The Iliads of Homer Translated according to the Greek · Homer
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Nor yet his lance left dealing martial alms, But Socus’ brother by both sides, young Carops, did impress. Then princely Socus to his aid made brotherly access, And, coming near, spake in his charge: “O great Laertes’ son, Insatiate in sly stratagems, and labours never done, This hour, or thou shalt boast to kill the two Hippasides And prise their arms, or fall thyself in my resolv’d access.” This said, he threw quite through his shield his fell and well-driv’n lance, Which held way through his curaces, and on his ribs did glance, Plowing the flesh alongst his sides; but Pallas did repel All inward passage to his life. Ulysses, knowing well The wound undeadly (setting back his foot to form his stand) Thus spake to Socus: “O thou wretch, thy death is in this hand, That stay’st my victory on Troy, and where thy charge was made In doubtful terms (or this or that) this shall thy life invade.” This frighted Socus to retreat, and, in his faint reverse, The lance betwixt his shoulders fell, and through his breast did perse, Down fell he sounding, and the king thus play’d with his mis-ease: “O Socus, you that make by birth the two Hippasides, Now may your house and you perceive death can outfly the flyer.
Ah wretch! thou canst not ’scape my vows. Old Hippasus thy sire, Nor thy well-honour’d mother’s hands, in both which lies thy worth, Shall close thy wretched eyes in death, but vultures dig them forth, And hide them with their darksome wings; but when Ulysses dies, Divinest Greeks shall tomb my corse with all their obsequies.” Now from his body and his shield the violent lance he drew, That princely Socus had infix’d; which drawn, a crimson dew Fell from his bosom on the earth; the wound did dare him sore. And when the furious Trojans saw Ulysses’ forcéd gore, Encouraging themselves in gross, all his destruction vow’d. Then he retir’d, and summon’d aid. Thrice shouted he aloud, As did denote a man engag’d. Thrice Menelaus’ ear Observ’d his aid-suggesting voice, and Ajax being near, He told him of Ulysses’ shouts, as if he were enclos’d From all assistance, and advis’d their aids might be dispos’d Against the ring that circled him, lest, charg’d with troops alone, (Though valiant) he might be oppress’d, whom Greece so built upon. He led, and Ajax seconded. They found their Jove-lov’d king Circled with foes.
As when a den of bloody lucerns cling About a goodly-palméd hart, hurt with a hunter’s bow, Whose ’scape his nimble feet enforce, whilst his warm blood doth flow, And his light knees have pow’r to move; but, master’d of his wound, Emboss’d within a shady hill, the lucerns charge him round, And tear his flesh; when instantly fortune sends in the pow’rs Of some stern lion, with whose sight they fly, and he devours; So charged the Ilians Ithacus, many and mighty men. But then made Menelaus in, and horrid Ajax then, Bearing a target like a tow’r, close was his violent stand, And every way the foe dispers’d, when, by the royal hand, Kind Menelaus led away the hurt Laertes’ son, Till his fair squire had brought his horse. Victorious Telamon Still plied the foe, and put to sword a young Priamides, Doryclus, Priam’s bastard son; then did his lance impress Pandocus, and strong Pirasus, Lysander and Palertes. As when a torrent from the hills, swoln with Saturnian show’rs, Falls on the fields, bears blasted oaks, and wither’d rosin flow’rs, Loose weeds, and all disperséd filth, into the ocean’s force; So matchless Ajax beat the field, and slaughter’d men and horse.
Yet had not Hector heard of this, who fought on the left wing Of all the host, near those sweet herbs Scamander’s flood doth spring, Where many foreheads trod the ground, and where the skirmish burn’d Near Nestor and king Idomen, where Hector over turn’d The Grecian squadrons, authoring high service with his lance, And skilful manage of his horse. Nor yet the discrepance He made in death betwixt the hosts had made the Greeks retire, If fair-hair’d Helen’s second spouse had not repress’d the fire Of bold Machaon’s fortitude, who with a three-fork’d head In his right shoulder wounded him. Then had the Grecians dread. Lest, in his strength declin’d, the foe should slaughter their hurt friend. Then Crete’s king urg’d Neleides his chariot to ascend, And getting near him, take him in, and bear him to their tents. A surgeon is to be preferr’d, with physic ornaments, Before a multitude; his life gives hurt lives native bounds, With sweet inspersion of fit balms, and perfect search of wounds. Thus spake the royal Idomen. Neleides obey’d, And to his chariot presently the wounded Greek convey’d, The son of Æsculapius, the great physician. To fleet they flew.
