The Iliad, Homer [librera reader .TXT] 📗

Sun, who see’st And hearest all things! Rivers! and thou Earth!

And ye, who after death beneath the earth Your vengeance wreak on souls of men forsworn, Be witness ye, and this our cov’nant guard.

If Menelaus fall by Paris’ hand,

Let him retain both Helen and the spoil, While in our ships we take our homeward way; If Paris be by Menelaus slain,

Troy shall surrender Helen and the spoil, With compensation due to Greece, that so A record may to future days remain.

But, Paris slain, if Priam and his sons The promis’d compensation shall withhold, Then here, my rights in battle to assert, Will I remain, till I the end achieve.”

 

Thus as he spoke, across the victims’ throats He drew the pitiless blade, and on the ground He laid them gasping, as the stream of life Pour’d forth, their vigour by the blade subdued.

Then, from the flagon drawn, from out the cups The wine they pour’d; and to th’ eternal Gods They pray’d; and thus from Trojans and from Greeks Arose the joint petition; “Grant, O Jove!

Most great! most glorious! grant, ye heav’nly pow’rs, That whosoe’er this solemn truce shall break, Ev’n as this wine we pour, their hearts’ best blood, Theirs and their children’s, on the earth be pour’d, And strangers in subjection take their wives!”

 

Thus they; but Jove, unyielding, heard their pray’r.

The rites perform’d, then aged Priam spoke: “Hear me, ye Trojans, and ye well-greav’d Greeks!

To Ilium’s breezy heights I now withdraw, For that mine eyes will not endure the sight Of warlike Menelaus and my son

Engag’d in deadly combat; of the two

Which may be doom’d to death, is only known To Jove, and to th’ immortal pow’rs of Heav’n.”

 

Thus spoke the godlike King; and on the car He plac’d the consecrated lambs; himself Ascending then, he gather’d up the reins, And with Antenor by his side, the twain To Ilium’s walls retrac’d their homeward way.

 

Then Hector, son of Priam, measur’d out, With sage Ulysses join’d, th’ allotted space; Next, in the brass-bound helmet cast the lots, Which of the two the first should throw the spear.

The crowd, with hands uplifted, to the Gods, Trojans and Greeks alike, address’d their pray’r: “O Father Jove! who rul’st from Ida’s height, Most great! most glorious! grant that whosoe’er On both our armies hath this turmoil brought May undergo the doom of death, and we, The rest, firm peace and lasting friendship swear.”

 

Thus they; great Hector of the glancing helm, With eyes averted, shook the casque; and forth Was cast the lot of Paris; on the ground The rest lay down by ranks, where near to each Were rang’d his active steeds, and glitt’ring arms.

Then o’er his shoulders fair-hair’d Helen’s Lord, The godlike Paris, donn’d his armour bright: First on his legs the well-wrought greaves he fix’d, Fasten’d with silver clasps; his ample chest A breastplate guarded, by Lycaon lent, His brother, but which fitted well his form.

Around his shoulders slung, his sword he bore, Brass-bladed, silver-studded; then his shield Weighty and strong; and on his firm-set head A helm he wore, well wrought, with horsehair plume That nodded, fearful, o’er his brow; his hand Grasp’d the firm spear, familiar to his hold.

Prepar’d alike the adverse warrior stood.

 

They, from the crowd apart their armour donn’d, Came forth: and each, with eyes of mutual hate, Regarded each: admiring wonder seiz’d

The Trojan warriors and the well-greav’d Greeks, As in the centre of the measur’d ground They stood oppos’d, and pois’d their quiv’ring spears.

First Paris threw his weighty spear, and struck Fair in the midst Atrides’ buckler round, But broke not through; upon the stubborn targe Was bent the lance’s point; then thus to Jove, His weapon hurling, Menelaus pray’d:

“Great King, on him who wrought me causeless wrong, On Paris, grant that retribution due

My arm may bring; that men in days to come May fear their host to injure, and repay With treach’rous wile his hospitable cares.”

 

He said, and poising, hurl’d his weighty spear: Full in the midst it struck the buckler round; Right through the buckler pass’d the sturdy spear, And through the gorgeous breastplate, and within Cut through the linen vest; but Paris, back Inclining, stoop’d, and shunn’d the doom of death.

 

Atrides then his silver-studded sword

Rearing on high, a mighty blow let fall On Paris’ helm; but shiv’ring in his hand In countless fragments new the faithless blade.

Then thus to Jove, with eyes uplift to Heav’n, Atrides made his moan: “O Father Jove!

Of all the Gods, the most unfriendly thou!

On Paris’ head I hop’d for all his crimes To wreak my vengeance due; but in my grasp My faithless sword is shatter’d, and my spear Hath bootless left my hand, nor reached my foe.”

Then onward rushing, by the horsehair plume He seiz’d his foeman’s helm, and wrenching round Dragg’d by main force amid the well-greav’d Greeks.

The broider’d strap, that, pass’d beneath his beard, The helmet held, the warrior’s throat compress’d: Then had Atrides dragg’d him from the field, And endless fame acquir’d; but Venus, child Of Jove, her fav’rite’s peril quickly saw.

And broke the throttling strap of tough bull’s hide.

In the broad hand the empty helm remained.

The trophy, by their champion whirl’d amid The well-greav’d Greeks, his eager comrades seiz’d; While he, infuriate, rush’d with murd’rous aim On Priam’s son; but him, the Queen of Love (As Gods can only) from the field convey’d, Wrapt in a misty cloud; and on a couch, Sweet perfumes breathing, gently laid him down; Then went in search of Helen; her she found, Circled with Trojan dames, on Ilium’s tow’r: Her by her airy robe the Goddess held, And in the likeness of an aged dame

Who oft for her, in Sparta when she dwelt, Many a fair fleece had wrought, and lov’d her well, Address’d her thus: “Come, Helen, to thy house; Come, Paris calls thee; in his chamber he Expects thee, resting on luxurious couch, In costly garb, with manly beauty grac’d: Not from the fight of warriors wouldst thou deem He late had come, but for the dance prepar’d, Or resting from the dance’s pleasing toil.”

