The Iliads of Homer / Translated according to the Greek

by Homer

They fought still like the rage of fire. And now Antilochus
Came to Æacides, whose mind was much solicitous
For that which, as he fear’d, was fall’n. He found him near the fleet
With upright sail-yards, utt’ring this to his heroic conceit:
“Ah me! Why see the Greeks themselves thus beaten from the field,
And routed headlong to their fleet? O let not heaven yield
Effect to what my sad soul fears, that, as I was foretold,
The strongest Myrmidon next me, when I should still behold
The sun’s fair light, must part with it. Past doubt Menœtius’ son
Is he on whom that fate is wrought. O wretch, to leave undone
What I commanded; that, the fleet once freed of hostile fire,
Not meeting Hector, instantly he should his pow’rs retire.”
As thus his troubled mind discours’d, Antilochus appear’d,
And told with tears the sad news thus: “My lord, that must be heard
Which would to heav’n I might not tell! Menœtius’ son lies dead,
And for his naked corse (his arms already forfeited,
And worn by Hector) the debate is now most vehement.”
This said, grief darken’d all his pow’rs. With both his hands he rent
The black mould from the forcéd earth, and pour’d it on his head,
Smear’d all his lovely face; his weeds, divinely fashionéd,
All fil’d and mangled; and himself he threw upon the shore,
Lay, as laid out for funeral, then tumbled round, and tore
His gracious curls. His ecstasy he did so far extend,
That all the ladies won by him and his now slaughter’d friend,
Afflicted strangely for his plight, came shrieking from the tents,
And fell about him, beat their breasts, their tender lineaments
Dissolv’d with sorrow. And with them wept Nestor’s warlike son,
Fell by him, holding his fair hands, in fear he would have done
His person violence; his heart, extremely straiten’d, burn’d,
Beat, swell’d, and sigh’d as it would burst. So terribly he mourn’d,
That Thetis, sitting in the deeps of her old father’s seas,
Heard, and lamented. To her plaints the bright Nereides
Flock’d all, how many those dark gulfs soever comprehend.
There Glauce, and Cymodoce, and Spio, did attend,
Nessea, and Cymothoe, and calm Amphithoe,
Thalia, Thoa, Panope, and swift Dynamene,
Actæa, and Limnoria, and Halia the fair
Fam’d for the beauty of her eyes, Amathia for her hair,
Iæra, Proto, Clymene, and curl’d Dexamene,
Pherusa, Doris, and with these the smooth Amphinome,
Chaste Galatea so renown’d, and Callianira, came,
With Doto and Orythia, to cheer the mournful dame.
Apseudes likewise visited, and Callianassa gave
Her kind attendance, and with her Agave grac’d the cave,
Nemertes, Mæra, followéd, Melita, Ianesse,
With Ianira, and the rest of those Nereides
That in the deep seas make abode; all which together beat
Their dewy bosoms; and to all, thus Thetis did repeat
Her cause of mourning: “Sisters, hear, how much the sorrows weigh,
Whose cries now call’d ye. Hapless I brought forth unhappily
The best of all the sons of men; who, like a well-set plant
In best soils, grew and flourishéd; and when his spirit did want
Employment for his youth and strength, I sent him with a fleet
To fight at Ilion; from whence his fate-confinéd feet
Pass all my deity to retire. The court of his high birth,
The glorious court of Peleüs, must entertain his worth
Never hereafter. All the life he hath to live with me
Must waste in sorrows. And this son I now am bent to see,
Being now afflicted with some grief not usually grave,
Whose knowledge and recure I seek.” This said, she left her cave,
Which all left with her; swimming forth, the green waves, as they sworn,
Cleft with their bosoms, curl’d, and gave quick way to Troy. Being come,
They all ascended, two and two, and trod the honour’d shore,
Till where the fleet of Myrmidons, drawn up in heaps, it bore.
There stay’d they at Achilles’ ship; and there did Thetis lay
Her fair hand on her son’s curl’d head, sigh’d, wept, and bade him say
What grief drew from his eyes those tears? “Conceal it not,” said she,
“Till this hour thy uplifted hands have all things granted thee.
The Greeks, all thrust up at their sterns, have pour’d out tears enow,
And in them seen how much they miss remission of thy vow.”
He said, “’Tis true, Olympius hath done me all that grace,
But what joy have I of it all, when thus thrusts in the place
Loss of my whole self in my friend? Whom, when his foe had slain,
He spoil’d of those profanéd arms, that Peleus did obtain
From heav’n’s high Pow’rs, solemnizing thy sacred nuptial bands,
As th’ only present of them all, and fitted well their hands,
Being lovely, radiant, marvellous. O would to heav’n thy throne,
With these fair Deities of the sea, thou still hadst sat upon,
And Peleus had a mortal wife; since by his means is done
So much wrong to thy grievéd mind, my death being set so soon,
And never suff’ring my return to grace of Peleus’ court!
Nor do I wish it; nor to live in any man’s resort,
But only that the crying blood, for vengeance of my friend
Mangled by Hector, may be still’d; his foe’s death paying his end.”
She, weeping, said: “That hour is near, and thy death’s hour then nigh;
Which, in thy wish serv’d of thy foe, succeedeth instantly.”
“And instantly it shall succeed,” he answer’d “since my fate
Allow’d not to my will a pow’r to rescue, ere the date
Of his late slaughter, my true friend. Far from his friends he died,
Whose wrong therein my eyes had light and right to see denied.
Yet now I neither light myself, nor have so spent my light,
That either this friend or the rest (in numbers infinite
Slaughter’d by Hector) I can help, nor grace with wish’d repair
To our dear country, but breathe here unprofitable air,
And only live a load to earth with all my strength, though none
Of all the Grecians equal it. In counsel many a one
Is my superior; what I have, no grace gets; what I want
Disgraceth all. How then too soon can hastiest death supplant
My fate-curst life? Her instrument to my indignity
Being that black fiend Contention; whom would to God might die
To Gods and men; and Anger too, that kindles tyranny
In men most wise, being much more sweet than liquid honey is
To men of pow’r to satiate their watchful enmities;
And like a pliant fume it spreads through all their breasts; as late
It stole stern passage thorough mine, which he did instigate
That is our Gen’ral. But the fact so long past, the effect
Must vanish with it, though both griev’d; nor must we still respect
Our soothéd humours. Need now takes the rule of either’s mind.
And when the loser of my friend his death in me shall find,
Let death take all. Send him, ye Gods, I’ll give him my embrace.
Not Hercules himself shunn’d death, though dearest in the grace
Of Jupiter; ev’n him Fate stoop’d, and Juno’s cruelty.
And if such fate expect my life, where death strikes I will lie.
Meantime I wish a good renown that these deep breasted dames
Of Ilion and Dardania may, for the extinguish’d flames
Of their friends’ lives, with both their hands wipe miserable tears
From their so-curiously-kept cheeks, and be the officers
To execute my sighs on Troy, when (seeing my long retreat
But gather’d strength, and gives my charge an answerable heat)
They well may know ’twas I lay still, and that my being away
Presented all their happiness. But any further stay
(Which your much love perhaps may wish) assay not to persuade;
All vows are kept, all pray’rs heard; now, free way for fight is made.”
