The Iliad, Homer [librera reader .TXT] 📗

came, To Leitus, and valiant Peneleus,

Thoas, Deipyrus, Meriones,

And young Antilochus, brave warriors all, And to the chiefs his winged words address’d: “Shame on ye, Grecian youths! to you I look’d As to our ships’ defenders; but if ye

Shrink from the perilous battle, then indeed Our day is come, to be by Troy subdu’d.

O Heav’n! a sad and wondrous sight is this, A sight I never deem’d my eyes should see, Our ships assail’d by Trojan troops; by those Who heretofore have been as tim’rous hinds Amid the forest depths, the helpless prey Of jackals, pards, and wolves; they here and there, Uncertain, heartless, unresisting, fly: Such were the Trojans once; nor dar’d abide, No, not an hour, the strength and arms of Greece; And these are they, who now beside our ships, Far from their city walls, maintain the fight, Embolden’d by our great commander’s fault, And slackness of the people, who, with him Offended, scarce are brought to guard our ships.

And, feebly fighting, are beside them slain.

E’en though the mighty monarch, Atreus’ son, Wide-ruling Agamemnon, be in truth

Wholly to blame in this, that he hath wrong’d The son of Peleus, yet ‘tis not for us Our courage to relax. Arouse ye then!

A brave man’s spirit its vigour soon regains.

That ye, the best and bravest of the host, Should stand aloof thus idly, ‘tis not well; If meaner men should from the battle shrink, I might not blame them; but that such as ye Should falter, indignation fills my soul.

Dear friends, from this remissness must accrue Yet greater evils; but with gen’rous shame And keen remorse let each man’s breast be fill’d; Fierce is the struggle; in his pride of strength Hector has forc’d the gates and massive bars, And raging, ‘mid the ships maintains the war.”

 

Thus Neptune on the Greeks, reproving, call’d: Then round th’ Ajaces twain were cluster’d thick The serried files, whose firm array nor Mars, Nor spirit-stirring Pallas might reprove: For there, the bravest all, in order due, Waited the Trojan charge by Hector led: Spear close by spear, and shield by shield o’erlaid, Buckler to buckler press’d, and helm to helm, And man to man; the horsehair plumes above, That nodded on the warriors’ glitt’ring crests, Each other touch’d; so closely massed they stood.

Backward, by many a stalwart hand, were drawn The spears, in act to hurl; their eyes and minds Turn’d to the front, and eager for the fray.

On pour’d the Trojan masses; in the van Hector straight forward urg’d his furious course.

As some huge boulder, from its rocky bed Detach’d, and by the wintry torrent’s force Hurl’d down the cliff’s steep face, when constant rains The massive rock’s firm hold have undermin’d; With giant bounds it flies; the crashing wood Resounds beneath it; still it hurries on, Until, arriving at the level plain,

Its headlong impulse check’d, it rolls no more; So Hector, threat’ning now through ships and tents, E’en to the sea, to force his murd’rous way, Anon, confronted by that phalanx firm, Halts close before it; while the sons of Greece, With thrust of sword and double-pointed spears, Stave off his onset; he a little space Withdrew, and loudly on the Trojans call’d: “Trojans, and Lycians, and ye Dardans fam’d In close encounter, stand ye firm! not long The Greeks, though densely mass’d, shall bar my way, But soon, methinks, before my spear shall quail, If from the chief of Gods my mission be, From Jove the Thund’rer, royal Juno’s Lord.”

 

His words fresh courage rais’d in ev’ry breast; On loftiest deeds intent, Deiphobus,

The son of Priam, from the foremost ranks, His shield’s broad orb before him borne, advanc’d With airy step, protected by the shield: At him Meriones with glitt’ring spear

Took aim, nor miss’d his mark; the shield’s broad orb Of tough bull’s-hide it struck; but pass’d not through, For near the head the sturdy shaft was snapp’d.

Yet from before his breast Deiphobus

Held at arm’s length his shield; for much he fear’d The weapon of Meriones; but he

Back to his comrades’ shelt’ring ranks withdrew, Griev’d at his baffled hopes and broken spear.

Then tow’rd the ships he bent his steps, to seek Another spear, which in his tent remain’d.

The rest, ‘mid wild uproar, maintain’d the fight.

 

There Teucer first, the son of Telamon, A warrior slew, the son of Mentor, Lord Of num’rous horses, Imbrius, spearman skill’d.

In former days, ere came the sons of Greece, He in Pedaeus dwelt, and had to wife

Medesicaste, Priam’s bastard child;

But when the well-trimm’d ships of Greece appear’d, Return’d to Troy; and there, rever’d by all, With Priam dwelt, who lov’d him as a son.

Him Teucer with his lance below the ear Stabb’d, and drew back the weapon; down he fell, As by the woodman’s axe, on some high peak, Falls a proud ash, conspicuous from afar, Scatt’ring its tender foliage on the ground; He fell; and loud his burnish’d armour rang.

Forth Teucer sprang to seize the spoil; at whom, Advancing, Hector aim’d his glitt’ring spear; He saw, and, stooping, shunn’d the brazen death A little space; but through the breast it struck Amphimachus, the son of Cteatus,

The son of Actor, hastening to the fight: Thund’ring he fell, and loud his armour rang.

Then forward Hector sprang, in hopes to seize The brazen helm, that fitted well the brow Of brave Amphimachus; but Ajax met

Th’ advance of Hector with his glitt’ring spear; Himself he reach’d not, all in dazzling brass Encas’d; but pressing on his bossy shield Drove by main force beyond where lay the dead: Them both the Greeks withdrew; th’ Athenian chiefs Stychius and brave Menestheus, bore away Amid the ranks of Greece Amphimachus;

While, as two lions high above the ground Bear through the brushwood in their jaws a goat, Snatch’d from the sharp-fang’d dogs’ protecting care: So, fill’d with warlike rage, th’ Ajaces twain Lifted on high, and of its armour stripp’d The corpse of Imbrius; and Oileus’ son, Griev’d at Amphimachus, his comrade’s death, Cut from the tender neck, and like a ball Sent whirling through the crowd the sever’d head; And in the dust at Hector’s feet it fell.

