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

kings rejects the peace: “Herald! in him thou hear’st the voice of Greece For what remains; let funeral flames be fed With heroes’ corps: I war not with the dead: Go search your slaughtered chiefs on yonder plain, And gratify the manes of the slain.

Be witness, Jove, whose thunder rolls on high!”

He said, and rear’d his sceptre to the sky.

 

To sacred Troy, where all her princes lay To wait the event, the herald bent his way.

He came, and standing in the midst, explain’d The peace rejected, but the truce obtain’d.

Straight to their several cares the Trojans move, Some search the plains, some fell the sounding grove: Nor less the Greeks, descending on the shore, Hew’d the green forests, and the bodies bore.

And now from forth the chambers of the main, To shed his sacred light on earth again, Arose the golden chariot of the day,

And tipp’d the mountains with a purple ray.

In mingled throngs the Greek and Trojan train Through heaps of carnage search’d the mournful plain.

Scarce could the friend his slaughter’d friend explore, With dust dishonour’d, and deformed with gore.

The wounds they wash’d, their pious tears they shed, And, laid along their cars, deplored the dead.

Sage Priam check’d their grief: with silent haste The bodies decent on the piles were placed: With melting hearts the cold remains they burn’d, And, sadly slow, to sacred Troy return’d.

Nor less the Greeks their pious sorrows shed, And decent on the pile dispose the dead; The cold remains consume with equal care; And slowly, sadly, to their fleet repair.

Now, ere the morn had streak’d with reddening light The doubtful confines of the day and night, About the dying flames the Greeks appear’d, And round the pile a general tomb they rear’d.

Then, to secure the camp and naval powers, They raised embattled walls with lofty towers: [146]

From space to space were ample gates around, For passing chariots, and a trench profound Of large extent; and deep in earth below, Strong piles infix’d stood adverse to the foe.

 

So toil’d the Greeks: meanwhile the gods above, In shining circle round their father Jove, Amazed beheld the wondrous works of man: Then he, whose trident shakes the earth, began: “What mortals henceforth shall our power adore, Our fanes frequent, our oracles implore, If the proud Grecians thus successful boast Their rising bulwarks on the sea-beat coast?

See the long walls extending to the main, No god consulted, and no victim slain!

Their fame shall fill the world’s remotest ends, Wide as the morn her golden beam extends; While old Laomedon’s divine abodes,

Those radiant structures raised by labouring gods, Shall, razed and lost, in long oblivion sleep.”

Thus spoke the hoary monarch of the deep.

 

The almighty Thunderer with a frown replies, That clouds the world, and blackens half the skies: “Strong god of ocean! thou, whose rage can make The solid earth’s eternal basis shake!

What cause of fear from mortal works could move [147]

The meanest subject of our realms above?

Where’er the sun’s refulgent rays are cast, Thy power is honour’d, and thy fame shall last.

But yon proud work no future age shall view, No trace remain where once the glory grew.

The sapp’d foundations by thy force shall fall, And, whelm’d beneath the waves, drop the huge wall: Vast drifts of sand shall change the former shore: The ruin vanish’d, and the name no more.”

 

Thus they in heaven: while, o’er the Grecian train, The rolling sun descending to the main

Beheld the finish’d work. Their bulls they slew; Back from the tents the savoury vapour flew.

And now the fleet, arrived from Lemnos’ strands, With Bacchus’ blessings cheered the generous bands.

Of fragrant wines the rich Eunaeus sent A thousant measures to the royal tent.

(Eunaeus, whom Hypsipyle of yore

To Jason, shepherd of his people, bore,) The rest they purchased at their proper cost, And well the plenteous freight supplied the host: Each, in exchange, proportion’d treasures gave; [148]

Some, brass or iron; some, an ox, or slave.

All night they feast, the Greek and Trojan powers: Those on the fields, and these within their towers.

But Jove averse the signs of wrath display’d, And shot red lightnings through the gloomy shade: Humbled they stood; pale horror seized on all, While the deep thunder shook the aerial hall.

Each pour’d to Jove before the bowl was crown’d; And large libations drench’d the thirsty ground: Then late, refresh’d with sleep from toils of fight, Enjoy’d the balmy blessings of the night.

 

{Illustration: GREEK AMPHORA—WINE VESSELS.}

 

BOOK VIII.

 

ARGUMENT.

 

THE SECOND BATTLE, AND THE DISTRESS OF THE GREEKS.

 

Jupiter assembles a council of the deities, and threatens them with the pains of Tartarus if they assist either side: Minerva only obtains of him that she may direct the Greeks by her counsels. [149]

his balances the fates of both, and affrights the Greeks with his thunders and lightnings. Nestor alone continues in the field in great danger: Diomed relieves him; whose exploits, and those of Hector, are excellently described. Juno endeavours to animate Neptune to the assistance of the Greeks, but in vain. The acts of Teucer, who is at length wounded by Hector, and carried off. Juno and Minerva prepare to aid the Grecians, but are restrained by Iris, sent from Jupiter. The night puts an end to the battle. Hector continues in the field, (the Greeks being driven to their fortifications before the ships,) and gives orders to keep the watch all night in the camp, to prevent the enemy from re-embarking and escaping by flight. They kindle fires through all the fields, and pass the night under arms.

 

The time of seven and twenty days is employed from the opening of the poem to the end of this book. The scene here (except of the celestial machines) lies in the field towards the seashore.

