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

the loud tumult and the barbarous cry The heavens re-echo, and the shores reply: They vow destruction to the Grecian name, And in their hopes the fleets already flame.

 

But Neptune, rising from the seas profound, The god whose earthquakes rock the solid ground, Now wears a mortal form; like Calchas seen, Such his loud voice, and such his manly mien; His shouts incessant every Greek inspire, But most the Ajaces, adding fire to fire.

 

{Illustration: NEPTUNE RISING FROM THE SEA.}

 

“‘Tis yours, O warriors, all our hopes to raise: Oh recollect your ancient worth and praise!

‘Tis yours to save us, if you cease to fear; Flight, more than shameful, is destructive here.

On other works though Troy with fury fall, And pour her armies o’er our batter’d wall: There Greece has strength: but this, this part o’erthrown, Her strength were vain; I dread for you alone: Here Hector rages like the force of fire, Vaunts of his gods, and calls high Jove his sire: If yet some heavenly power your breast excite, Breathe in your hearts, and string your arms to fight, Greece yet may live, her threaten’d fleet maintain: And Hector’s force, and Jove’s own aid, be vain.”

 

Then with his sceptre, that the deep controls, He touch’d the chiefs, and steel’d their manly souls: Strength, not their own, the touch divine imparts, Prompts their light limbs, and swells their daring hearts.

Then, as a falcon from the rocky height, Her quarry seen, impetuous at the sight, Forth-springing instant, darts herself from high, Shoots on the wing, and skims along the sky: Such, and so swift, the power of ocean flew; The wide horizon shut him from their view.

 

The inspiring god Oileus’ active son

Perceived the first, and thus to Telamon: “Some god, my friend, some god in human form Favouring descends, and wills to stand the storm.

Not Calchas this, the venerable seer;

Short as he turned, I saw the power appear: I mark’d his parting, and the steps he trod; His own bright evidence reveals a god.

Even now some energy divine I share,

And seem to walk on wings, and tread in air!”

 

“With equal ardour (Telamon returns)

My soul is kindled, and my bosom burns; New rising spirits all my force alarm,

Lift each impatient limb, and brace my arm.

This ready arm, unthinking, shakes the dart; The blood pours back, and fortifies my heart: Singly, methinks, yon towering chief I meet, And stretch the dreadful Hector at my feet.”

 

Full of the god that urged their burning breast, The heroes thus their mutual warmth express’d.

Neptune meanwhile the routed Greeks inspired; Who, breathless, pale, with length of labours tired, Pant in the ships; while Troy to conquest calls, And swarms victorious o’er their yielding walls: Trembling before the impending storm they lie, While tears of rage stand burning in their eye.

Greece sunk they thought, and this their fatal hour; But breathe new courage as they feel the power.

Teucer and Leitus first his words excite; Then stern Peneleus rises to the fight; Thoas, Deipyrus, in arms renown’d,

And Merion next, the impulsive fury found; Last Nestor’s son the same bold ardour takes, While thus the god the martial fire awakes: “Oh lasting infamy, oh dire disgrace

To chiefs of vigorous youth, and manly race!

I trusted in the gods, and you, to see

Brave Greece victorious, and her navy free: Ah, no—the glorious combat you disclaim, And one black day clouds all her former fame.

Heavens! what a prodigy these eyes survey, Unseen, unthought, till this amazing day!

Fly we at length from Troy’s oft-conquer’d bands?

And falls our fleet by such inglorious hands?

A rout undisciplined, a straggling train, Not born to glories of the dusty plain; Like frighted fawns from hill to hill pursued, A prey to every savage of the wood:

Shall these, so late who trembled at your name, Invade your camps, involve your ships in flame?

A change so shameful, say, what cause has wrought?

The soldiers’ baseness, or the general’s fault?

Fools! will ye perish for your leader’s vice; The purchase infamy, and life the price?

‘Tis not your cause, Achilles’ injured fame: Another’s is the crime, but yours the shame.

Grant that our chief offend through rage or lust, Must you be cowards, if your king’s unjust?

Prevent this evil, and your country save: Small thought retrieves the spirits of the brave.

Think, and subdue! on dastards dead to fame I waste no anger, for they feel no shame: But you, the pride, the flower of all our host, My heart weeps blood to see your glory lost!

Nor deem this day, this battle, all you lose; A day more black, a fate more vile, ensues.

Let each reflect, who prizes fame or breath, On endless infamy, on instant death:

For, lo! the fated time, the appointed shore: Hark! the gates burst, the brazen barriers roar!

Impetuous Hector thunders at the wall;

The hour, the spot, to conquer, or to fall.”

 

These words the Grecians’ fainting hearts inspire, And listening armies catch the godlike fire.

Fix’d at his post was each bold Ajax found, With well-ranged squadrons strongly circled round: So close their order, so disposed their fight, As Pallas’ self might view with fix’d delight; Or had the god of war inclined his eyes, The god of war had own’d a just surprise.

A chosen phalanx, firm, resolved as fate, Descending Hector and his battle wait.

An iron scene gleams dreadful o’er the fields, Armour in armour lock’d, and shields in shields, Spears lean on spears, on targets targets throng, Helms stuck to helms, and man drove man along.

The floating plumes unnumber’d wave above, As when an earthquake stirs the nodding grove; And levell’d at the skies with pointing rays, Their brandish’d lances at each motion blaze.

 

Thus breathing death, in terrible array, The close compacted legions urged their way: Fierce they drove on, impatient to destroy; Troy charged the first, and Hector first of Troy.

