The Iliads of Homer Translated according to the Greek · Homer
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Alpha the prayer of Chryses sings: The army’s plague: the strife of kings. Achilles’ baneful wrath resound, O Goddess, that impos’d Infinite sorrows on the Greeks, and many brave souls los’d. From breasts heroic; sent them far to that invisible cave That no light comforts; and their limbs to dogs and vultures gave; To all which Jove’s will gave effect; from whom first strife begun Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and Thetis’ godlike son. What god gave Eris their command, and op’d that fighting vein? Jove’s and Latona’s son: who fir’d against the king of men, For contumély shown his priest, infectious sickness sent To plague the army, and to death by troops the soldiers went. Occasion’d thus: Chryses, the priest, came to the fleet to buy, For presents of unvalu’d price, his daughter’s liberty; The golden sceptre and the crown of Phœbus in his hands Proposing; and made suit to all, but most to the commands Of both th’ Atrides, who most rul’d. “Great Atreus’ sons,” said he, “And all ye well-greav’d Greeks, the gods, whose habitations be In heav’nly houses, grace your pow’rs with Priam’s razéd town, And grant ye happy conduct home! To win which wish’d renown Of Jove, by honouring his son, far-shooting Phœbus, deign For these fit presents to dissolve the ransomable chain Of my lov’d daughter’s servitude.”
The Greeks entirely gave Glad acclamations, for sign that their desires would have The grave priest reverenc’d, and his gifts of so much price embrac’d. The Gen’ral yet bore no such mind, but viciously disgrac’d With violent terms the priest, and said:—“Dotard! avoid our fleet, Where ling’ring be not found by me; nor thy returning feet Let ever visit us again; lest nor thy godhead’s crown, Nor sceptre, save thee! Her thou seek’st I still will hold mine own, Till age deflow’r her. In our court at Argos, far transferr’d From her lov’d country, she shall ply her web, and see prepar’d[1] With all fit ornaments my bed. Incense me then no more, But, if thou wilt be safe, be gone.” This said, the sea-beat shore, Obeying his high will, the priest trod off with haste and fear; And, walking silent, till he left far off his enemies’ ear, Phœbus, fair hair’d Latona’s son, he stirr’d up with a vow, To this stern purpose: “Hear, thou God that bear’st the silver bow, That Chrysa guard’st, rul’st Tenedos with strong hand, and the round Of Cilia most divine dost walk!
O Sminthëus! if crown’d With thankful off’rings thy rich fane I ever saw, or fir’d Fat thighs of oxen and of goats to thee, this grace desir’d Vouchsafe to me: pains for my tears let these rude Greeks repay, Forc’d with thy arrows.” Thus he pray’d, and Phœebus heard him pray, And, vex’d at heart, down from the tops of steep heav’n stoop’d; his bow, And quiver cover’d round, his hands did on his shoulders throw; And of the angry Deity the arrows as he mov’d Rattled about him. Like the night he rang’d the host, and rov’d (Apart the fleet set) terribly; with his hard-loosing hand His silver bow twang’d; and his shafts did first the mules command, And swift hounds; then the Greeks themselves his deadly arrows shot. The fires of death went never out; nine days his shafts flew hot About the army; and the tenth, Achilles called a court Of all the Greeks; heav’n’s white-arm’d Queen (who, ev’rywhere cut short, Beholding her lov’d Greeks, by death) suggested it; and he (All met in one) arose, and said: “Atrides, now I see We must be wandering again, flight must be still our stay, If flight can save us now, at once sickness and battle lay Such strong hand on us.
Let us ask some prophet, priest, or prove Some dream-interpreter (for dreams are often sent from Jove) Why Phœbus is so much incens’d; if unperformed vows He blames in us, or hecatombs; and if these knees he bows To death may yield his graves no more, but off’ring all supply Of savours burnt from lambs and goats, avert his fervent eye, And turn his temp’rate.” Thus, he sat; and then stood up to them Calchas, surnam’d Thestorides, of augurs the supreme; He knew things present, past, to come, and rul’d the equipage Of th’ Argive fleet to Ilion, for his prophetic rage Giv’n by Apollo; who, well-seen in th’ ill they felt, propos’d This to Achilles: “Jove’s belov’d, would thy charge see disclos’d The secret of Apollo’s wrath? then cov’nant and take oath To my discov’ry, that, with words and pow’rful actions both, Thy strength will guard the truth in me; because I well conceive That he whose empire governs all, whom all the Grecians give Confirm’d obedience, will be mov’d; and then you know the state Of him that moves him.
