The Iliads of Homer Translated according to the Greek · Homer
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Jove sees in O his oversight, Chides Juno, Neptune calls from fight. The Trojans, beat past pale and dike, and numbers prostrate laid, All got to chariot, fear-driv’n all, and fear’d as men dismay’d. Then Jove on Ida’s top awak’d, rose from Saturnia’s side, Stood up, and look’d upon the war; and all inverted spied Since he had seen it; th’ Ilians now in rout, the Greeks in fight; King Neptune, with his long sword, chief; great Hector put down quite, Laid flat in field, and with a crown of princes compasséd So stopp’d up that he scarce could breathe, his mind’s sound habit fled, And he still spitting blood. Indeed, his hurt was not set on By one that was the weakest Greek. But him Jove look’d upon With eyes of pity; on his wife with horrible aspéct, To whom he said: “O thou in ill most cunning architect, All arts and comments that exceed’st! not only to enforce Hector from fight, but, with his men, to show the Greeks a course.
I fear, as formerly, so now, these ills have with thy hands Their first fruits sown, and therefore could load all thy limbs with bands, Forgett’st thou, when I hang’d thee up, how to thy feet I tied Two anvils, golden manacles on thy false wrists implied, And let thee mercilessly hang from our refinéd heav’n Ev’n to earth’s vapours; all the Gods in great Olympus giv’n To mutinies about thee, yet, though all stood staring on, None durst dissolve thee, for these hands, had they but seiz’d upon Thy friend, had headlong thrown him off from our star-bearing round, Till he had tumbled out his breath, and piece-meal dash’d the ground? Nor was my angry spirit calm’d so soon, for those foul seas, On which, inducing northern flaws, thou shipwrack’dst Hercules, And toss’d him to the Coan shore, that thou shouldst tempt again My wrath’s importance, when thou seest, besides, how grossly vain My pow’rs can make thy policies; for from their utmost force I freed my son, and set him safe in Argos, nurse of horse. These I remember to thy thoughts, that thou may’st shun these sleights, And know how badly bed-sports thrive, procur’d by base deceits.”
This frighted the offending queen, who with this state excus’d Her kind unkindness: “Witness Earth, and Heav’n so far diffus’d, Thou Flood whose silent gliding waves the under ground doth bear, (Which is the great’st and gravest oath, that any God can swear) Thy sacred head, those secret joys that our young bed gave forth, By which I never rashly swore! that He who shakes the earth Not by my counsel did this wrong to Hector and his host, But, pitying th’ oppresséd Greeks, their fleet being nearly lost, Reliev’d their hard conditión, yet utterly impell’d By his free mind. Which since I see is so offensive held To thy high pleasure, I will now advise him not to tread But where thy tempest-raising feet, O Jupiter, shall lead.” Jove laugh’d to hear her so submiss, and said: “My fair-ey’d love, If still thus thou and I were one, in counsels held above, Neptune would still in word and fact be ours, if not in heart. If then thy tongue and heart agree, from hence to heav’n depart, To call the excellent-in-bows, the Rain-bow, and the Sun, That both may visit both the hosts; the Grecian army one, And that is Iris, let her haste, and make the Sea-god cease T’ assist the Greeks, and to his court retire from war in peace; Let Phœbus, on the Trojan part, inspire with wonted pow’r Great Hector’s spirits, make his thoughts forget the late stern hour, And all his anguish, setting on his whole recover’d man To make good his late grace in fight, and hold in constant wane The Grecian glories, till they fall, in flight before the fleet Of vex’d Achilles.
Which extreme will prove the mean to greet Thee with thy wish, for then the eyes of great Æacides (Made witness of the gen’ral ill, that doth so near him prease) Will make his own particular look out, and by degrees Abate his wrath, that, though himself for no extremities Will seem reflected, yet his friend may get of him the grace To help his country in his arms; and he shall make fit place For his full presence with his death, which shall be well fore-run; For I will first renown his life with slaughter of my son, Divine Sarpedon, and his death great Hector’s pow’r shall wreak, Ending his ends. Then, at once, out shall the fury break Of fierce Achilles, and, with that, the flight now felt shall turn, And then last, till in wrathful flames the long-sieg’d Ilion burn. Minerva’s counsel shall become grave mean to this my will, Which no God shall neglect before Achilles take his fill Of slaughter for his slaughter’d friend; ev’n Hector’s slaughter thrown Under his anger; that these facts may then make fully known My vow’s performance, made of late, and, with my bowéd head, Confirm’d to Thetis, when her arms embrac’d my knees, and pray’d That to her city-razing son I would all honour show.”