The silver-footed Dame replied: “It fits thee well, my son,
To keep destruction from thy friends; but those fair arms are won
And worn by Hector, that should keep thyself in keeping them,
Though their fruition be but short, a long death being near him,
Whose cruel glory they are yet. By all means then forbear
To tread the massacres of war, till I again appear
From Mulciber with fit new arms; which, when thy eye shall see
The sun next rise, shall enter here with his first beams and me.”
Thus to her Sisters of the Sea she turn’d, and bade them ope
The doors and deeps of Nereüs; she in Olympus’ top
Must visit Vulcan for new arms to serve her wreakful son,
And bade inform her father so, with all things further done.
This said, they underwent the sea, herself flew up to heav’n.
In mean space, to the Hellespont and ships the Greeks were driv’n
In shameful rout; nor could they yet, from rage of Priam’s son,
Secure the dead of new assaults, both horse and men made on
With such impression. Thrice the feet the hands of Hector seiz’d,
And thrice th’ Ajaces thump’d him off. With whose repulse displeas’d,
He wreak’d his wrath upon the troops, then to the corse again
Made horrid turnings, crying out of his repulséd men,
And would not quit him quite for death. A lion almost sterv’d
Is not by upland herdsman driv’n, from urging to be serv’d,
With more contention, than his strength by those two of a name;
And had perhaps his much-prais’d will, if th’ airy-footed Dame,
Swift Iris, had not stoop’d in haste, ambassadress from heav’n
To Peleus’ son, to bid him arm; her message being giv’n
By Juno, kept from all the Gods; she thus excited him:
“Rise, thou most terrible of men, and save the precious limb
Of thy belov’d; in whose behalf, the conflict now runs high
Before the fleet, the either host fells other mutually,
These to retain, those to obtain. Amongst whom most of all
Is Hector prompt, he’s apt to drag thy friend home, he your pall
Will make his shoulders; his head forc’d, he’ll be most famous; rise,
No more lie idle, set the foe a much more costly prize
Of thy friend’s value than let dogs make him a monument,
Where thy name will be grav’n.” He ask’d, “What Deity hath sent
Thy presence hither?” She replied: “Saturnia, she alone,
Not high Jove knowing, nor one God that doth inhabit on
Snowy Olympus.” He again: “How shall I set upon
The work of slaughter, when mine arms are worn by Priam’s son?
How will my Goddess-mother grieve, that bade I should not arm
Till she brought arms from Mulciber! But should I do such harm
To her and duty, who is he, but Ajax, that can vaunt
The fitting my breast with his arms; and he is conversant
Amongst the first in use of his, and rampires of the foe
Slain near Patroclus builds to him?” “All this,” said she, “we know,
And wish thou only wouldst but show thy person to the eyes
Of these hot Ilians, that, afraid of further enterprise,
The Greeks may gain some little breath.” She woo’d, and he was won;
And straight Minerva honour’d him, who Jove’s shield clapp’d upon
His mighty shoulders, and his head girt with a cloud of gold
That cast beams round about his brows. And as when arms enfold
A city in an isle, from thence a fume at first appears,
Being in the day, but, when the even her cloudy forehead rears,
Thick show the fires, and up they cast their splendour, that men nigh,
Seeing their distress, perhaps may set ships out to their supply;
So (to show such aid) from his head a light rose, scaling heav’n,
And forth the wall he stept and stood, nor brake the precept giv’n
By his great mother, mix’d in fight, but sent abroad his voice;
Which Pallas far-off echoéd, who did betwixt them hoise
Shrill tumult to a topless height. And as a voice is heard
With emulous affectión, when any town is spher’d
With siege of such a foe as kills men’s minds, and for the town
Makes sound his trumpet; so the voice from Thetis’ issue thrown
Won emulously th’ ears of all. His brazen voice once heard,
The minds of all were startled so they yielded; and so fear’d
The fair-man’d horses, that they flew back, and their chariots turn’d,
Presaging in their augurous hearts the labours that they mourn’d
A little after; and their guides a repercussive dread
Took from the horrid radiance of his refulgent head,
Which Pallas set on fire with grace. Thrice great Achilles spake,
And thrice (in heat of all the charge) the Trojans started back.
Twelve men, of greatest strength in Troy, left with their lives exhal’d
Their chariots and their darts, to death with his three summons call’d.
And then the Grecians spritefully drew from the darts the corse,
And hears’d it, bearing it to fleet; his friends with all remorse
Marching about it. His great friend dissolving then in tears
To see his truly-lov’d return’d, so hors’d upon an hearse,
Whom with such horse and chariot he set out safe and whole,
Now wounded with unpitying steel, now sent without a soul,
Never again to be restor’d, never receiv’d but so,
He follow’d mourning bitterly. The sun (yet far to go)
Juno commanded to go down; who, in his pow’r’s despite,
Sunk to the ocean, over earth dispersing sudden night.
And then the Greeks and Trojans both gave up their horse and darts.
The Trojans all to council call’d, ere they refresh’d their hearts
With any supper, nor would sit; they grew so stiff with fear
To see, so long from heavy fight, Æacides appear.
Polydamas began to speak, who only could discern
Things future by things past, and was vow’d friend to Hector, born
In one night both. He thus advis’d: “Consider well, my friends,
In this so great and sudden change, that now itself extends,
What change is best for us t’ oppose. To this stands my command:
Make now the town our strength, not here abide light’s rosy hand,
Our wall being far off, and our foe, much greater, still as near.
Till this foe came, I well was pleas’d to keep our watches here,
My fit hope of the fleet’s surprise inclin’d me so; but now
’Tis stronglier guarded, and, their strength increas’d, we must allow
Our own proportionate amends. I doubt exceedingly
That this indiff’rency of fight ’twixt us and th’ enemy,
And these bounds we prefix to them, will nothing so confine
Th’ uncurb’d mind of Æacides. The height of his design
Aims at our city and our wives; and all bars in his way
(Being back’d with less than walls) his pow’r will scorn to make his stay,
And over-run, as over-seen and not his object. Then
Let Troy be freely our retreat; lest, being enforc’d, our men
‘Twixt this and that be taken up by vultures, who by night
May safe come off, it being a time untimely for his might
To spend at random; that being sure. If next light show us here
To his assaults, each man will wish, that Troy his refuge were,
And then feel what he hears not now. I would to heav’n mine ear
Were free ev’n now of those complaints, that you must after hear
If ye remove not! If ye yield, though wearied with a fight
So late and long, we shall have strength in council and the night.
And (where we here have no more force, than need will force us to,
And which must rise out of our nerves) high ports, tow’rs, walls will do
What wants in us; and in the morn, all arm’d upon our tow’rs,
We all will stand out to our foe. ’Twill trouble all his pow’rs,
To come from fleet and give us charge, when his high-crested horse
His rage shall satiate with the toil of this and that way’s course,
Vain entry seeking underneath our well-defended walls,
And he be glad to turn to fleet, about his funerals.
