Rhesus (882-985)

Curses on the son of Oeneus! Curses on Laertes’ child! who has bereft me of my fair son and left me childless! and on that woman, too,

that left her home in Hellas, and sailed here with her Phrygian lover, bringing death to you, my dearest, for the sake of Troy, and emptying countless cities of their brave heroes.

Many indeed are the wounds, Thamyris, son of Philammon, that you have inflicted on my heart, in your life and in your death. Yes, for it was your pride, your own undoing, and your rivalry with the Muses that made me mother of this poor son of mine. For as I crossed the river’s streams

I came too near to Strymon’s fruitful couch, that day we Muses came to the brow of Mount Pangaeus with its soil of gold, furnished forth with all our music for one great trial of minstrel skill with that clever Thracian bard; and we blinded him,

Thamyris, the man who often reviled our craft.

And then, when I gave birth to you, because I felt shame of my sisters and my virginity, I sent you to the swirling stream of your father, the river; and Strymon did not entrust your nurture to mortal hands, but to the fountain nymphs.

There you were reared most fairly by the maiden nymphs, and you ruled over Thrace, a leader among men, my child. So long as you ranged your native land in quest of bloody deeds of prowess I did not fear for your death; but I forbade you to set out for Troy,

in my knowledge of your doom; but Hector’s sages and those countless embassies persuaded you to go and help your friends.

This was your doing, Athena; you alone are to blame for his death —neither Odysseus nor the son of Tydeus

had anything to do with it—do not think it has escaped my eye. And yet we sister Muses do special honor to your city, your land we chiefly haunt; and those dark mysteries with their torch processions were revealed by Orpheus, cousin of this dead man

whom you have slain. Musaeus, too, your holy citizen, of all men most advanced in lore, was trained by Phoebus and us, the nine sisters. And here is your reward for this; in my arms I hold my child and mourn for him. I’ll bring to you no other learned man.

Vainly it seems the Thracian charioteer reviled us with plotting this man’s murder, Hector.

I knew it; it needed no seer to say that he had perished by the arts of Odysseus. Now I, when I saw the Hellene army camped

in my land, of course would not hesitate to send heralds to my friends, bidding them come and help my country; and so I sent, and he as in duty bound came to share my toils. I do not at all rejoice to see him dead. And now I am ready to raise a tomb for him

and burn at his pyre great store of fine raiment; for he came as a friend and in sorrow he is going away.

He shall not go into earth’s dark soil; so earnest a prayer will I address to the bride of the nether world, the daughter of the goddess Demeter, giver of increase,

to release his soul; and, debtor as she is to me, show that she honors the friends of Orpheus. And to me for the rest of time he will be as one who is dead and does not see the light; for never again will he meet me or see his mother;

but he will lie hidden in a cavern of the land with veins of silver, restored to life, a deified man, just as the prophet of Bacchus dwelt in a grotto beneath Pangaeus, a god whom his votaries honored.

Lightly now shall I feel the grief of the sea-goddess,

for her son too must die. First then for you we sisters must chant our dirge, and then for Achilles when Thetis mourns some day. Pallas, your slayer, shall not save him; so true the shaft Loxias keeps in his quiver for him.

Oh, the sorrows that a mother feels! the troubles of mortals! whoever fairly reckons you up will live and die childless and will have no children to bury.

His mother now must see to this man’s burial; but for you, Hector, if you will carry out any scheme,

now is the time, for day is dawning.