The Iliad, Homer [librera reader .TXT] 📗

fly the rest Across the plain, disorder’d, he would soon O’ertake me, and in flight ignoble slay.

Or should I leave the others to their fate, Scatter’d by Peleus’ son; and from the wall And o’er the plain of Troy direct my flight, Far as the foot of Ida’s hill, and there Lie hid in thickest covert; and at eve, Refresh’d by bathing in the cooling stream, And purg’d the sweat, retrace my steps to Troy?

Yet why, my soul, admit such thoughts as these?

For should he mark me flying from the town, And overtake me by his speed of foot,

No hope were left me of escape from death.

So far his strength exceeds the strength of man.

But how if boldly I await him here

Before the wall? his flesh is not to wounds Impervious: but a single life is his,

Nor is he more, they say, than mortal man, Though Jove assists him, and his triumph wills.”

 

He said, and stood collected, to await Achilles’ onset; and his manly heart,

With courage fill’d, was eager for the fray.

As when a panther from the thicket’s depth Comes forth to meet the hunter, undismay’d, Nor turn’d to flight by baying of the hounds; Nor, wounded or by jav’lin or by sword, Or by the spear transfix’d, remits her rage, But fights, until she reach her foe, or die; Agenor so, Antenor’s godlike son,

Disdain’d to fly, ere prove Achilles’ might.

Before his breast his shield’s broad orb he bore, And pois’d his spear, as thus he call’d aloud: “Thy hope, renown’d Achilles, was this day The valiant Trojans’ city to destroy;

Unconscious of the toils, the woes, that ye Around her walls await ye! for within

Are warriors brave and num’rous, who will fight In her defence, for parents, children, wives.

Thou too, Achilles, here shalt meet thy doom, All-pow’rful as thou art, and warrior bold.”

 

He said, and threw with stalwart hand the spear; Achilles’ leg he struck, below the knee, Nor miss’d his aim; and loudly rang the greaves Of new-wrought tin; but back the brazen point Rebounded, nor the heav’nly armour pierc’d.

In turn Achilles on Agenor sprang:

But Phoebus robb’d him of his hop’d-for prize, Who, veil’d in thickest cloud, convey’d away Antenor’s son, and from the battle bore To rest in peace; while he by guile withdrew The son of Peleus from the flying crowd: For in Agenor’s very likeness clad,

Before him stood the far-destroying King: Then fled, Achilles hast’ning in pursuit.

He o’er the fertile plain with flying foot Pursu’d; beside Scamander’s eddying stream Apollo turn’d, and still but little space Before him flying, subtly lur’d him on, Each moment hoping to attain his prize.

Meantime the gen’ral crowd, in panic flight, With eager haste the city’s refuge sought, And all the town with fugitives was fill’d.

Nor did they dare without the walls to stand For mutual aid; nor halt to know what friends Were safe, who left upon the battle-field; But through the gates pour’d in the hurrying mass Who to their active limbs their safety ow’d.

 

ARGUMENT.

 

THE DEATH OF HECTOR.

 

The Trojans being safe within the walls, Hector only stays to oppose Achilles. Priam is struck at his approach, and tries to persuade his son to re-enter the town. Hecuba joins his entreaties, but in vain.

Hector consults within himself what measures to take; but, at the advance of Achilles, his resolution fails him, and he flies: Achilles pursues him thrice round the walls of Troy. The gods debate concerning the fate of Hector; at length Minerva descends to the aid of Achilles.

She deludes Hector in the shape of Deiphobus; he stands the combat, and is slain. Achilles drags the dead body at his chariot, in the sight of Priam and Hecuba. Their lamentations, tears, and despair. Their cries reach the ears of Andromache, who, ignorant of this, was retired into the inner part of the palace; she mounts up to the walls, and beholds her dead husband. She swoons at the spectacle. Her excess of grief and lamentation.

 

The thirtieth day still continues. The scene lies under the walls, and on the battlements of Troy.

 

BOOK XXII.

 

Thus they from panic flight, like timorous fawns.

Within the walls escaping, dried their sweat, And drank, and quench’d their thirst, reclining safe On the fair battlements; but nearer drew, With slanted shields, the Greeks; yet Hector still In front of Ilium and the Scaean gate, Stay’d by his evil doom, remain’d without; Then Phoebus thus to Peleus’ godlike son: “Achilles, why with active feet pursue, Thou mortal, me Immortal? know’st thou not My Godhead, that so hot thy fury burns?

Or heed’st thou not that all the Trojan host Whom thou hast scar’d, while thou art here withdrawn, Within the walls a refuge safe have found?

On me thy sword is vain! I know not death!”

 

Enrag’d, Achilles, swift of foot, replied: “Deep is the injury, far-darting King, Most hostile of the Gods, that at thy hand I bear, who here hast lur’d me from the walls, Which many a Trojan else had fail’d to reach, Ere by my hand they bit the bloody dust.

Me of immortal honour thou hast robb’d, And them, thyself from vengeance safe, hast sav’d.

Had I the pow’r, that vengeance thou shouldst feel.”

 

Thus saying, and on mightiest deeds intent, He turn’d him cityward, with fiery speed; As when a horse, contending for the prize, Whirls the swift car, and stretches o’er the plain, E’en so, with active limbs, Achilles rac’d.

 

Him first the aged Priam’s eyes discern’d, Scouring the plain, in arms all dazzling bright, Like to th’ autumnal star, whose brilliant ray Shines eminent amid the depth of night, Whom men the dog-star of Orion call;

The brightest he, but sign to mortal man Of evil augury, and fiery heat:

So shone the brass upon the warrior’s breast.

