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

fifty warriors lay;

Two heroes led the secret squadron on,

Mason the fierce, and hardy Lycophon;

Those fifty slaughter’d in the gloomy vale.

He spared but one to bear the dreadful tale, Such Tydeus was, and such his martial fire; Gods! how the son degenerates from the sire!”

 

No words the godlike Diomed return’d,

But heard respectful, and in secret burn’d: Not so fierce Capaneus’ undaunted son;

Stern as his sire, the boaster thus begun: “What needs, O monarch! this invidious praise, Ourselves to lessen, while our sire you raise?

Dare to be just, Atrides! and confess

Our value equal, though our fury less.

With fewer troops we storm’d the Theban wall, And happier saw the sevenfold city fall, [97]

In impious acts the guilty father died; The sons subdued, for Heaven was on their side.

Far more than heirs of all our parents’ fame, Our glories darken their diminish’d name.”

 

To him Tydides thus: “My friend, forbear; Suppress thy passion, and the king revere: His high concern may well excuse this rage, Whose cause we follow, and whose war we wage: His the first praise, were Ilion’s towers o’erthrown, And, if we fail, the chief disgrace his own.

Let him the Greeks to hardy toils excite, ‘Tis ours to labour in the glorious fight.”

 

He spoke, and ardent, on the trembling ground Sprung from his car: his ringing arms resound.

Dire was the clang, and dreadful from afar, Of arm’d Tydides rushing to the war.

As when the winds, ascending by degrees, [98]

First move the whitening surface of the seas, The billows float in order to the shore, The wave behind rolls on the wave before; Till, with the growing storm, the deeps arise, Foam o’er the rocks, and thunder to the skies.

So to the fight the thick battalions throng, Shields urged on shields, and men drove men along Sedate and silent move the numerous bands; No sound, no whisper, but the chief’s commands, Those only heard; with awe the rest obey, As if some god had snatch’d their voice away.

Not so the Trojans; from their host ascends A general shout that all the region rends.

As when the fleecy flocks unnumber’d stand In wealthy folds, and wait the milker’s hand, The hollow vales incessant bleating fills, The lambs reply from all the neighbouring hills: Such clamours rose from various nations round, Mix’d was the murmur, and confused the sound.

Each host now joins, and each a god inspires, These Mars incites, and those Minerva fires, Pale flight around, and dreadful terror reign; And discord raging bathes the purple plain; Discord! dire sister of the slaughtering power, Small at her birth, but rising every hour, While scarce the skies her horrid head can bound, She stalks on earth, and shakes the world around; [99]

The nations bleed, where’er her steps she turns, The groan still deepens, and the combat burns.

 

Now shield with shield, with helmet helmet closed, To armour armour, lance to lance opposed, Host against host with shadowy squadrons drew, The sounding darts in iron tempests flew, Victors and vanquish’d join’d promiscuous cries, And shrilling shouts and dying groans arise; With streaming blood the slippery fields are dyed, And slaughter’d heroes swell the dreadful tide.

 

As torrents roll, increased by numerous rills, With rage impetuous, down their echoing hills Rush to the vales, and pour’d along the plain.

Roar through a thousand channels to the main: The distant shepherd trembling hears the sound; So mix both hosts, and so their cries rebound.

 

The bold Antilochus the slaughter led,

The first who struck a valiant Trojan dead: At great Echepolus the lance arrives,

Razed his high crest, and through his helmet drives; Warm’d in the brain the brazen weapon lies, And shades eternal settle o’er his eyes.

So sinks a tower, that long assaults had stood Of force and fire, its walls besmear’d with blood.

Him, the bold leader of the Abantian throng, [100]

Seized to despoil, and dragg’d the corpse along: But while he strove to tug the inserted dart, Agenor’s javelin reach’d the hero’s heart.

His flank, unguarded by his ample shield, Admits the lance: he falls, and spurns the field; The nerves, unbraced, support his limbs no more; The soul comes floating in a tide of gore.

Trojans and Greeks now gather round the slain; The war renews, the warriors bleed again: As o’er their prey rapacious wolves engage, Man dies on man, and all is blood and rage.

 

In blooming youth fair Simoisius fell,

Sent by great Ajax to the shades of hell; Fair Simoisius, whom his mother bore

Amid the flocks on silver Simois’ shore: The nymph descending from the hills of Ide, To seek her parents on his flowery side, Brought forth the babe, their common care and joy, And thence from Simois named the lovely boy.

Short was his date! by dreadful Ajax slain, He falls, and renders all their cares in vain!

So falls a poplar, that in watery ground Raised high the head, with stately branches crown’d, (Fell’d by some artist with his shining steel, To shape the circle of the bending wheel,) Cut down it lies, tall, smooth, and largely spread, With all its beauteous honours on its head There, left a subject to the wind and rain, And scorch’d by suns, it withers on the plain Thus pierced by Ajax, Simoisius lies

Stretch’d on the shore, and thus neglected dies.

 

At Ajax, Antiphus his javelin threw;

The pointed lance with erring fury flew, And Leucus, loved by wise Ulysses, slew.

He drops the corpse of Simoisius slain, And sinks a breathless carcase on the plain.

This saw Ulysses, and with grief enraged, Strode where the foremost of the foes engaged; Arm’d with his spear, he meditates the wound, In act to throw; but cautious look’d around, Struck at his sight the Trojans backward drew, And trembling heard the javelin as it flew.

