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

in valour, as in sway.

 

First march’d Menestheus, of celestial birth, Derived from thee, whose waters wash the earth, Divine Sperchius! Jove-descended flood!

A mortal mother mixing with a god.

Such was Menestheus, but miscall’d by fame The son of Borus, that espoused the dame.

 

Eudorus next; whom Polymele the gay,

Famed in the graceful dance, produced to-day.

Her, sly Cellenius loved: on her would gaze, As with swift step she form’d the running maze: To her high chamber from Diana’s quire, The god pursued her, urged, and crown’d his fire.

The son confess’d his father’s heavenly race, And heir’d his mother’s swiftness in the chase.

Strong Echecleus, bless’d in all those charms That pleased a god, succeeded to her arms; Not conscious of those loves, long hid from fame, With gifts of price he sought and won the dame; Her secret offspring to her sire she bare; Her sire caress’d him with a parent’s care.

 

Pisander follow’d; matchless in his art To wing the spear, or aim the distant dart; No hand so sure of all the Emathian line, Or if a surer, great Patroclus! thine.

 

The fourth by Phoenix’ grave command was graced, Laerces’ valiant offspring led the last.

 

Soon as Achilles with superior care

Had call’d the chiefs, and order’d all the war, This stern remembrance to his troops he gave: “Ye far-famed Myrmidons, ye fierce and brave!

Think with what threats you dared the Trojan throng, Think what reproach these ears endured so long; ‘Stern son of Peleus, (thus ye used to say, While restless, raging, in your ships you lay) Oh nursed with gall, unknowing how to yield; Whose rage defrauds us of so famed a field: If that dire fury must for ever burn,

What make we here? Return, ye chiefs, return!’

Such were your words—Now, warriors! grieve no more, Lo there the Trojans; bathe your swords in gore!

This day shall give you all your soul demands, Glut all your hearts, and weary all your hands!”

 

{Illustration: DIANA.}

 

Thus while he roused the fire in every breast, Close and more close the listening cohorts press’d; Ranks wedged in ranks; of arms a steely ring Still grows, and spreads, and thickens round the king.

As when a circling wall the builder forms, Of strength defensive against wind and storms, Compacted stones the thickening work compose, And round him wide the rising structure grows: So helm to helm, and crest to crest they throng, Shield urged on shield, and man drove man along; Thick, undistinguish’d plumes, together join’d, Float in one sea, and wave before the wind.

 

Far o’er the rest in glittering pomp appear, There bold Automedon, Patroclus here;

Brothers in arms, with equal fury fired; Two friends, two bodies with one soul inspired.

 

But mindful of the gods, Achilles went

To the rich coffer in his shady tent;

There lay on heaps his various garments roll’d, And costly furs, and carpets stiff with gold, (The presents of the silver-footed dame) From thence he took a bowl, of antique frame, Which never man had stained with ruddy wine, Nor raised in offerings to the power divine, But Peleus’ son; and Peleus’ son to none Had raised in offerings, but to Jove alone.

This tinged with sulphur, sacred first to flame, He purged; and wash’d it in the running stream.

Then cleansed his hands; and fixing for a space His eyes on heaven, his feet upon the place Of sacrifice, the purple draught he pour’d Forth in the midst; and thus the god implored: “O thou supreme! high-throned all height above!

O great Pelasgic, Dodonaean Jove!

Who ‘midst surrounding frosts, and vapours chill, Presid’st on bleak Dodona’s vocal hill: (Whose groves the Selli, race austere! surround, Their feet unwash’d, their slumbers on the ground; Who hear, from rustling oaks, thy dark decrees; And catch the fates, low-whispered in the breeze;) Hear, as of old! Thou gav’st, at Thetis’ prayer, Glory to me, and to the Greeks despair.

Lo, to the dangers of the fighting field The best, the dearest of my friends, I yield, Though still determined, to my ships confined; Patroclus gone, I stay but half behind.

Oh! be his guard thy providential care, Confirm his heart, and string his arm to war: Press’d by his single force let Hector see His fame in arms not owing all to me.

But when the fleets are saved from foes and fire, Let him with conquest and renown retire; Preserve his arms, preserve his social train, And safe return him to these eyes again!”

 

Great Jove consents to half the chief’s request, But heaven’s eternal doom denies the rest; To free the fleet was granted to his prayer; His safe return, the winds dispersed in air.

Back to his tent the stern Achilles flies, And waits the combat with impatient eyes.

 

Meanwhile the troops beneath Patroclus’ care, Invade the Trojans, and commence the war.

As wasps, provoked by children in their play, Pour from their mansions by the broad highway, In swarms the guiltless traveller engage, Whet all their stings, and call forth all their rage: All rise in arms, and, with a general cry, Assert their waxen domes, and buzzing progeny.

Thus from the tents the fervent legion swarms, So loud their clamours, and so keen their arms: Their rising rage Patroclus’ breath inspires, Who thus inflames them with heroic fires: “O warriors, partners of Achilles’ praise!

Be mindful of your deeds in ancient days; Your godlike master let your acts proclaim, And add new glories to his mighty name.

Think your Achilles sees you fight: be brave, And humble the proud monarch whom you save.”

 

Joyful they heard, and kindling as he spoke, Flew to the fleet, involved in fire and smoke.

From shore to shore the doubling shouts resound, The hollow ships return a deeper sound.

The war stood still, and all around them gazed, When great Achilles’ shining armour blazed: Troy saw, and thought the dread Achilles nigh, At once they see, they tremble, and they fly.

 

Then first thy spear, divine Patroclus! flew, Where the war raged, and where the tumult grew.