This heard, his charge she seem’d t’ intend, and to Olympus flew. But, as the mind of such a man that hath a great way gone, And either knowing not his way, or then would let alone His purpos’d journey, is distract, and in his vexéd mind Resolves now not to go, now goes, still many ways inclin’d; So rev’rend Juno headlong flew, and ’gainst her stomach striv’d, For, being amongst th’ immortal Gods in high heav’n soon arriv’d, All rising, welcoming with cups her little absence thence, She all their courtships overpass’d with solemn negligence, Save that which fair-cheek’d Themis show’d, and her kind cup she took, For first she ran and met with her, and ask’d: “What troubled look She brought to heav’n? She thought, for truth, that Jove had terrified Her spirits strangely since she went.” The fair-arm’d Queen replied: “That truth may eas’ly be suppos’d; you, Goddess Themis, know His old severity and pride, but you bear’t out with show, And like the banquet’s arbiter amongst th’ Immortals’ fare, Though well you hear amongst them all, how bad his actions are; Nor are all here, or anywhere, mortals, nor Gods, I fear, Entirely pleas’d with what he does, though thus ye banquet here.”
Thus took she place, displeasedly; the feast in general Bewraying privy spleens at Jove; and then, to colour all, She laugh’d, but merely from her lips, for over her black brows Her still-bent forehead was not clear’d; yet this her passion’s throes Brought forth in spite, being lately school’d: “Alas, what fools are we That envy Jove! Or that by act, word, thought, can fantasy Any resistance to his will! He sits far off, nor cares, Nor moves, but says he knows his strength, to all degrees compares His greatness past all other Gods, and that in fortitude, And ev’ry other godlike pow’r, he reigns past all indu’d. For which great eminence all you Gods, whatever ill he does, Sustain with patience. Here is Mars, I think, not free from woes, And yet he bears them like himself. The great God had a son, Whom he himself yet justifies, one that from all men won Just surname of their best belov’d, Ascalaphus; yet he, By Jove’s high grace to Troy, is slain.” Mars started horribly, As Juno knew he would, at this, beat with his hurl’d-out hands His brawny thighs, cried out, and said: “O you that have commands In these high temples, bear with me, if I revenge the death Of such a son.
I’ll to the fleet, and though I sink beneath The fate of being shot to hell, by Jove’s fell thunder-stone, And lie all grim’d amongst the dead with dust and blood, my son Revenge shall honour.” Then he charg’d Fear and Dismay to join His horse and chariot. He got arms, that over heav’n did shine And then a wrath more great and grave in Jove had been prepar’d Against the Gods than Juno caus’d, if Pallas had not car’d More for the peace of heav’n than Mars; who leap’d out of her throne, Rapt up her helmet, lance, and shield, and made her fane’s porch groan With her egression to his stay, and thus his rage defers: “Furious and foolish, th’ art undone! Hast thou for nought thine ears? Heard’st thou not Juno being arriv’d from heav’n’s great King but now? Or wouldst thou he himself should rise, forc’d with thy rage, to show The dreadful pow’r she urg’d in him, so justly being stirr’d? Know, thou most impudent and mad, thy wrath had not inferr’d Mischief to thee, but to us all. His spirit had instantly Left both the hosts, and turn’d his hands to uproars in the sky, Guilty and guiltless both to wrack in his high rage had gone.
And therefore, as thou lov’st thyself, cease fury for thy son; Another, far exceeding him in heart and strength of hand, Or is, or will be shortly, slain. It were a work would stand Jove in much trouble, to free all from death that would not die.” This threat ev’n nail’d him to his throne; when heav’n’s chief Majesty Call’d bright Apollo from his fane, and Iris that had place Of internunciess from the Gods, to whom she did the grace Of Jupiter, to this effect: “It is Saturnius’ will, That both, with utmost speed, should stoop to the Idalian hill, To know his further pleasure there. And this let me advise, When you arrive, and are in reach of his refulgent eyes, His pleasure heard, perform it all, of whatsoever kind.” Thus mov’d she back, and us’d her throne. Those two outstripp’d the wind, And Ida all-enchas’d with springs they soon attain’d, and found Where far-discerning Jupiter, in his repose, had crown’d The brows of Gargarus, and wrapt an odorif’rous cloud About his bosom. Coming near, they stood. Nor now he show’d His angry count’nance, since so soon he saw they made th’ access That his lov’d wife enjoin’d; but first the fair ambassadress He thus commanded: “Iris, go to Neptune, and relate Our pleasure truly, and at large.
