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

can never die?

Here then my anger ends: let war succeed, And even as Greece has bled, let Ilion bleed.

Now call the hosts, and try if in our sight Troy yet shall dare to camp a second night!

I deem, their mightiest, when this arm he knows, Shall ‘scape with transport, and with joy repose.”

 

He said: his finish’d wrath with loud acclaim The Greeks accept, and shout Pelides’ name.

When thus, not rising from his lofty throne, In state unmoved, the king of men begun: “Hear me, ye sons of Greece! with silence hear!

And grant your monarch an impartial ear: Awhile your loud, untimely joy suspend, And let your rash, injurious clamours end: Unruly murmurs, or ill-timed applause,

Wrong the best speaker, and the justest cause.

Nor charge on me, ye Greeks, the dire debate: Know, angry Jove, and all-compelling Fate, With fell Erinnys, urged my wrath that day When from Achilles’ arms I forced the prey.

What then could I against the will of heaven?

Not by myself, but vengeful Ate driven; She, Jove’s dread daughter, fated to infest The race of mortals, enter’d in my breast.

Not on the ground that haughty fury treads, But prints her lofty footsteps on the heads Of mighty men; inflicting as she goes

Long-festering wounds, inextricable woes!

Of old, she stalk’d amid the bright abodes; And Jove himself, the sire of men and gods, The world’s great ruler, felt her venom’d dart; Deceived by Juno’s wiles, and female art: For when Alcmena’s nine long months were run, And Jove expected his immortal son,

To gods and goddesses the unruly joy

He show’d, and vaunted of his matchless boy: ‘From us, (he said) this day an infant springs, Fated to rule, and born a king of kings.’

Saturnia ask’d an oath, to vouch the truth, And fix dominion on the favour’d youth.

The Thunderer, unsuspicious of the fraud, Pronounced those solemn words that bind a god.

The joyful goddess, from Olympus’ height, Swift to Achaian Argos bent her flight: Scarce seven moons gone, lay Sthenelus’s wife; She push’d her lingering infant into life: Her charms Alcmena’s coming labours stay, And stop the babe, just issuing to the day.

Then bids Saturnius bear his oath in mind; ‘A youth (said she) of Jove’s immortal kind Is this day born: from Sthenelus he springs, And claims thy promise to be king of kings.’

Grief seized the Thunderer, by his oath engaged; Stung to the soul, he sorrow’d, and he raged.

From his ambrosial head, where perch’d she sate, He snatch’d the fury-goddess of debate, The dread, the irrevocable oath he swore, The immortal seats should ne’er behold her more; And whirl’d her headlong down, for ever driven From bright Olympus and the starry heaven: Thence on the nether world the fury fell; Ordain’d with man’s contentious race to dwell.

Full oft the god his son’s hard toils bemoan’d, Cursed the dire fury, and in secret groan’d. [218]

Even thus, like Jove himself, was I misled, While raging Hector heap’d our camps with dead.

What can the errors of my rage atone?

My martial troops, my treasures are thy own: This instant from the navy shall be sent Whate’er Ulysses promised at thy tent:

But thou! appeased, propitious to our prayer, Resume thy arms, and shine again in war.”

 

” O king of nations! whose superior sway (Returns Achilles) all our hosts obey!

To keep or send the presents, be thy care; To us, ‘tis equal: all we ask is war.

While yet we talk, or but an instant shun The fight, our glorious work remains undone.

Let every Greek, who sees my spear confound The Trojan ranks, and deal destruction round, With emulation, what I act survey,

And learn from thence the business of the day.

 

The son of Peleus thus; and thus replies The great in councils, Ithacus the wise: “Though, godlike, thou art by no toils oppress’d, At least our armies claim repast and rest: Long and laborious must the combat be,

When by the gods inspired, and led by thee.

Strength is derived from spirits and from blood, And those augment by generous wine and food: What boastful son of war, without that stay, Can last a hero through a single day?

Courage may prompt; but, ebbing out his strength, Mere unsupported man must yield at length; Shrunk with dry famine, and with toils declined, The drooping body will desert the mind: But built anew with strength-conferring fare, With limbs and soul untamed, he tires a war.

Dismiss the people, then, and give command.

With strong repast to hearten every band; But let the presents to Achilles made,

In full assembly of all Greece be laid.

The king of men shall rise in public sight, And solemn swear (observant of the rite) That, spotless, as she came, the maid removes, Pure from his arms, and guiltless of his loves.

That done, a sumptuous banquet shall be made, And the full price of injured honour paid.

Stretch not henceforth, O prince.! thy sovereign might Beyond the bounds of reason and of right; ‘Tis the chief praise that e’er to kings belong’d, To right with justice whom with power they wrong’d.”

 

To him the monarch: “Just is thy decree, Thy words give joy, and wisdom breathes in thee.

Each due atonement gladly I prepare;

And heaven regard me as I justly swear!

Here then awhile let Greece assembled stay, Nor great Achilles grudge this short delay.

Till from the fleet our presents be convey’d, And Jove attesting, the firm compact made.

A train of noble youths the charge shall bear; These to select, Ulysses, be thy care:

In order rank’d let all our gifts appear, And the fair train of captives close the rear: Talthybius shall the victim boar convey, Sacred to Jove, and yon bright orb of day.”

 

“For this (the stern AEacides replies)

Some less important season may suffice, When the stern fury of the war is o’er, And wrath, extinguish’d, burns my breast no more.

