The Iliads of Homer Translated according to the Greek · Homer
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
In Delta is the Gods’ Assize; The truce is broke; wars freshly rise. Within the fair-pav’d court of Jove, he and the Gods conferr’d About the sad events of Troy; amongst whom minister’d Bless’d Hebe nectar. As they sat, and did Troy’s tow’rs behold, They drank, and pledg’d each other round in full-crown’d cups of gold. The mirth at whose feast was begun by great Saturnides In urging a begun dislike amongst the Goddesses, But chiefly in his solemn queen, whose spleen he was dispos’d To tempt yet further, knowing well what anger it inclos’d, And how wives’ angers should be us’d. On which, thus pleas’d, he play’d: “Two Goddesses there are that still give Menelaus aid, And one that Paris loves. The two that sit from us so far (Which Argive Juno is, and She that rules in deeds of war,) No doubt are pleas’d to see how well the late-seen fight did frame; And yet, upon the adverse part, the laughter-loving Dame Made her pow’r good too for her friend; for, though he were so near The stroke of death in th’ others’ hopes, she took him from them clear. The conquest yet is questionless the martial Spartan king’s. We must consult then what events shall crown these future things, If wars and combats we shall still with even successes strike, Or as impartial friendship plant on both parts.
If ye like The last, and that it will as well delight as merely please Your happy deities, still let stand old Priam’s town in peace, And let the Lacedæmon king again his queen enjoy.” As Pallas and Heav’n’s Queen sat close, complotting ill to Troy, With silent murmurs they receiv’d this ill-lik’d choice from Jove; ‘Gainst whom was Pallas much incens’d, because the Queen of Love Could not, without his leave, relieve in that late point of death The son of Priam, whom she loath’d; her wrath yet fought beneath Her supreme wisdom, and was curb’d; but Juno needs must ease Her great heart with her ready tongue, and said; “What words are these, Austere, and too-much-Saturn’s son? Why wouldst thou render still My labours idle, and the sweat of my industrious will Dishonour with so little pow’r? My chariot-horse are tir’d With posting to and fro for Greece, and bringing banes desir’d To people must’ring Priamus, and his perfidious sons; Yet thou protect’st, and join’st with them whom each just Deity shuns. Go on, but ever go resolv’d all other Gods have vow’d To cross thy partial course for Troy, in all that makes it proud.” At this, the cloud-compelling Jove a far-fetch’d sigh let fly, And said: “Thou fury!
What offence of such impiety Hath Priam or his sons done thee, that, with so high a hate, Thou shouldst thus ceaselessly desire to raze and ruinate So well a builded town as Troy? I think, hadst thou the pow’r, Thou wouldst the ports and far-stretch’d walls fly over, and devour Old Priam and his issue quick, and make all Troy thy feast, And then at length I hope thy wrath and tiréd spleen would rest; To which run on thy chariot, that nought be found in me Of just cause to our future jars. In this yet strengthen thee, And fix it in thy memory fast, this if I entertain As peremptory a desire to level with the plain A city where thy lovéd live, stand not betwixt my ire And what it aims at, but give way, when thou hast thy desire; Which now I grant thee willingly, although against my will. For not beneath the ample sun, and heav’n’s star-bearing hill, There is a town of earthly men so honour’d in my mind As sacred Troy; nor of earth’s kings as Priam and his kind, Who never let my altars lack rich feast of off’rings slain, And their sweet savours; for which grace I honour them again.”
Dread Juno, with the cow’s fair eyes, replied: “Three towns there are Of great and eminent respect, both in my love and care; Mycene, with the broad highways; and Argos, rich in horse; And Sparta; all which three destroy, when thou envi’st their force, I will not aid them, nor malign thy free and sov’reign will, For if I should be envious, and set against their ill, I know my envy were in vain, since thou art mightier far. But we must give each other leave, and wink at either’s war. I likewise must have pow’r to crown my works with wishéd end, Because I am a Deity, and did from thence descend Whence thou thyself, and th’ elder born; wise Saturn was our sire; And thus there is a two-fold cause that pleads for my desire, Being sister, and am call’d thy wife; and more, since thy command Rules all Gods else, I claim therein a like superior hand. All wrath before then now remit, and mutually combine In either’s empire; I, thy rule, and thou, illustrate, mine; So will the other Gods agree, and we shall all be strong.