Command him from the fate Of human war, and either greet the Gods’ society, Or the divine sea make his seat. If proudly he deny, Let better counsels be his guides, than such as bid me war, And tempt my charge, though he be strong, for I am stronger far, And elder born. Nor let him dare, to boast even state with me Whom all Gods else prefer in fear.” This said, down hasted she From Ida’s top to Ilion; and like a mighty snow, Or gelid hail, that from the clouds the northern spirit doth blow; So fell the windy-footed dame, and found with quick repair The wat’ry God, to whom she said: “God with the sable hair, I came from Ægis-bearing Jove, to bid thee cease from fight, And visit heav’n, or th’ ample seas. Which if, in his despite, Or disobedience, thou deniest, he threatens thee to come, In opposite fight, to field himself; and therefore warns thee home, His hands eschewing, since his pow’r is far-superior, His birth before thee; and affirms, thy lov’d heart should abhor To vaunt equality with him, whom ev’ry Deity fears.” He answer’d: “O unworthy thing! Though he be great, he bears His tongue too proudly, that ourself, born to an equal share Of state and freedom, he would force.
Three brothers born we are To Saturn, Rhea brought us forth, this Jupiter, and I. And Pluto, God of under-grounds. The world indiff’rently Dispos’d betwixt us; ev’ry one his kingdom; I the seas, Pluto the black lot, Jupiter the principalities Of broad heav’n, all the sky and clouds, was sorted out. The earth And high Olympus common are, and due to either’s birth. Why then should I be aw’d by him? Content he his great heart With his third portion, and not think, to amplify his part, With terrors of his stronger hands, on me, as if I were The most ignoble of us all. Let him contain in fear His daughters and his sons, begot by his own person, This Holds more convenience. They must hear these violent threats of his.” “Shall I,” said Iris, “bear from thee, an answer so austere? Or wilt thou change it? Changing minds, all noble natures bear. And well thou know’st, these greatest born, the Furies follow still.” He answer’d: “Iris, thy reply keeps time, and shows thy skill. O ’tis a most praiseworthy thing, when messengers can tell, Besides their messages, such things, as fit th’ occasion well.
But this much grieves my heart and soul, that being in pow’r and state All-ways his equal, and so fix’d by one decree in fate, He should to me, as under him, ill language give, and chide. Yet now, though still incens’d, I yield, affirming this beside, And I enforce it with a threat: That if without consent Of me, Minerva, Mercury, the Queen of regiment, And Vulcan, he will either spare high Ilion, or not race Her turrets to the lowest stone, and, with both these, not grace The Greeks as victors absolute, inform him this from me— His pride and my contempt shall live at endless enmity.” This said, he left the Greeks, and rush’d into his wat’ry throne, Much miss’d of all th’ heroic host. When Jove discern’d him gone, Apollo’s service he employ’d, and said: “Lov’d Phœbus, go To Hector; now th’ earth-shaking God hath taken sea, and so Shrunk from the horrors I denounc’d; which standing, he, and all The under-seated Deities, that circle Saturn’s fall, Had heard of me in such a fight as had gone hard for them. But both for them and me ’tis best, that thus they fly th’ extreme, That had not pass’d us without sweat.
Now then, in thy hands take My adder-fring’d affrighting shield, which with such terror shake, That fear may shake the Greeks to flight. Besides this, add thy care, O Phœbus, far-off shooting God, that this so sickly fare Of famous Hector be recur’d, and quickly so excite His amplest pow’rs, that all the Greeks may grace him with their flight, Ev’n to their ships, and Hellespont; and then will I devise All words and facts again for Greece, that largely may suffice To breathe them from their instant toils.” Thus from th’ Idæan height, Like air’s swift pigeon-killer, stoop’d the far-shot God of light, And found great Hector sitting up, not stretch’d upon his bed, Not wheezing with a stopp’d-up spirit, not in cold sweats, but fed With fresh and comfortable veins, but his mind all his own, But round about him all his friends, as well as ever known. And this was with the mind of Jove, that flew to him before Apollo came; who, as he saw no sign of any sore, Ask’d, like a cheerful visitant: “Why in this sickly kind, Great Hector, sitt’st thou so apart? Can any grief of mind Invade thy fortitude?” He spake, but with a feeble voice: “O thou, the best of Deities!
