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

present to the shades below.”

 

The son of Hercules, the Rhodian guide, Thus haughty spoke. The Lycian king replied: “Thy sire, O prince! o’erturn’d the Trojan state, Whose perjured monarch well deserved his fate; Those heavenly steeds the hero sought so far, False he detain’d, the just reward of war.

Nor so content, the generous chief defied, With base reproaches and unmanly pride.

But you, unworthy the high race you boast, Shall raise my glory when thy own is lost: Now meet thy fate, and by Sarpedon slain, Add one more ghost to Pluto’s gloomy reign.”

 

He said: both javelins at an instant flew; Both struck, both wounded, but Sarpedon’s slew: Full in the boaster’s neck the weapon stood, Transfix’d his throat, and drank the vital blood; The soul disdainful seeks the caves of night, And his seal’d eyes for ever lose the light.

 

Yet not in vain, Tlepolemus, was thrown Thy angry lance; which piercing to the bone Sarpedon’s thigh, had robb’d the chief of breath; But Jove was present, and forbade the death.

Borne from the conflict by his Lycian throng, The wounded hero dragg’d the lance along.

(His friends, each busied in his several part, Through haste, or danger, had not drawn the dart.) The Greeks with slain Tlepolemus retired; Whose fall Ulysses view’d, with fury fired; Doubtful if Jove’s great son he should pursue, Or pour his vengeance on the Lycian crew.

But heaven and fate the first design withstand, Nor this great death must grace Ulysses’ hand.

Minerva drives him on the Lycian train; Alastor, Cronius, Halius, strew’d the plain, Alcander, Prytanis, Noemon fell: [114]

And numbers more his sword had sent to hell, But Hector saw; and, furious at the sight, Rush’d terrible amidst the ranks of fight.

With joy Sarpedon view’d the wish’d relief, And, faint, lamenting, thus implored the chief: “O suffer not the foe to bear away

My helpless corpse, an unassisted prey; If I, unbless’d, must see my son no more, My much-loved consort, and my native shore, Yet let me die in Ilion’s sacred wall;

Troy, in whose cause I fell, shall mourn my fall.”

 

He said, nor Hector to the chief replies, But shakes his plume, and fierce to combat flies; Swift as a whirlwind, drives the scattering foes; And dyes the ground with purple as he goes.

 

Beneath a beech, Jove’s consecrated shade, His mournful friends divine Sarpedon laid: Brave Pelagon, his favourite chief, was nigh, Who wrench’d the javelin from his sinewy thigh.

The fainting soul stood ready wing’d for flight, And o’er his eyeballs swam the shades of night; But Boreas rising fresh, with gentle breath, Recall’d his spirit from the gates of death.

 

The generous Greeks recede with tardy pace, Though Mars and Hector thunder in their face; None turn their backs to mean ignoble flight, Slow they retreat, and even retreating fight.

Who first, who last, by Mars’ and Hector’s hand, Stretch’d in their blood, lay gasping on the sand?

Tenthras the great, Orestes the renown’d For managed steeds, and Trechus press’d the ground;, Next OEnomaus and OEnops’ offspring died; Oresbius last fell groaning at their side: Oresbius, in his painted mitre gay,

In fat Boeotia held his wealthy sway,

Where lakes surround low Hyle’s watery plain; A prince and people studious of their gain.

 

The carnage Juno from the skies survey’d, And touch’d with grief bespoke the blue-eyed maid: “Oh, sight accursed! Shall faithless Troy prevail, And shall our promise to our people fail?

How vain the word to Menelaus given

By Jove’s great daughter and the queen of heaven, Beneath his arms that Priam’s towers should fall, If warring gods for ever guard the wall!

Mars, red with slaughter, aids our hated foes: Haste, let us arm, and force with force oppose!”

 

She spoke; Minerva burns to meet the war: And now heaven’s empress calls her blazing car.

At her command rush forth the steeds divine; Rich with immortal gold their trappings shine.

Bright Hebe waits; by Hebe, ever young, The whirling wheels are to the chariot hung.

On the bright axle turns the bidden wheel Of sounding brass; the polished axle steel.

Eight brazen spokes in radiant order flame; The circles gold, of uncorrupted frame, Such as the heavens produce: and round the gold Two brazen rings of work divine were roll’d.

The bossy naves of sold silver shone;

Braces of gold suspend the moving throne: The car, behind, an arching figure bore; The bending concave form’d an arch before.

Silver the beam, the extended yoke was gold, And golden reins the immortal coursers hold.

Herself, impatient, to the ready car,

The coursers joins, and breathes revenge and war.

 

Pallas disrobes; her radiant veil untied, With flowers adorn’d, with art diversified, (The laboured veil her heavenly fingers wove,) Flows on the pavement of the court of Jove.

Now heaven’s dread arms her mighty limbs invest, Jove’s cuirass blazes on her ample breast; Deck’d in sad triumph for the mournful field, O’er her broad shoulders hangs his horrid shield, Dire, black, tremendous! Round the margin roll’d, A fringe of serpents hissing guards the gold: Here all the terrors of grim War appear, Here rages Force, here tremble Flight and Fear, Here storm’d Contention, and here Fury frown’d, And the dire orb portentous Gorgon crown’d.

The massy golden helm she next assumes, That dreadful nods with four o’ershading plumes; So vast, the broad circumference contains A hundred armies on a hundred plains.

The goddess thus the imperial car ascends; Shook by her arm the mighty javelin bends, Ponderous and huge; that when her fury burns, Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o’erturns.

 

Swift at the scourge the ethereal coursers fly, While the smooth chariot cuts the liquid sky.

