The Iliad, Homer [librera reader .TXT] 📗

Hector advancing, Menelaus retires; but soon returns with Ajax, and drives him off. This Glaucus objects to Hector as a flight, who thereupon puts on the armour he had won from Patroclus, and renews the battle. The Greeks give way, till Ajax rallies them: AEneas sustains the Trojans. AEneas and Hector attempt the chariot of Achilles, which is borne off by Automedon. The horses of Achilles deplore the loss of Patroclus; Jupiter covers his body with a thick darkness; the noble prayer of Ajax on that occasion.

Menelaus sends Antilochus to Achilles, with the news of Patroclus’s death: then returns to the fight, where, though attacked with the utmost fury, he and Meriones, assisted by the Ajaces, bear off the body to the ships.

 

The time is the evening of the eight-and-twentieth day. The scene lies in the fields before Troy.

 

BOOK XVII.

 

Nor was Patroclus’ fall, by Trojans slain, Of warlike Menelaus unobserv’d;

Forward he sprang, in dazzling arms array’d, And round him mov’d, as round her new-dropp’d calf Her first, a heifer moves with plaintive moan: So round Patroclus Menelaus mov’d,

His shield’s broad orb and spear before him held, To all who might oppose him threat’ning death.

Nor, on his side, was Panthous’ noble son Unmindful of the slain; but, standing near, The warlike Menelaus thus address’d:

 

“Illustrious son of Atreus, Heav’n-born chief, Quit thou the dead; yield up the bloody spoils: For, of the Trojans and their fam’d Allies, Mine was the hand that in the stubborn fight First struck Patroclus; leave me then to wear Among the men of Troy my honours due,

Lest by my spear thou lose thy cherish’d life.”

 

To whom in anger Menelaus thus:

“O Father Jove, how ill this vaunting tone Beseems this braggart! In their own esteem, “With Panthous’ sons for courage none may vie; Nor pard, nor lion, nor the forest boar, Fiercest of beasts, and proudest of his strength.

Yet nought avail’d to Hyperenor’s might His youthful vigour, when he held me cheap, And my encounter dar’d; of all the Greeks He deem’d my prowess least; yet he, I ween, On his own feet return’d not, to rejoice His tender wife’s and honour’d parents’ sight.

So shall thy pride be quell’d, if me thou dare Encounter; but I warn thee, while ‘tis time, Ere ill betide thee, ‘mid the gen’ral throng That thou withdraw, nor stand to me oppos’d.

After th’ event may e’en a fool be wise.”

He spoke in vain; Euphorbus thus replied: “Now, Heav’n-born Menelaus, shalt thou pay The forfeit for my brother’s life, o’er whom, Slain by thy hand, thou mak’st thy boasting speech.

Thou in the chambers of her new-found home Hast made his bride a weeping widow; thou Hast fill’d with bitt’rest grief his parents’ hearts: Some solace might those hapless mourners find, Could I thy head and armour in the hands Of Panthous and of honour’d Phrontis place; Nor uncontested shall the proof remain, Nor long deferr’d, of vict’ry or defeat.”

 

He said, and struck the centre of the shield, But broke not through; against the stubborn brass The point was bent; then with a pray’r to Jove The son of Atreus in his turn advanc’d; And, backward as he stepp’d, below his throat Took aim, and pressing hard with stalwart hand Drove through the yielding neck the pond’rous spear: Thund’ring he fell, and loud his armour rang.

Those locks, that with the Graces’ hair might vie, Those tresses bright, with gold and silver bound, Were dabbled all with blood. As when a man Hath rear’d a fair and vig’rous olive plant, In some lone spot, by copious-gushing springs, And seen expanding, nurs’d by ev’ry breeze, Its whit’ning blossoms; till with sudden gust A sweeping hurricane of wind and rain

Uproots it from its bed, and prostrate lays; So lay the youthful son of Panthous, slain By Atreus’ son, and of his arms despoil’d.

And as a lion, in the mountains bred,

In pride of strength, amid the pasturing herd Seizes a heifer in his pow’rful jaws,

The choicest; and, her neck first broken, rends, And, on her entrails gorging, laps the blood; Though with loud clamour dogs and herdsmen round Assail him from afar, yet ventures none To meet his rage, for fear is on them all; So none was there so bold, with dauntless breast The noble Menelaus’ wrath to meet.

Now had Atrides borne away with ease

The spoils of Panthous’ son; but Phoebus grudg’d His prize of vict’ry, and against him launch’d The might of Hector, terrible as Mars: To whom his winged words, in Mentes’ form, Chief of the Cicones, he thus address’d: “Hector, thy labour all is vain, pursuing Pelides’ flying steeds; and hard are they For mortal man to harness, or control.

Save for Achilles’ self, the Goddess-born.

The valiant Menelaus, Atreus’ son,

Defends meanwhile Patroclus; and e’en now Hath slain a noble Trojan, Panthous’ son, Euphorbus, and his youthful vigour quell’d.”

 

He said, and join’d again the strife of men: Hector’s dark soul with bitter grief was fill’d; He look’d amid the ranks, and saw the two, One slain, the other stripping off his arms, The blood outpouring from the gaping wound.

Forward he sprang, in dazzling arms array’d, Loud shouting, blazing like the quenchless flames Of Vulcan: Menelaus heard the shout,

And, troubled, commun’d with his valiant heart: “Oh, woe is me! for should I now the spoils Abandon, and Patroclus, who for me

And in my cause lies slain, of any Greek Who saw me, I might well incur the blame: And yet if here alone I dare to fight

With Hector and his Trojans, much I fear, Singly, to be by numbers overwhelm’d;

For Hector all the Trojans hither brings.

But wherefore entertain such thoughts, my soul?