Why, since I thus rejoice By thy so serious benefit, demand’st thou, as in mirth, And to my face, if I were ill? For, more than what thy worth Must needs take note of, doth not Fame from all mouths fill thine ears, That, as my hand at th’ Achive fleet was making massacres Of men whom valiant Ajax led, his strength strook with a stone All pow’r of more hurt from my breast? My very soul was gone, And once to-day I thought to see the house of Dis and Death.” “Be strong,” said he, “for such a spirit now sends the God of breath From airy Ida, as shall run through all Greek spirits in thee. Apollo with the golden sword, the clear Far-seer, see, Him, who betwixt death and thy life, ’twixt ruin and those tow’rs, Ere this day oft hath held his shield. Come then, be all thy pow’rs In wonted vigour, let thy knights with all their horse assay The Grecian fleet, myself will lead, and scour so clear the way, That flight shall leave no Greek a rub.” Thus instantly inspir’d Were all his nerves with matchless strength; and then his friends he fir’d Against their foes, when to his eyes his ears confirm’d the God.
Then, as a goodly-headed hart, or goat, bred in the wood, A rout of country huntsmen chase, with all their hounds in cry, The beast yet or the shady woods, or rocks excessive high, Keep safe, or our unwieldy fates (that ev’n in hunters sway) Bar them the poor beast’s pulling down; when straight the clam’rous fray Calls out a lion, hugely-man’d, and his abhorréd view Turns headlong in unturning flight (though vent’rous) all the crew; So hitherto the chasing Greeks their slaughter dealt by troops; But, after Hector was beheld range here and there, then stoops The boldest courage, then their heels took in their drooping hearts, And then spake Andræmonides, a man of far-best parts Of all the Ætolians, skill’d in darts, strenuous in fights of stand, And one of whom few of the Greeks could get the better hand For rhetoric, when they fought with words; with all which being wise, Thus spake he to his Grecian friends: “O mischief! Now mine eyes Discern no little miracle; Hector escap’d from death, And all-recover’d, when all thought his soul had sunk beneath The hands of Ajax.
But some God hath sav’d and freed again Him that but now dissolv’d the knees of many a Grecian, And now I fear will weaken more; for, not without the hand Of Him that thunders, can his pow’rs thus still the forefights stand, Thus still triumphant. Hear me then: Our troops in quick retreat Let’s draw up to our fleet, and we, that boast ourselves the great, Stand firm, and try if these that raise so high their charging darts May be resisted. I believe, ev’n this great heart of hearts Will fear himself to be too bold, in charging thorow us.” They eas’ly heard him, and obey’d; when all the generous They call’d t’ encounter Hector’s charge, and turn’d the common men Back to the fleet. And these were they, that bravely furnish’d then The fierce forefight: Th’ Ajaces both, the worthy Cretan king, The Mars-like Meges, Merion, and Teucer. Up then bring The Trojan chiefs their men in heaps; before whom, amply-pac’d, March’d Hector, and in front of him Apollo, who had cast About his bright aspect a cloud, and did before him bear Jove’s huge and each-where-shaggy shield, which, to contain in fear Offending men, the God-smith gave to Jove; with this he led The Trojan forces. The Greeks stood.
A fervent clamour spread The air on both sides as they join’d. Out flew the shafts and darts, Some falling short, but other some found butts in breasts and hearts. As long as Phœbus held but out his horrid shield, so long The darts flew raging either way, and death grew both ways strong; But when the Greeks had seen his face, and, who it was that shook The bristled targe, knew by his voice, then all their strengths forsook Their nerves and minds. And then look how a goodly herd of neat, Or wealthy flock of sheep, being close, and dreadless at their meet, In some black midnight, suddenly, and not a keeper near, A brace of horrid bears rush in, and then fly here and there The poor affrighted flocks or herds; so ev’ry way dispers’d The heartless Grecians, so the Sun their headstrong chace revers’d To headlong flight, and that day rais’d, with all grace, Hector’s head. Arcesilaus then he slew, and Stichius; Stichius led Bœotia’s brazen-coated men; the other was the friend Of mighty-soul’d Menestheüs. Æneas brought to end Medon and Jasus; Medon was the brother, though but base, Of swift Oïliades, and dwelt, far from his breeding place, In Phylace; the other led th’ Athenian bands, his sire Was Spelus, Bucolus’s son.
