The Iliad, Homer [librera reader .TXT] 📗

Of noble sire, and Goddess-mother born: Yet must I yield to death and stubborn fate, Whene’er, at morn, or noon, or eve, the spear Or arrow from the bow may reach my life.”

 

He said; and sank Lycaon’s limbs and heart; He loos’d the spear, and sat, with both his hands Uprais’d, imploring; but Achilles drew, And on his neck beside the collar-bone Let fall his trenchant sword; the two-edg’d blade Was buried deep; prone on the earth he lay; Forth gush’d the crimson blood, and dyed the ground.

 

Him, dragging by the feet, Achilles threw In the mid stream, and thus with vaunting speech: “Lie there amid the fishes, who shall cleanse, But not with kindly thought, thy gory wounds: O’er thee, extended on thy bier, shall rise No mother’s wail; Scamander’s eddying stream Shall to the sea’s broad bosom roll thee down; And, springing through the darkly rippling wave, Fishes shall rise, and banquet on thy flesh.

On now the work of death! till, flying ye, And slaught’ring I, we reach the city wall.

Nor this fair-flowing, silver-eddying stream, Shall aught avail ye, though to him ye pay In sacrifice the blood of countless bulls, And living horses in his waters sink.

Ye all shall perish, till Patroclus’ death Be fully aveng’d, and slaughter of the Greeks, Whom, in my absence, by the ships ye slew.”

He said: the mighty River at his words Indignant chaf’d, and ponder’d in his mind How best to check Achilles’ warlike toil, And from destruction guard the Trojan host.

 

Meantime Achilles with his pond’rous spear Asteropaeus, son of Pelegon,

Assail’d with deadly purpose; Pelegon

To broadly-flowing Axius ow’d his birth, The River-God commingling with the blood Of Periboea, daughter eldest born

Of Acessamenus: on him he sprang;

He, from the river rising, stood oppos’d.

Two lances in his hand; his courage rous’d By Xanthus, who, indignant, saw his stream Polluted by the blood of slaughter’d youths, By fierce Achilles’ hand, unpitying, slain.

When near the warriors, each to other, came, Achilles, swift of foot, took up the word: “What man, and whence art thou, who dar’st to stand Oppos’d to me? of most unhappy sires

The children they, who my encounter meet!”

 

To whom th’ illustrious son of Pelegon: “Great son of Peleus, why enquire my race?

From far Paeonia’s fertile fields I come, The leader of the long-spear’d Paeon host.

Ten days have pass’d since I to Ilium came.

From widely-flowing Axius my descent,

Axius, the purest stream on earth that flows.

He Pelegon begot, the spear-renown’d;

Of Pelegon I boast me sprung; and now

Address thee, brave Achilles, to the fight.”

 

Threat’ning he spoke: Achilles rais’d on high The Pelian spear; but, ambidexter, he

From either hand at once a jav’lin launch’d.

One struck, but pierc’d not through, the mighty shield, Stay’d by the golden plate, the gift of Heav’n; Achilles’ right fore-arm the other graz’d: Forth gush’d the crimson blood; but, glancing by And vainly longing for the taste of flesh, The point behind him in the earth was fix’d.

Then at Asteropaeus in his turn

With deadly intent the son of Peleus threw His straight-directed spear; his mark he miss’d, But struck the lofty bank, where, deep infix’d To half its length, the Pelian ash remain’d.

Then from beside his thigh Achilles drew His trenchant blade, and, furious, onward rush’d; While from the cliff Asteropaeus strove In vain, with stalwart hand, to wrench the spear.

Three times he shook it with impetuous force, Three times relax’d his grasp; a fourth attempt He made to bend and break the sturdy shaft; But him, preventing, Peleus’ godlike son With deadly stroke across the belly smote, And gush’d his bowels forth; upon the ground Gasping he lay, and darkness seal’d his eyes.

Then on his breast Achilles sprang, and stripp’d His armour off, and thus with vaunting speech: “So lie thou there! ‘tis hard for thee to fight, Though river-born, against the progeny Of mighty Jove; a widely-flowing stream Thou claim’st as author of thy parentage; My high descent from Jove himself I boast.

My father Peleus, son of AEacus,

Reigns o’er the num’rous race of Myrmidons; The son of Jove himself was AEacus.

High o’er all rivers, that to th’ ocean flow, Is Jove exalted; and in like degree

Superior is his race in pow’r to theirs.

A mighty River hast thou here at hand, If that might aught avail thee; but his pow’r Is impotent to strive with Saturn’s son.

With him, not Achelous, King of streams, Presumes to vie; nor e’en the mighty strength Of deeply-flowing, wide Oceanus;

From whom all rivers, all the boundless sea, All fountains, all deep wells derive their source; Yet him appals the lightning bolt of Jove, And thunder, pealing from the vault of Heav’n.”

He said, and from the cliff withdrew his spear.

Him left he lifeless there upon the sand Extended; o’er him the dark waters wash’d, And eels and fishes, thronging, gnaw’d his flesh.

Then ‘mid the Paeons’ plumed host he rush’d, Who fled along the eddying stream, when him, Their bravest in the stubborn fight, they saw Slain by the sword and arm of Peleus’ son.

Thersilochus and Mydon then he slew,

Mnesus and Thrasius and Astypylus,

AEnius and Ophelestes; and yet more

Had been the slaughter by Achilles wrought, But from his eddying depths, in human form, With wrathful tone the mighty River spoke: “In strength, Achilles, and in deeds of arms, All mortals thou surpassest; for the Gods Themselves attend thee, and protect from harm; If Saturn’s son have given thee utterly The Trojans to destroy, yet, ere thou slay, Far from my waters drive them o’er the plain; For now my lovely stream is fill’d with dead; Nor can I pour my current to the sea,

With floating corpses chok’d, whilst thou pursuest The work of death, insatiate: stay thy hand!