Then, for his grandson slain, fierce anger fill’d The breast of Neptune; through the tents of Greece And ships he pass’d, the Greeks encouraging, And ills preparing for the sons of Troy.

Him met Idomeneus, the warrior King,

Leaving a comrade, from the battle field, Wounded behind the knee, but newly brought; Borne by his comrades, to the leech’s care He left him, eager to rejoin the fray; Whom by his tent th’ Earth-shaking God address’d, The voice assuming of Andraemon’s son, Who o’er th’ AEtolians, as a God rever’d, In Pleuron reign’d, and lofty Calydon: “Where now, Idomeneus, sage Cretan chief, Are all the vaunting threats, so freely pour’d Against the Trojans by the sons of Greece?”

 

To whom the Cretan King, Idomeneus:

“Thoas, on none, so far as I may judge, May blame be cast; we all our duties know; Nor see I one by heartless fear restrain’d, Nor hanging back, and flinching from the war: Yet by th’ o’erruling will of Saturn’s son It seems decreed that here the Greeks should fall, And far from Argos lie in nameless graves.

But, Thoas, as thyself art ever staunch, Nor slow the laggards to reprove, thy work Remit not now; but rouse each sev’ral man.”

 

To whom Earth-shaking Neptune thus replied: “Idomeneus, may he from Troy return

No more, but here remain to glut the dogs, If such there be, from this day’s fight who shrinks.

But haste thee, don thine arms; great need is now To hasten, if in aught we two may serve: E’en meaner men, united, courage gain; But we the bravest need not fear to meet.”

 

He said, and to the strife of men return’d.

Within his well-constructed tent arriv’d, Straight donn’d Idomeneus his armour bright: Two spears he took; and, like the lightning’s flash, Which, as a sign to men, the hand of Jove Hurls downwards from Olympus’ glitt’ring heights; Whose dazzling radiance far around is thrown; Flash’d, as the warrior ran, his armour bright.

Him met Meriones, his follower brave,

Close to the tent; to seek a spear he came; To whom Idomeneus: “Meriones,

Swift-footed son of Molus, comrade dear, Why com’st thou here, and leav’st the battle field?

Hast thou some wound receiv’d, whereof the pain Subdues thy spirit? or com’st thou, to the field To summon me? unsummon’d, well thou know’st I better love the battle than the tent.”

 

Whom answer’d thus the sage Meriones:

“Idomeneus, the brass-clad Cretans’ King, I come to seek a spear, if haply such

Within thy tent be found; for, in the fight, That which I lately bore, e’en now I broke Against the shield of brave Deiphobus.”

 

To whom Idomeneus, the Cretan King:

“Of spears, or one, or twenty, if thou list, Thou there mayst find against the polish’d wall.

The spoil of Trojans slain; for with my foes ‘Tis not my wont to wage a distant war.

Thence have I store of spears, and bossy shields, And crested helms, and breastplates polish’d bright.”

 

Whom answer’d thus the sage Meriones:

“Nor are my tent and dark-ribb’d ship devoid Of Trojan spoils; but they are far to seek; Nor deem I that my hand is slack in fight; For ‘mid the foremost in the glorious strife I stand, whene’er is heard the battle cry.

My deeds by others of the brass-clad Greeks May not be noted; but thou know’st them well.”

 

To whom Idomeneus, the Cretan King:

“What need of this? thy prowess well I know; For should we choose our bravest through the fleet To man the secret ambush, surest test

Of warriors’ courage, where is manifest The diff’rence ‘twixt the coward and the brave; (The coward’s colour changes, nor his soul Within his breast its even balance keeps, But changing still, from foot to foot he shifts, And in his bosom loudly beats his heart, Expecting death; and chatter all his teeth: The brave man’s colour changes not; no fear He knows, the ambush ent’ring; all his pray’r Is that the hour of battle soon may come) E’en there, thy courage none might call in doubt.

Shouldst thou from spear or sword receive a wound, Not on thy neck behind, nor on thy back Would fall the blow, but on thy breast, in front, Still pressing onward ‘mid the foremost ranks.

But come, prolong we not this idle talk, Like babblers vain, who scorn might justly move: Haste to my tent, and there select thy spear.”

 

He said: and from the tent Meriones,

Valiant as Mars, his spear selected straight, And, eager for the fray, rejoin’d his chief.

As Mars, the bane of men, goes forth to war, Attended by his strong, unfearing son, Terror, who shakes the bravest warrior’s soul; They two, from Thrace, against the Ephyri, Or haughty Phlegyans arm; nor hear alike The pray’rs of both the combatants, one side With vict’ry crowning; so to battle went Those leaders twain, in dazzling arms array’d: Then thus Meriones his chief address’d: “Son of Deucalion, say if on the right, Or on the centre of the gen’ral host,

Our onset should be made, or on the left; For there, methinks, most succour need the Greeks.”

 

To whom Idomeneus, the Cretan chief:

“Others there are the centre to defend, Th’ Ajaces both, and Teucer, of the Greeks Best archer, good too in the standing fight; These may for Hector full employment find, Brave as he is, and eager for the fray; E’en for his courage ‘twere a task too hard, Their might to conquer, and resistless hands, And burn the ships, if Saturn’s son himself Fire not, and ‘mid the shipping throw the torch.

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