When a king hath once mark’d for his hate A man inferior, though that day his wrath seems to digest Th’ offence he takes, yet evermore he rakes up in his breast Brands of quick anger, till revenge hath quench’d to his desire The fire reservéd. Tell me, then, if, whatsoever ire Suggests in hurt of me to him, thy valour will prevent?” Achilles answer’d: “All thou know’st speak, and be confident; For by Apollo, Jove’s belov’d, (to whom performing vows, O Calchas, for the state of Greece, thy spirit prophetic shows Skills that direct us) not a man of all these Grecians here, I living, and enjoy’ng the light shot through this flow’ry sphere, Shall touch thee with offensive hands; though Agamemnon be The man in question, that doth boast the mightiest empery Of all our army.” Then took heart the prophet unreprov’d, And said: “They are not unpaid vows, nor hecatombs, that mov’d The God against us; his offence is for his priest impair’d By Agamemnon, that refus’d the present he preferr’d, And kept his daughter.
This is cause why heav’n’s Far-darter darts These plagues amongst us; and this still will empty in our hearts His deathful quiver, uncontain’d till to her lovéd sire The black-eyed damsel be resign’d; no rédemptory hire Took for her freedom,-not a gift, but all the ransom quit, And she convey’d, with sacrifice, till her enfranchis’d feet Tread Chrysa under; then the God, so pleas’d, perhaps we may Move to remission.” Thus, he sate; and up, the great in sway, Heroic Agamemnon rose, eagérly bearing all; His mind’s seat overcast with fumes; an anger general Fill’d all his faculties; his eyes sparkled like kindling fire, Which sternly cast upon the priest, thus vented he his ire: “Prophet of ill! for never good came from thee towards me Not to a word’s worth; evermore thou took’st delight to be Offensive in thy auguries, which thou continu’st still, Now casting thy prophetic gall, and vouching all our ill, Shot from Apollo, is impos’d since I refus’d the price Of fair Chryseis’ liberty; which would in no worth rise To my rate of herself, which moves my vows to have her home, Past Clytemnestra loving her, that grac’d my nuptial room With her virginity and flow’r. Nor ask her merits less For person, disposition, wit, and skill in housewif’ries.
And yet, for all this, she shall go, if more conducible That course be than her holding here. I rather wish the weal Of my lov’d army than the death. Provide yet instantly Supply for her, that I alone of all our royalty Lose not my winnings. ’Tis not fit. Ye see all I lose mine Forc’d by another, see as well some other may resign His prise to me.” To this replied the swift-foot, god-like, son Of Thetis, thus: “King of us all, in all ambition Most covetous of all that breathe, why should the great-soul’d Greeks Supply thy lost prise out of theirs? Nor what thy av’rice seeks Our common treasury can find; so little it doth guard Of what our ras’d towns yielded us; of all which most is shar’d, And giv’n our soldiers; which again to take into our hands Were ignominious and base. Now then, since God commands, Part with thy most-lov’d prise to him; not any one of us Exacts it of thee, yet we all, all loss thou suffer’st thus, Will treble, quadruple, in gain, when Jupiter bestows The sack of well-wall’d Troy on us; which by his word he owes.”
“Do not deceive yourself with wit,” he answer’d, “god-like man, Though your good name may colour it; ’tis not your swift foot can Outrun me here; nor shall the gloss, set on it with the God, Persuade me to my wrong. Wouldst thou maintain in sure abode Thine own prise, and slight me of mine? Resolve this: if our friends, As fits in equity my worth, will right me with amends, So rest it; otherwise, myself will enter personally On thy prise, that of Ithacus, or Ajax, for supply; Let him on whom I enter rage. But come, we’ll order these Hereafter, and in other place. Now put to sacred seas Our black sail; in it rowers put, in it fit sacrifice; And to these I will make ascend my so much envied prise, Bright-cheek’d Chryseis. For conduct of all which, we must choose A chief out of our counsellors.
