raisd a mountain where his bones were burnd: The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adornd; Joves sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow A barren shade, and in his honour grow. By the same arm my sevn brave brothers fell;535 In one sad day beheld the gates of hell: While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed, Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled! My mother livd to bear the victors bands, The queen of Hippoplacias sylvan lands:510 Eedeemd too late, she scarce beheld again Her pleasing empire and her native plain, When, ah ! opprest by life-consuming woe, She fell a victim to Dianas bow.

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