Heathen mythology Part 15

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MARS.

Mars, the G.o.d of War, was the son of Juno, who jealous of the birth of Minerva, consulted Flora, and on the plains near Olenus, was shown by her a flower, through the very touch of which she might become a mother. The G.o.ddess tried, and from her touch sprang Mars. His education was entrusted by Juno to the G.o.d Priapus, who instructed him in dancing, and in every manly exercise. His trial before the celebrated court of Areopagus, for the murder of Hallirhotius, who insulted a daughter of Mars because she slighted his addresses, forms an important epoch in his history. The fiery blood of Mars, which would submit to no insult, was immediately in arms at so tender a point, and he slew the insulter. Neptune, father of the slain, cited Mars to appear before the tribunal of justice, to answer for the murder of his son. The cause was tried at Athens, in a place which has been called from thence Areopagus, and Mars was acquitted.

"Mars! G.o.d of Armies! mid the ranks of war, Known by thy golden helm, and rus.h.i.+ng car, Before whose lance, with sound terrific, fall The ma.s.sy fortress and embattled wall.

"Father of victory! whose mighty powers, And brazen spears, protect Olympus' towers; By whom the brave to high renown are led, Whom justice honours, and whom tyrants dread.

Hail! friend to man! whose cares to youth, impart The arm unwearied, and the undaunted heart!"

HORACE.

During the Trojan war, Mars interested himself on the side of the Trojans; but while he defended these favourites of Venus with great activity, he was wounded by Diomedes, and hastily retreated to Heaven, complaining to Jupiter that Minerva had directed the unerring weapon of his antagonist.

"Wild with his pain, he sought the bright abodes, There, sullen, sate beneath the sire of G.o.ds, Shewed the celestial blood, and with a groan, Thus poured his plaints before the immortal throne.

Can Jove, supine, flagitious acts survey And brook the furies of the daring day?

For mortal men, celestial powers engage, And G.o.ds on G.o.ds exert eternal rage.

From thee, O father! all these ills we bear, And thy fell daughter with the s.h.i.+eld and spear.

{95} Thou gavest that fury to the realms of light, Pernicious, wild, regardless of the right; All Heaven besides, reveres thy sovereign sway, Thy voice we hear, and thy behests obey: 'Tis hers to offend, and e'en offending, share Thy breast, thy counsels, thy distinguished care: So boundless she, and thou so partial grown, Well may we deem, the wondrous birth thine own; Now frantic Diomed, at her command, Against the immortals lifts his raging hand; The heavenly Venus first his fury found: Me next encountering, me he dared to wound: Vanquished I fled; e'en I, the G.o.d of fight, From mortal madness, scarce was saved by flight, Else hadst thou seen me sink on yonder plain, Heaped round, and heaving under loads of slain, Or pierced with Grecian darts, for ages lie Condemned to pain, though fated not to die.'"

HOMER.

The Thunderer treated with disregard the complaint of Mars against his favourite daughter, and thus upbraided him:

"'To me, perfidious! this lamenting strain, Of lawless force, shall lawless Mars complain?

Of all the G.o.ds who tread the spangled skies, Thou most unjust, most odious in our eyes!

Inhuman discord is thy dire delight, The waste of slaughter, and the rage of fight.

No bound, no law, thy fiery temper quells, And all thy mother in thy soul rebels.

In vain our threats, in vain our power, we use, She gives the example, and her son pursues.

Yet long the inflicted pangs thou shalt not mourn, Sprung since thou art from Jove, and heavenly born: Else singed with lightning, hadst thou hence been thrown, Where, chained on burning rocks, the t.i.tans groan.'"

HOMER.

Under the direction of Jupiter, the G.o.d of War soon recovered.

"Thus he, who shakes Olympus with his nod, Then gave to Poeon's care the bleeding G.o.d.

With gentle hand, the balm he poured around, And healed th' immortal flesh, and closed the wound.

Cleansed from the dust and gore, fair Hebe dressed His mighty limbs in an immortal vest, Glorious he sat, in majesty restored, Fast by the throne of Heaven's superior lord."

HOMER.