For of his entry here at home, what mind will serve his thirst,
Or ever feed him with sack’d Troy? The dogs shall eat him first.”
At this speech Hector bent his brows, and said: “This makes not great
Your grace with me, Polydamas, that argue for retreat
To Troy’s old prison. Have we not enough of those tow’rs yet?
And is not Troy yet charg’d enough, with impositions set
Upon her citizens, to keep our men from spoil without,
But still we must impose within? That houses with our rout
As well as purses may be plagu’d? Before time, Priam’s town
Traffick’d with divers-languag’d men, and all gave the renown
Of rich Troy to it, brass and gold abounding; but her store
Is now from ev’ry house exhaust; possessions evermore
Are sold out into Phrygia and lovely Mæony;
And have been ever since Jove’s wrath. And now his clemency
Gives me the mean to quit our want with glory, and conclude
The Greeks in sea-bords and our seas, to slack it, and extrude
His offer’d bounty by our flight. Fool that thou art, bewray
This counsel to no common ear, for no man shall obey;
If any will, I’ll check his will. But what our self command,
Let all observe. Take suppers all, keep watch of ev’ry hand.
If any Trojan have some spoil, that takes his too much care,
Make him dispose it publicly; ’tis better any fare
The better for him, than the Greeks. When light then decks the skies,
Let all arm for a fierce assault. If great Achilles rise,
And will enforce our greater toil, it may rise so to him.
On my back he shall find no wings, my spirit shall force my limb
To stand his worst, and give or take. Mars is our common lord,
And the desirous swordsman’s life he ever puts to sword.”
This counsel gat applause of all, so much were all unwise;
Minerva robb’d them of their brains, to like the ill advice
The great man gave, and leave the good since by the meaner given.
All took their suppers; but the Greeks spent all the heavy even
About Patroclus’ mournful rites, Pelides leading all
In all the forms of heaviness. He by his side did fall,
And his man-slaught’ring hands impos’d into his oft-kiss’d breast,
Sighs blew up sighs; and lion-like, grac’d with a goodly crest,
That in his absence being robb’d by hunters of his whelps,
Returns to his so desolate den, and, for his wanted helps,
Beholding his unlook’d-for wants, flies roaring back again,
Hunts the sly hunter, many a vale resounding his disdain;
So mourn’d Pelides his late loss, so weighty were his moans,
Which, for their dumb sounds, now gave words to all his Myrmidons:
“O Gods,” said he, “how vain a vow I made, to cheer the mind
Of sad Menœtius, when his son his hand to mine resign’d,
That high-tow’r’d Opus he should see, and leave ras’d Ilion
With spoil and honour, ev’n with me! But Jove vouchsafes to none
Wish’d passages to all his vows; we both were destinate
To bloody one earth here in Troy; nor any more estate
In my return hath Peleüs or Thetis; but because
I last must undergo the ground, I’ll keep no fun’ral laws,
O my Patroclus, for thy corse, before I hither bring
The arms of Hector and his head to thee for offering.
Twelve youths, the most renown’d of Troy, I’ll sacrifice beside,
Before thy heap of funeral, to thee unpacified.
In mean time, by our crooked sterns lie, drawing tears from me,
And round about thy honour’d corse, these dames of Dardanie,
And Ilion, with the ample breasts (whom our long spears and pow’rs
And labours purchas’d from the rich and by-us-ruin’d tow’rs,
And cities strong and populous with divers-languag’d men)
Shall kneel, and neither day nor night be licens’d to abstain
From solemn watches, their toil’d eyes held ope with endless tears.”
This passion past, he gave command to his near soldiers
To put a tripod to the fire, to cleanse the fester’d gore
From off the person. They obey’d, and presently did pour
Fresh water in it, kindled wood, and with an instant flame
The belly of the tripod girt, till fire’s hot quality came
Up to the water. Then they wash’d, and fill’d the mortal wound
With wealthy oil of nine years old; then wrapp’d the body round
In largeness of a fine white sheet, and put it then in bed;
When all watch’d all night with their lord, and spent sighs on the dead.
Then Jove ask’d Juno: “If at length she had sufficed her spleen,
Achilles being won to arms? Or if she had not been
The natural mother of the Greeks, she did so still prefer
Their quarrel?” She, incens’d, ask’d: “Why he still was taunting her,
For doing good to those she lov’d? since man to man might show
Kind offices, though thrall to death, and though they did not know
Half such deep counsels as disclos’d beneath her far-seeing state,
She, reigning queen of Goddesses, and being in generate
Of one stock with himself, besides the state of being his wife
And must her wrath, and ill to Troy, continue such a strife
From time to time ’twixt him and her?” This private speech they had.
And now the Silver-footed Queen had her ascension made
To that incorruptible house, that starry golden court
Of fi’ry Vulcan, beautiful amongst th’ immortal sort,
Which yet the lame God built himself. She found him in a sweat
About his bellows, and in haste had twenty tripods beat.
To set for stools about the sides of his well-builded hall,
To whose feet little wheels of gold he put, to go withal,
And enter his rich dining room, alone, their motion free,
And back again go out alone, miraculous to see.
And thus much he had done of them, yet handles were to add,
For which he now was making studs. And while their fashion had
Employment of his skilful hand, bright Thetis was come near;
Whom first fair well-hair’d Charis saw, that was the nuptial fere
Of famous Vulcan, who the hand of Thetis took, and said:
“Why, fair-train’d, lov’d, and honour’d dame, are we thus visited
By your kind presence? You, I think, were never here before.
Come near, that I may banquet you, and make you visit more.”
She led her in, and in a chair of silver (being the fruit
Of Vulcan’s hand) she made her sit, a footstool of a suit
Apposing to her crystal feet; and call’d the God of fire,
For Thetis was arriv’d, she said, and entertain’d desire
Of some grace that his art might grant. “Thetis to me,” said he,
“Is mighty, and most reverend, as one that nourish’d me,
When grief consum’d me, being cast from heaven by want of shame
In my proud mother, who, because she brought me forth so lame,
Would have me made away; and then, had I been much distress’d
Had Thetis and Eurynome in either’s silver breast
Not rescu’d me; Eurynome that to her father had
Reciprocal Oceanus. Nine years with them I made
A number of well-arted things, round bracelets, buttons brave,
Whistles, and carquenets. My forge stood in a hollow cave,
About which, murmuring with foam, th’ unmeasur’d ocean
Was ever beating; my abode known nor to God nor man,
But Thetis and Eurynome, and they would see me still,
They were my loving guardians. Now then the starry hill,
And our particular roof, thus grac’d with bright-hair’d Thetis here,
It fits me always to repay, a recompense as dear
To her thoughts, as my life to me. Haste, Charis, and appose
Some dainty guest-rites to our friend, while I my bellows loose
From fire, and lay up all my tools.” Then from an anvil rose
Th’ unwieldy monster, halt’d down, and all awry he went.