Thy service we must use, Idomenëus; Ajax, thine; or thine, wise Ithacus; Or thine, thou terriblest of men, thou son of Peleüs, Which fittest were, that thou might’st see these holy acts perform’d For which thy cunning zeal so pleads; and he, whose bow thus storm’d For our offences, may be calm’d.” Achilles, with a frown, Thus answer’d: “O thou impudent! of no good but thine own Ever respectful, but of that with all craft covetous, With what heart can a man attempt a service dangerous, Or at thy voice be spirited to fly upon a foe, Thy mind thus wretched? For myself, I was not injur’d so By any Trojan, that my pow’rs should bid them any blows; In nothing bear they blame of me; Phthia, whose bosom flows With corn and people, never felt impair of her increase By their invasion; hills enow, and far-resounding seas, Pour out their shades and deeps between; but thee, thou frontless man, We follow, and thy triumphs make with bonfires of our bane; Thine, and thy brother’s, vengeance sought, thou dog’s eyes, of this Troy By our expos’d lives; whose deserts thou neither dost employ With honour nor with care.
And now, thou threat’st to force from me The fruit of my sweat, which the Greeks gave all; and though it be, Compar’d with thy part, then snatch’d up, nothing; nor ever is At any sack’d town; but of fight, the fetcher in of this, My hands have most share; in whose toils when I have emptied me Of all my forces, my amends in liberality, Though it be little, I accept, and turn pleas’d to my tent; And yet that little thou esteem’st too great a continent In thy incontinent avarice. For Phthia therefore now My course is; since ’tis better far, than here t’ endure that thou Should’st still be ravishing my right, draw my whole treasure dry, And add dishonour.” He replied: “If thy heart serve thee, fly; Stay not for my cause; others here will aid and honour me; If not, yet Jove I know is sure; that counsellor is he That I depend on. As for thee, of all our Jove-kept kings Thou still art most my enemy; strifes, battles, bloody things, Make thy blood-feasts still. But if strength, that these moods build upon, Flow in thy nerves, God gave thee it; and so ’tis not thine own, But in his hands still. What then lifts thy pride in this so high?
Home with thy fleet, and Myrmidons; use there their empery; Command not here. I weigh thee not, nor mean to magnify Thy rough-hewn rages, but, instead, I thus far threaten thee: Since Phœbus needs will force from me Chryseis, she shall go; My ships and friends shall waft her home; but I will imitate so His pleasure, that mine own shall take, in person, from thy tent Bright-cheek’d Briseis; and so tell thy strength how eminent My pow’r is, being compar’d with thine; all other making fear To vaunt equality with me, or in this proud kind bear Their beards against me.” Thetis’ son at this stood vex’d, his heart Bristled his bosom, and two ways drew his discursive part; If, from his thigh his sharp sword drawn, he should make room about Atrides’ person, slaught’ring him, or sit his anger out, And curb his spirit. While these thoughts striv’d in his blood and mind, And he his sword drew, down from heav’n Athenia stoop’d, and shin’d About his temples, being sent by th’ ivory-wristed Queen, Saturnia, who out of her heart had ever loving been, And careful for the good of both. She stood behind, and took Achilles by the yellow curls, and only gave her look To him appearance; not a man of all the rest could see.
He turning back his eye, amaze strook every faculty; Yet straight he knew her by her eyes, so terrible they were, Sparkling with ardour, and thus spake: “Thou seed of Jupiter, Why com’st thou? To behold his pride, that boasts our empery? Then witness with it my revenge, and see that insolence die That lives to wrong me.” She replied: “I come from heav’n to see Thy anger settled, if thy soul will use her sov’reignty In fit reflection. I am sent from Juno, whose affects Stand heartily inclin’d to both. Come, give us both respects, And cease contention; draw no sword; use words, and such as may Be bitter to his pride, but just; for, trust in what I say, A time shall come, when, thrice the worth of that he forceth now, He shall propose for recompense of these wrongs; therefore throw Reins on thy passions, and serve us.” He answer’d “Though my heart Burn in just anger, yet my soul must conquer th’ angry part, And yield you conquest. Who subdues his earthly part for heav’n, Heav’n to his pray’rs subdues his wish.” This said, her charge was given Fit honour; in his silver hilt he held his able hand, And forc’d his broad sword up; and up to heav’n did re-ascend Minerva, who, in Jove’s high roof that bears the rough shield, took Her place with other deities. She gone, again forsook Patience his passion, and no more his silence could confine His wrath, that this broad language gave: “Thou ever steep’d in wine, Dog’s face, with heart but of a hart, that nor in th’ open eye Of fight dar’st thrust into a prease, nor with our noblest lie In secret ambush! These works seem too full of death for thee; ’Tis safer far in the open host to dare an injury To any crosser of thy lust. Thou subject-eating king!