And first (for this late plot) with speed let Pallas go among The Trojans, and some one of them entice to break the truce By off’ring in some treach’rous wound the honour’d Greeks abuse.” The Father both of men and Gods agreed, and Pallas sent, With these wing’d words, to both the hosts: “Make all haste, and invent Some mean by which the men of Troy, against the truce agreed, May stir the glorious Greeks to arms with some inglorious deed.” Thus charg’d he her with haste that did, before, in haste abound, Who cast herself from all the heights, with which steep heav’n is crown’d. And as Jove, brandishing a star, which men a comet call, Hurls out his curled hair abroad, that from his brand exhals A thousand sparks, to fleets at sea, and ev’ry mighty host, Of all presages and ill-haps a sign mistrusted most; So Pallas fell ’twixt both the camps, and suddenly was lost, When through the breasts of all that saw, she strook a strong amaze With viewing, in her whole descent, her bright and ominous blaze. When straight one to another turn’d, and said: “Now thund’ring Jove (Great Arbiter of peace and arms) will either stablish love Amongst our nations, or renew such war as never was.”
Thus either army did presage, when Pallas made her pass Amongst the multitude of Troy; who now put on the grace Of brave Laodocus, the flow’r of old Antenor’s race, And sought for Lycian Pandarus, a man that, being bred Out of a faithless family, she thought was fit to shed The blood of any innocent, and break the cov’nant sworn; He was Lycaon’s son, whom Jove into a wolf did turn For sacrificing of a child, and yet in arms renown’d As one that was inculpable. Him Pallas standing found, And round about him his strong troops that bore the shady shields; He brought them from Æsepus’ flood, let through the Lycian fields; Whom standing near, she whisper’d thus: “Lycaon’s warlike son, Shall I despair at thy kind hands to have a favour done? Nor dar’st thou let an arrow fly upon the Spartan king? It would be such a grace to Troy, and such a glorious thing, That ev’ry man would give his gift; but Alexander’s hand Would load thee with them, if he could discover from his stand His foe’s pride strook down with thy shaft, and he himself ascend The flaming heap of funeral.
Come, shoot him, princely friend; But first invoke the God of Light, that in thy land was born, And is in archers’ art the best that ever sheaf hath worn, To whom a hundred first-ew’d lambs vow thou in holy fire, When safe to sacred Zelia’s tow’rs thy zealous steps retire.” With this the mad gift-greedy man Minerva did persuade, Who instantly drew forth a bow, most admirably made Of th’ antler of a jumping goat bred in a steep upland, Which archer-like (as long before he took his hidden stand, The evicke skipping from a rock) into the breast he smote, And headlong fell’d him from his cliff. The forehead of the goat Held out a wondrous goodly palm, that sixteen branches brought; Of all which join’d, an useful bow a skilful bowyer wrought, Which pick’d and polish’d, both the ends he hid with horns of gold. And this bow, bent, he close laid down, and bad his soldiers hold Their shields before him, lest the Greeks, discerning him, should rise In tumults ere the Spartan king could be his arrow’s prise.
Mean space, with all his care he choos’d, and from his quiver drew, An arrow, feather’d best for flight and yet that never flew, Strong headed, and most apt to pierce; then took he up his bow, And nock’d his shaft, the ground whence all their future grief did grow. When, praying to his God the Sun, that was in Lycia bred, And king of archers, promising that he the blood would shed Of full an hundred first-fall’n lambs, all offer’d to his name, When to Zelia’s sacred walls from rescu’d Troy he came, He took his arrow by the nock, and to his bended breast[1] The oxy sinew close he drew, ev’n till the pile did rest Upon the bosom of the bow; and as that savage prise His strength constrain’d into an orb, as if the wind did rise The coming of it made a noise, the sinew-forgéd string Did give a mighty twang, and forth the eager shaft did sing, Affecting speediness of flight, amongst the Achive throng.