He took his bellows from the fire, and ev’ry instrument
Lock’d safe up in a silver chest. Then with a sponge he drest
His face all over, neck and hands, and all his hairy breast;
Put on his coat, his sceptre took, and then went halting forth,
Handmaids of gold attending him, resembling in all worth
Living young damsels, fill’d with minds and wisdom, and were train’d
In all immortal ministry, virtue and voice contain’d,
And mov’d with voluntary pow’rs; and these still wait’d on
Their fi’ry sov’reign, who (not apt to walk) sate near the throne
Of fair-hair’d Thetis, took her hand, and thus he court’d her:
“For what affair, O fair-train’d queen, rev’rend to me, and dear,
Is our court honour’d with thy state, that hast not heretofore
Perform’d this kindness? Speak thy thoughts, thy suit can be no more
Than my mind gives me charge to grant. Can my pow’r get it wrought?
Or that it have not only pow’r of only act in thought?”
She thus: “O Vulcan, is there one, of all that are of heav’n,
That in her never-quiet mind Saturnius hath giv’n
So much affliction as to me: whom only he subjects,
Of all the sea-nymphs, to a man; and makes me bear th’ affects
Of his frail bed; and all against the freedom of my will;
And he worn to his root with age? From him another ill
Ariseth to me; Jupiter, you know, hath giv’n a son,
The excellent’st of men, to me; whose education
On my part well hath answered his own worth, having grown
As in a fruitful soil a tree, that puts not up alone
His body to a naked height, but jointly gives his growth
A thousand branches; yet to him so short a life I brought,
That never I shall see him more return’d to Peleus’ court.
And all that short life he hath spent in most unhappy sort;
For first he won a lovely dame, and had her by the hands
Of all the Grecians, yet this dame Atrides countermands;
For which in much disdain he mourn’d, and almost pin’d away.
And yet for this wrong he receiv’d some honour, I must say;
The Greeks, being shut up at their ships, not suffer’d to advance
A head out of their batter’d sterns; and mighty suppliance
By all their grave men hath been made, gifts, honours, all propos’d
For his reflection; yet he still kept close, and saw enclos’d
Their whole host in this gen’ral plague. But now his friend put on
His arms, being sent by him to field, and many a Myrmidon
In conduct of him. All the day, they fought before the gates
Of Scæa, and, most certainly, that day had seen the dates
Of all Troy’s honours in her dust, if Phœbus (having done
Much mischief more) the envied life of good Menœtius’ son
Had not with partial hands enforc’d, and all the honour giv’n
To Hector, who hath pris’d his arms. And therefore I am driv’n
T’ embrace thy knees for new defence to my lov’d son. Alas!
His life, prefix’d so short a date, had need spent that with grace.
A shield then for him, and a helm, fair greaves, and curets, such
As may renown thy workmanship, and honour him as much,
I sue for at thy famous hands.” “Be confident,” said he,
“Let these wants breed thy thoughts no care. I would it lay in me
To hide him from his heavy death, when fate shall seek for him,
As well as with renownéd arms to fit his goodly limb;
Which thy hands shall convey to him; and all eyes shall admire,
See, and desire again to see, thy satisfied desire.”
This said, he left her there, and forth did to his bellows go,
Appos’d them to the fire again, commanding them to blow.
Through twenty holes made to his hearth at once blew twenty pair,
That fir’d his coals, sometimes with soft, sometimes with vehement, air,
As he will’d, and his work requir’d. Amids the flame he cast
Tin, silver, precious gold, and brass; and in a stock he plac’d
A mighty anvil; his right hand a weighty hammer held,
His left his tongs. And first he forg’d a strong and spacious shield
Adorn’d with twenty sev’ral hues; about whose verge he beat
A ring, three-fold and radiant, and on the back he set
A silver handle; five-fold were the equal lines he drew
About the whole circumference, in which his hand did shew
(Directed with a knowing mind) a rare variety;
For in it he presented Earth; in it the Sea and Sky;
In it the never-wearied Sun, the Moon exactly round,
And all those Stars with which the brows of ample heav’n are crown’d,
Orion, all the Pleiades, and those sev’n Atlas got,
The close-beam’d Hyades, the Bear, surnam’d the Chariot,
That turns about heav’n’s axle-tree, holds ope a constant eye
Upon Orion, and, of all the cressets in the sky,
His golden forehead never bows to th’ Ocean empery.
Two cities in the spacious shield he built, with goodly state
Of divers-languag’d men. The one did nuptials celebrate,
Observing at them solemn feasts, the brides from forth their bow’rs
With torches usher’d through the streets, a world of paramours
Excited by them; youths and maids in lovely circles danc’d,
To whom the merry pipe and harp their spritely sounds advanc’d,
The matrons standing in their doors admiring. Other where
A solemn court of law was kept, where throngs of people were.
The case in question was a fine, impos’d on one that slew
The friend of him that follow’d it, and for the fine did sue;
Which th’ other pleaded he had paid. The adverse part denied,
And openly affirm’d he had no penny satisfied.
Both put it to arbitrement. The people cried ’twas best
For both parts, and th’ assistants too gave their dooms like the rest.
The heralds made the people peace. The seniors then did bear
The voiceful heralds’ sceptres, sat within a sacred sphere,
On polish’d stones, and gave by turns their sentence. In the court
Two talents’ gold were cast, for him that judg’d in justest sort.
The other city other wars employ’d as busily;
Two armies glittering in arms, of one confed’racy,
Besieg’d it; and a parlè had with those within the town.
Two ways they stood resolv’d; to see the city overthrown,
Or that the citizens should heap in two parts all their wealth,
And give them half. They neither lik’d, but arm’d themselves by stealth,
Left all their old men, wives, and boys, behind to man their walls,
And stole out to their enemy’s town. The Queen of martials,
And Mars himself, conducted them; both which, being forg’d of gold,
Must needs have golden furniture, and men might so behold
They were presented Deities. The people, Vulcan forg’d
Of meaner metal. When they came, where that was to be urg’d
For which they went, within a vale close to a flood, whose stream
Us’d to give all their cattle drink, they there enambush’d them,
And sent two scouts out to descry, when th’ enemy’s herds and sheep
Were setting out. They straight came forth, with two that us’d to keep
Their passage always; both which pip’d, and went on merrily,
Nor dream’d of ambuscadoes there. The ambush then let fly,
Slew all their white-fleec’d sheep, and neat, and by them laid their guard.
When those in siege before the town so strange an uproar heard,
Behind, amongst their flocks and herds (being then in council set)
They then start up, took horse, and soon their subtle enemy met,
Fought with them on the river’s shore, where both gave mutual blows
With well-pil’d darts. Amongst them all perverse Contention rose,
Amongst them Tumult was enrag’d, amongst them ruinous Fate
Had her red-finger; some they took in an unhurt estate,
Some hurt yet living, some quite slain, and those they tugg’d to them
By both the feet, stripp’d off and took their weeds, with all the stream
Of blood upon them that their steels had manfully let out.
They far’d as men alive indeed drew dead indeed about.
To these the fi’ry Artizan did add a new-ear’d field,
Large and thrice plough’d, the soil being soft, and of a wealthy yield;
And many men at plough he made, that drave earth here and there,
And turn’d up stitches orderly; at whose end when they were,
A fellow ever gave their hands full cups of luscious wine;
Which emptied, for another stitch, the earth they undermine,
And long till th’ utmost bound be reach’d of all the ample close.
The soil turn’d up behind the plough, all black like earth arose,
Though forg’d of nothing else but gold, and lay in show as light
As if it had been plough’d indeed, miraculous to sight.
There grew by this a field of corn, high, ripe, where reapers wrought,
And let thick handfuls fall to earth, for which some bought
Bands, and made sheaves. Three binders stood, and took the handfuls reap’d
From boys that gather’d quickly up, and by them armfuls heap’d.
Amongst these at furrow’s end, the king stood pleas’d at heart,
Said no word, but his sceptre show’d. And from him, much apart,
His harvest-bailiffs underneath an oak a feast prepar’d
And having kill’d a mighty ox, stood there to see him shar’d
Which women for their harvest folks (then come to sup) had dress’d,
And many white wheat-cakes bestow’d, to make it up a feast.
He set near this a vine of gold, that crack’d beneath the weight
Of bunches black with being ripe; to keep which at the height,
A silver rail ran all along, and round about it flow’d
An azure moat, and to this guard, a quickset was bestow’d
Of tin, one only path to all, by which the pressmen came
In time of vintage. Youths and maids, that bore not yet the flame
Of manly Hymen, baskets bore, of grapes and mellow fruit.
A lad that sweetly touch’d a harp, to which his voice did suit,
Center’d the circles of that youth, all whose skill could not do
The wanton’s pleasure to their minds, that danc’d, sung, whistled too.
A herd of oxen then he carv’d, with high rais’d heads, forg’d all
Of gold and tin, for colour mix’d, and bellowing from their stall
Rush’d to their pastures at a flood, that echo’d all their throats,
Exceeding swift, and full of reeds; and all in yellow coats
Four herdsmen follow’d; after whom, nine mastiffs went. In head
Of all the herd, upon a bull, that deadly bellowéd,
Two horrid lions rampt, and seiz’d, and tugg’d off bellowing still;
Both men and dogs came; yet they tore the hide, and lapp’d their fill
Of black blood, and the entrails ate. In vain the men assay’d
To set their dogs on; none durst pinch, but cur-like stood and bay’d
In both the faces of their kings, and all their onsets fled.
Then in a passing pleasant vale, the famous Artsman fed,
Upon a goodly pasture ground, rich flocks of white-fleec’d sheep,
Built stables, cottages, and cotes, that did the shepherds keep
From wind and weather. Next to these, he cut a dancing place,
All full of turnings, that was like the admirable maze
For fair-hair’d Ariadne made, by cunning Dædalus;
And in it youths and virgins danc’d, all young and beauteous,
And glewéd in another’s palms. Weeds that the wind did toss
The virgins wore; the youths wov’n coats, that cast a faint dim gloss
Like that of oil. Fresh garlands too, the virgins’ temples crown’d;
The youths gilt swords wore at their thighs, with silver bawdrics bound.
Sometimes all wound close in a ring, to which as fast they spun
As any wheel a turner makes, being tried how it will run,
While he is set; and out again, as full of speed they wound,
Not one left fast, or breaking hands. A multitude stood round,
Delighted with their nimble sport; to end which two begun,
Mids all, a song, and turning sung the sports conclusión,
All this he circled in the shield, with pouring round about,
In all his rage, the Ocean, that it might never out.
This shield thus done, he forg’d for him, such curets as outshin’d
The blaze of fire. A helmet then (through which no steel could find
Forc’d passage) he compos’d, whose hue a hundred colours took,
And in the crest a plume of gold, that each breath stirr’d, he stuck.
All done, he all to Thetis brought, and held all up to her.
She took them all, and like t’ the hawk, surnam’d the osspringer,
From Vulcan to her mighty son, with that so glorious show,
Stoop’d from the steep Olympian hill, hid in eternal snow.

THE END OF THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK.

THE NINETEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ILIADS

THE ARGUMENT

Thetis presenting armour to her son,
He calls a court, with full reflection
Of all his wrath; takes of the king of men
Free-offer’d gifts. All take their breakfast then;
He only fasting, arms, and brings abroad
The Grecian host, and (hearing the abode
Of his near death by Xanthus prophesied)
The horse, for his so bold presage, doth chide.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Ταυ̑ gives the anger period,
And great Achilles comes abroad.

The morn arose, and from the ocean, in her saffron robe,
Gave light to all, as well to Gods, as men of th’ under globe.
Thetis stoop’d home, and found the prostrate person of her son
About his friend, still pouring out himself in passión;
A number more being heavy consorts to him in his cares.
Amongst them all Thetis appear’d and, sacred comforters,
Made these short words: “Though we must grieve, yet bear it thus, my son,
It was no man that prostrated, in this sad fashión,
Thy dearest friend; it was a God that first laid on his hand,
Whose will is law. The Gods’ decrees, no human must withstand.
Do thou embrace this fabric of a God, whose hand before
Ne’er forg’d the like; and such as yet, no human shoulder wore.”
Thus, setting down, the precious metal of the arms was such
That all the room rung with the weight of every slend’rest touch.
Cold tremblings took the Myrmidons; none durst sustain, all fear’d
T’ oppose their eyes; Achilles yet, as soon as they appear’d,
Stern Anger enter’d. From his eyes, as if the day-star rose,
A radiance terrifying men did all the state enclose.
At length he took into his hands the rich gift of the God,
And, much pleas’d to behold the art that in the shield he show’d,
He brake forth into this applause: “O mother, these right well
Show an immortal finger’s touch; man’s hand must never deal
With arms again. Now I will arm; yet, that no honour make
My friend forgotten, I much fear, lest with the blows of flies
His brass-inflicted wounds are fil’d; life gone, his person lies
All apt to putrefactión.” She bade him doubt no harm
Of those offences, she would care, to keep the petulant swarm
Of flies, that usually taint the bodies of the slain,
From his friend’s person. Though a year, the earth’s top should sustain
His slaughter’d body, it should still rest sound, and rather hold
A better state than worse, since time that death first made him cold.
And so bade call a council, to dispose of new alarms,
Where, to the king, that was the pastor of that flock in arms,
He should depose all anger, and put on a fortitude
Fit for his arms. All this his pow’rs with dreadful strength indued.
She, with her fair hand, still’d into the nostrils of his friend
Red nectar and ambrosia; with which she did defend
The corse from putrefactión. He trod along the shore,
And summon’d all th’ heroic Greeks, with all that spent before
The time in exercise with him, the masters, pilots too,
Vict’lers, and all. All, when they saw Achilles summon so,
Swarm’d to the council, having long left the laborious wars.
To all these came two halting kings, true servitors of Mars,
Tydides and wise Ithacus, both leaning on their spears,
Their wounds still painful; and both these sat first of all the peers.
The last come was the king of men, sore wounded with the lance
Of Coon Antenorides. All set, the first in utterance
Was Thetis’ son, who rose and said: “Atrides, had not this
Conferr’d most profit to us both, when both our enmities
Consum’d us so, and for a wench, whom, when I choos’d for prise,
In laying Lyrnessus’ ruin’d walls amongst our victories,
I would to heav’n, as first she set her dainty foot aboard,
Diana’s hand had tumbled off, and with a jav’lin gor’d!
For then th’ unmeasurable earth had not so thick been gnawn,
In death’s convulsions, by our friends, since my affects were drawn
To such distemper. To our foe, and to our foe’s chief friend,
Our jar brought profit; but the Greeks will never give an end
To thought of what it prejudic’d them. Past things yet past our aid;
Fit grief for what wrath rul’d in them, must make th’ amends repaid
With that necessity of love, that now forbids our ire;
Which I with free affects obey. ’Tis for the senseless fire
Still to be burning, having stuff; but men must curb rage still,
Being fram’d with voluntary pow’rs, as well to check the will
As give it reins. Give you then charge, that for our instant fight
The Greeks may follow me to field, to try if still the night
Will bear out Trojans at our ships. I hope there is some one,
Amongst their chief encouragers, will thank me to be gone,
And bring his heart down to his knees in that submissión.”
The Greeks rejoic’d to hear the heart of Peleus’ mighty son
So qualified. And then the king (not rising from his throne
For his late hurt) to get good ear, thus order’d his reply:
“Princes of Greece, your states shall suffer no indignity,
If, being far off, ye stand and hear; nor fits it such as stand
At greater distance, to disturb the council now in hand
By uproar, in their too much care of hearing. Some, of force,
Must lose some words; for hard it is, in such a great concourse
(Though hearers’ ears be ne’er so sharp) to touch at all things spoke;
And in assemblies of such thrust, how can a man provoke
Fit pow’r to hear, or leave to speak? Best auditors may there
Lose fittest words, and the most vocal orator fit ear.
My main end then, to satisfy Pelides with reply,
My words shall prosecute; to him my speech especially
Shall bear direction. Yet I wish, the court in general
Would give fit ear; my speech shall need attentión of all.
Oft have our peers of Greece much blam’d my forcing of the prise
Due to Achilles; of which act, not I, but destinies,
And Jove himself, and black Erinnys (that casts false mists still
Betwixt us and our actions done, both by her pow’r and will)
Are authors. What could I do then? The very day and hour
Of our debate, that Fury stole in that act on my pow’r.
And more; all things are done by strife; that ancient seed of Jove,
Ate, that hurts all, perfects all, her feet are soft, and move
Not on the earth, they bear her still aloft men’s heads, and there
The harmful hurts them. Nor was I alone her prisoner,
Jove, best of men and Gods, hath been; not he himself hath gone
Beyond her fetters, no, she made a woman put them on;
For when Alcmena was to vent the force of Hercules
In well-wall’d Thebes, thus Jove triumph’d: ‘Hear, Gods and Goddesses,
The words my joys urg’d: In this day, Lucina, bringing pain
To labouring women, shall produce into the light of men
A man that all his neighbour kings shall in his empire hold,
And vaunt that more than manly race whose honour’d veins enfold
My eminent blood.’ Saturnia conceiv’d a present sleight,
And urg’d confirmance of his vaunt t’ infringe it; her conceit
In this sort urg’d: ‘Thou wilt not hold thy word with this rare man;
Or, if thou wilt, confirm it with the oath Olympian,
That whosoever falls this day betwixt a woman’s knees,
Of those men’s stocks that from thy blood derive their pedigrees,
Shall all his neighbour towns command.’ Jove, ignorant of fraud,
Took that great oath, which his great ill gave little cause t’ applaud.
Down from Olympus’ top she stoop’d, and quickly reach’d the place
In Argos where the famous wife of Sthenelus, whose race
He fetch’d from Jove by Perseus, dwelt. She was but sev’n months gone
With issue, yet she brought it forth; Alcmena’s matchless son
Delay’d from light, Saturnia repress’d the teeming throes
Of his great mother. Up to heav’n she mounts again, and shows,
In glory, her deceit to Jove. ‘Bright-light’ning Jove,’ said she,
‘Now th’ Argives have an emperor; a son deriv’d from thee
Is born to Persean Sthenelus, Eurystheus his name,
Noble and worthy of the rule thou swor’st to him.’ This came
Close to the heart of Jupiter; and Ate, that had wrought
This anger by Saturnia, by her bright hair he caught,
Held down her head, and over her made this infallible vow:
‘That never to the cope of stars should reascend that brow,
Being so infortunate to all.’ Thus, swinging her about,
He cast her from the fi’ry heav’n; who ever since thrust out
Her fork’d sting in th’ affairs of men. Jove ever since did grieve,
Since his dear issue Hercules did by his vow achieve
The unjust toils of Eurystheus. Thus fares it now with me,
Since under Hector’s violence the Grecian progeny
Fell so unfitly by my spleen; whose falls will ever stick
In my griev’d thoughts: my weakness yet (Saturnius making sick
The state my mind held) now recur’d, th’ amends shall make ev’n weight
With my offence. And therefore rouse thy spirits to the fight
With all thy forces; all the gifts, propos’d thee at thy tent
Last day by royal Ithacus, my officers shall present.
And, if it like thee, strike no stroke, though never so on thorns
Thy mind stands to thy friend’s revenge, till my command adorns
Thy tents and coffers with such gifts, as well may let thee know
How much I wish thee satisfied.” He answer’d: “Let thy vow,
Renown’d Atrides, at thy will be kept, as justice would,
Or keep thy gifts; ’tis all in thee. The council now we hold
Is for repairing our main field with all our fortitude.
My fair show made brooks no retreat, nor must delays delude
Our deed’s expectance. Yet undone the great work is. All eyes
Must see Achilles in first fight depeopling enemies,
As well as counsel it in court; that ev’ry man set on
May choose his man to imitate my exercise upon.”
Ulysses answer’d: “Do not yet, thou man made like the Gods,
Take fasting men to field. Suppose, that whatsoever odds
It brings against them with full men, thy boundless eminence
Can amply answer, yet refrain to tempt a violence.
The conflict wearing out our men was late, and held as long,
Wherein, though most Jove stood for Troy, he yet made our part strong
To bear that most. But ’twas to bear, and that breeds little heart.
Let wine and bread then add to it; they help the twofold part,
The soul and body, in a man, both force and fortitude.
All day men cannot fight and fast, though never so indued
With minds to fight, for, that suppos’d, there lurks yet secretly
Thirst, hunger, in th’ oppresséd joints, which no mind can supply.
They take away a marcher’s knees. Men’s bodies throughly fed,
Their minds share with them in their strength; and, all day combated,
One stirs not, till you call off all. Dismiss them then to meat,
And let Atrides tender here, in sight of all this seat,
The gifts he promis’d. Let him swear before us all, and rise
To that oath, that he never touch’d in any wanton wise
The lady he enforc’d. Besides, that he remains in mind
As chastely satisfied; not touch’d, or privily inclin’d
With future vantages. And last, ’tis fit he should approve
All these rites at a solemn feast in honour of your love,
That so you take no mangled law for merits absolute.
And thus the honours you receive, resolving the pursuit
Of your friend’s quarrel, well will quit your sorrow for your friend.
And thou, Atrides, in the taste of so severe an end,
Hereafter may on others hold a juster government;
Nor will it aught impair a king, to give a sound content
To any subject soundly wrong’d.” “I joy,” replied the king,
“O Laertiades, to hear thy lib’ral counselling;
In which is all decorum kept, nor any point lacks touch
That might be thought on to conclude a reconcilement such
As fits example, and us two. My mind yet makes me swear,
Not your impulsion; and that mind shall rest so kind and clear,
That I will not forswear to God. Let then Achilles stay,
Though never so inflam’d for fight, and all men here I pray
To stay, till from my tents these gifts be brought here, and the truce
At all parts finish’d before all. And thou of all I choose,
Divine Ulysses, and command to choose of all your host
Youths of most honour, to present, to him we honour most,
The gifts we late vow’d, and the dames. Mean space about our tents
Talthybius shall provide a boar, to crown these kind events
With thankful sacrifice to Jove, and to the God of Light.”
Achilles answer’d: “These affairs will show more requisite,
Great king of men, some other time, when our more free estates
Yield fit cessation from the war, and when my spleen abates;
But now, to all our shames besides, our friends by Hector slain
(And Jove to friend) lie unfetch’d off. Haste, then, and meat your men;
Though, I must still say, my command would lead them fasting forth,
And all together feast at night. Meat will be something worth,
When stomachs first have made it way with venting infamy,
And other sorrows late sustain’d, with long’d-for wreaks, that lie
Heavy upon them, for right’s sake. Before which load be got
From off my stomach, meat nor drink, I vow, shall down my throat,
My friend being dead, who digg’d with wounds, and bor’d through both his feet,
Lies in the entry of my tent, and in the tears doth fleet
Of his associates. Meat and drink have little merit then
To comfort me; but blood, and death, and deadly groans of men.”
The great in counsels yet made good his former counsels thus:
“O Peleus’ son, of all the Greeks by much most valorous,
Better and mightier than myself no little with thy lance
I yield thy worth; in wisdom, yet, no less I dare advance
My right above thee, since above in years, and knowing more.
Let then thy mind rest in thy words. We quickly shall have store
And all satiety of fight, whose steel heaps store of straw
And little corn upon a floor, when Jove, that doth withdraw
And join all battles, once begins t’ incline his balances,
In which he weighs the lives of men. The Greeks you must not press
To mourning with the belly; death hath nought to do with that
In healthful men that mourn for friends. His steel we stumble at,
And fall at, ev’ry day, you see, sufficient store, and fast.
What hour is it that any breathes? We must not use; more haste,
Than speed holds fit for our revenge. Nor should we mourn too much.
Who dead is, must be buriéd. Men’s patience should be such,
That one day’s moan should serve one man. The dead must end with death,
And life last with what strengthens life. All those that held their breath
From death in fight the more should eat, that so they may supply
Their fellows that have stuck in field, and fight incessantly.
Let none expect reply to this, nor stay; for this shall stand
Or fall with some offence to him that looks for new command,
Whoever in dislike holds back. All join then, all things fit
Allow’d for all; set on a charge, at all parts answering it.”
This said, he chose, for noblest youths to bear the presents, these:
The sons of Nestor, and with them renown’d Meriones,
Phylides, Thoas, Lycomed, and Meges, all which went,
And Menalippus, following Ulysses to the tent
Of Agamemnon. He but spake, and with the word the deed
Had join’d effect. The fitness well was answer’d in the speed.
The presents, added to the dame the Gen’ral did enforce,
Were twenty caldrons, tripods sev’n, twelve young and goodly horse;
Sev’n ladies excellently seen in all Minerva’s skill,
The eighth Briseis who had pow’r to ravish ev’ry will;
Twelve talents of the finest gold, all which Ulysses weigh’d
And carried first; and after him, the other youths convey’d
The other presents, tender’d all in face of all the court.
Up rose the king. Talthybius, whose voice had a report
Like to a God, call’d to the rites. There having brought the boar,
Atrides with his knife took say upon the part before,
And lifting up his sacred hands, to Jove to make his vows,
Grave silence strook the cómplete court; when, casting his high brows
Up to the broad heav’n, thus he spake: “Now witness, Jupiter,
First, highest, and thou best of Gods; thou Earth that all dost bear;
Thou Sun; ye Furies under earth that ev’ry soul torment
Whom impious perjury distains; that nought incontinent
In bed, or any other act to any slend’rest touch
Of my light vows, hath wrong’d the dame; and, let my plagues be such
As are inflicted by the Gods, in all extremity
Of whomsoever perjur’d men, if godless perjury
In least degree dishonour me.” This said, the bristled throat
Of the submitted sacrifice, with ruthless steel he cut;
Which straight into the hoary sea Talthybius cast, to feed
The sea-born nation. Then stood up the half-celestial seed
Of fair-hair’d Thetis, strength’ning thus Atrides’ innocence:
“O father Jupiter, from thee descends the confluence
Of all man’s ill; for now I see the mighty king of men
At no hand forc’d away my prise, nor first inflam’d my spleen
With any set ill in himself, but thou, the King of Gods,
Incens’d with Greece, made that the mean to all their periods.
Which now amend we as we may, and give all suffrages
To what wise Ithacus advis’d; take breakfasts, and address
For instant conflict.” Thus he rais’d the court, and all took way
To sev’ral ships. The Myrmidons the presents did convey
T’ Achilles’ fleet, and in his tents dispos’d them; doing grace
Of seat and all rights to the dames; the horses put in place
With others of Æacides. When, like love’s golden Queen,
Briseis all in ghastly wounds had dead Patroclus seen,
She fell about him, shrieking out, and with her white hands tore
Her hair, breasts, radiant cheeks, and, drown’d in warm tears, did deplore
His cruel destiny. At length she gat pow’r to express
Her violent passion, and thus spake this like-the-goddesses:
“O good Patroclus, to my life the dearest grace it had,
I, wretched dame, departing hence, enforc’d, and dying sad,
Left thee alive, when thou hadst cheer’d my poor captivity,
And now return’d I find thee dead; misery on misery
Ever increasing with my steps. The lord to whom my sire
And dearest mother gave my life in nuptials, his life’s fire
I saw before our city gates extinguish’d: and his fate
Three of my worthy brothers’ lives, in one womb generate,
Felt all in that black day of death. And when Achilles’ hand
Had slain all these, and ras’d the town Mynetes did command,
(All cause of never-ending griefs presented) thou took’st all
On thy endeavour to convert to joy as general,
Affirming, he that hurt should heal, and thou wouldst make thy friend,
Brave captain that thou wert, supply my vowéd husband’s end,
And in rich Phthia celebrate, amongst his Myrmidons,
Our nuptial banquets; for which grace, with these most worthy moans
I never shall be satiate, thou ever being kind,
Ever delightsome, one sweet grace fed still with one sweet mind.”
