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

with venturous arms the king of Crete, Or seek auxiliar force; at length decreed To call some hero to partake the deed,

Forthwith AEneas rises to his thought:

For him in Troy’s remotest lines he sought, Where he, incensed at partial Priam, stands, And sees superior posts in meaner hands.

To him, ambitious of so great an aid,

The bold Deiphobus approach’d, and said: “Now, Trojan prince, employ thy pious arms, If e’er thy bosom felt fair honour’s charms.

Alcathous dies, thy brother and thy friend; Come, and the warrior’s loved remains defend.

Beneath his cares thy early youth was train’d, One table fed you, and one roof contain’d.

This deed to fierce Idomeneus we owe;

Haste, and revenge it on th’ insulting foe.”

 

AEneas heard, and for a space resign’d

To tender pity all his manly mind;

Then rising in his rage, he burns to fight: The Greek awaits him with collected might.

As the fell boar, on some rough mountain’s head, Arm’d with wild terrors, and to slaughter bred, When the loud rustics rise, and shout from far, Attends the tumult, and expects the war; O’er his bent back the bristly horrors rise; Fires stream in lightning from his sanguine eyes, His foaming tusks both dogs and men engage; But most his hunters rouse his mighty rage: So stood Idomeneus, his javelin shook,

And met the Trojan with a lowering look.

Antilochus, Deipyrus, were near,

The youthful offspring of the god of war, Merion, and Aphareus, in field renown’d: To these the warrior sent his voice around.

“Fellows in arms! your timely aid unite; Lo, great AEneas rushes to the fight:

Sprung from a god, and more than mortal bold; He fresh in youth, and I in arms grown old.

Else should this hand, this hour decide the strife, The great dispute, of glory, or of life.”

 

He spoke, and all, as with one soul, obey’d; Their lifted bucklers cast a dreadful shade Around the chief. AEneas too demands

Th’ assisting forces of his native bands; Paris, Deiphobus, Agenor, join;

(Co-aids and captains of the Trojan line;) In order follow all th’ embodied train, Like Ida’s flocks proceeding o’er the plain; Before his fleecy care, erect and bold, Stalks the proud ram, the father of the bold.

With joy the swain surveys them, as he leads To the cool fountains, through the well-known meads: So joys AEneas, as his native band

Moves on in rank, and stretches o’er the land.

 

Round dread Alcathous now the battle rose; On every side the steely circle grows;

Now batter’d breastplates and hack’d helmets ring, And o’er their heads unheeded javelins sing.

Above the rest, two towering chiefs appear, There great Idomeneus, AEneas here.

Like gods of war, dispensing fate, they stood, And burn’d to drench the ground with mutual blood.

The Trojan weapon whizz’d along in air; The Cretan saw, and shunn’d the brazen spear: Sent from an arm so strong, the missive wood Stuck deep in earth, and quiver’d where it stood.

But OEnomas received the Cretan’s stroke; The forceful spear his hollow corslet broke, It ripp’d his belly with a ghastly wound, And roll’d the smoking entrails on the ground.

Stretch’d on the plain, he sobs away his breath, And, furious, grasps the bloody dust in death.

The victor from his breast the weapon tears; His spoils he could not, for the shower of spears.

Though now unfit an active war to wage, Heavy with cumbrous arms, stiff with cold age, His listless limbs unable for the course, In standing fight he yet maintains his force; Till faint with labour, and by foes repell’d, His tired slow steps he drags from off the field.

Deiphobus beheld him as he pass’d,

And, fired with hate, a parting javelin cast: The javelin err’d, but held its course along, And pierced Ascalaphus, the brave and young: The son of Mars fell gasping on the ground, And gnash’d the dust, all bloody with his wound.

 

Nor knew the furious father of his fall; High-throned amidst the great Olympian hall, On golden clouds th’ immortal synod sate; Detain’d from bloody war by Jove and Fate.

 

Now, where in dust the breathless hero lay, For slain Ascalaphus commenced the fray, Deiphobus to seize his helmet flies,

And from his temples rends the glittering prize; Valiant as Mars, Meriones drew near,

And on his loaded arm discharged his spear: He drops the weight, disabled with the pain; The hollow helmet rings against the plain.

Swift as a vulture leaping on his prey, From his torn arm the Grecian rent away The reeking javelin, and rejoin’d his friends.

His wounded brother good Polites tends; Around his waist his pious arms he threw, And from the rage of battle gently drew: Him his swift coursers, on his splendid car, Rapt from the lessening thunder of the war; To Troy they drove him, groaning from the shore, And sprinkling, as he pass’d, the sands with gore.

 

Meanwhile fresh slaughter bathes the sanguine ground, Heaps fall on heaps, and heaven and earth resound.

Bold Aphareus by great AEneas bled;

As toward the chief he turn’d his daring head, He pierced his throat; the bending head, depress’d Beneath his helmet, nods upon his breast; His shield reversed o’er the fallen warrior lies, And everlasting slumber seals his eyes.

Antilochus, as Thoon turn’d him round,

Transpierced his back with a dishonest wound: The hollow vein, that to the neck extends Along the chine, his eager javelin rends: Supine he falls, and to his social train Spreads his imploring arms, but spreads in vain.

Th’ exulting victor, leaping where he lay, From his broad shoulders tore the spoils away; His time observed; for closed by foes around, On all sides thick the peals of arms resound.

His shield emboss’d the ringing storm sustains, But he impervious and untouch’d remains.