Cebriones perceiv’d the slaughter done By Ajax on the other troops, and spake to Hector thus: “Whiles we encounter Grecians here, stern Telamonius Is yonder raging, turning up in heaps our horse and men; I know him by his spacious shield. Let us turn chariot then, Where, both of horse and foot, the fight most hotly is propos’d, In mutual slaughters. Hark, their throats from cries are never clos’d.” This said, with his shrill scourge he strook the horse, that fast ensu’d Stung with his lashes, tossing shields, and carcasses imbru’d. The chariot tree was drown’d in blood, and th’ arches by the seat Disperpled from the horses’ hoofs, and from the wheel bands beat. Great Hector long’d to break the ranks, and startle their close fight, Who horribly amaz’d the Greeks, and plied their sudden fright With busy weapons, ever wing’d; his lance, sword, weighty stones. Yet charg’d he other leader’s hands, not dreadful Telamon’s; With whom he wisely shunn’d foul blows. But Jove (that weighs above All human pow’rs) to Ajax’ breast divine repressions drove, And made him shun who shunn’d himself; he ceas’d from fight amaz’d, Cast on his back his sev’n-fold shield, and round about him gaz’d Like one turn’d wild, look’d on himself in his distract retreat, Knee before knee did scarcely move.
As when from herds of neat, Whole threaves of boors and mongrels chase a lion skulking near, Loth he should taint the well-prized fat of any stall-fed steer, Consuming all the night in watch, he, greedy of his prey, Oft thrusting on is oft thrust off, so thick the jav’lins play On his bold charges, and so hot the burning fire-brands shine, Which he (though horrible) abhors, about his glowing eyne, And early his great heart retires; so Ajax from the foe, For fear their fleet should be inflam’d, ’gainst his swoln heart did go. As when a dull mill ass comes near a goodly field of corn, Kept from the birds by children’s cries, the boys are overborne By his insensible approach, and simply he will eat; About whom many wands are broke, and still the children beat, And still the self-providing ass doth with their weakness bear, Not stirring till his paunch be full, and scarcely then will steer; So the huge son of Telamon amongst the Trojans far’d, Bore show’rs of darts upon his shield, yet scorn’d to fly as scar’d, And so kept softly on his way; nor would he mend his pace For all their violent pursuits, that still did arm the chace With singing lances.
But, at last, when their cur-like presumes More urg’d the more forborne, his spirits did rarify their fumes, And he revok’d his active strength, turn’d head, and did repell The horse-troops that were new made in, ’twixt whom the fight grew fell; And by degrees he stole retreat, yet with such puissant stay That none could pass him to the fleet. In both the armies’ sway He stood, and from strong hands receiv’d sharp jav’lins on his shield, Where many stuck, thrown on before, many fell short in field, Ere the white body they could reach, and stuck, as telling how They purpos’d to have pierc’d his flesh. His peril piercéd now The eyes of prince Eurypylus, Evemon’s famous son, Who came close on, and with his dart strook duke Apisaon, Whose surname was Phausiades, ev’n to the concrete blood That makes the liver; on the earth, out gush’d his vital flood.
Eurypylus made in, and eas’d his shoulders of his arms; Which Paris seeing, he drew his bow, and wreak’d in part the harms Of his good friend Phausiades, his arrow he let fly That smote Eurypylus, and brake in his attainted thigh; Then took he troop to shun black death, and to the flyers cried: “Princes, and leaders of the Greeks, stand, and repulse the tide Of this our honour-wracking chace. Ajax is drown’d in darts, I fear past ’scape; turn, honour’d friends, help out his vent’rous parts.” Thus spake the wounded Greek; the sound cast on their backs their shields, And rais’d their darts; to whose relief Ajax his person wields. Then stood he firmly with his friends, retiring their retire. And thus both hosts indiff’rent join’d, the fight grew hot as fire. Now had Neleides’ sweating steeds brought him, and his hurt friend, Amongst their fleet. Æacides, that wishly did intend, Standing astern his tall-neck’d ship, how deep the skirmish drew Amongst the Greeks, and with what ruth the insecution grew, Saw Nestor bring Machaon hurt, and from within did call His friend Patroclus; who, like Mars in form celestial, Came forth with first sound of his voice, first spring of his decay, And ask’d his princely friend’s desire.