With horror I behold thee, mighty chief!”

 

Whom answer’d thus Achilles, swift of foot: “Be it as thou wilt, Scamander, Heav’n-born stream; Yet cease I not to slay until I drive

These vaunting Trojans to their walls, and prove The force of Hector, if, in single fight, I be by him, or he by me, subdued.”

 

He said, and fiercely on the Trojans rush’d, A God in might! to Phoebus then his speech The deeply-eddying River thus address’d: “God of the silver bow, great son of Jove, Obey’st thou thus the will of Saturn’s son, Who charg’d thee by the Trojans still to stand, And aid their cause, till ev’ning’s late approach Should cast its shadows o’er the fertile earth?”

 

Thus as he spoke, from off the lofty bank Achilles springing in mid current plung’d; Then high the swelling stream, tumultuous, rose In all its angry flood; and with a roar As of a bellowing bull, cast forth to land The num’rous corpses by Achilles slain; And many living, in his cavern’d bed,

Conceal’d behind the whirling waters sav’d.

Fierce, round Achilles, rose the boiling wave, And on his shield descending, drove him down; Nor might he keep his foothold; but he grasp’d A lofty elm, well-grown, which from the cliff Uprooted, all the bank had torn away,

And with its tangled branches check’d the flow Of the fair river, which with all its length It bridg’d across; then, springing from the deep, Swiftly he fled in terror o’er the plain.

Nor ceas’d the mighty River, but pursued, With darkly-ruffling crest, intent to stay Achilles’ course, and save the Trojan host.

Far as a jav’lin’s flight he rush’d, in speed Like the dark hunter eagle, strongest deem’d, And swiftest wing’d of all the feather’d race.

So on he sped; loud rattled on his breast His brazen armour, as before the God,

Cow’ring, he fled; the God behind him still With thund’ring sound pursued. As when a man From some dark-water’d spring through trenches leads, ‘Mid plants and gardens, th’ irrigating stream, And, spade in hand, th’ appointed channel clears: Down flows the stream anon, its pebbly bed Disturbing; fast it flows with bubbling sound, Down the steep slope, o’ertaking him who leads.

Achilles so th’ advancing wave o’ertook, Though great his speed; but man must yield to Gods, Oft as Achilles, swift of foot, essay’d To turn and stand, and know if all the Gods, Who dwell in Heav’n, were leagued to daunt his soul So oft the Heav’n-born River’s mighty wave Above his shoulders dash’d; in deep distress He sprang on high; then rush’d the flood below, And bore him off his legs, and wore away The soil beneath his feet; then, groaning, thus, As up to Heav’n he look’d, Achilles cried: “O Father Jove, will none of all the Gods In pity save me from this angry flood?

Content, thereafter, would I meet my fate.

Of all the pow’rs of Heav’n, my mother most Hath wrong’d me, who hath buoy’d me up with hope Delusive, that, before the walls of Troy, I should by Phoebus’ swift-wing’d arrows fall.

Would that by Hector’s hand ‘twere mine to die, The bravest of their brave! a warrior so Were by a warrior slain! now am I doom’d Ignobly here to sink, the mighty flood O’erwhelming me, like some poor shepherd lad, Borne down in crossing by a wintry brook.”

 

He said; and quickly, cloth’d in mortal form, Neptune and Pallas at his side appear’d; With cheering words they took him by the hand, And thus th’ Earth-shaking God his speech began: “Achilles, fear not thou, nor be dismay’d; Such pow’rful aid, by Jove’s consent, we bring, Pallas and I, from Heav’n; ‘tis not decreed That thou shouldst by the River be o’erwhelm’d; He shall retire ere long, and thou shalt see; And more, if thou wilt hear, we undertake That from the war thine arm shall not be stay’d, Till thou shalt drive beneath the walls of Troy The crowd of flying Trojans; thou thyself Shalt Hector slay, and safe regain the ships: Such high renown we give thee to achieve.”

 

They to the other Gods, this said, return’d; He, greatly strengthen’d by the voice divine, Press’d onwards to the plain; the plain he found All flooded o’er; and, floating, armour fair, And many a corpse of men in battle slain; Yet onward, lifting high his feet, he press’d Right tow’rd the stream; nor could the mighty stream Check his advance, such vigour Pallas gave; Nor did Scamander yet his fury stay,

But fiercer rose his rage; and rearing high His crested wave, to Simois thus he cried: “Dear brother, aid me with united force This mortal’s course to check; he, unrestrain’d, Will royal Priam’s city soon destroy,

Nor will the Trojans his assault endure.

Haste to the rescue then, and from their source Fill all thy stream, and all thy channels swell; Rouse thy big waves, and roll a torrent down Of logs and stones, to whelm this man of might, Who triumphs now, and bears him as a God.

Nought shall his strength or beauty then avail, Or gallant arms, beneath the waters sunk, Deep buried in the mud: himself will I In sand imbed, and o’er his corpse a pile Of shingly gravel heap; nor shall the Greeks Be able to collect his bones, encas’d

By me so deep in slime. His monument

They here may raise; but when they celebrate His fun’ral rites, no mound will he require.”

 

He said; and on Achilles, from on high Came boiling, rushing down, with thund’ring roar, With foam and blood and corpses intermix’d.

High rose the Heav’n-born River’s darkling wave, And bore Achilles downward; then in fear Lest the broad waters of the eddying stream Should quite o’erwhelm him, Juno cried aloud, And Vulcan thus, her son, in haste address’d: “Up, Vulcan; up, my son; for we had deem’d That eddying Xanthus stood to thee oppos’d: Haste thee to aid; thy fiery strength display;