 

The old man groan’d aloud, and lifting high His hands, he beat his head, and with loud voice Call’d on his son, imploring; he, unmov’d, Held post before the gates, awaiting there Achilles’ fierce encounter; him his sire, With hands outstretch’d and piteous tone, address’d: “Hector, my son, await not here alone

That warrior’s charge, lest thou to fate succumb, Beneath Pelides’ arm, thy better far!

Accurs’d be he! would that th’ immortal Gods So favour’d him as I! then should his corpse Soon to the vultures and the dogs be giv’n!

(So should my heart a load of anguish lose) By whom I am of many sons bereav’d,

Many and brave, whom he has slain, or sold To distant isles in slav’ry; and e’en now, Within the city walls I look in vain

For two, Lycaon brave, and Polydore,

My gallant sons, by fair Laothoe:

If haply yet they live, with brass and gold Their ransom shall be paid; good store of these We can command; for with his daughter fair A wealthy dowry aged Altes gave.

But to the viewless shades should they have gone, Deep were their mother’s sorrow and my own; But of the gen’ral public, well I know Far lighter were the grief, than if they heard That thou hadst fall’n beneath Achilles’ hand.

Then enter now, my son, the city gates, And of the women and the men of Troy,

Be still the guardian; nor to Peleus’ son, With thine own life, immortal glory give.

Look too on me with pity; me, on whom, E’en on the threshold of mine age, hath Jove A bitter burthen cast, condemn’d to see My sons struck down, my daughters dragg’d away In servile bonds; our chambers’ sanctity Invaded; and our babes by hostile hands Dash’d to the ground; and by ferocious Greeks Enslav’d the widows of my slaughter’d sons.

On me at last the rav’ning dogs shall feed, When by some foeman’s hand, by sword or lance, My soul shall from my body be divorc’d; Those very dogs which I myself have bred, Fed at my table, guardians of my gate, Shall lap my blood, and over-gorg’d shall lie E’en on my threshold. That a youth should fall Victim, to Mars, beneath a foeman’s spear, May well beseem his years; and if he fall With honour, though he die, yet glorious he!

But when the hoary head and hoary beard, And naked corpse to rav’ning dogs are giv’n, No sadder sight can wretched mortals see.”

 

The old man spoke, and from, his head he tore The hoary hair; yet Hector firm remain’d.

Then to the front his mother rush’d, in tears, Her bosom bare, with either hand her breast Sustaining, and with tears address’d him thus: “Hector, my child, thy mother’s breast revere; And on this bosom if thine infant woes Have e’er been hush’d, bear now in mind, dear child, The debt thou ow’st; and from within the walls Ward off this fearful man, nor in the field Encounter; curs’d be he! should he prevail, And slay thee, not upon the fun’ral bed, My child, my own, the offspring of my womb, Shall I deplore thee, nor thy widow’d wife, But far away, beside the Grecian ships, Thy corpse shall to the rav’ning dogs be giv’n.”

 

Thus they, with tears and earnest pray’rs imploring, Address’d their son; yet Hector firm remain’d, Waiting th’ approach of Peleus’ godlike son.

As when a snake upon the mountain side, With deadly venom charg’d, beside his hole, Awaits the traveller, and fill’d with rage, Coil’d round his hole, his baleful glances darts; So fill’d with dauntless courage Hector stood, Scorning retreat, his gleaming buckler propp’d Against the jutting tow’r; then, deeply mov’d, Thus with his warlike soul communion held: “Oh woe is me! if I should enter now

The city gates, I should the just reproach Encounter of Polydamas, who first

His counsel gave within the walls to lead The Trojan forces, on that fatal night When great Achilles in the field appear’d.

I heeded not his counsel; would I had!

Now, since my folly hath the people slain, I well might blush to meet the Trojan men, And long-rob’d dames of Troy, lest some might say, To me inferior far, ‘This woful loss

To Hector’s blind self-confidence we owe.’

Thus shall they say; for me, ‘twere better far, Or from Achilles, slain in open fight, Back to return in triumph, or myself

To perish nobly in my country’s cause.

What if my bossy shield I lay aside,

And stubborn helmet, and my pond’rous spear Propping against the wall, go forth to meet Th’ unmatch’d Achilles? What if I engage That Helen’s self, and with her all the spoil, And all that Paris in his hollow ships Brought here to Troy, whence first this war arose, Should be restor’d; and to the Greeks be paid An ample tribute from the city’s stores, Her secret treasures; and hereafter bind The Trojans by their Elders’ solemn oaths Nought to withhold, but fairly to divide Whate’er of wealth our much-loved city holds?

But wherefore entertain such thoughts, my soul?

Should I so meet him, what if he should show Nor pity nor remorse, but slay me there, Defenceless as a woman, and unarm’d?

Not this the time, nor he the man, with whom By forest oak or rock, like youth and maid, To hold light talk, as youth and maid might hold.

Better to dare the fight, and know at once To whom the vict’ry is decreed by Heav’n.”

 

Thus, as he stood, he mus’d; but near approach’d Achilles, terrible as plumed Mars;

From his right shoulder brandishing aloft The ashen spear of Peleus, while around Flash’d his bright armour, dazzling as the glare Of burning fire, or of the rising sun.

Hector beheld, and trembled at the sight; Nor dar’d he there await th’ attack, but left The gates behind, and, terror-stricken, fled.

Forward, with flying foot,