“Dear friend,” said he, “this day I doubt not will enforce the Greeks, to swarm about my knees; I see unsuffer’d need employ’d in their extremities. Go, sweet Patroclus, and inquire of old Neleides Whom he brought wounded from the fight; by his back parts I guess It is Machaon, but his face I could not well descry, They pass’d me in such earnest speed.” Patroclus presently Obey’d his friend, and ran to know. They now descended were, And Nestor’s squire, Eurymedon, the horses did ungear; Themselves stood near th’ extremest shore, to let the gentle air Dry up their sweat; then to the tent where Hecamed the fair Set chairs, and for the wounded prince a potion did prepare. This Hecamed, by war’s hard fate, fell to old Nestor’s share, When Thetis’ son sack’d Tenedos; she was the princely seed Of worthy king Arsinous, and by the Greeks decreed The prise of Nestor, since all men in counsel he surpass’d. First, a fair table she appos’d, of which the feet were grac’d With bluish metal mix’d with black; and on the same she put A brass fruit-dish, in which she serv’d a wholesome onion cut For pittance to the potion, and honey newly wrought, And bread, the fruit of sacred meal.
Then to the board she brought A right fair cup with gold studs driv’n, which Nestor did transfer From Pylos; on whose swelling sides four handles fixéd were, And upon ev’ry handle sat a pair of doves of gold, Some billing, and some pecking meat; two gilt feet did uphold The antique body; and withal so weighty was the cup That, being propos’d brimful of wine, one scarce could lift it up, Yet Nestor drunk in it with ease, spite of his years’ respect. In this the goddess-like fair dame a potion did confect With good old wine of Pramnius, and scrap’d into the wine Cheese made of goat’s milk, and on it spers’d flour exceeding fine. In this sort for the wounded lord the potion she prepar’d, And bad him drink. For company, with him old Nestor shar’d. Thus physically quench’d they thirst, and then their spirits reviv’d With pleasant conference. And now Patroclus, being arriv’d, Made stay at th’ entry of the tent. Old Nestor, seeing it, Rose, and receiv’d him by the hand, and fain would have him sit.
He set that courtesy aside, excusing it with haste, Since his much-to-be-rev’renced friend sent him to know who past, Wounded with him in chariot, so swiftly through the shore; “Whom now,” said he, “I see and know, and now can stay no more; You know, good father, our great friend is apt to take offence, Whose fi’ry temper will inflame sometimes with innocence.” He answer’d: “When will Peleus’ son some royal pity show On his thus wounded countrymen? Ah! is he yet to know How much affliction tires our host? How our especial aid, Tainted with lances, at their tents are miserably laid? Ulysses, Diomed, our king, Eurypylus, Machaon, All hurt, and all our worthiest friends; yet no compassion Can supple thy friend’s friendless breast! Doth he reserve his eye Till our fleet burn, and we ourselves one after other die? Alas, my forces are not now as in my younger life. Oh would to God I had that strength I uséd in the strife Betwixt us and the Elians, for oxen to be driv’n, When Itymonius’ lofty soul was by my valour giv’n As sacrifice to destiny, Hypirochus’ strong son, That dwelt in Elis, and fought first in our contention!
We forag’d, as proclaiméd foes, a wondrous wealthy boot, And he, in rescue of his herds, fell breathless at my foot. All the dorp boors with terror fled. Our prey was rich and great; Twice five and twenty flocks of sheep; as many herds of neat; As many goats, and nasty swine; an hundred fifty mares, All sorrel, most with sucking foals. And these soon-monied wares We drave into Neleius’ town, fair Pylos, all by night. My father’s heart was glad to see so much good fortune quite The forward mind of his young son, that us’d my youth in deeds, And would not smother it in moods. Now drew the Sun’s bright steeds Light from the hills; our heralds now accited all that were Endamag’d by the Elians; our princes did appear; Our boot was parted; many men th’ Epeians much did owe, That, being our neighbours, they did spoil; afflictions did so flow On us poor Pylians, though but few. In brake great Hercules To our sad confines of late years, and wholly did suppress Our hapless princes. Twice-six Sons renown’d Neleius bred, Only myself am left of all, the rest subdu’d and dead. And this was it that made so proud the base Epeian bands, On their near neighbours, being oppress’d, to lay injurious hands.
