No More Learning

I, 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 sake
Of those pernicious arms? arms which the Gods
Ordain'd of such dire consequence to Greece, 680
Which caused thy death, our bulwark! Thee we mourn
With grief perpetual, nor the death lament
Of Peleus' son, Achilles, more than thine.
Yet none is blameable; Jove evermore
With 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 seek
To 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 desire
Urgent, to see yet others of the dead.
There saw I Minos, offspring famed of Jove;
His golden sceptre in his hand, he sat
Judge of the dead; they, pleading each in turn,
His cause, some stood, some sat, filling the house
Whose spacious folding-gates are never closed. 700
Orion next, huge ghost, engaged my view,
Droves urging o'er the grassy mead, of beasts
Which he had slain, himself, on the wild hills,
With strong club arm'd of ever-during brass.
There also Tityus on the ground I saw
Extended, offspring of the glorious earth;
Nine acres he o'erspread, and, at his side
Station'd, two vultures on his liver prey'd,
Scooping his entrails; nor sufficed his hands
To fray them thence; for he had sought to force 710
Latona, illustrious concubine of Jove,
What time the Goddess journey'd o'er the rocks
Of Pytho into pleasant Panopeus.
Next, suff'ring grievous torments, I beheld
Tantalus; in a pool he stood, his chin
Wash'd by the wave; thirst-parch'd he seem'd, but found
Nought to assuage his thirst; for when he bow'd
His hoary head, ardent to quaff, the flood
Vanish'd absorb'd, and, at his feet, adust
The soil appear'd, dried, instant, by the Gods. 720
Tall trees, fruit-laden, with inflected heads
Stoop'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. [53]
With hands and feet struggling, he shoved the stone
Up to a hill-top; but the steep well-nigh
Vanquish'd, by some great force repulsed,[54] the mass 730
Rush'd again, obstinate, down to the plain.
Again, stretch'd prone, severe he toiled, the sweat
Bathed all his weary limbs, and his head reek'd.
The might of Hercules I, next, survey'd;
His semblance; for himself their banquet shares
With the Immortal Gods, and in his arms
Enfolds neat-footed Hebe, daughter fair
Of Jove, and of his golden-sandal'd spouse.
Around him, clamorous as birds, the dead
Swarm'd turbulent; he, gloomy-brow'd as night, 740
With uncased bow and arrow on the string
Peer'd terrible from side to side, as one
Ever in act to shoot; a dreadful belt
He 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 such
Before, produced, or after. Me his eye
No 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, such
As in the realms of day I once endured.
Son was I of Saturnian Jove, yet woes
Immense sustain'd, subjected to a King
Inferior far to me, whose harsh commands
Enjoin'd me many a terrible exploit.
He even bade me on a time lead hence 760
The dog, that task believing above all
Impracticable; yet from Ades him
I dragg'd reluctant into light, by aid
Of Hermes, and of Pallas azure-eyed.
So saying, he penetrated deep again
The abode of Pluto; but I still unmoved
There stood expecting, curious, other shades
To see of Heroes in old time deceased.
And now, more ancient worthies still, and whom
I wish'd, I had beheld, Pirithous 770
And Theseus, glorious progeny of Gods,
But nations, first, numberless of the dead
Came shrieking hideous; me pale horror seized,
Lest awful Proserpine should thither send
The Gorgon-head from Ades, sight abhorr'd!
I, therefore, hasting to the vessel, bade
My crew embark, and cast the hawsers loose.