 

She said, and Helen’s spirit within her mov’d; And when she saw the Goddess’ beauteous neck, Her lovely bosom, and her glowing eyes, She gaz’d in wonder, and address’d her thus: “Oh why, great Goddess, make me thus thy sport?

Seek’st thou to bear me far away from hence To some fair Phrygian or Maeonian town, If there some mortal have thy favour gain’d?

Or, for that Menelaus in the field

Hath vanquish’d Paris, and is willing yet That I, his bane, should to his home return; Here art thou found, to weave again thy wiles!

Go then thyself! thy godship abdicate!

Renounce Olympus! lavish here on him

Thy pity and thy care! he may perchance Make thee his wife—at least his paramour!

But thither go not I! foul shame it were Again to share his bed; the dames of Troy Will for a byword hold me; and e’en now My soul with endless sorrow is possess’d.”

 

To whom in anger heav’nly Venus spoke: “Incense me not, poor fool! lest I in wrath Desert thee quite, and as I heretofore Have lov’d, so make thee object of my hate; And kindle, ‘twixt the Trojans and the Greeks, Such bitter feuds, as both shall wreak on thee.”

 

She said; and trembled Helen, child of Jove; She rose in silence; in a snow-white veil All glitt’ring, shrouded; by the Goddess led She pass’d, unnotic’d by the Trojan dames.

But when to Paris’ splendid house they came, Thronging around her, her attendants gave Their duteous service; through the lofty hall With queenly grace the godlike woman pass’d.

A seat the laughter-loving Goddess plac’d By Paris’ side; there Helen sat, the child Of aegis-bearing Jove, with downcast eyes, Yet with sharp words she thus address’d her Lord: “Back from the battle? would thou there hadst died Beneath a warrior’s arm, whom once I call’d My husband! vainly didst thou boast erewhile Thine arm, thy dauntless courage, and thy spear The warlike Menelaus should subdue!

Go now again, and challenge to the fight The warlike Menelaus. Be thou ware!

I warn thee, pause, ere madly thou presume With fair-hair’d Menelaus to contend!

Soon shouldst thou fall beneath his conqu’ring spear.”

 

To whom thus Paris: “Wring not thus my soul With keen reproaches: now, with Pallas’ aid, Hath Menelaus conquer’d; but my day

Will come: I too can boast my guardian Gods.

But turn we now to love, and love’s delights; For never did thy beauty so inflame

My sense; not when from Lacedaemon first I bore thee in my ocean-going ships,

And revell’d in thy love on Cranae’s isle, As now it fills my soul with fond desire.”

 

He said, and led her to the nuptial couch; Her Lord she follow’d; and while there reclin’d Upon the richly-inlaid couch they lay, Atrides, like a lion baffled, rush’d

Amid the crowd, if haply he might find The godlike Paris; but not one of all

The Trojans and their brave allies could aid The warlike Menelaus in his search;

Not that, for love, would any one that knew Have screen’d him from his anger, for they all Abhorr’d him as the shade of death: then thus Outspoke great Agamemnon, King of men: “Hear me, ye Trojans, Dardans, and Allies!

With warlike Menelaus rests, ‘tis plain, The prize of vict’ry: then surrender ye The Argive Helen and the spoils of war, With compensation due to Greece, that so A record may to future days remain.”

 

Thus he; the Greeks, assenting, cheer’d his words.

 

ARGUMENT.

 

THE BREACH OF THE TRUCE, AND THE FIRST BATTLE.

 

The Gods deliberate in council concerning the Trojan war: they agree upon the continuation of it, and Jupiter sends down Minerva to break the truce. She persuades Pandarus to aim an arrow at Menelaus, who is wounded, but cured by Machaon. In the mean time some of the Trojan troops attack the Greeks. Agamemnon is distinguished in all the parts of a good general; he reviews the troops, and exhorts the leaders, some by praises, and others by reproofs. Nestor is particularly celebrated for his military discipline. The battle joins, and great numbers are slain on both sides.

 

The same day continues through this, as through the last book; as it does also through the two following, and almost to the end of the seventh book. The scene is wholly in the field before Troy.

 

BOOK IV.

 

On golden pavement, round the board of Jove, The Gods were gather’d; Hebe in the midst Pour’d the sweet nectar; they, in golden cups, Each other pledg’d, as down they look’d on Troy.

Then Jove, with cutting words and taunting tone, Began the wrath of Juno to provoke:

“Two Goddesses for Menelaus fight,

Thou, Juno, Queen of Argos, and with thee Minerva, shield of warriors; but ye two Sitting aloof, well-pleased it seems, look on; While laughter-loving Venus, at the side Of Paris standing, still averts his fate, And rescues, when, as now, expecting death.

To warlike Menelaus we decree,

Of right, the vict’ry; but consult we now What may the issue be; if we shall light Again the name of war and discord fierce, Or the two sides in peace and friendship join.

For me, if thus your gen’ral voice incline, Let Priam’s city stand, and Helen back To warlike Menelaus be restor’d.”

 

So spoke the God; but seated side by side, Juno and Pallas glances interchang’d

Of ill portent for Troy; Pallas indeed Sat silent; and, though inly wroth with Jove, Yet answer’d not a word; but Juno’s breast Could not contain her rage, and thus she spoke: