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

thus begun:

 

“Behold! the man whose matchless art surpass’d The sons of Greece! the ablest, yet the last!

Fortune denies, but justice bids us pay (Since great Tydides bears the first away) To him the second honours of the day.”

 

The Greeks consent with loud-applauding cries, And then Eumelus had received the prize, But youthful Nestor, jealous of his fame, The award opposes, and asserts his claim.

“Think not (he cries) I tamely will resign, O Peleus’ son! the mare so justly mine.

What if the gods, the skilful to confound, Have thrown the horse and horseman to the ground?

Perhaps he sought not heaven by sacrifice, And vows omitted forfeited the prize.

If yet (distinction to thy friend to show, And please a soul desirous to bestow)

Some gift must grace Eumelus, view thy store Of beauteous handmaids, steeds, and shining ore; An ample present let him thence receive, And Greece shall praise thy generous thirst to give.

But this my prize I never shall forego; This, who but touches, warriors! is my foe.”

 

Thus spake the youth; nor did his words offend; Pleased with the well-turn’d flattery of a friend, Achilles smiled: “The gift proposed (he cried), Antilochus! we shall ourself provide.

With plates of brass the corslet cover’d o’er, (The same renown’d Asteropaeus wore,)

Whose glittering margins raised with silver shine, (No vulgar gift,) Eumelus! shall be thine.”

 

He said: Automedon at his command

The corslet brought, and gave it to his hand.

Distinguish’d by his friend, his bosom glows With generous joy: then Menelaus rose;

The herald placed the sceptre in his hands, And still’d the clamour of the shouting bands.

Not without cause incensed at Nestor’s son, And inly grieving, thus the king begun: “The praise of wisdom, in thy youth obtain’d, An act so rash, Antilochus! has stain’d.

Robb’d of my glory and my just reward,

To you, O Grecians! be my wrong declared: So not a leader shall our conduct blame, Or judge me envious of a rival’s fame.

But shall not we, ourselves, the truth maintain?

What needs appealing in a fact so plain?

What Greek shall blame me, if I bid thee rise, And vindicate by oath th’ ill-gotten prize?

Rise if thou darest, before thy chariot stand, The driving scourge high-lifted in thy hand; And touch thy steeds, and swear thy whole intent Was but to conquer, not to circumvent.

Swear by that god whose liquid arms surround The globe, and whose dread earthquakes heave the ground!”

 

The prudent chief with calm attention heard; Then mildly thus: “Excuse, if youth have err’d; Superior as thou art, forgive the offence, Nor I thy equal, or in years, or sense.

Thou know’st the errors of unripen’d age, Weak are its counsels, headlong is its rage.

The prize I quit, if thou thy wrath resign; The mare, or aught thou ask’st, be freely thine Ere I become (from thy dear friendship torn) Hateful to thee, and to the gods forsworn.”

 

So spoke Antilochus; and at the word

The mare contested to the king restored.

Joy swells his soul: as when the vernal grain Lifts the green ear above the springing plain, The fields their vegetable life renew,

And laugh and glitter with the morning dew; Such joy the Spartan’s shining face o’erspread, And lifted his gay heart, while thus he said: “Still may our souls, O generous youth! agree ‘Tis now Atrides’ turn to yield to thee.

Rash heat perhaps a moment might control, Not break, the settled temper of thy soul.

Not but (my friend) ‘tis still the wiser way To waive contention with superior sway; For ah! how few, who should like thee offend, Like thee, have talents to regain the friend!

To plead indulgence, and thy fault atone, Suffice thy father’s merit and thy own: Generous alike, for me, the sire and son Have greatly suffer’d, and have greatly done.

I yield; that all may know, my soul can bend, Nor is my pride preferr’d before my friend.”

 

He said; and pleased his passion to command, Resign’d the courser to Noemon’s hand,

Friend of the youthful chief: himself content, The shining charger to his vessel sent.

The golden talents Merion next obtain’d; The fifth reward, the double bowl, remain’d.

Achilles this to reverend Nestor bears.

And thus the purpose of his gift declares: “Accept thou this, O sacred sire! (he said) In dear memorial of Patroclus dead;

Dead and for ever lost Patroclus lies,

For ever snatch’d from our desiring eyes!

Take thou this token of a grateful heart, Though ‘tis not thine to hurl the distant dart, The quoit to toss, the ponderous mace to wield, Or urge the race, or wrestle on the field: Thy pristine vigour age has overthrown, But left the glory of the past thy own.”

 

He said, and placed the goblet at his side; With joy the venerable king replied:

 

“Wisely and well, my son, thy words have proved A senior honour’d, and a friend beloved!

Too true it is, deserted of my strength, These wither’d arms and limbs have fail’d at length.

Oh! had I now that force I felt of yore, Known through Buprasium and the Pylian shore!

Victorious then in every solemn game,

Ordain’d to Amarynces’ mighty name;

The brave Epeians gave my glory way,

AEtolians, Pylians, all resign’d the day.

I quell’d Clytomedes in fights of hand, And backward hurl’d Ancaeus on the sand, Surpass’d Iphyclus in the swift career, Phyleus and Polydorus with the spear.

The sons of Actor won the prize of horse, But won by numbers, not by art or force: For the famed twins, impatient to survey Prize after prize by Nestor borne away, Sprung to their car; and with united pains One lash’d the coursers, while one ruled the reins.

