Delphi Poetry Anthology: The World's Greatest Poems (Delphi Poets Series Book 50) by William Shakespeare, Homer Page A

seeking to appease him, thus began.   O Ajax, son of glorious Telamon!Canst thou remember, even after death,Thy wrath against me, kindled for the sakeOf those pernicious arms? arms which the GodsOrdain’d of such dire consequence to Greece,    680 Which caused thy death, our bulwark! Thee we mournWith grief perpetual, nor the death lamentOf Peleus’ son, Achilles, more than thine.Yet none is blameable; Jove evermoreWith bitt’rest hate pursued Achaia’s host,And he ordain’d thy death. Hero! approach,That thou may’st hear the words with which I seekTo sooth thee; let thy long displeasure cease!Quell all resentment in thy gen’rous breast!   I spake; nought answer’d he, but sullen join’d    690 His fellow-ghosts; yet, angry as he was,I had prevail’d even on him to speak,Or had, at least, accosted him again,But that my bosom teem’d with strong desireUrgent, to see yet others of the dead.   There saw I Minos, offspring famed of Jove;His golden sceptre in his hand, he satJudge of the dead; they, pleading each in turn,His cause, some stood, some sat, filling the houseWhose spacious folding-gates are never closed.    700   Orion next, huge ghost, engaged my view,Droves urging o’er the grassy mead, of beastsWhich he had slain, himself, on the wild hills,With strong club arm’d of ever-during brass.   There also Tityus on the ground I sawExtended, offspring of the glorious earth;Nine acres he o’erspread, and, at his sideStation’d, two vultures on his liver prey’d,Scooping his entrails; nor sufficed his handsTo fray them thence; for he had sought to force    710 Latona, illustrious concubine of Jove,What time the Goddess journey’d o’er the rocksOf Pytho into pleasant Panopeus.   Next, suff’ring grievous torments, I beheldTantalus; in a pool he stood, his chinWash’d by the wave; thirst-parch’d he seem’d, but foundNought to assuage his thirst; for when he bow’dHis hoary head, ardent to quaff, the floodVanish’d absorb’d, and, at his feet, adustThe soil appear’d, dried, instant, by the Gods.    720 Tall trees, fruit-laden, with inflected headsStoop’d to him, pomegranates, apples bright,The luscious fig, and unctuous olive smooth;Which when with sudden grasp he would have seized,Winds hurl’d them high into the dusky clouds.   There, too, the hard-task’d Sisyphus I saw,Thrusting before him, strenuous, a vast rock.With hands and feet struggling, he shoved the stoneUp to a hill-top; but the steep well-nighVanquish’d, by some great force repulsed, the mass    730 Rush’d again, obstinate, down to the plain.Again, stretch’d prone, severe he toiled, the sweatBathed all his weary limbs, and his head reek’d.   The might of Hercules I, next, survey’d;His semblance; for himself their banquet sharesWith the Immortal Gods, and in his armsEnfolds neat-footed Hebe, daughter fairOf Jove, and of his golden-sandal’d spouse.Around him, clamorous as birds, the deadSwarm’d turbulent; he, gloomy-brow’d as night,    740 With uncased bow and arrow on the stringPeer’d terrible from side to side, as oneEver in act to shoot; a dreadful beltHe bore athwart his bosom, thong’d with gold.There, broider’d shone many a stupendous form,Bears, wild boars, lions with fire-flashing eyes,Fierce combats, battles, bloodshed, homicide.The artist, author of that belt, none suchBefore, produced, or after. Me his eyeNo sooner mark’d, than knowing me, in words    750 By sorrow quick suggested, he began.   Laertes’ noble son, for wiles renown’d!Ah, hapless Hero! thou art, doubtless, charged,Thou also, with some arduous labour, suchAs in the realms of day I once endured.Son was I of Saturnian Jove, yet woesImmense sustain’d, subjected to a KingInferior far to me, whose harsh commandsEnjoin’d me many a terrible exploit.He even bade me on a time lead hence    760 The dog, that task believing above allImpracticable; yet from Ades himI dragg’d reluctant into light, by aidOf