Base spirits thou govern’st, or this wrong had been the last foul thing Thou ever author’dst; yet I vow, and by a great oath swear, Ev’n by this sceptre, that, as this never again shall bear[2] Green leaves or branches, nor increase with any growth his size, Nor did since first it left the hills, and had his faculties And ornaments bereft with iron; which now to other end Judges of Greece bear, and their laws, receiv’d from Jove, defend; (For which my oath to thee is great); so, whensoever need Shall burn with thirst of me thy host, no pray’rs shall ever breed Affection in me to their aid, though well-deserved woes Afflict thee for them, when to death man-slaught’ring Hector throws Whole troops of them, and thou torment’st thy vex’d mind with conceit Of thy rude rage now, and his wrong that most deserv’d the right Of all thy army.” Thus, he threw his sceptre ’gainst the ground, With golden studs stuck, and took seat. Atrides’ breast was drown’d In rising choler. Up to both sweet-spoken Nestor stood, The cunning Pylian orator, whose tongue pour’d forth a flood Of more-than-honey-sweet discourse; two ages were increas’d Of divers-languag’d men, all born in his time and deceas’d, In sacred Pylos, where he reign’d amongst the third-ag’d men He, well-seen in the world, advis’d, and thus express’d it then: “O Gods! Our Greek earth will be drown’d in just tears; rapeful Troy, Her king, and all his sons, will make as just a mock, and joy, Of these disjunctions; if of you, that all our host excel In counsel and in skill of fight, they hear this. Come, repel These young men’s passions. Y’ are not both, put both your years in one, So old as I. I liv’d long since, and was companion With men superior to you both, who yet would ever hear My counsels with respect.
My eyes yet never witness were, Nor ever will be, of such men as then delighted them; Pirithous, Exadius, and god-like Polypheme, Cæneus, and Dryas prince of men, Ægean Theseüs, A man like heav’n’s immortals form’d; all, all most vigorous, Of all men that ev’n those days: bred; most vig’rous men, and fought With beasts most vig’rous, mountain beasts, (for men in strength were nought Match’d with their forces) fought with them, and bravely fought them down Yet ev’n with these men I convers’d, being call’d to the renown Of their societies, by their suits, from Pylos far, to fight In th’ Apian kingdom; and I fought, to a degree of might That help’d ev’n their mights, against such as no man now would dare To meet in conflict; yet ev’n these my counsels still would hear, And with obedience crown my words. Give you such palm to them; ’Tis better than to wreath your wraths. Atrides, give not stream To all thy pow’r, nor force his prise, but yield her still his own, As all men else do. Nor do thou encounter with thy crown, Great son of Peleus, since no king that ever Jove allow’d Grace of a sceptre equals him.
Suppose thy nerves endow’d With strength superior, and thy birth a very goddess gave, Yet he of force is mightier, since what his own nerves have Is amplified with just command of many other. King of men, Command thou then thyself; and I with my pray’rs will obtain Grace of Achilles to subdue his fury; whose parts are Worth our entreaty, being chief check to all our ill in war.” “All this, good father,” said the king, “is comely and good right; But this man breaks all such bounds; he affects, past all men, height; All would in his pow’r hold, all make his subjects, give to all His hot will for their temp’rate law; all which he never shall Persuade at my hands. If the gods have giv’n him the great style Of ablest soldier, made they that his licence to revile Men with vile language?” Thetis’ son prevented him, and said: “Fearful and vile I might be thought, if the exactions laid By all means on me I should bear. Others command to this, Thou shalt not me; or if thou dost, far my free spirit is From serving thy command.
Beside, this I affirm (afford Impression of it in thy soul): will not use my sword On thee or any for a wench, unjustly though thou tak’st The thing thou gav’st; but all things else, that in my ship thou mak’st Greedy survey of, do not touch without my leave; or do,— Add that act’s wrong to this, that these may see that outrage too,— And then comes my part; then be sure, thy blood upon my lance Shall flow in vengeance.” These high terms these two at variance Us’d to each other; left their seats; and after them arose The whole court. To his tents and ships, with friends and soldiers, goes Angry Achilles. Atreus’ son the swift ship launch’d, and put Within it twenty chosen row’rs, within it likewise shut The hecatomb t’ appease the God; then caus’d to come aboard Fair-cheek’d Chryseis; for the chief, he in whom Pallas pour’d Her store of counsels, Ithacus, aboard went last; and then The moist ways of the sea they sail’d. And now the king of men Bade all the host to sacrifice.