Heaven’s gates spontaneous open to the powers, [115]

Heaven’s golden gates, kept by the winged Hours; [116]

Commission’d in alternate watch they stand, The sun’s bright portals and the skies command, Involve in clouds the eternal gates of day, Or the dark barrier roll with ease away.

The sounding hinges ring on either side The gloomy volumes, pierced with light, divide.

The chariot mounts, where deep in ambient skies, Confused, Olympus’ hundred heads arise; Where far apart the Thunderer fills his throne, O’er all the gods superior and alone.

There with her snowy hand the queen restrains The fiery steeds, and thus to Jove complains: “O sire! can no resentment touch thy soul?

Can Mars rebel, and does no thunder roll?

What lawless rage on yon forbidden plain, What rash destruction! and what heroes slain!

Venus, and Phoebus with the dreadful bow, Smile on the slaughter, and enjoy my woe.

Mad, furious power! whose unrelenting mind No god can govern, and no justice bind.

Say, mighty father! shall we scourge this pride, And drive from fight the impetuous homicide?”

 

To whom assenting, thus the Thunderer said: “Go! and the great Minerva be thy aid.

To tame the monster-god Minerva knows,

And oft afflicts his brutal breast with woes.”

 

He said; Saturnia, ardent to obey,

Lash’d her white steeds along the aerial way Swift down the steep of heaven the chariot rolls, Between the expanded earth and starry poles Far as a shepherd, from some point on high, [117]

O’er the wide main extends his boundless eye, Through such a space of air, with thundering sound, At every leap the immortal coursers bound Troy now they reach’d and touch’d those banks divine, Where silver Simois and Scamander join

There Juno stopp’d, and (her fair steeds unloosed) Of air condensed a vapour circumfused

For these, impregnate with celestial dew, On Simois, brink ambrosial herbage grew.

Thence to relieve the fainting Argive throng, Smooth as the sailing doves they glide along.

 

The best and bravest of the Grecian band (A warlike circle) round Tydides stand.

Such was their look as lions bathed in blood, Or foaming boars, the terror of the wood Heaven’s empress mingles with the mortal crowd, And shouts, in Stentor’s sounding voice, aloud; Stentor the strong, endued with brazen lungs, [118]

Whose throats surpass’d the force of fifty tongues.

 

“Inglorious Argives! to your race a shame, And only men in figure and in name!

Once from the walls your timorous foes engaged, While fierce in war divine Achilles raged; Now issuing fearless they possess the plain, Now win the shores, and scarce the seas remain.”

 

Her speech new fury to their hearts convey’d; While near Tydides stood the Athenian maid; The king beside his panting steeds she found, O’erspent with toil reposing on the ground; To cool his glowing wound he sat apart, (The wound inflicted by the Lycian dart.) Large drops of sweat from all his limbs descend, Beneath his ponderous shield his sinews bend, Whose ample belt, that o’er his shoulder lay, He eased; and wash’d the clotted gore away.

The goddess leaning o’er the bending yoke, Beside his coursers, thus her silence broke: “Degenerate prince! and not of Tydeus’ kind, Whose little body lodged a mighty mind; Foremost he press’d in glorious toils to share, And scarce refrain’d when I forbade the war.

Alone, unguarded, once he dared to go,

And feast, incircled by the Theban foe; There braved, and vanquish’d, many a hardy knight; Such nerves I gave him, and such force in fight.

Thou too no less hast been my constant care; Thy hands I arm’d, and sent thee forth to war: But thee or fear deters, or sloth detains; No drop of all thy father warms thy veins.”

 

The chief thus answered mild: “Immortal maid!

I own thy presence, and confess thy aid.

Not fear, thou know’st, withholds me from the plains, Nor sloth hath seized me, but thy word restrains: From warring gods thou bad’st me turn my spear, And Venus only found resistance here.

Hence, goddess! heedful of thy high commands, Loth I gave way, and warn’d our Argive bands: For Mars, the homicide, these eyes beheld, With slaughter red, and raging round the field.”

 

Then thus Minerva:—“Brave Tydides, hear!

Not Mars himself, nor aught immortal, fear.

Full on the god impel thy foaming horse: Pallas commands, and Pallas lends thee force.

Rash, furious, blind, from these to those he flies, And every side of wavering combat tries; Large promise makes, and breaks the promise made: Now gives the Grecians, now the Trojans aid.” [119]

 

She said, and to the steeds approaching near, Drew from his seat the martial charioteer.

The vigorous power the trembling car ascends, Fierce for revenge; and Diomed attends: The groaning axle bent beneath the load; So great a hero, and so great a god.

She snatch’d the reins, she lash’d with all her force, And full on Mars impelled the foaming horse: But first, to hide her heavenly visage, spread Black Orcus’ helmet o’er her radiant head.

 

{Illustration: DIOMED CASTING HIS SPEAR AT MARS.}

 

Just then gigantic Periphas lay slain,

The strongest warrior of the AEtolian train; The god, who slew him, leaves his prostrate prize Stretch’d where he fell, and at Tydides flies.

Now rushing fierce, in equal arms appear The daring Greek, the dreadful god of war!

Full at the chief, above his courser’s head, From Mars’s arm the enormous weapon fled: Pallas opposed her hand, and caused to glance Far from the car the strong immortal lance.

Then threw the force of Tydeus’ warlike son; The javelin hiss’d; the goddess urged it on: Where the broad cincture girt his armour round, It pierced the god: his groin received the wound.

From the rent skin the warrior tugs again The smoking steel. Mars bellows with the pain: Loud as the roar encountering armies yield, When shouting millions shake the thundering field.

Both armies start, and trembling gaze around; And earth and heaven rebellow to the sound.

As vapours blown by Auster’s sultry breath, Pregnant with plagues, and shedding seeds of death, Beneath the rage of burning Sirius rise, Choke