Close to the stern of that famed ship which bore Unbless’d Protesilaus to Ilion’s shore, The great Paeonian, bold Pyrechmes stood; (Who led his bands from Axius’ winding flood;) His shoulder-blade receives the fatal wound; The groaning warrior pants upon the ground.

His troops, that see their country’s glory slain, Fly diverse, scatter’d o’er the distant plain.

Patroclus’ arm forbids the spreading fires, And from the half-burn’d ship proud Troy retires; Clear’d from the smoke the joyful navy lies; In heaps on heaps the foe tumultuous flies; Triumphant Greece her rescued decks ascends, And loud acclaim the starry region rends.

So when thick clouds enwrap the mountain’s head, O’er heaven’s expanse like one black ceiling spread; Sudden the Thunderer, with a flashing ray, Bursts through the darkness, and lets down the day: The hills shine out, the rocks in prospect rise, And streams, and vales, and forests, strike the eyes; The smiling scene wide opens to the sight, And all the unmeasured ether flames with light.

 

But Troy repulsed, and scatter’d o’er the plains, Forced from the navy, yet the fight maintains.

Now every Greek some hostile hero slew, But still the foremost, bold Patroclus flew: As Areilycus had turn’d him round,

Sharp in his thigh he felt the piercing wound; The brazen-pointed spear, with vigour thrown, The thigh transfix’d, and broke the brittle bone: Headlong he fell. Next, Thoas was thy chance; Thy breast, unarm’d, received the Spartan lance.

Phylides’ dart (as Amphidus drew nigh)

His blow prevented, and transpierced his thigh, Tore all the brawn, and rent the nerves away; In darkness, and in death, the warrior lay.

 

In equal arms two sons of Nestor stand, And two bold brothers of the Lycian band: By great Antilochus, Atymnius dies,

Pierced in the flank, lamented youth! he lies, Kind Maris, bleeding in his brother’s wound, Defends the breathless carcase on the ground; Furious he flies, his murderer to engage: But godlike Thrasimed prevents his rage, Between his arm and shoulder aims a blow; His arm falls spouting on the dust below: He sinks, with endless darkness cover’d o’er: And vents his soul, effused with gushing gore.

 

Slain by two brothers, thus two brothers bleed, Sarpedon’s friends, Amisodarus’ seed;

Amisodarus, who, by Furies led,

The bane of men, abhorr’d Chimaera bred; Skill’d in the dart in vain, his sons expire, And pay the forfeit of their guilty sire.

 

Stopp’d in the tumult Cleobulus lies,

Beneath Oileus’ arm, a living prize;

A living prize not long the Trojan stood; The thirsty falchion drank his reeking blood: Plunged in his throat the smoking weapon lies; Black death, and fate unpitying, seal his eyes.

 

Amid the ranks, with mutual thirst of fame, Lycon the brave, and fierce Peneleus came; In vain their javelins at each other flew, Now, met in arms, their eager swords they drew.

On the plumed crest of his Boeotian foe The daring Lycon aim’d a noble blow;

The sword broke short; but his, Peneleus sped Full on the juncture of the neck and head: The head, divided by a stroke so just,

Hung by the skin; the body sunk to dust.

 

O’ertaken Neamas by Merion bleeds,

Pierced through the shoulder as he mounts his steeds; Back from the car he tumbles to the ground: His swimming eyes eternal shades surround.

 

Next Erymas was doom’d his fate to feel, His open’d mouth received the Cretan steel: Beneath the brain the point a passage tore, Crash’d the thin bones, and drown’d the teeth in gore: His mouth, his eyes, his nostrils, pour a flood; He sobs his soul out in the gush of blood.

 

As when the flocks neglected by the swain, Or kids, or lambs, lie scatter’d o’er the plain, A troop of wolves the unguarded charge survey, And rend the trembling, unresisting prey: Thus on the foe the Greeks impetuous came; Troy fled, unmindful of her former fame.

 

But still at Hector godlike Ajax aim’d, Still, pointed at his breast, his javelin flamed.

The Trojan chief, experienced in the field, O’er his broad shoulders spread the massy shield, Observed the storm of darts the Grecians pour, And on his buckler caught the ringing shower: He sees for Greece the scale of conquest rise, Yet stops, and turns, and saves his loved allies.

 

As when the hand of Jove a tempest forms, And rolls the cloud to blacken heaven with storms, Dark o’er the fields the ascending vapour flies, And shades the sun, and blots the golden skies: So from the ships, along the dusky plain, Dire Flight and Terror drove the Trojan train.

Even Hector fled; through heads of disarray The fiery coursers forced their lord away: While far behind his Trojans fall confused; Wedged in the trench, in one vast carnage bruised: Chariots on chariots roll: the clashing spokes Shock; while the madding steeds break short their yokes.

In vain they labour up the steepy mound; Their charioteers lie foaming on the ground.

Fierce on the rear, with shouts Patroclus flies; Tumultuous clamour fills the fields and skies; Thick drifts of dust involve their rapid flight; Clouds rise on clouds, and heaven is snatch’d from sight.

The affrighted steeds their dying lords cast down, Scour o’er the fields, and stretch to reach the town.

Loud o’er the rout was heard the victor’s cry, Where the war bleeds, and where the thickest die, Where horse and arms, and chariots he o’erthrown, And bleeding heroes under axles groan.

No stop, no check, the steeds of Peleus knew: From bank to bank the immortal coursers flew.

High-bounding o’er the fosse, the whirling car Smokes through the ranks, o’ertakes the flying war, And thunders after Hector; Hector flies, Patroclus shakes his lance; but fate denies.

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