Such once I was! Now to these tasks succeeds A younger race, that emulate our deeds: I yield, alas! (to age who must not yield?) Though once the foremost hero of the field.

Go thou, my son! by generous friendship led, With martial honours decorate the dead: While pleased I take the gift thy hands present, (Pledge of benevolence, and kind intent,) Rejoiced, of all the numerous Greeks, to see Not one but honours sacred age and me:

Those due distinctions thou so well canst pay, May the just gods return another day!”

 

Proud of the gift, thus spake the full of days: Achilles heard him, prouder of the praise.

 

The prizes next are order’d to the field, For the bold champions who the caestus wield.

A stately mule, as yet by toils unbroke, Of six years’ age, unconscious of the yoke, Is to the circus led, and firmly bound; Next stands a goblet, massy, large, and round.

Achilles rising, thus: “Let Greece excite Two heroes equal to this hardy fight;

Who dare the foe with lifted arms provoke, And rush beneath the long-descending stroke.

On whom Apollo shall the palm bestow,

And whom the Greeks supreme by conquest know, This mule his dauntless labours shall repay, The vanquish’d bear the massy bowl away.”

 

This dreadful combat great Epeus chose; [251]

High o’er the crowd, enormous bulk! he rose, And seized the beast, and thus began to say: “Stand forth some man, to bear the bowl away!

(Price of his ruin: for who dares deny

This mule my right; the undoubted victor I) Others, ‘tis own’d, in fields of battle shine, But the first honours of this fight are mine; For who excels in all? Then let my foe

Draw near, but first his certain fortune know; Secure this hand shall his whole frame confound, Mash all his bones, and all his body pound: So let his friends be nigh, a needful train, To heave the batter’d carcase off the plain.”

 

The giant spoke; and in a stupid gaze

The host beheld him, silent with amaze!

‘Twas thou, Euryalus! who durst aspire

To meet his might, and emulate thy sire, The great Mecistheus; who in days of yore In Theban games the noblest trophy bore, (The games ordain’d dead OEdipus to grace,) And singly vanquish the Cadmean race.

Him great Tydides urges to contend,

Warm with the hopes of conquest for his friend; Officious with the cincture girds him round; And to his wrist the gloves of death are bound.

Amid the circle now each champion stands, And poises high in air his iron hands;

With clashing gauntlets now they fiercely close, Their crackling jaws re-echo to the blows, And painful sweat from all their members flows.

At length Epeus dealt a weighty blow

Full on the cheek of his unwary foe;

Beneath that ponderous arm’s resistless sway Down dropp’d he, nerveless, and extended lay.

As a large fish, when winds and waters roar, By some huge billow dash’d against the shore, Lies panting; not less batter’d with his wound, The bleeding hero pants upon the ground.

To rear his fallen foe, the victor lends, Scornful, his hand; and gives him to his friends; Whose arms support him, reeling through the throng, And dragging his disabled legs along;

Nodding, his head hangs down his shoulder o’er; His mouth and nostrils pour the clotted gore; [252]

Wrapp’d round in mists he lies, and lost to thought; His friends receive the bowl, too dearly bought.

 

The third bold game Achilles next demands, And calls the wrestlers to the level sands: A massy tripod for the victor lies,

Of twice six oxen its reputed price;

And next, the loser’s spirits to restore, A female captive, valued but at four.

Scarce did the chief the vigorous strife prop When tower-like Ajax and Ulysses rose.

Amid the ring each nervous rival stands, Embracing rigid with implicit hands.

Close lock’d above, their heads and arms are mix’d: Below, their planted feet at distance fix’d; Like two strong rafters which the builder forms, Proof to the wintry winds and howling storms, Their tops connected, but at wider space Fix’d on the centre stands their solid base.

Now to the grasp each manly body bends; The humid sweat from every pore descends; Their bones resound with blows: sides, shoulders, thighs Swell to each gripe, and bloody tumours rise.

Nor could Ulysses, for his art renown’d, O’erturn the strength of Ajax on the ground; Nor could the strength of Ajax overthrow The watchful caution of his artful foe.

While the long strife even tired the lookers on, Thus to Ulysses spoke great Telamon:

“Or let me lift thee, chief, or lift thou me: Prove we our force, and Jove the rest decree.”

 

He said; and, straining, heaved him off the ground With matchless strength; that time Ulysses found The strength to evade, and where the nerves combine His ankle struck: the giant fell supine; Ulysses, following, on his bosom lies;

Shouts of applause run rattling through the skies.

Ajax to lift Ulysses next essays;

He barely stirr’d him, but he could not raise: His knee lock’d fast, the foe’s attempt denied; And grappling close, they tumbled side by side.

Defiled with honourable dust they roll, Still breathing strife, and unsubdued of soul: Again they rage, again to combat rise;

When great Achilles thus divides the prize: “Your noble vigour, O my friends, restrain; Nor weary out your generous strength in vain.

Ye both have won: let others who excel, Now prove that prowess you have proved so well.”

 

The hero’s words the willing chiefs obey, From their tired bodies wipe the dust away, And, clothed anew, the following games survey.

 

And now succeed the gifts ordain’d to grace The youths contending in the rapid race: A silver urn that full six measures held, By none in weight or workmanship excell’d: Sidonian artists taught the frame to shine, Elaborate, with artifice divine;

Whence Tyrian sailors did the prize transport, And gave to Thoas at the Lemnian port:

From him descended, good Eunaeus heir’d The glorious gift; and, for