As from some mountain’s craggy forehead torn, A rock’s round fragment flies, with fury borne, (Which from the stubborn stone a torrent rends,) Precipitate the ponderous mass descends: From steep to steep the rolling ruin bounds; At every shock the crackling wood resounds; Still gathering force, it smokes; and urged amain, Whirls, leaps, and thunders down, impetuous to the plain: There stops—so Hector. Their whole force he proved, [190]

Resistless when he raged, and, when he stopp’d, unmoved.

 

On him the war is bent, the darts are shed, And all their falchions wave around his head: Repulsed he stands, nor from his stand retires; But with repeated shouts his army fires.

“Trojans! be firm; this arm shall make your way Through yon square body, and that black array: Stand, and my spear shall rout their scattering power, Strong as they seem, embattled like a tower; For he that Juno’s heavenly bosom warms, The first of gods, this day inspires our arms.”

 

He said; and roused the soul in every breast: Urged with desire of fame, beyond the rest, Forth march’d Deiphobus; but, marching, held Before his wary steps his ample shield.

Bold Merion aim’d a stroke (nor aim’d it wide); The glittering javelin pierced the tough bull-hide; But pierced not through: unfaithful to his hand, The point broke short, and sparkled in the sand.

The Trojan warrior, touch’d with timely fear, On the raised orb to distance bore the spear.

The Greek, retreating, mourn’d his frustrate blow, And cursed the treacherous lance that spared a foe; Then to the ships with surly speed he went, To seek a surer javelin in his tent.

 

Meanwhile with rising rage the battle glows, The tumult thickens, and the clamour grows.

By Teucer’s arm the warlike Imbrius bleeds, The son of Mentor, rich in generous steeds.

Ere yet to Troy the sons of Greece were led, In fair Pedaeus’ verdant pastures bred, The youth had dwelt, remote from war’s alarms, And blest in bright Medesicaste’s arms: (This nymph, the fruit of Priam’s ravish’d joy, Allied the warrior to the house of Troy:) To Troy, when glory call’d his arms, he came, And match’d the bravest of her chiefs in fame: With Priam’s sons, a guardian of the throne, He lived, beloved and honour’d as his own.

Him Teucer pierced between the throat and ear: He groans beneath the Telamonian spear.

As from some far-seen mountain’s airy crown, Subdued by steel, a tall ash tumbles down, And soils its verdant tresses on the ground; So falls the youth; his arms the fall resound.

Then Teucer rushing to despoil the dead, From Hector’s hand a shining javelin fled: He saw, and shunn’d the death; the forceful dart Sung on, and pierced Amphimachus’s heart, Cteatus’ son, of Neptune’s forceful line; Vain was his courage, and his race divine!

Prostrate he falls; his clanging arms resound, And his broad buckler thunders on the ground.

To seize his beamy helm the victor flies, And just had fastened on the dazzling prize, When Ajax’ manly arm a javelin flung;

Full on the shield’s round boss the weapon rung; He felt the shock, nor more was doom’d to feel, Secure in mail, and sheath’d in shining steel.

Repulsed he yields; the victor Greeks obtain The spoils contested, and bear off the slain.

Between the leaders of the Athenian line, (Stichius the brave, Menestheus the divine,) Deplored Amphimachus, sad object! lies; Imbrius remains the fierce Ajaces’ prize.

As two grim lions bear across the lawn, Snatch’d from devouring hounds, a slaughter’d fawn.

In their fell jaws high-lifting through the wood, And sprinkling all the shrubs with drops of blood; So these, the chief: great Ajax from the dead Strips his bright arms; Oileus lops his head: Toss’d like a ball, and whirl’d in air away, At Hector’s feet the gory visage lay.

 

The god of ocean, fired with stern disdain, And pierced with sorrow for his grandson slain, Inspires the Grecian hearts, confirms their hands, And breathes destruction on the Trojan bands.

Swift as a whirlwind rushing to the fleet, He finds the lance-famed Idomen of Crete, His pensive brow the generous care express’d With which a wounded soldier touch’d his breast, Whom in the chance of war a javelin tore, And his sad comrades from the battle bore; Him to the surgeons of the camp he sent: That office paid, he issued from his tent Fierce for the fight: to whom the god begun, In Thoas’ voice, Andraemon’s valiant son, Who ruled where Calydon’s white rocks arise, And Pleuron’s chalky cliffs emblaze the skies: “Where’s now the imperious vaunt, the daring boast, Of Greece victorious, and proud Ilion lost?”

 

To whom the king: “On Greece no blame be thrown; Arms are her trade, and war is all her own.

Her hardy heroes from the well-fought plains Nor fear withholds, nor shameful sloth detains: ‘Tis heaven, alas! and Jove’s all-powerful doom, That far, far distant from our native home Wills us to fall inglorious! Oh, my friend!

Once foremost in the fight, still prone to lend Or arms or counsels, now perform thy best, And what thou canst not singly, urge the rest.”

 

Thus he: and thus the god whose force can make The solid globe’s eternal basis shake:

“Ah! never may he see his native land,

But feed the vultures on this hateful strand, Who seeks ignobly in his ships to stay, Nor dares to combat on this signal day!

For this, behold! in horrid arms I shine, And urge thy soul to rival acts with mine.

Together let us battle on the plain;

Two, not the worst; nor even this succour vain: Not vain the weakest, if their force unite; But ours, the bravest have confess’d in fight.”

 

This said, he rushes where the combat burns; Swift to his tent the Cretan king returns: From thence, two javelins glittering