Nor were the blesséd Heav’nly Pow’rs unmindful of thy wrong, O Menelaus, but, in chief, Jove’s seed: the Pillager, Stood close before, and slack’d the force the arrow did confer, With as much care and little hurt, as doth a mother use, And keep off from her babe, when sleep doth through his pow’rs diffuse His golden humour, and th’ assaults of rude and busy flies She still checks with her careful hand; for so the shaft she plies That on the buttons made of gold, which made his girdle fast, And where his curets double were, the fall of it she plac’d. And thus much proof she put it to: the buckle made of gold; The belt it fast’ned, bravely wrought; his curets’ double fold; And last, the charméd plate he wore, which help’d him more than all, And, ’gainst all darts and shafts bestow’d, was to his life a wall; So, through all these, the upper skin the head did only race; Yet forth the blood flow’d, which did much his royal person grace, And show’d upon his ivory skin, as doth a purple dye Laid, by a dame of Caïra, or lovely Mæony, On ivory, wrought in ornaments to deck the cheeks of horse; Which in her marriage room must lie; whose beauties have such force That they are wish’d of many knights, but are such precious things, That they are kept for horse that draw the chariots of kings, Which horse, so deck’d, the charioteer esteems a grace to him; Like these, in grace, the blood upon thy solid thighs did swim, O Menelaus, down by calves and ankles to the ground.
For nothing decks a soldier so, as doth an honour’d wound. Yet, fearing he had far’d much worse, the hair stood up on end On Agamemnon, when he saw so much black blood descend. And stiff’ned with the like dismay was Menelaus too, But seeing th’ arrow’s stale without, and that the head did go No further than it might be seen, he call’d his spirits again; Which Agamemnon marking not but thinking he was slain, He grip’d his brother by the hand, and sigh’d as he would break, Which sigh the whole host took from him, who thus at last did speak: “O dearest brother, is’t for this, that thy death must be wrought, Wrought I this truce? For this has thou the single combat fought For all the army of the Greeks? For this hath Ilion sworn, And trod all faith beneath their feet? Yet all this hath not worn The right we challeng’d out of force; this cannot render vain Our stricken right hands, sacred wine, nor all our off’rings slain; For though Olympius be not quick in making good our ill, He will be sure as he is slow, and sharplier prove his will. Their own hands shall be ministers of those plagues they despise, Which shall their wives and children reach, and all their progenies.
For both in mind and soul I know, that there shall come a day When Ilion, Priam, all his pow’r, shall quite be worn away, When heav’n-inhabiting Jove shall shake his fiery shield at all, For this one mischief. This, I know, the world cannot recall. But be all this, all my grief still for thee will be the same, Dear brother. If thy life must here put out his royal flame, I shall to sandy Argos turn with infamy my face; And all the Greeks will call for home; old Priam and his race Will flame in glory; Helena untouch’d be still their prey; And thy bones in our enemies’ earth our curséd fates shall lay; Thy sepulchre be trodden down; the pride of Troy desire Insulting on it, ‘Thus, O thus, let Agamemnon’s ire In all his acts be expiate, as now he carries home His idle army, empty ships, and leaves here overcome Good Menelaus.’ When this rave breaks in their bated breath, Then let the broad earth swallow me, and take me quick to death.” “Nor shall this ever chance,” said he, “and therefore be of cheer, Lest all the army, led by you, your passions put in fear.
The arrow fell in no such place a death could enter at, My girdle, curets doubled here, and my most trusted plate, Objected all ’twixt me and death, the shaft scarce piercing one.” “Good brother,” said the king, “I wish it were no further gone, For then our best in med’cines skilled shall ope and search the wound, Applying balms to ease thy pains, and soon restore thee sound.” This said, divine Talthybiús he call’d, and bad him haste Machaon (Æsculapius’ son, who most of men was grac’d With physic’s sov’reign remedies) to come and lend his hand To Menelaus, shot by one well-skill’d in the command Of bow and arrows, one of Troy, or of the Lycian aid, Who much hath glorified our foe, and us as much dismay’d. He heard, and hasted instantly, and cast his eyes about The thickest squadrons of the Greeks, to find Machaon out. He found him standing guarded well with well-arm’d men of Thrace; With whom he quickly join’d, and said: “Man of Apollo’s race, Haste, for the king of men commands, to see a wound impress’d In Menelaus, great in arms, by one instructed best In th’ art of archery, of Troy, or of the Lycian bands, That them with much renown adorns, us with dishonour brands.”
