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

low-sinking on the shore; By fits he breathes, half views the fleeting skies, And seals again, by fits, his swimming eyes.

 

Soon as the Greeks the chief’s retreat beheld, With double fury each invades the field.

Oilean Ajax first his javelin sped,

Pierced by whose point the son of Enops bled; (Satnius the brave, whom beauteous Neis bore Amidst her flocks on Satnio’s silver shore;) Struck through the belly’s rim, the warrior lies Supine, and shades eternal veil his eyes.

An arduous battle rose around the dead; By turns the Greeks, by turns the Trojans bled.

 

Fired with revenge, Polydamas drew near, And at Prothoenor shook the trembling spear; The driving javelin through his shoulder thrust, He sinks to earth, and grasps the bloody dust.

“Lo thus (the victor cries) we rule the field, And thus their arms the race of Panthus wield: From this unerring hand there flies no dart But bathes its point within a Grecian heart.

Propp’d on that spear to which thou owest thy fall, Go, guide thy darksome steps to Pluto’s dreary hall.”

 

He said, and sorrow touch’d each Argive breast: The soul of Ajax burn’d above the rest.

As by his side the groaning warrior fell, At the fierce foe he launch’d his piercing steel; The foe, reclining, shunn’d the flying death; But fate, Archilochus, demands thy breath: Thy lofty birth no succour could impart, The wings of death o’ertook thee on the dart; Swift to perform heaven’s fatal will, it fled Full on the juncture of the neck and head, And took the joint, and cut the nerves in twain: The dropping head first tumbled on the plain.

So just the stroke, that yet the body stood Erect, then roll’d along the sands in blood.

 

“Here, proud Polydamas, here turn thy eyes!

(The towering Ajax loud-insulting cries:) Say, is this chief extended on the plain A worthy vengeance for Prothoenor slain?

Mark well his port! his figure and his face Nor speak him vulgar, nor of vulgar race; Some lines, methinks, may make his lineage known, Antenor’s brother, or perhaps his son.”

 

He spake, and smiled severe, for well he knew The bleeding youth: Troy sadden’d at the view.

But furious Acamas avenged his cause;

As Promachus his slaughtered brother draws, He pierced his heart—“Such fate attends you all, Proud Argives! destined by our arms to fall.

Not Troy alone, but haughty Greece, shall share The toils, the sorrows, and the wounds of war.

Behold your Promachus deprived of breath, A victim owed to my brave brother’s death.

Not unappeased he enters Pluto’s gate,

Who leaves a brother to revenge his fate.”

 

Heart-piercing anguish struck the Grecian host, But touch’d the breast of bold Peneleus most; At the proud boaster he directs his course; The boaster flies, and shuns superior force.

But young Ilioneus received the spear;

Ilioneus, his father’s only care:

(Phorbas the rich, of all the Trojan train Whom Hermes loved, and taught the arts of gain:) Full in his eye the weapon chanced to fall, And from the fibres scoop’d the rooted ball, Drove through the neck, and hurl’d him to the plain; He lifts his miserable arms in vain!

Swift his broad falchion fierce Peneleus spread, And from the spouting shoulders struck his head; To earth at once the head and helmet fly; The lance, yet sticking through the bleeding eye, The victor seized; and, as aloft he shook The gory visage, thus insulting spoke:

 

“Trojans! your great Ilioneus behold!

Haste, to his father let the tale be told: Let his high roofs resound with frantic woe, Such as the house of Promachus must know; Let doleful tidings greet his mother’s ear, Such as to Promachus’ sad spouse we bear, When we victorious shall to Greece return, And the pale matron in our triumphs mourn.”

 

Dreadful he spoke, then toss’d the head on high; The Trojans hear, they tremble, and they fly: Aghast they gaze around the fleet and wall, And dread the ruin that impends on all.

 

Daughters of Jove! that on Olympus shine, Ye all-beholding, all-recording nine!

O say, when Neptune made proud Ilion yield, What chief, what hero first embrued the field?

Of all the Grecians what immortal name, And whose bless’d trophies, will ye raise to fame?

 

Thou first, great Ajax! on the unsanguined plain Laid Hyrtius, leader of the Mysian train.

Phalces and Mermer, Nestor’s son o’erthrew, Bold Merion, Morys and Hippotion slew.

Strong Periphaetes and Prothoon bled,

By Teucer’s arrows mingled with the dead, Pierced in the flank by Menelaus’ steel, His people’s pastor, Hyperenor fell;

Eternal darkness wrapp’d the warrior round, And the fierce soul came rushing through the wound.

But stretch’d in heaps before Oileus’ son, Fall mighty numbers, mighty numbers run; Ajax the less, of all the Grecian race

Skill’d in pursuit, and swiftest in the chase.

 

{Illustration: BACCHUS.}

 

BOOK XV.

 

ARGUMENT.

 

THE FIFTH BATTLE AT THE SHIPS; AND THE ACTS OF AJAX.

 

Jupiter, awaking, sees the Trojans repulsed from the trenches, Hector in a swoon, and Neptune at the head of the Greeks: he is highly incensed at the artifice of Juno, who appeases him by her submissions; she is then sent to Iris and Apollo. Juno, repairing to the assembly of the gods, attempts, with extraordinary address, to incense them against Jupiter; in particular she touches Mars with a violent resentment; he is ready to take arms, but is prevented by Minerva. Iris and Apollo obey the orders of Jupiter; Iris commands Neptune to leave the battle, to which, after much reluctance and passion, he consents. Apollo reinspires Hector with vigour, brings him back to the battle, marches before him with his aegis, and turns the fortune of the fight. He breaks down great part of the Grecian wall: the Trojans rush in, and attempt to fire the first line of the fleet, but are, as yet, repelled by the greater Ajax with a prodigious slaughter.

