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

cares of Nestor’s watchful soul; His startled ears the increasing cries attend; Then thus, impatient, to his wounded friend: “What new alarm, divine Machaon, say,

What mix’d events attend this mighty day?

Hark! how the shouts divide, and how they meet, And now come full, and thicken to the fleet!

Here with the cordial draught dispel thy care, Let Hecamede the strengthening bath prepare, Refresh thy wound, and cleanse the clotted gore; While I the adventures of the day explore.”

 

He said: and, seizing Thrasymedes’ shield, (His valiant offspring,) hasten’d to the field; (That day the son his father’s buckler bore;) Then snatch’d a lance, and issued from the door.

Soon as the prospect open’d to his view, His wounded eyes the scene of sorrow knew; Dire disarray! the tumult of the fight, The wall in ruins, and the Greeks in flight.

As when old ocean’s silent surface sleeps, The waves just heaving on the purple deeps: While yet the expected tempest hangs on high, Weighs down the cloud, and blackens in the sky, The mass of waters will no wind obey;

Jove sends one gust, and bids them roll away.

While wavering counsels thus his mind engage, Fluctuates in doubtful thought the Pylian sage, To join the host, or to the general haste; Debating long, he fixes on the last:

Yet, as he moves, the sight his bosom warms, The field rings dreadful with the clang of arms, The gleaming falchions flash, the javelins fly; Blows echo blows, and all or kill or die.

 

Him, in his march, the wounded princes meet, By tardy steps ascending from the fleet: The king of men, Ulysses the divine,

And who to Tydeus owes his noble line. [192]

(Their ships at distance from the battle stand, In lines advanced along the shelving strand: Whose bay, the fleet unable to contain

At length; beside the margin of the main, Rank above rank, the crowded ships they moor: Who landed first, lay highest on the shore.) Supported on the spears, they took their way, Unfit to fight, but anxious for the day.

Nestor’s approach alarm’d each Grecian breast, Whom thus the general of the host address’d: “O grace and glory of the Achaian name; What drives thee, Nestor, from the field of fame?

Shall then proud Hector see his boast fulfill’d, Our fleets in ashes, and our heroes kill’d?

Such was his threat, ah! now too soon made good, On many a Grecian bosom writ in blood.

Is every heart inflamed with equal rage Against your king, nor will one chief engage?

And have I lived to see with mournful eyes In every Greek a new Achilles rise?”

 

Gerenian Nestor then: “So fate has will’d; And all-confirming time has fate fulfill’d.

Not he that thunders from the aerial bower, Not Jove himself, upon the past has power.

The wall, our late inviolable bound,

And best defence, lies smoking on the ground: Even to the ships their conquering arms extend, And groans of slaughter’d Greeks to heaven ascend.

On speedy measures then employ your thought In such distress! if counsel profit aught: Arms cannot much: though Mars our souls incite, These gaping wounds withhold us from the fight.”

 

To him the monarch: “That our army bends, That Troy triumphant our high fleet ascends, And that the rampart, late our surest trust And best defence, lies smoking in the dust; All this from Jove’s afflictive hand we bear, Who, far from Argos, wills our ruin here.

Past are the days when happier Greece was blest, And all his favour, all his aid confess’d; Now heaven averse, our hands from battle ties, And lifts the Trojan glory to the skies.

Cease we at length to waste our blood in vain, And launch what ships lie nearest to the main; Leave these at anchor, till the coming night: Then, if impetuous Troy forbear the fight, Bring all to sea, and hoist each sail for flight.

Better from evils, well foreseen, to run, Than perish in the danger we may shun.”

 

Thus he. The sage Ulysses thus replied, While anger flash’d from his disdainful eyes: “What shameful words (unkingly as thou art) Fall from that trembling tongue and timorous heart?

Oh were thy sway the curse of meaner powers, And thou the shame of any host but ours!

A host, by Jove endued with martial might, And taught to conquer, or to fall in fight: Adventurous combats and bold wars to wage, Employ’d our youth, and yet employs our age.

And wilt thou thus desert the Trojan plain?

And have whole streams of blood been spilt in vain?

In such base sentence if thou couch thy fear, Speak it in whispers, lest a Greek should hear.

Lives there a man so dead to fame, who dares To think such meanness, or the thought declares?

And comes it even from him whose sovereign sway The banded legions of all Greece obey?

Is this a general’s voice that calls to flight, While war hangs doubtful, while his soldiers fight?

What more could Troy? What yet their fate denies Thou givest the foe: all Greece becomes their prize.

No more the troops (our hoisted sails in view, Themselves abandon’d) shall the fight pursue; But thy ships flying, with despair shall see; And owe destruction to a prince like thee.”

 

“Thy just reproofs (Atrides calm replies) Like arrows pierce me, for thy words are wise.

Unwilling as I am to lose the host,

I force not Greece to quit this hateful coast; Glad I submit, whoe’er, or young, or old, Aught, more conducive to our weal, unfold.”

 

Tydides cut him short, and thus began:

“Such counsel if you seek, behold the man Who boldly gives it, and what he shall say, Young though he be, disdain not to obey: A youth, who from the mighty Tydeus springs, May speak to councils and assembled kings.

Hear then in me the great OEnides’ son, Whose honoured dust (his race of glory run) Lies whelm’d in ruins of the Theban wall; Brave in his life, and glorious in his fall.

