Hector takes measures for the security of Troy during the night, and prepares his host for an assault to be made on the Grecian camp in the morning.
BOOK VIII.
The saffron-mantled morning[1] now was
spread
O’er all the nations, when the Thunderer
Jove
On the deep-fork’d Olympian topmost
height
Convened the Gods in council, amid whom
He spake himself; they all attentive heard.
5
Gods! Goddesses!
Inhabitants of heaven!
Attend; I make my secret purpose known.
Let neither God nor Goddess interpose
My counsel to rescind, but with one heart
Approve it, that it reach, at once, its
end. 10
Whom I shall mark soever from the rest
Withdrawn, that he may Greeks or Trojans
aid,
Disgrace shall find him; shamefully chastised
He shall return to the Olympian heights,
Or I will hurl him deep into the gulfs
15
Of gloomy Tartarus, where Hell shuts fast
Her iron gates, and spreads her brazen
floor,
As far below the shades, as earth from
heaven.
There shall he learn how far I pass in
might
All others; which if ye incline to doubt,
20
Now prove me. Let ye down the golden
chain[2]
From heaven, and at its nether links pull
all,
Both Goddesses and Gods. But me your
King,
Supreme in wisdom, ye shall never draw
To earth from heaven, toil adverse as
ye may. 25
Yet I, when once I shall be pleased to
pull,
The earth itself, itself the sea, and
you
Will lift with ease together, and will
wind
The chain around the spiry summit sharp
Of the Olympian, that all things upheaved
30
Shall hang in the mid heaven. So
far do I,
Compared with all who live, transcend
them all.
He ended, and the Gods long
time amazed
Sat silent, for with awful tone he spake:
But at the last Pallas blue-eyed began.
35
Father! Saturnian Jove!
of Kings supreme!
We know thy force resistless; but our
hearts
Feel not the less, when we behold the
Greeks
Exhausting all the sorrows of their lot.
If thou command, we, doubtless, will abstain
40
From battle, yet such counsel to the Greeks
Suggesting still, as may in part effect
Their safety, lest thy wrath consume them
all.
To whom with smiles answer’d
cloud-gatherer Jove.
Fear not, my child! stern as mine accent
was, 45
I forced a frown—no more.
For in mine heart
Nought feel I but benevolence to thee.
He said, and to his chariot
join’d his steeds
Swift, brazen-hoof’d, and mailed
with wavy gold;
He put on golden raiment, his bright scourge
50
Of gold receiving rose into his seat,