A herd of oxen for himself, a mighty flock of sheep, My sire selected, and made choice of shepherds for their keep; And from the gen’ral spoil he cull’d three hundred of the best. The Elians ought him infinite, most plagu’d of all the rest. Four wager-winning horse he lost, and chariots intervented, Being led to an appointed race; the prize that was presented Was a religious three-foot urn; Augeas was the king That did detain them, and dismiss’d their keeper sorrowing For his lov’d charge lost with foul words. Then both for words and deeds My sire being worthily incens’d, thus justly he proceeds To satisfaction, in first choice of all our wealthy prise; And, as he shar’d much, much he left his subjects to suffice, That none might be oppress’d with pow’r, or want his portion due. Thus for the public good we shar’d. Then we to temples drew Our cómplete city, and to heav’n we thankful rites did burn For our rich conquest. The third day ensuing our return The Elians flew on us in heaps; their gen’ral leaders were The two Moliones, two boys, untrainéd in the fear Of horrid war, or use of strength.
A certain city shines Upon a lofty prominent, and in th’ extreme confines Of sandy Pylos, seated where Alpheus’ flood doth run, And call’d Thryessa; this they sieg’d, and gladly would have won, But, having pass’d through all our fields, Minerva as our spy Fell from Olympus in the night, and arm’d us instantly; Nor muster’d she unwilling men, nor unprepar’d for force. My sire yet would not let me arm, but hid away my horse, Esteeming me no soldier yet; yet shin’d I nothing less Amongst our gallants, though on foot; Minerva’s mightiness Led me to fight, and made me bear a soldier’s worthy name. There is a flood falls into sea, and his crook’d course doth frame Close to Arena, and is call’d bright Minyæus’ stream. There made we halt, and there the sun cast many a glorious beam On our bright armours, horse and foot insea’d together there. Then march’d we on. By fi’ry noon we saw the sacred clear Of great Alpheus, where to Jove we did fair sacrifice; And to the azure God, that rules the under-liquid skies, We offer’d up a solemn bull; a bull t’ Alpheus’ name; And to the blue-ey’d Maid we burn’d a heifer never tame. Now was it night; we supp’d and slept, about the flood, in arms.
The foe laid hard siege to our town, and shook it with alarms, But, for prevention of their spleens, a mighty work of war Appear’d behind them; for as soon as Phœbus’ fi’ry car Cast night’s foul darkness from his wheels (invoking rev’rend Jove, And the unconquer’d Maid his birth) we did th’ event approve, And gave them battle. First of all, I slew (the army saw) The mighty soldier Mulius, Augeas’ son-in-law, And spoil’d him of his one hoof’d horse; his eldest daughter was Bright Agamede, that for skill in simples did surpass, And knew as many kind of drugs, as earth’s broad centre bred. Him charg’d I with my brass-arm’d lance, the dust receiv’d him dead. I, leaping to his chariot, amongst the foremost press’d, And the great-hearted Elians fled frighted, seeing their best And loftiest soldier taken down, the gen’ral of their horse. I follow’d like a black whirlwind, and did for prise enforce Full fifty chariots, ev’ry one furnish’d with two arm’d men, Who ate the earth, slain with my lance. And I had slaughter’d then The two young boys, Moliones, if their world-circling sire, Great Neptune, had not saft their lives, and cover’d their retire With unpierc’d clouds.
Then Jove bestow’d a haughty victory Upon us Pylians; for so long we did the chace apply, Slaught’ring and making spoil of arms, till sweet Buprasius’ soil, Alesius, and Olenia, were fam’d with our recoil; For there Minerva turn’d our pow’r, and there the last I slew As, when our battle join’d, the first. The Pylians then withdrew To Pylas from Buprasius. Of all th’ Immortals then, They most thank’d Jove for victory; Nestor the most of men. Such was I ever, if I were employ’d with other peers, And I had honour of my youth, which dies not in my years. And great Achilles only joys hability of act In his brave prime, and doth not deign t’ impart it where ’tis lack’d. No doubt he will extremely mourn, long after that black hour Wherein our ruin shall be brought, and rue his ruthless pow’r, O friend! my memory revives the charge Menœtius gave Thy towardness, when thou sett’st forth, to keep out of the grave Our wounded honour.