With three bold sons was generous Prothous bless’d, Who Pleuron’s walls and Calydon possess’d; Melas and Agrius, but (who far surpass’d The rest in courage) OEneus was the last.

From him, my sire. From Calydon expell’d, He pass’d to Argos, and in exile dwell’d; The monarch’s daughter there (so Jove ordain’d) He won, and flourish’d where Adrastus reign’d; There, rich in fortune’s gifts, his acres till’d, Beheld his vines their liquid harvest yield, And numerous flocks that whiten’d all the field.

Such Tydeus was, the foremost once in fame!

Nor lives in Greece a stranger to his name.

Then, what for common good my thoughts inspire, Attend, and in the son respect the sire.

Though sore of battle, though with wounds oppress’d, Let each go forth, and animate the rest, Advance the glory which he cannot share, Though not partaker, witness of the war.

But lest new wounds on wounds o’erpower us quite, Beyond the missile javelin’s sounding flight, Safe let us stand; and, from the tumult far, Inspire the ranks, and rule the distant war.”

 

He added not: the listening kings obey, Slow moving on; Atrides leads the way.

The god of ocean (to inflame their rage) Appears a warrior furrowed o’er with age; Press’d in his own, the general’s hand he took, And thus the venerable hero spoke:

 

“Atrides! lo! with what disdainful eye

Achilles sees his country’s forces fly; Blind, impious man! whose anger is his guide, Who glories in unutterable pride.

So may he perish, so may Jove disclaim

The wretch relentless, and o’erwhelm with shame!

But Heaven forsakes not thee: o’er yonder sands Soon shall thou view the scattered Trojan bands Fly diverse; while proud kings, and chiefs renown’d, Driven heaps on heaps, with clouds involved around Of rolling dust, their winged wheels employ To hide their ignominious heads in Troy.”

 

He spoke, then rush’d amid the warrior crew, And sent his voice before him as he flew, Loud, as the shout encountering armies yield When twice ten thousand shake the labouring field; Such was the voice, and such the thundering sound Of him whose trident rends the solid ground.

Each Argive bosom beats to meet the fight, And grisly war appears a pleasing sight.

 

Meantime Saturnia from Olympus’ brow,

High-throned in gold, beheld the fields below; With joy the glorious conflict she survey’d, Where her great brother gave the Grecians aid.

But placed aloft, on Ida’s shady height She sees her Jove, and trembles at the sight.

Jove to deceive, what methods shall she try, What arts, to blind his all-beholding eye?

At length she trusts her power; resolved to prove The old, yet still successful, cheat of love; Against his wisdom to oppose her charms, And lull the lord of thunders in her arms.

 

Swift to her bright apartment she repairs, Sacred to dress and beauty’s pleasing cares: With skill divine had Vulcan form’d the bower, Safe from access of each intruding power.

Touch’d with her secret key, the doors unfold: Self-closed, behind her shut the valves of gold.

Here first she bathes; and round her body pours Soft oils of fragrance, and ambrosial showers: The winds, perfumed, the balmy gale convey Through heaven, through earth, and all the aerial way: Spirit divine! whose exhalation greets

The sense of gods with more than mortal sweets.

Thus while she breathed of heaven, with decent pride Her artful hands the radiant tresses tied; Part on her head in shining ringlets roll’d, Part o’er her shoulders waved like melted gold.

Around her next a heavenly mantle flow’d, That rich with Pallas’ labour’d colours glow’d: Large clasps of gold the foldings gather’d round, A golden zone her swelling bosom bound.

Far-beaming pendants tremble in her ear, Each gem illumined with a triple star.

Then o’er her head she cast a veil more white Than new-fallen snow, and dazzling as the light.

Last her fair feet celestial sandals grace.

Thus issuing radiant with majestic pace, Forth from the dome the imperial goddess moves, And calls the mother of the smiles and loves.

 

“How long (to Venus thus apart she cried) Shall human strife celestial minds divide?

Ah yet, will Venus aid Saturnia’s joy,

And set aside the cause of Greece and Troy?”

 

“Let heaven’s dread empress (Cytheraea said) Speak her request, and deem her will obey’d.”

 

“Then grant me (said the queen) those conquering charms, That power, which mortals and immortals warms, That love, which melts mankind in fierce desires, And burns the sons of heaven with sacred fires!

 

“For lo! I haste to those remote abodes, Where the great parents, (sacred source of gods!) Ocean and Tethys their old empire keep, On the last limits of the land and deep.

In their kind arms my tender years were past; What time old Saturn, from Olympus cast, Of upper heaven to Jove resign’d the reign, Whelm’d under the huge mass of earth and main.

For strife, I hear, has made the union cease, Which held so long that ancient pair in peace.

What honour, and what love, shall I obtain, If I compose those fatal feuds again;

Once more their minds in mutual ties engage, And, what my youth has owed, repay their age!”

 

She said. With awe divine, the queen of love Obey’d the sister and the wife of Jove; And from her fragrant breast the zone embraced, [193]

With various skill and high embroidery graced.

In this was every art, and every charm, To win the wisest, and the coldest warm: Fond love, the gentle vow, the gay desire, The kind deceit, the still-reviving fire, Persuasive speech, and the more persuasive sighs, Silence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes.

This on her hand the Cyprian Goddess laid: “Take this, and with it all thy wish;” she said.

With smiles she took the charm; and smiling