A chief stood nigh, who from Abydos came, Old Priam’s son, Democoon was his name.

The weapon entered close above his ear, Cold through his temples glides the whizzing spear; [101]

With piercing shrieks the youth resigns his breath, His eyeballs darken with the shades of death; Ponderous he falls; his clanging arms resound, And his broad buckler rings against the ground.

 

Seized with affright the boldest foes appear; E’en godlike Hector seems himself to fear; Slow he gave way, the rest tumultuous fled; The Greeks with shouts press on, and spoil the dead: But Phoebus now from Ilion’s towering height Shines forth reveal’d, and animates the fight.

“Trojans, be bold, and force with force oppose; Your foaming steeds urge headlong on the foes!

Nor are their bodies rocks, nor ribb’d with steel; Your weapons enter, and your strokes they feel.

Have ye forgot what seem’d your dread before?

The great, the fierce Achilles fights no more.”

 

Apollo thus from Ilion’s lofty towers,

Array’d in terrors, roused the Trojan powers: While war’s fierce goddess fires the Grecian foe, And shouts and thunders in the fields below.

Then great Diores fell, by doom divine, In vain his valour and illustrious line.

A broken rock the force of Pyrus threw, (Who from cold AEnus led the Thracian crew,) [102]

Full on his ankle dropp’d the ponderous stone, Burst the strong nerves, and crash’d the solid bone.

Supine he tumbles on the crimson sands, Before his helpless friends, and native bands, And spreads for aid his unavailing hands.

The foe rush’d furious as he pants for breath, And through his navel drove the pointed death: His gushing entrails smoked upon the ground, And the warm life came issuing from the wound.

 

His lance bold Thoas at the conqueror sent, Deep in his breast above the pap it went, Amid the lungs was fix’d the winged wood, And quivering in his heaving bosom stood: Till from the dying chief, approaching near, The AEtolian warrior tugg’d his weighty spear: Then sudden waved his flaming falchion round, And gash’d his belly with a ghastly wound; The corpse now breathless on the bloody plain, To spoil his arms the victor strove in vain; The Thracian bands against the victor press’d, A grove of lances glitter’d at his breast.

Stern Thoas, glaring with revengeful eyes, In sullen fury slowly quits the prize.

 

Thus fell two heroes; one the pride of Thrace, And one the leader of the Epeian race;

Death’s sable shade at once o’ercast their eyes, In dust the vanquish’d and the victor lies.

With copious slaughter all the fields are red, And heap’d with growing mountains of the dead.

 

Had some brave chief this martial scene beheld, By Pallas guarded through the dreadful field; Might darts be bid to turn their points away, And swords around him innocently play;

The war’s whole art with wonder had he seen, And counted heroes where he counted men.

 

So fought each host, with thirst of glory fired, And crowds on crowds triumphantly expired.

 

{Illustration: Map of the Plain of Troy.}

 

BOOK V.

 

ARGUMENT.

 

THE ACTS OF DIOMED.

 

Diomed, assisted by Pallas, performs wonders in this day’s battle.

Pandarus wounds him with an arrow, but the goddess cures him, enables him to discern gods from mortals, and prohibits him from contending with any of the former, excepting Venus. AEneas joins Pandarus to oppose him; Pandarus is killed, and AEneas in great danger but for the assistance of Venus; who, as she is removing her son from the fight, is wounded on the hand by Diomed. Apollo seconds her in his rescue, and at length carries off AEneas to Troy, where he is healed in the temple of Pergamus. Mars rallies the Trojans, and assists Hector to make a stand.

In the meantime AEneas is restored to the field, and they overthrow several of the Greeks; among the rest Tlepolemus is slain by Sarpedon.

Juno and Minerva descend to resist Mars; the latter incites Diomed to go against that god; he wounds him, and sends him groaning to heaven.

 

The first battle continues through this book. The scene is the same as in the former.

 

But Pallas now Tydides’ soul inspires, [103]

Fills with her force, and warms with all her fires, Above the Greeks his deathless fame to raise, And crown her hero with distinguish’d praise.

High on his helm celestial lightnings play, His beamy shield emits a living ray;

The unwearied blaze incessant streams supplies, Like the red star that fires the autumnal skies, When fresh he rears his radiant orb to sight, And, bathed in ocean, shoots a keener light.

Such glories Pallas on the chief bestow’d, Such, from his arms, the fierce effulgence flow’d: Onward she drives him, furious to engage, Where the fight burns, and where the thickest rage.

 

The sons of Dares first the combat sought, A wealthy priest, but rich without a fault; In Vulcan’s fane the father’s days were led, The sons to toils of glorious battle bred; These singled from their troops the fight maintain, These, from their steeds, Tydides on the plain.

Fierce for renown the brother-chiefs draw near, And first bold Phegeus cast his sounding spear, Which o’er the warrior’s shoulder took its course, And spent in empty air its erring force.

Not so, Tydides, flew thy lance in vain, But pierced his breast, and stretch’d him on the plain.

Seized with unusual fear, Idaeus fled,

Left the rich chariot, and his brother dead.

And had not Vulcan lent celestial aid,

He too had sunk to death’s eternal shade; But in a smoky cloud the god of fire

Preserved the son, in pity to the sire.

The steeds and chariot, to the navy led, Increased the spoils of gallant Diomed.

 

Struck with amaze and shame, the Trojan crew, Or slain, or fled, the sons of Dares view; When by the blood-stain’d hand Minerva press’d The god of battles, and