I myself and wise Ulysses were Within the room, where ev’ry word then spoken we did hear, For we were come to Peleus’ court, as we did must’ring pass Through rich Achaia, where thy sire, Menœtius, was, Thyself and great Æacides, when Peleüs the king To thunder-loving Jove did burn an ox for offering, In his court-yard. A cup of gold, crown’d with red wine, he held On th’ holy incensory pour’d. You, when the ox was fell’d, Were dressing his divided limbs; we in the portal stood. Achilles seeing us come so near, his honourable blood Was strook with a respective shame, rose, took us by the hands, Brought us both in, and made us sit, and us’d his kind commands For seemly hospitable rites, which quickly were appos’d. Then, after needfulness of food, I first of all disclos’d The royal cause of our repair; mov’d you and your great friend To consort our renown’d designs; both straight did condescend. Your fathers knew it, gave consent, and grave instruction To both your valours. Peleus charg’d his most unequall’d son To govern his victorious strength, and shine past all the rest In honour, as in mere main force.
Then were thy partings blest With dear advices from thy sire; ‘My lovéd son,’ said he, ‘Achilles, by his grace of birth, superior is to thee, And for his force more excellent, yet thou more ripe in years; Then with sound counsels, age’s fruits, employ his honour’d years, Command and overrule his moods; his nature will obey In any charge discreetly giv’n, that doth his good assay.’ “Thus charg’d thy sire, which thou forgett’st. Yet now at last approve, With forcéd reference of these, th’ attraction of his love; Who knows if sacred influence may bless thy good intent, And enter with thy gracious words, ev’n to his full consent? The admonition of a friend is sweet and vehement. If any oracle he shun, or if his mother-queen Hath brought him some instinct from Jove, that fortifies his spleen, Let him resign command to thee of all his Myrmidons, And yield by that means some repulse to our confusions, Adorning thee in his bright arms, that his resembled form May haply make thee thought himself, and calm this hostile storm; That so a little we may ease our overchargéd hands, Draw some breath, not expire it all.
The foe but faintly stands Beneath his labours; and your charge being fierce, and freshly giv’n, They eas’ly from our tents and fleet may to their walls be driv’n.” This mov’d the good Patroclus’ mind; who made his utmost haste T’ inform his friend; and as the fleet of Ithacus he past, (At which their markets were dispos’d, councils, and martial courts, And where to th’ altars of the Gods they made divine resorts) He met renown’d Eurypylus, Evemon’s noble son, Halting, his thigh hurt with a shaft, the liquid sweat did run Down from his shoulders and his brows, and from his raging wound Forth flow’d his melancholy blood, yet still his mind was sound. His sight in kind Patroclus’ breast to sacred pity turn’d, And (nothing more immartial for true ruth) thus he mourn’d: “Ah wretched progeny of Greece, princes, dejected kings, Was it your fates to nourish beasts, and serve the outcast wings Of savage vultures here in Troy? Tell me, Evemon’s fame, Do yet the Greeks withstand his force, whom yet no force can tame? Or are they hopeless thrown to death by his resistless lance?”
“Divine Patroclus,” he replied, “no more can Greece advance Defensive weapons, but to fleet they headlong must retire, For those that to this hour have held our fleet from hostile fire, And are the bulwarks of our host, lie wounded at their tents, And Troy’s unvanquishable pow’r, still as it toils augments. But take me to thy black-stern’d ship, save me, and from my thigh Cut out this arrow, and the blood, that is ingor’d and dry, Wash with warm water from the wound; then gentle salves apply, Which thou know’st best, thy princely friend hath taught thee surgery, Whom, of all Centaurs the most just, Chiron did institute. Thus to thy honourable hands my ease I prosecute, Since our physicians cannot help. Machaon at his tent Needs a physician himself, being leech and patient; And Podalirius, in the field, the sharp conflict sustains.” Strong Menœtiades replied: “How shall I ease thy pains? What shall we do, Eurypylus? I am to use all haste, To signify to Thetis’ son occurrents that have past, At Nestor’s honourable suit. But be that work achiev’d When this is done, I will not leave thy torments unrelieved.” This said, athwart his back he cast, beneath his breast, his arm, And nobly help’d him to his tent. His servants, seeing his harm, Dispread ox-hides upon the earth, whereon Machaon lay. Patroclus cut out the sharp shaft, and clearly wash’d away With lukewarm water the black blood; then ’twixt his hands he bruis’d A sharp and mitigatory root; which when he had infus’d Into the green, well-cleansed, wound, the pains he felt before Were well, and instantly allay’d; the wound did bleed no more.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.