 

Now in swift flight they pass the trench profound, And many a chief lay gasping on the ground: Then stopp’d and panted, where the chariots lie Fear on their cheek, and horror in their eye.

Meanwhile, awaken’d from his dream of love, On Ida’s summit sat imperial Jove:

Round the wide fields he cast a careful view, There saw the Trojans fly, the Greeks pursue; These proud in arms, those scatter’d o’er the plain And, ‘midst the war, the monarch of the main.

Not far, great Hector on the dust he spies, (His sad associates round with weeping eyes,) Ejecting blood, and panting yet for breath, His senses wandering to the verge of death.

The god beheld him with a pitying look, And thus, incensed, to fraudful Juno spoke: “O thou, still adverse to the eternal will, For ever studious in promoting ill!

Thy arts have made the godlike Hector yield, And driven his conquering squadrons from the field.

Canst thou, unhappy in thy wiles, withstand Our power immense, and brave the almighty hand?

Hast thou forgot, when, bound and fix’d on high, From the vast concave of the spangled sky, I hung thee trembling in a golden chain, And all the raging gods opposed in vain?

Headlong I hurl’d them from the Olympian hall, Stunn’d in the whirl, and breathless with the fall.

For godlike Hercules these deeds were done, Nor seem’d the vengeance worthy such a son: When, by thy wiles induced, fierce Boreas toss’d The shipwreck’d hero on the Coan coast, Him through a thousand forms of death I bore, And sent to Argos, and his native shore.

Hear this, remember, and our fury dread, Nor pull the unwilling vengeance on thy head; Lest arts and blandishments successless prove, Thy soft deceits, and well-dissembled love.”

 

The Thunderer spoke: imperial Juno mourn’d, And, trembling, these submissive words return’d: “By every oath that powers immortal ties, The foodful earth and all-infolding skies; By thy black waves, tremendous Styx! that flow Through the drear realms of gliding ghosts below; By the dread honours of thy sacred head, And that unbroken vow, our virgin bed!

Not by my arts the ruler of the main

Steeps Troy in blood, and ranges round the plain: By his own ardour, his own pity sway’d, To help his Greeks, he fought and disobey’d: Else had thy Juno better counsels given, And taught submission to the sire of heaven.”

 

“Think’st thou with me? fair empress of the skies!

(The immortal father with a smile replies;) Then soon the haughty sea-god shall obey, Nor dare to act but when we point the way.

If truth inspires thy tongue, proclaim our will To yon bright synod on the Olympian hill; Our high decree let various Iris know,

And call the god that bears the silver bow.

Let her descend, and from the embattled plain Command the sea-god to his watery reign: While Phoebus hastes great Hector to prepare To rise afresh, and once more wake the war: His labouring bosom reinspires with breath, And calls his senses from the verge of death.

Greece chased by Troy, even to Achilles’ fleet, Shall fall by thousands at the hero’s feet.

He, not untouch’d with pity, to the plain Shall send Patroclus, but shall send in vain.

What youths he slaughters under Ilion’s walls!

Even my loved son, divine Sarpedon, falls!

Vanquish’d at last by Hector’s lance he lies.

Then, nor till then, shall great Achilles rise: And lo! that instant, godlike Hector dies.

From that great hour the war’s whole fortune turns, Pallas assists, and lofty Ilion burns.

Not till that day shall Jove relax his rage, Nor one of all the heavenly host engage In aid of Greece. The promise of a god

I gave, and seal’d it with the almighty nod, Achilles’ glory to the stars to raise;

Such was our word, and fate the word obeys.”

 

The trembling queen (the almighty order given) Swift from the Idaean summit shot to heaven.

As some wayfaring man, who wanders o’er In thought a length of lands he trod before, Sends forth his active mind from place to place, Joins hill to dale, and measures space with space: So swift flew Juno to the bless’d abodes, If thought of man can match the speed of gods.

There sat the powers in awful synod placed; They bow’d, and made obeisance as she pass’d Through all the brazen dome: with goblets crown’d [199]

They hail her queen; the nectar streams around.

Fair Themis first presents the golden bowl, And anxious asks what cares disturb her soul?

 

To whom the white-arm’d goddess thus replies: “Enough thou know’st the tyrant of the skies, Severely bent his purpose to fulfil,

Unmoved his mind, and unrestrain’d his will.

Go thou, the feasts of heaven attend thy call; Bid the crown’d nectar circle round the hall: But Jove shall thunder through the ethereal dome Such stern decrees, such threaten’d woes to come, As soon shall freeze mankind with dire surprise, And damp the eternal banquets of the skies.”

 

The goddess said, and sullen took her place; Black horror sadden’d each celestial face.

To see the gathering grudge in every breast, Smiles on her lips a spleenful joy express’d; While on her wrinkled front, and eyebrow bent, Sat stedfast care, and lowering discontent.

Thus she proceeds—“Attend, ye powers above!

But know, ‘tis madness to contest with Jove: Supreme he sits; and sees, in pride of sway.

Your vassal godheads grudgingly obey:

Fierce in the majesty of power controls; Shakes all the thrones of heaven, and bends the poles.

Submiss, immortals! all he wills, obey: And thou, great Mars, begin and show the way.

Behold Ascalaphus! behold him die,

But dare not murmur, dare not vent a sigh; Thy own loved boasted offspring lies o’erthrown, If that loved boasted offspring be thy own.”

 

Stern Mars, with anguish for his slaughter’d son, Smote his rebelling breast, and fierce begun: “Thus