Machaon much was mov’d with this, who with the herald flew From troop to troop alongst the host; and soon they came in view Of hurt Atrides, circled round with all the Grecian kings; Who all gave way, and straight he draws the shaft, which forth he brings Without the forks; the girdle then, plate, curets, off he plucks, And views the wound; when first from it the clotter’d blood he sucks, Then med’cines, wondrously compos’d, the skilful leech applied, Which loving Chiron taught his sire, he from his sire had tried. While these were thus employ’d to ease the Atrean martialist, The Trojans arm’d, and charg’d the Greeks; the Greeks arm and resist. Then not asleep, nor maz’d with fear, nor shifting off the blows, You could behold the king of men, but in full speed he goes To set a glorious fight on foot; and he examples this, With toiling, like the worst, on foot; who therefore did dismiss His brass-arm’d chariot, and his steeds, with Ptolemëus’ son, Son of Piraides, their guide, the good Eurymedon; “Yet,” said the king, “attend with them, lest weariness should seize My limbs, surcharg’d with ord’ring troops so thick and vast as these.” Eurymedon then rein’d his horse, that trotted neighing by; The king a footman, and so scours the squadrons orderly.
Those of his swiftly-mounted Greeks, that in their arms were fit, Those he put on with cheerful words, and bad them not remit The least spark of their forward spirits, because the Trojans durst Take these abhorr’d advantages, but let them do their worst; For they might be assur’d that Jove would patronise no lies, And that who, with the breach of truce, would hurt their enemies, With vultures should be torn themselves; that they should raze their town, Their wives, and children at their breast, led vassals to their own. But such as he beheld hang off from that increasing fight, Such would he bitterly rebuke, and with disgrace excite: “Base Argives, blush ye not to stand as made for butts to darts? Why are ye thus discomfited, like hinds that have no hearts, Who, wearied with a long-run field, are instantly emboss’d, Stand still, and in their beastly breasts is all their courage lost? And so stand you strook with amaze, nor dare to strike a stroke. Would ye the foe should nearer yet your dastard spleens provoke, Ev’n where on Neptune’s foamy shore our navies lie in sight, To see if Jove will hold your hands, and teach ye how to fight?”
Thus he, commanding, rang’d the host, and, passing many a band, He came to the Cretensian troops, where all did arméd stand About the martial Idomen; who bravely stood before In vanguard of his troops, and match’d for strength a savage boar; Meriones, his charioteer, the rearguard bringing on. Which seen to Atreus’ son, to him it was a sight alone, And Idomen’s confirméd mind with these kind words he seeks: “O Idomen! I ever lov’d thy self past all the Greeks, In war, or any work of peace, at table, ev’rywhere; For when the best of Greece besides mix ever, at our cheer, My good old ardent wine with small, and our inferior mates Drink ev’n that mix’d wine measur’d too, thou drink’st, without those rates, Our old wine neat, and evermore thy bowl stands full like mine, To drink still when and what thou wilt. Then rouse that heart of thine, And, whatsoever heretofore thou hast assum’d to be, This day be greater.” To the king in this sort answer’d he: “Atrides, what I ever seem’d, the same at ev’ry part This day shall show me at the full, and I will fit thy heart.
But thou shouldst rather cheer the rest, and tell them they in right Of all good war must offer blows, and should begin the fight, (Since Troy first brake the holy truce) and not endure these braves. To take wrong first, and then be dar’d to the revenge it craves; Assuring them that Troy in fate must have the worst at last, Since first, and ’gainst a truce, they hurt, where they should have embrac’d.” This comfort and advice did fit Atrides’ heart indeed Who still through new-rais’d swarms of men held his laborious speed, And came where both th’ Ajaces stood; whom like the last he found Arm’d, casqu’d, and ready for the fight. Behind them, hid the ground A cloud of foot, that seem’d to smoke. And as a goatherd spies, On some hill’s top, out of the sea a rainy vapour rise, Driv’n by the breath of Zephyrus which, though far off he rest, Comes on as black as pitch, and brings a tempest in his breast, Whereat he frighted, drives his herds apace into a den; So dark’ning earth with darts and shields show’d these with all their men.