Who strives, against the will divine, with one Belov’d of Heav’n, a bitter doom must meet.

Then none may blame me, though I should retreat From Hector, who with Heav’n’s assistance wars.

Yet could I hear brave Ajax’ battle cry, We two, returning, would the encounter dare, E’en against Heav’n, if so for Peleus’ son We might regain, and bear away the dead: Some solace of our loss might then be ours.”

 

While in his mind and spirit thus he mus’d, By Hector led, the Trojan ranks advanc’d: Backward he mov’d, abandoning the dead; But turning oft, as when by men and dogs A bearded lion from the fold is driv’n With shouts and spears; yet grieves his mighty heart, And with reluctant step he quits the yard: So from Patroclus Menelaus mov’d;

Yet when he reach’d his comrades’ ranks, he turn’d, And look’d around, if haply he might find The mighty Ajax, son of Telamon.

Him on the battle’s farthest left he spied, Cheering his friends and urging to the fight, For sorely Phoebus had their courage tried; And hast’ning to his side, address’d him thus: “Ajax, haste hither; to the rescue come Of slain Patroclus; if perchance we two May to Achilles, Peleus’ son, restore

His body: his naked body, for his arms Are prize to Hector of the glancing helm.”

 

He said, and Ajax’ spirit within him stirr’d; Forward he sprang, and with him Atreus’ son.

Hector was dragging now Patroclus’ corpse, Stripped of its glitt’ring armour, and intent The head to sever with his sword, and give The mangled carcase to the dogs of Troy: But Ajax, with his tow’r-like shield, approach’d; Then Hector to his comrades’ ranks withdrew, Rush’d to his car, and bade the Trojans bear The glitt’ring arms, his glorious prize, to Troy: While Ajax with his mighty shield o’erspread Menoetius’ son; and stood, as for his cubs A lion stands, whom hunters, unaware,

Have with his offspring met amid the woods.

Proud in his strength he stands; and down are drawn, Cov’ring his eyes, the wrinkles of his brow: So o’er Patroclus mighty Ajax stood,

And by his side, his heart with grief oppress’d, The warlike Menelaus, Atreus’ son.

 

Then Glaucus, leader of the Lycian host, To Hector thus, with scornful glance, address’d His keen reproaches: “Hector, fair of form, How art thou wanting in the fight! thy fame, Coward and runaway, thou hast belied.

Bethink thee now, if thou alone canst save The city, aided but by Trojans born;

Henceforth no Lycian will go forth for Troy To fight with Greeks; since favour none we gain By unremitting toil against the foe.

How can a meaner man expect thine aid, Who basely to the Greeks a prize and spoil Sarpedon leav’st, thy comrade and thy guest?

Greatly he serv’d the city and thyself, While yet he liv’d; and now thou dar’st not save His body from the dogs! By my advice

If Lycians will be rul’d, we take at once Our homeward way, and Troy may meet her doom.

But if in Trojan bosoms there abode

The daring, dauntless courage, meet for men Who in their country’s cause against the foe Endure both toil and war, we soon should see Patroclus brought within the walls of Troy; Him from the battle could we bear away, And, lifeless, bring to royal Priam’s town, Soon would the Greeks Sarpedon’s arms release, And we to Ilium’s heights himself might bear: For with his valiant comrades there lies slain The follower of the bravest chief of Greece.

But thou before the mighty Ajax stood’st With downcast eyes, nor durst in manly fight Contend with one thy better far confess’d.”

 

To whom thus Hector of the glancing helm, With stern regard, replied: “Why, Glaucus, speak, Brave as thou art, in this o’erbearing strain?

Good friend, I heretofore have held thee wise O’er all who dwell in Lycia’s fertile soil; But now I change, and hold thy judgment cheap, Who chargest me with flying from the might Of giant Ajax; never have I shrunk

From the stern fight, and clatter of the cars; But all o’erruling is the mind of Jove, Who strikes with panic, and of vict’ry robs The bravest; and anon excites to war.

Stand by me now, and see if through the day I prove myself the coward that thou say’st, Or suffer that a Greek, how brave soe’er, Shall rescue from my hands Patroclus’ corpse.”

 

He said, and loudly on the Trojans call’d: “Trojans and Lycians, and ye Dardans, fam’d In close encounter, quit ye now like men; Maintain awhile the stubborn fight, while I The splendid armour of Achilles don,

My glorious prize from slain Patroclus torn.”

 

So saying, Hector of the glancing helm, Withdrawing from the field, with rapid steps His comrades follow’d, and ere long o’ertook, Who tow’rd the town Achilles’ armour bore; Then standing from the bloody fight aloof The armour he exchang’d; his own he bade The warlike Trojans to the city bear;

While he, of Peleus’ son, Achilles, donn’d The heav’nly armour, which th’ immortal Gods Gave to his sire; he to his son convey’d; Yet in that armour grew not old that son.

 

Him when apart the Cloud-compeller saw Girt with the arms of Peleus’ godlike son, He shook his head, and inly thus he mus’d: “Ah hapless! little deem’st thou of thy fate, Though now so nigh! Thou of the prime of men, The dread of all, hast donn’d th’ immortal arms, Whose comrade, brave and good, thy hand hath slain; And sham’d him, stripping from his head and breast Helmet and cuirass; yet thy latest hours Will I with glory crown; since ne’er from thee, Eeturn’d from battle, shall Andromache Receive the spoils of Peleus’ godlike son.”

 

He said, and nodded with his shadowy brows; Then with the armour, fitted to his form By Jove himself, was Hector girt by Mars The fierce and terrible; with vig’rous strength His limbs were strung, as ‘mid his brave allies He sprang, loud-shouting; glitt’ring in his arms, To all he seem’d Achilles’ godlike self.