Mecistheus did expire Beneath Polydamas’s hand. Polites, Echius slew, Just at the joining of the hosts. Agenor overthrew Clonius. Bold Deïochus felt Alexander’s lance; It strook his shoulder’s upper part, and did his head advance Quite through his breast, as from the fight he turn’d him for retreat. While these stood spoiling of the slain, the Greeks found time to get Beyond the dike and th’ undik’d pales; all scapes they gladly gain’d, Till all had pass’d the utmost wall; Necessity so reign’d. Then Hector cried out: “Take no spoil, but rush on to the fleet; From whose assault, for spoil or flight, if any man I meet, He meets his death; nor in the fire of holy funeral His brother’s or his sister’s hands shall cast within our wall His loathéd body; but, without, the throats of dogs shall grave His manless limbs.” This said, the scourge his forward horses drave Through ev’ry order; and, with him, all whipp’d their chariots on, All threat’ningly, out-thund’ring shouts as earth were overthrown.
Before them march’d Apollo still, and, as he march’d, digg’d down, Without all labour, with his feet the dike, till, with his own, He fill’d it to the top, and made way both for man and horse As broad and long as with a lance, cast out to try one’s force, A man could measure. Into this they pour’d whole troops as fast As num’rous; Phœbus still, before, for all their haste, Still shaking Jove’s unvalu’d shield, and held it up to all. And then, as he had chok’d their dike, he tumbled down their wall. And look how eas’ly any boy, upon the sea-ebb’d shore, Makes with a little sand a toy, and cares for it no more, But as he rais’d it childishly, so in his wanton vein, Both with his hands and feet he pulls, and spurns it down again; So slight, O Phœbus, thy hands made of that huge Grecian toil, And their late stand, so well-resolv’d, as eas’ly mad’st recoil.
Thus stood they driv’n up at their fleet; where each heard other’s thought, Exhorted, passing humbly pray’d, all all the Gods besought, With hands held up to heav’n, for help. ’Mongst all the good old man, Grave Nestor, for his counsels call’d the Argives’ guardian, Fell on his aged knees, and pray’d, and to the starry host Stretch’d out his hands for aid to theirs, of all thus moving most: “O father Jove, if ever man, of all our host, did burn Fat thighs of oxen or of sheep, for grace of safe return, In fruitful Argos, and obtain’d the bowing of thy head For promise of his humble pray’rs, O now remember him, Thou merely heav’nly, and clear up the foul brows of this dim And cruel day; do not destroy our zeal for Trojan pride.” He pray’d, and heav’n’s great Counsellor with store of thunder tried His former grace good, and so heard the old man’s hearty pray’rs. The Trojans took Jove’s sign for them, and pour’d out their affairs In much more violence on the Greeks, and thought on nought but fight.
And as a huge wave of a sea, swoln to his rudest height, Breaks over both sides of a ship, being all-urg’d by the wind, For that’s it makes the wave so proud; in such a borne-up kind The Trojans overgat the wall, and, getting in their horse, Fought close at fleet, which now the Greeks ascended for their force. Then from their chariots they with darts, the Greeks with bead-hooks fought, Kept still aboard for naval fights, their heads with iron wrought In hooks and pikes. Achilles’ friend, still while he saw the wall, That stood without their fleet, afford employment for them all, Was never absent from the tent of that man-loving Greek, Late-hurt Eurypylus, but sate, and ev’ry way did seek, To spend the sharp time of his wound, with all the ease he could In med’cines, and in kind discourse. But when he might behold The Trojans past the wall, the Greeks flight-driv’n, and all in cries, Then cried he out, cast down his hands, and beat with grief his thighs, Then, “O Eurypylus,” he cried, “now all thy need of me Must bear my absence, now a work of more necessity Calls hence, and I must haste to call Achilles to the field. Who knows, but, God assisting me, my words may make him yield?
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