 

Aurora now, fair daughter of the dawn,

Sprinkled with rosy light the dewy lawn; When Jove convened the senate of the skies, Where high Olympus’ cloudy tops arise,

The sire of gods his awful silence broke; The heavens attentive trembled as he spoke: “Celestial states! immortal gods! give ear, Hear our decree, and reverence what ye hear; The fix’d decree which not all heaven can move; Thou, fate! fulfil it! and, ye powers, approve!

What god but enters yon forbidden field, Who yields assistance, or but wills to yield, Back to the skies with shame he shall be driven, Gash’d with dishonest wounds, the scorn of heaven; Or far, oh far, from steep Olympus thrown, Low in the dark Tartarean gulf shall groan, With burning chains fix’d to the brazen floors, And lock’d by hell’s inexorable doors;

As deep beneath the infernal centre hurl’d, [150]

As from that centre to the ethereal world.

Let him who tempts me, dread those dire abodes: And know, the Almighty is the god of gods.

League all your forces, then, ye powers above, Join all, and try the omnipotence of Jove.

Let down our golden everlasting chain [151]

Whose strong embrace holds heaven, and earth, and main Strive all, of mortal and immortal birth, To drag, by this, the Thunderer down to earth Ye strive in vain! if I but stretch this hand, I heave the gods, the ocean, and the land; I fix the chain to great Olympus’ height, And the vast world hangs trembling in my sight!

For such I reign, unbounded and above;

And such are men, and gods, compared to Jove.”

 

The all-mighty spoke, nor durst the powers reply: A reverend horror silenced all the sky; Trembling they stood before their sovereign’s look; At length his best-beloved, the power of wisdom, spoke: “O first and greatest! God, by gods adored We own thy might, our father and our lord!

But, ah! permit to pity human state:

If not to help, at least lament their fate.

From fields forbidden we submiss refrain, With arms unaiding mourn our Argives slain; Yet grant my counsels still their breasts may move, Or all must perish in the wrath of Jove.”

 

The cloud-compelling god her suit approved, And smiled superior on his best beloved; Then call’d his coursers, and his chariot took; The stedfast firmament beneath them shook: Rapt by the ethereal steeds the chariot roll’d; Brass were their hoofs, their curling manes of gold: Of heaven’s undrossy gold the gods array, Refulgent, flash’d intolerable day.

High on the throne he shines: his coursers fly Between the extended earth and starry sky.

But when to Ida’s topmost height he came, (Fair nurse of fountains, and of savage game,) Where o’er her pointed summits proudly raised, His fane breathed odours, and his altar blazed: There, from his radiant car, the sacred sire Of gods and men released the steeds of fire: Blue ambient mists the immortal steeds embraced; High on the cloudy point his seat he placed; Thence his broad eye the subject world surveys, The town, and tents, and navigable seas.

 

Now had the Grecians snatch’d a short repast, And buckled on their shining arms with haste.

Troy roused as soon; for on this dreadful day The fate of fathers, wives, and infants lay.

The gates unfolding pour forth all their train; Squadrons on squadrons cloud the dusky plain: Men, steeds, and chariots shake the trembling ground, The tumult thickens, and the skies resound; And now with shouts the shocking armies closed, To lances lances, shields to shields opposed, Host against host with shadowy legends drew, The sounding darts in iron tempests flew; Victors and vanquish’d join promiscuous cries, Triumphant shouts and dying groans arise; With streaming blood the slippery fields are dyed, And slaughter’d heroes swell the dreadful tide.

Long as the morning beams, increasing bright, O’er heaven’s clear azure spread the sacred light, Commutual death the fate of war confounds, Each adverse battle gored with equal wounds.

But when the sun the height of heaven ascends, The sire of gods his golden scales suspends, [152]

With equal hand: in these explored the fate Of Greece and Troy, and poised the mighty weight: Press’d with its load, the Grecian balance lies Low sunk on earth, the Trojan strikes the skies.

Then Jove from Ida’s top his horrors spreads; The clouds burst dreadful o’er the Grecian heads; Thick lightnings flash; the muttering thunder rolls; Their strength he withers, and unmans their souls.

Before his wrath the trembling hosts retire; The gods in terrors, and the skies on fire.

Nor great Idomeneus that sight could bear, Nor each stern Ajax, thunderbolts of war: Nor he, the king of war, the alarm sustain’d Nestor alone, amidst the storm remain’d.

Unwilling he remain’d, for Paris’ dart

Had pierced his courser in a mortal part; Fix’d in the forehead, where the springing man Curl’d o’er the brow, it stung him to the brain; Mad with his anguish, he begins to rear, Paw with his hoofs aloft, and lash the air.

Scarce had his falchion cut the reins, and freed The encumber’d chariot from the dying steed, When dreadful Hector, thundering through the war, Pour’d to the tumult on his whirling car.

That day had stretch’d beneath his matchless hand The hoary monarch of the Pylian band,

But Diomed beheld; from forth the crowd He rush’d, and on Ulysses call’d aloud: “Whither, oh whither does Ulysses run?

Oh, flight unworthy great Laertes’ son!

Mix’d with the vulgar shall thy fate be found, Pierced in the back, a vile, dishonest wound?

Oh turn and save from Hector’s direful rage The glory of the Greeks, the Pylian sage.”

His fruitless words are lost unheard in air, Ulysses seeks the ships, and shelters there.

But bold Tydides to the rescue goes,

A single warrior midst a host of foes;

Before the coursers with a sudden spring He leap’d, and anxious thus bespoke the king: “Great perils, father! wait