By Hector slain, their faces to the sky, All grim with gaping wounds, our heroes lie: Those call to war! and might my voice incite, Now, now, this instant, shall commence the fight: Then, when the day’s complete, let generous bowls, And copious banquets, glad your weary souls.

Let not my palate know the taste of food, Till my insatiate rage be cloy’d with blood: Pale lies my friend, with wounds disfigured o’er, And his cold feet are pointed to the door.

Revenge is all my soul! no meaner care, Interest, or thought, has room to harbour there; Destruction be my feast, and mortal wounds, And scenes of blood, and agonizing sounds.”

 

“O first of Greeks, (Ulysses thus rejoin’d,) The best and bravest of the warrior kind!

Thy praise it is in dreadful camps to shine, But old experience and calm wisdom mine.

Then hear my counsel, and to reason yield, The bravest soon are satiate of the field; Though vast the heaps that strow the crimson plain, The bloody harvest brings but little gain: The scale of conquest ever wavering lies, Great Jove but turns it, and the victor dies!

The great, the bold, by thousands daily fall, And endless were the grief, to weep for all.

Eternal sorrows what avails to shed?

Greece honours not with solemn fasts the dead: Enough, when death demands the brave, to pay The tribute of a melancholy day.

One chief with patience to the grave resign’d, Our care devolves on others left behind.

Let generous food supplies of strength produce, Let rising spirits flow from sprightly juice, Let their warm heads with scenes of battle glow, And pour new furies on the feebler foe.

Yet a short interval, and none shall dare Expect a second summons to the war;

Who waits for that, the dire effects shall find, If trembling in the ships he lags behind.

Embodied, to the battle let us bend,

And all at once on haughty Troy descend.”

 

And now the delegates Ulysses sent,

To bear the presents from the royal tent: The sons of Nestor, Phyleus’ valiant heir, Thias and Merion, thunderbolts of war,

With Lycomedes of Creiontian strain,

And Melanippus, form’d the chosen train.

Swift as the word was given, the youths obey’d: Twice ten bright vases in the midst they laid; A row of six fair tripods then succeeds; And twice the number of high-bounding steeds: Seven captives next a lovely line compose; The eighth Briseis, like the blooming rose, Closed the bright band: great Ithacus, before, First of the train, the golden talents bore: The rest in public view the chiefs dispose, A splendid scene! then Agamemnon rose:

The boar Talthybius held: the Grecian lord Drew the broad cutlass sheath’d beside his sword: The stubborn bristles from the victim’s brow He crops, and offering meditates his vow.

His hands uplifted to the attesting skies, On heaven’s broad marble roof were fixed his eyes.

The solemn words a deep attention draw, And Greece around sat thrill’d with sacred awe.

 

“Witness thou first! thou greatest power above, All-good, all-wise, and all-surveying Jove!

And mother-earth, and heaven’s revolving light, And ye, fell furies of the realms of night, Who rule the dead, and horrid woes prepare For perjured kings, and all who falsely swear!

The black-eyed maid inviolate removes,

Pure and unconscious of my manly loves.

If this be false, heaven all its vengeance shed, And levell’d thunder strike my guilty head!”

 

With that, his weapon deep inflicts the wound; The bleeding savage tumbles to the ground; The sacred herald rolls the victim slain (A feast for fish) into the foaming main.

 

Then thus Achilles: “Hear, ye Greeks! and know Whate’er we feel, ‘tis Jove inflicts the woe; Not else Atrides could our rage inflame, Nor from my arms, unwilling, force the dame.

‘Twas Jove’s high will alone, o’erruling all, That doom’d our strife, and doom’d the Greeks to fall.

Go then, ye chiefs! indulge the genial rite; Achilles waits ye, and expects the fight.”

 

The speedy council at his word adjourn’d: To their black vessels all the Greeks return’d.

Achilles sought his tent. His train before March’d onward, bending with the gifts they bore.

Those in the tents the squires industrious spread: The foaming coursers to the stalls they led; To their new seats the female captives move Briseis, radiant as the queen of love,

Slow as she pass’d, beheld with sad survey Where, gash’d with cruel wounds, Patroclus lay.

Prone on the body fell the heavenly fair, Beat her sad breast, and tore her golden hair; All beautiful in grief, her humid eyes

Shining with tears she lifts, and thus she cries: “Ah, youth for ever dear, for ever kind, Once tender friend of my distracted mind!

I left thee fresh in life, in beauty gay; Now find thee cold, inanimated clay!

What woes my wretched race of life attend!

Sorrows on sorrows, never doom’d to end!

The first loved consort of my virgin bed Before these eyes in fatal battle bled: My three brave brothers in one mournful day All trod the dark, irremeable way:

Thy friendly hand uprear’d me from the plain, And dried my sorrows for a husband slain; Achilles’ care you promised I should prove, The first, the dearest partner of his love; That rites divine should ratify the band, And make me empress in his native land.

Accept these grateful tears! for thee they flow, For thee, that ever felt another’s woe!”

 

Her sister captives echoed groan for groan, Nor mourn’d Patroclus’ fortunes, but their own.

The leaders press’d the chief on every side; Unmoved he heard them, and with sighs denied.

 

“If yet Achilles have a friend, whose care Is bent to please him, this request forbear; Till yonder sun descend, ah, let me pay To grief and anguish one abstemious day.”

 

He spoke, and from the warriors turn’d