Thus spake she weeping; and with her, did th’ other ladies moan
Patroclus’ fortunes in pretext, but in sad truth their own.
About Æacides himself the kings of Greece were plac’d,
Entreating him to food; and he entreated them as fast,
Still intermixing words and sighs, if any friend were there
Of all his dearest, they would cease, and offer him no cheer
But his due sorrows; for before the sun had left that sky
He would not eat, but of that day sustain th’ extremity.
Thus all the kings, in res’lute grief and fasting, he dismiss’d;
But both th’ Atrides, Ithacus, and war’s old Martialist,
Idomenëus and his friend, and Phœnix, these remain’d
Endeavouring comfort, but no thought of his vow’d woe restrain’d.
Nor could, till that day’s bloody fight had calm’d his blood; he still
Remember’d something of his friend, whose good was all his ill.
Their urging meat the diligent fashion of his friend renew’d
In that excitement: “Thou,” said he, “when this speed was pursued
Against the Trojans, evermore apposedst in my tent
A pleasing breakfast; being so free, and sweetly diligent,
Thou mad’st all meat sweet. Then the war was tearful to our foe
But now to me; thy wounds so wound me, and thy overthrow;
For which my ready food I fly, and on thy longings feed.
Nothing could more afflict me; Fame relating the foul deed
Of my dear father’s slaughter, blood drawn from my sole son’s heart,
No more could wound me. Curséd man, that in this foreign part
(For hateful Helen) my true love, my country, sire, and son,
I thus should part with. Scyros now gives educatión,[1]
O Neoptolemus, to thee, if living yet; from whence
I hop’d, dear friend, thy longer life safely return’d from hence,
And my life quitting thine, had pow’r to ship him home, and show
His young eyes Phthia, subjects, court; my father being now
Dead, or most short-liv’d, troublous age oppressing him, and fear
Still of my death’s news.” These sad words, he blew into the ear
Of ev’ry visitant with sighs, all echo’d by the peers,
Rememb’ring who they left at home. All whose so humane tears
Jove pitied; and, since they all would in the good of one
Be much reviv’d, he thus bespake Minerva: “Thetis’ son,
Now, daughter, thou hast quite forgot. O, is Achilles care
Extinguish’d in thee? Prostrated in most extreme ill fare,
He lies before his high-sail’d fleet, for his dead friend; the rest
Are strength’ning them with meat, but he lies desp’rately oppress’d
With heartless fasting. Go thy ways, and to his breast instill
Red nectar and ambrosia, that fast procure no ill
To his near enterprise.” This spur he added to the free,
And, like a harpy, with a voice that shrieks so dreadfully,
And feathers that like needles prick’d, she stoop’d through all the stars,
Amongst the Grecians, all whose tents were now fill’d for the wars;
Her seres strook through Achilles’ tent, and closely she instill’d
Heav’n’s most-to-be-desired feast to his great breast, and fill’d
His sinews with that sweet supply, for fear unsavoury fast
Should creep into his knees. Herself the skies again enchas’d.
The host set forth, and pour’d his steel waves far out of the fleet.
And as from air the frosty north wind blows a cold thick sleet,
That dazzles eyes, flakes after flakes incessantly descending;
So thick, helms, curets, ashen darts, and round shields, never ending,
Flow’d from the navy’s hollow womb. Their splendours gave heav’n’s eye
His beams again. Earth laugh’d to see her face so like the sky;
Arms shin’d so hot, and she such clouds made with the dust she cast,
She thunder’d, feet of men and horse importun’d her so fast.
In midst of all, divine Achilles his fair person arm’d,
His teeth gnash’d as he stood, his eyes so full of fire they warm’d,
Unsuffer’d grief and anger at the Trojans so combin’d.
His greaves first us’d, his goodly curets on his bosom shin’d,
His sword, his shield that cast a brightness from it like the moon.
And as from sea sailors discern a harmful fire let run
By herdsmen’s faults, till all their stall flies up in wrestling flame;
Which being on hills is seen far off; but being alone, none came
To give it quench, at shore no neighbours, and at sea their friends
Driv’n off with tempests; such a fire, from his bright shield extends
His ominous radiance, and in heav’n impress’d his fervent blaze.
His crested helmet, grave and high, had next triumphant place
On his curl’d head, and like a star it cast a spurry ray,
About which a bright thicken’d bush of golden hair did play,
Which Vulcan forg’d him for his plume. Thus cómplete arm’d, he tried
How fit they were, and if his motion could with ease abide
Their brave instruction; and so far they were from hind’ring it,
That to it they were nimble wings, and made so light his spirit,
That from the earth the princely captain they took up to air.
Then from his armoury he drew his lance, his father’s spear,
Huge, weighty, firm, that not a Greek but he himself alone
Knew how to shake; it grew upon the mountain Pelion,
From whóse height Chiron hew’d it for his sire, and fatal ’twas
To great-soul’d men, of Peleus and Pelion surnam’d Pelias.
Then from the stable their bright horse, Automedon withdraws
And Alcymus; put poitrils on, and cast upon their jaws
Their bridles, hurling back the reins, and hung them on the seat.
The fair scourge then Automedon takes up, and up doth get
To guide the horse. The fight’s seat last, Achilles took behind;
Who look’d so arm’d as if the sun, there fall’n from heav’n, had shin’d,
And terribly thus charg’d his steeds: “Xanthus and Balius,
Seed of the Harpy, in the charge ye undertake of us,
Discharge it not as when Patroclus ye left dead in field,
But, when with blood, for this day’s fast observ’d, revenge shall yield
Our heart satiety, bring us off.” Thus, since Achilles spake
As if his aw’d steeds understood, ’twas Juno’s will to make
Vocal the palate of the one; who, shaking his fair head,
(Which in his mane, let fall to earth, he almost buried)
Thus Xanthus spake: “Ablest Achilles, now, at least, our care
Shall bring thee off; but not far hence the fatal minutes are
Of thy grave ruin. Nor shall we be then to be reprov’d,
But mightiest Fate, and the great God. Nor was thy best belov’d
Spoil’d so of arms by our slow pace, or courage’s impair;
The best of Gods, Latona’s son, that wears the golden hair,
Gave him his death’s wound; though the grace he gave to Hector’s hand.
We, like the spirit of the west, that all spirits can command
For pow’r of wing, could run him off; but thou thyself must go,
So fate ordains; God and a man must give thee overthrow.”
This said, the Furies stopp’d his voice. Achilles, far in rage,
Thus answer’d him: “It fits not thee, thus proudly to presage
My overthrow. I know myself, it is my fate to fall
Thus far from Phthia; yet that fate shall fail to vent her gall,
Till mine vent thousands.” These words us’d, he fell to horrid deeds,
Gave dreadful signal, and forthright made fly his one-hoof’d steeds.

THE END OF THE NINETEENTH BOOK.

[1] Scyros was an isle in the sea Ægeum, where Achilles himself was brought up, as well as his son.