The wors.h.i.+p of Mars, was not very universal among the ancients, nor were his temples very numerous in Greece, but among the warlike Romans he received great homage, as they were proud of sacrificing to a deity, whom they considered the patron of their city, and the father of the first of their monarchs; a faith to which {96} they loved to give credit. Among this people, it was customary for the consul, before he went on an expedition, to visit the temple of Mars, where he offered his prayers, and shook in a solemn manner, the spear which was in the hand of the statue of the G.o.d, exclaiming "_Mars vigila!_ G.o.d of War, watch over the safety of this city."

The influence of Cupid, as G.o.d of love, was felt even by Mars, who was compelled to acknowledge his power, and the sharpness of his arrows.

"As in the Lemnian caves of fire, The mate of her who nursed desire, Moulded the glowing steel, to form Arrows for Cupid, melting, warm; Once to this Lemnian cave of flame, The crested lord of battles came; 'Twas from the ranks of war he rushed, His spear with many a life-drop blushed; He saw the mystic darts, and smiled Derision on the archer child.

'And dost thou smile?' said little Love; 'Take this dart, and thou mayest prove That tho' they pa.s.s the breeze's flight, My bolts are not so feathery light.'

He took the shaft--and oh! thy look, Sweet Venus! when the shaft he took, He sighed, and felt the urchin's art, He sighed in agony of heart; 'It is not light, I die with pain!

Take, take thine arrow back again.'

'No,' said the child 'it must not be, That little dart was made for thee.'"

MOORE.

The result of his amour with Venus has been related in another part of this work.

He is usually represented in a chariot of steel, conducted by Bellona, G.o.ddess of War: on his cuira.s.s are painted several monsters; the figures of Fury and Anger ornament his helmet, while Renown precedes him.

His priests, named Salii, carried small bucklers, supposed to be sacred, and to have fallen from the skies. To him was consecrated the c.o.c.k, because it was vigilant and courageous, but they preferred offering the wolf; they sacrificed however, to him, all kinds of animals, and even human victims.

The statues and portraits of Mars, as the G.o.d of War, and consequently the winner of victory, have been very numerous. {97}

His most celebrated temple at Rome, was built by Augustus, after the battle of Phillippi, and was dedicated to "Mars the avenger."

[Ill.u.s.tration]

"_Rivers._ And this is he, the fabled G.o.d of War.

_Evadne._ Aye, Mars the conqueror, see how he stands; The lordly port, the eye of fierce command, The threatening brow, and look that seems to dare A thousand foes to battle.

--It was a beautiful faith that gave these G.o.ds A name and office! Is he not glorious?

_Rivers._ To my poor thought, there's that within his glance So fierce, I scarce dare meet it.

_Evadne._ It is your studious nature, yet methinks To gaze upon that proud and haughty form, To think upon the glorious deeds of war, The pomp and pride and circ.u.mstance of battle, The neighing of the steed, the clash of arms, The banner waving in the glowing breeze, The trumpet sound, the shout.

Oh! there is nought so beautiful as this.

_Rivers._ Aye, but to see the living and the dead, Lying in mortal agony, side by side, Their bright hair dabbled in unrighteous blood, Their vestures tinctured with its gory red, The quivering limb, the eye that's glazed in death, The groan--

_Evadne._ 'Tis lost boy, in the drum and trumpet's voice.

'Tis lost in shouts of glorious victory, 'Tis lost in high, triumphal tones of gladness.

{98} _Rivers._ But then to think upon the hearts that grieve.

For those who peril thus their lives in war, The misery that sweeps along the brain, The widows' moan, the orphans' tears of woe, The love that watcheth at the midnight hour, And hopeth on, but hopeth on in vain.

_Evadne._ And that is lost too in their country's shouts The voice of grat.i.tude for those that fell, Drowns every thought in those who live to mourn; The hand of charity for those who are left.

Fills every heart and dries up every fear; The record of a nation's loud applause, Writes on their tombs in characters of bra.s.s.

And graves within our very souls, the words, 'Here lies his country's saviour.'

_Rivers._ But these can never pay the wrung in heart: Pride is a poor exchange for those adored: And even a nation with its giant strength, Cannot supply the vacant place of love!

_Evadne._ Shame on such craven thoughts, The image of the G.o.d frowns on your words-- All glorious Mars! be thou my G.o.d and guide, Be thou the image to fill up my heart, Be thou the spirit leading me to glory, And be my latest hour still cheered by thee, While round me dwells the shout of victory!"

FLETCHER.