(Great Neptune’s care preserved from hostile rage This youth, the joy of Nestor’s glorious age.) In arms intrepid, with the first he fought, Faced every foe, and every danger sought; His winged lance, resistless as the wind, Obeys each motion of the master’s mind!

Restless it flies, impatient to be free, And meditates the distant enemy.

The son of Asius, Adamas, drew near,

And struck his target with the brazen spear Fierce in his front: but Neptune wards the blow, And blunts the javelin of th’ eluded foe: In the broad buckler half the weapon stood, Splinter’d on earth flew half the broken wood.

Disarm’d, he mingled in the Trojan crew; But Merion’s spear o’ertook him as he flew, Deep in the belly’s rim an entrance found, Where sharp the pang, and mortal is the wound.

Bending he fell, and doubled to the ground, Lay panting. Thus an ox in fetters tied, While death’s strong pangs distend his labouring side, His bulk enormous on the field displays; His heaving heart beats thick as ebbing life decays.

The spear the conqueror from his body drew, And death’s dim shadows swarm before his view.

Next brave Deipyrus in dust was laid:

King Helenus waved high the Thracian blade, And smote his temples with an arm so strong, The helm fell off, and roll’d amid the throng: There for some luckier Greek it rests a prize; For dark in death the godlike owner lies!

Raging with grief, great Menelaus burns, And fraught with vengeance, to the victor turns: That shook the ponderous lance, in act to throw; And this stood adverse with the bended bow: Full on his breast the Trojan arrow fell, But harmless bounded from the plated steel.

As on some ample barn’s well harden’d floor, (The winds collected at each open door,) While the broad fan with force is whirl’d around, Light leaps the golden grain, resulting from the ground: So from the steel that guards Atrides’ heart, Repell’d to distance flies the bounding dart.

Atrides, watchful of the unwary foe,

Pierced with his lance the hand that grasp’d the bow.

And nailed it to the yew: the wounded hand Trail’d the long lance that mark’d with blood the sand: But good Agenor gently from the wound

The spear solicits, and the bandage bound; A sling’s soft wool, snatch’d from a soldier’s side, At once the tent and ligature supplied.

 

Behold! Pisander, urged by fate’s decree, Springs through the ranks to fall, and fall by thee, Great Menelaus! to enchance thy fame:

High-towering in the front, the warrior came.

First the sharp lance was by Atrides thrown; The lance far distant by the winds was blown.

Nor pierced Pisander through Atrides’ shield: Pisander’s spear fell shiver’d on the field.

Not so discouraged, to the future blind, Vain dreams of conquest swell his haughty mind; Dauntless he rushes where the Spartan lord Like lightning brandish’d his far beaming sword.

His left arm high opposed the shining shield: His right beneath, the cover’d pole-axe held; (An olive’s cloudy grain the handle made, Distinct with studs, and brazen was the blade;) This on the helm discharged a noble blow; The plume dropp’d nodding to the plain below, Shorn from the crest. Atrides waved his steel: Deep through his front the weighty falchion fell; The crashing bones before its force gave way; In dust and blood the groaning hero lay: Forced from their ghastly orbs, and spouting gore, The clotted eyeballs tumble on the shore.

And fierce Atrides spurn’d him as he bled, Tore off his arms, and, loud-exulting, said: “Thus, Trojans, thus, at length be taught to fear; O race perfidious, who delight in war!

Already noble deeds ye have perform’d;

A princess raped transcends a navy storm’d: In such bold feats your impious might approve, Without th’ assistance, or the fear of Jove.

The violated rites, the ravish’d dame;

Our heroes slaughter’d and our ships on flame, Crimes heap’d on crimes, shall bend your glory down, And whelm in ruins yon flagitious town.

O thou, great father! lord of earth and skies, Above the thought of man, supremely wise!

If from thy hand the fates of mortals flow, From whence this favour to an impious foe?

A godless crew, abandon’d and unjust,

Still breathing rapine, violence, and lust?

The best of things, beyond their measure, cloy; Sleep’s balmy blessing, love’s endearing joy; The feast, the dance; whate’er mankind desire, Even the sweet charms of sacred numbers tire.

But Troy for ever reaps a dire delight

In thirst of slaughter, and in lust of fight.”

 

This said, he seized (while yet the carcase heaved) The bloody armour, which his train received: Then sudden mix’d among the warring crew, And the bold son of Pylaemenes slew.

Harpalion had through Asia travell’d far, Following his martial father to the war: Through filial love he left his native shore, Never, ah, never to behold it more!

His unsuccessful spear he chanced to fling Against the target of the Spartan king; Thus of his lance disarm’d, from death he flies, And turns around his apprehensive eyes.

Him, through the hip transpiercing as he fled, The shaft of Merion mingled with the dead.

Beneath the bone the glancing point descends, And, driving down, the swelling bladder rends: Sunk in his sad companions’ arms he lay, And in short pantings sobb’d his soul away; (Like some vile worm extended on the ground;) While life’s red torrent gush’d from out the wound.

 

Him on his car the Paphlagonian train

In slow procession bore from off the plain.

The pensive father, father now no more!

Attends the mournful pomp along the shore; And unavailing tears profusely shed;

And, unrevenged, deplored his offspring dead.

 

Paris from far the moving sight beheld, With pity soften’d and with fury swell’d: His honour’d host, a youth of matchless grace, And loved of all the Paphlagonian race!

With his full strength he bent his angry bow, And wing’d the feather’d vengeance at the foe.

A chief there was, the brave Euchenor named, For riches much, and more for virtue famed.