This sight with like joy fir’d the king, who thus let forth the flame In crying out to both the dukes: “O you of equal name, I must not cheer, nay, I disclaim all my command of you, Yourselves command with such free minds, and make your soldiers show As you nor I led, but themselves. O would our father Jove, Minerva, and the God of Light, would all our bodies move With such brave spirits as breathe in you, then Priam’s lofty town Should soon be taken by our hands, for ever overthrown!” Then held he on to other troops, and Nestor next beheld, The subtle Pylian orator, range up and down the field Embattelling his men at arms, and stirring all to blows, Points ev’ry legion out his chief, and ev’ry chief he shows The forms and discipline of war, yet his commanders were All expert, and renownéd men. Great Pelagon was there, Alastor, manly Chromius, and Hæmon worth a throne, And Bias that could armies lead.
With these he first put on His horse troops with their chariots; his foot (of which he choos’d Many, the best and ablest men, and which he ever us’d As rampire to his gen’ral pow’r) he in the rear dispos’d. The slothful, and the least of spirit, he in the midst inclos’d, That, such as wanted noble wills, base need might force to stand. His horse troops, that the vanguard had, he strictly did command To ride their horses temp’rately, to keep their ranks, and shun Confusion, lest their horsemanship and courage made them run (Too much presum’d on) much too far, and, charging so alone, Engage themselves in th’ enemy’s strength, where many fight with one. “Who his own chariot leaves to range, let him not freely go, But straight unhorse him with a lance; for ’tis much better so. And with this discipline,” said he, “this form, these minds, this trust, Our ancestors have walls and towns laid level with the dust.” Thus prompt, and long inur’d to arms, this old man did exhort; And this Atrides likewise took in wondrous cheerful sort, And said: “O father, would to heav’n, that as thy mind remains In wonted vigour, so thy knees could undergo our pains!
But age, that all men overcomes, hath made his prise on thee; Yet still I wish that some young man, grown old in mind, might be Put in proportion with thy years, and thy mind, young in age, Be fitly answer’d with his youth; that still where conflicts rage, And young men us’d to thirst for fame, thy brave exampling hand Might double our young Grecian spirits, and grace our whole command.” The old knight answer’d: “I myself could wish, O Atreus’ son, I were as young as when I slew brave Ereuthalion, But Gods at all times give not all their gifts to mortal men. If then I had the strength of youth, I miss’d the counsels then That years now give me; and now years want that main strength of youth; Yet still my mind retains her strength (as you now said the sooth) And would be where that strength is us’d, affording counsel sage To stir youth’s minds up; ’tis the grace and office of our age; Let younger sinews, men sprung up whole ages after me, And such as have strength, use it, and as strong in honour be.”
The king, all this while comforted, arriv’d next where he found Well-rode Menestheus (Peteus’ son) stand still, inviron’d round With his well-train’d Athenian troops, and next to him he spied The wise Ulysses, deedless too, and all his bands beside Of strong Cephalians; for as yet th’ alarm had not been heard In all their quarters, Greece and Troy were then so newly stirr’d, And then first mov’d, as they conceiv’d; and they so look’d about To see both hosts give proof of that they yet had cause to doubt. Atrides seeing them stand so still, and spend their eyes at gaze, Began to chide: “And why,” said he, “dissolv’d thus in amaze, Thou son of Peteus, Jove-nurs’d king, and thou in wicked sleight A cunning soldier, stand ye off? Expect ye that the fight Should be by other men begun? ’Tis fit the foremost band Should show you there; you first should front who first lifts up his hand. First you can hear, when I invite the princes to a feast, When first, most friendly, and at will, ye eat and drink the best, Yet in the fight, most willingly, ten troops ye can behold Take place before ye.”
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.