They sacrific’d, and cast The offal of all to the deeps; the angry God they grac’d With perfect hecatombs; some bulls, some goats, along the shore Of the unfruitful sea, inflam’d. To heav’n the thick fumes bore Enwrapped savours. Thus, though all the politic king made shew Respects to heav’n, yet he himself all that time did pursue His own affections; the late jar, in which he thunder’d threats Against Achilles, still he fed, and his affections’ heats Thus vented to Talthybius, and grave Eurybates, Heralds, and ministers of trust, to all his messages. “Haste to Achilles’ tent; where take Briseis’ hand, and bring Her beauties to us. If he fail to yield her, say your king Will come himself, with multitudes that shall the horribler Make both his presence, and your charge, that so he dares defer.” This said, he sent them with a charge of hard condition. They went unwillingly, and trod the fruitless sea’s shore; soon They reach’d the navy and the tents, in which the quarter lay Of all the Myrmidons, and found the chief Chief in their sway Set at his black bark in his tent.
Nor was Achilles glad To see their presence; nor themselves in any glory had Their message, but with rev’rence stood, and fear’d th’ offended king, Ask’d not the dame, nor spake a word. He yet, well knowing the thing That caus’d their coming, grac’d them thus: “Heralds, ye men that bear The messages of men and gods, y’ are welcome, come ye near. I nothing blame you, but your king; ’tis he I know doth send You for Briseis; she is his. Patroclus, honour’d friend, Bring forth the damsel, and these men let lead her to their lord. But, heralds, be you witnesses, before the most ador’d, Before us mortals, and before your most ungentle king, Of what I suffer, that, if war ever hereafter bring My aid in question, to avert any severest bane It brings on others, I am ’scus’d to keep mine aid in wane, Since they mine honour.
But your king, in tempting mischief, raves, Nor sees at once by present things the future; how like waves Ills follow ills; injustices being never so secure In present times, but after-plagues ev’n then are seen as sure; Which yet he sees not, and so soothes his present lust, which, check’d, Would check plagues future; and he might, in succouring right, protect Such as fight for his right at fleet. They still in safety fight, That fight still justly.” This speech us’d, Patroclus did the rite His friend commanded, and brought forth Briseis from her tent, Gave her the heralds, and away to th’ Achive ships they went. She sad, and scarce for grief could go. Her love all friends forsook, And wept for anger. To the shore of th’ old sea he betook Himself alone, and casting forth upon the purple sea His wet eyes, and his hands to heav’n advancing, this sad plea Made to his mother; “Mother! Since you brought me forth to breathe So short a life, Olympius had good right to bequeath My short life honour; yet that right he doth in no degree, But lets Atrides do me shame, and force that prise from me That all the Greeks gave.”
This with tears he utter’d, and she heard, Set with her old sire in his deeps, and instantly appear’d Up from the grey sea like a cloud, sate by his side, and said: “Why weeps my son? What grieves thee? Speak, conceal not what hath laid Such hard hand on thee, let both know.” He, sighing like a storm, Replied: “Thou dost know. Why should I things known again inform? We march’d to Thebes, the sacred town of king Eëtion, Sack’d it, and brought to fleet the spoil, which every valiant son Of Greece indifferently shar’d. Atrides had for share Fair-cheek’d Chryseis. After which, his priest that shoots so far, Chryses, the fair Chryseis’ sire, arriv’d at th’ Achive fleet, With infinite ransom, to redeem the dear imprison’d feet Of his fair daughter. In his hands he held Apollo’s crown, And golden sceptre; making suit to ev’ry Grecian son, But most the sons of Atreüs, the others’ orderers, Yet they least heard him; all the rest receiv’d with rev’rend ears The motion, both the priest and gifts gracing, and holding worth His wish’d acceptance. Atreus’ son yet (vex’d) commanded forth With rude terms Phœbus’ rev’rend priest; who, angry, made retreat, And pray’d to Phœbus, in whose grace he standing passing great Got his petitión.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.