The Iliad, Homer [short books for teens TXT] 📗

with gallant grace, And dared the bravest of the Grecian race.

 

As thus, with glorious air and proud disdain, He boldly stalk’d, the foremost on the plain, Him Menelaus, loved of Mars, espies,

With heart elated, and with joyful eyes: So joys a lion, if the branching deer,

Or mountain goat, his bulky prize, appear; Eager he seizes and devours the slain,

Press’d by bold youths and baying dogs in vain.

Thus fond of vengeance, with a furious bound, In clanging arms he leaps upon the ground From his high chariot: him, approaching near, The beauteous champion views with marks of fear, Smit with a conscious sense, retires behind, And shuns the fate he well deserved to find.

As when some shepherd, from the rustling trees [70]

Shot forth to view, a scaly serpent sees, Trembling and pale, he starts with wild affright And all confused precipitates his flight: So from the king the shining warrior flies, And plunged amid the thickest Trojans lies.

 

As godlike Hector sees the prince retreat, He thus upbraids him with a generous heat: “Unhappy Paris! but to women brave! [71]

So fairly form’d, and only to deceive!

Oh, hadst thou died when first thou saw’st the light, Or died at least before thy nuptial rite!

A better fate than vainly thus to boast, And fly, the scandal of thy Trojan host.

Gods! how the scornful Greeks exult to see Their fears of danger undeceived in thee!

Thy figure promised with a martial air, But ill thy soul supplies a form so fair.

In former days, in all thy gallant pride, When thy tall ships triumphant stemm’d the tide, When Greece beheld thy painted canvas flow, And crowds stood wondering at the passing show, Say, was it thus, with such a baffled mien, You met the approaches of the Spartan queen, Thus from her realm convey’d the beauteous prize, And both her warlike lords outshined in Helen’s eyes?

This deed, thy foes’ delight, thy own disgrace, Thy father’s grief, and ruin of thy race; This deed recalls thee to the proffer’d fight; Or hast thou injured whom thou dar’st not right?

Soon to thy cost the field would make thee know Thou keep’st the consort of a braver foe.

Thy graceful form instilling soft desire, Thy curling tresses, and thy silver lyre, Beauty and youth; in vain to these you trust, When youth and beauty shall be laid in dust: Troy yet may wake, and one avenging blow Crush the dire author of his country’s woe.”

 

His silence here, with blushes, Paris breaks: “‘Tis just, my brother, what your anger speaks: But who like thee can boast a soul sedate, So firmly proof to all the shocks of fate?

Thy force, like steel, a temper’d hardness shows, Still edged to wound, and still untired with blows, Like steel, uplifted by some strenuous swain, With falling woods to strew the wasted plain.

Thy gifts I praise; nor thou despise the charms With which a lover golden Venus arms;

Soft moving speech, and pleasing outward show, No wish can gain them, but the gods bestow.

Yet, would’st thou have the proffer’d combat stand, The Greeks and Trojans seat on either hand; Then let a midway space our hosts divide, And, on that stage of war, the cause be tried: By Paris there the Spartan king be fought, For beauteous Helen and the wealth she brought; And who his rival can in arms subdue,

His be the fair, and his the treasure too.

Thus with a lasting league your toils may cease, And Troy possess her fertile fields in peace; Thus may the Greeks review their native shore, Much famed for generous steeds, for beauty more.”

 

He said. The challenge Hector heard with joy, Then with his spear restrain’d the youth of Troy, Held by the midst, athwart; and near the foe Advanced with steps majestically slow:

While round his dauntless head the Grecians pour Their stones and arrows in a mingled shower.

 

Then thus the monarch, great Atrides, cried: “Forbear, ye warriors! lay the darts aside: A parley Hector asks, a message bears;

We know him by the various plume he wears.”

Awed by his high command the Greeks attend, The tumult silence, and the fight suspend.

 

While from the centre Hector rolls his eyes On either host, and thus to both applies: “Hear, all ye Trojan, all ye Grecian bands, What Paris, author of the war, demands.

Your shining swords within the sheath restrain, And pitch your lances in the yielding plain.

Here in the midst, in either army’s sight, He dares the Spartan king to single fight; And wills that Helen and the ravish’d spoil, That caused the contest, shall reward the toil.

Let these the brave triumphant victor grace, And different nations part in leagues of peace.”

 

He spoke: in still suspense on either side Each army stood: the Spartan chief replied: “Me too, ye warriors, hear, whose fatal right A world engages in the toils of fight.

To me the labour of the field resign;

Me Paris injured; all the war be mine.

Fall he that must, beneath his rival’s arms; And live the rest, secure of future harms.

Two lambs, devoted by your country’s rite, To earth a sable, to the sun a white,

Prepare, ye Trojans! while a third we bring Select to Jove, the inviolable king.

Let reverend Priam in the truce engage, And add the sanction of considerate age; His sons are faithless, headlong in debate, And youth itself an empty wavering state; Cool age advances, venerably wise,

Turns on all hands its deep-discerning eyes; Sees what befell, and what may yet befall, Concludes from both, and best provides for all.

 

The nations hear with rising hopes possess’d, And peaceful prospects dawn in every breast.

Within the lines they drew their steeds around, And from their chariots issued on the ground; Next, all unbuckling the rich mail they wore, Laid their bright arms along the sable shore.

On either side the meeting hosts are seen With lances fix’d, and close the space between.

Two heralds now, despatch’d to Troy, invite The Phrygian monarch to the peaceful rite.

 

Talthybius hastens to the fleet, to bring The lamb for Jove, the inviolable king.

 

Meantime to beauteous Helen, from the skies The various goddess of the rainbow flies: (Like fair Laodice in form and face,

The loveliest nymph of Priam’s royal race:) Her in the palace, at her loom she found; The golden web her own sad story crown’d, The Trojan wars she weaved (herself the prize) And the dire triumphs of her fatal eyes.

To whom the goddess of the painted bow: “Approach, and view the wondrous scene below! [72]

Each hardy Greek, and valiant Trojan knight, So dreadful late, and furious for the fight, Now rest their spears, or lean upon their shields; Ceased is the war, and silent all the fields.

Paris alone and Sparta’s king advance,

In single fight to toss the beamy lance; Each met in arms, the fate of combat tries, Thy love the motive, and thy charms the prize.”

 

This said, the many-coloured maid inspires Her husband’s love, and wakes her former fires; Her country, parents, all that once were dear, Rush to her thought, and force a tender tear, O’er her fair face a snowy veil she threw, And, softly sighing, from the loom withdrew.

Her handmaids, Clymene and AEthra, wait Her silent footsteps to the Scaean gate.

 

There sat the seniors of the Trojan race: (Old Priam’s chiefs, and most in Priam’s grace,) The king the first; Thymoetes at his side; Lampus and Clytius, long in council tried; Panthus, and Hicetaon, once the strong; And next, the wisest of the reverend throng, Antenor grave, and sage Ucalegon,

Lean’d on the walls and bask’d before the sun: Chiefs, who no more in bloody fights engage, But wise through time, and narrative with age, In summer days, like grasshoppers rejoice, A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice.

These, when the Spartan queen approach’d the tower, In secret own’d resistless beauty’s power: They cried, “No wonder such celestial charms [73]

For nine long years have set the world in arms; What winning graces! what majestic mien!

She moves a goddess, and she looks a queen!

Yet hence, O Heaven, convey that fatal face, And from destruction save the Trojan race.”

 

The good old Priam welcomed her, and cried, “Approach, my child, and grace thy father’s side.

See on the plain thy Grecian spouse appears, The friends and kindred of thy former years.

No crime of thine our present sufferings draws, Not thou, but Heaven’s disposing will, the cause The gods these armies and this force employ, The hostile gods conspire the fate of Troy.

But lift thy eyes, and say, what Greek is he (Far as from hence these aged orbs can see) Around whose brow such martial graces shine, So tall, so awful, and almost divine!

Though some of larger stature tread the green, None match his grandeur and exalted mien: He seems a monarch, and his country’s pride.”

Thus ceased the king, and thus the fair replied: “Before thy presence, father, I appear, With conscious shame and reverential fear.

Ah! had I died, ere to these walk I fled, False to my country, and my nuptial bed; My brothers, friends, and daughter left behind, False to them all, to Paris only kind!

For this I mourn, till grief or dire disease Shall waste the form whose fault it was to please!

The king of kings, Atrides, you survey, Great in the war, and great in arts of sway: My brother once, before my days of shame!

And oh! that still he bore a brother’s name!”

 

With wonder Priam view’d the godlike man, Extoll’d the happy prince, and thus began: “O bless’d Atrides! born to prosperous fate, Successful monarch of a mighty state!

How vast thy empire! Of your matchless train What numbers lost, what numbers yet remain!

In Phrygia once were gallant armies known, In ancient time, when Otreus fill’d the throne, When godlike Mygdon led their troops of horse, And I, to join them, raised the Trojan force: Against the manlike Amazons we stood, [74]

And Sangar’s stream ran purple with their blood.

But far inferior those, in martial grace, And strength of numbers, to this Grecian race.”

 

This said, once more he view’d the warrior train; “What’s he, whose arms lie scatter’d on the plain?

Broad is his breast, his shoulders larger spread, Though great Atrides overtops his head.

Nor yet appear his care and conduct small; From rank to rank he moves, and orders all.

The stately ram thus measures o’er the ground, And, master of the flock, surveys them round.”

 

Then Helen thus: “Whom your discerning eyes Have singled out, is Ithacus the wise;

A barren island boasts his glorious birth; His fame for wisdom fills the spacious earth.”

 

Antenor took the word, and thus began: [75]

“Myself, O king! have seen that wondrous man When, trusting Jove and hospitable laws, To Troy he came, to plead the Grecian cause; (Great Menelaus urged the same request;) My house was honour’d with each royal guest: I knew their persons, and admired their parts, Both brave in arms, and both approved in arts.

Erect, the Spartan most engaged our view; Ulysses seated, greater reverence drew.

When Atreus’ son harangued the listening train, Just was his sense, and his expression plain, His words succinct, yet full, without a fault; He spoke no more than just the thing he ought.

But when Ulysses rose, in thought profound, [76]

His modest eyes he fix’d upon the ground; As one unskill’d or dumb, he seem’d to stand, Nor raised his head, nor stretch’d his sceptred hand; But, when he speaks, what elocution flows!

Soft as the fleeces of descending snows, [77]

The copious accents fall, with easy art;