The Iliads of Homer Translated according to the Greek · Homer
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Sigma continues the alarms, And fashions the renownéd arms. They fought still like the rage of fire. And now Antilochus Came to Æacides, whose mind was much solicitous For that which, as he fear’d, was fall’n. He found him near the fleet With upright sail-yards, utt’ring this to his heroic conceit: “Ah me! Why see the Greeks themselves thus beaten from the field, And routed headlong to their fleet? O let not heaven yield Effect to what my sad soul fears, that, as I was foretold, The strongest Myrmidon next me, when I should still behold The sun’s fair light, must part with it. Past doubt Menœtius’ son Is he on whom that fate is wrought. O wretch, to leave undone What I commanded; that, the fleet once freed of hostile fire, Not meeting Hector, instantly he should his pow’rs retire.” As thus his troubled mind discours’d, Antilochus appear’d, And told with tears the sad news thus: “My lord, that must be heard Which would to heav’n I might not tell! Menœtius’ son lies dead, And for his naked corse (his arms already forfeited, And worn by Hector) the debate is now most vehement.” This said, grief darken’d all his pow’rs.
With both his hands he rent The black mould from the forcéd earth, and pour’d it on his head, Smear’d all his lovely face; his weeds, divinely fashionéd, All fil’d and mangled; and himself he threw upon the shore, Lay, as laid out for funeral, then tumbled round, and tore His gracious curls. His ecstasy he did so far extend, That all the ladies won by him and his now slaughter’d friend, Afflicted strangely for his plight, came shrieking from the tents, And fell about him, beat their breasts, their tender lineaments Dissolv’d with sorrow. And with them wept Nestor’s warlike son, Fell by him, holding his fair hands, in fear he would have done His person violence; his heart, extremely straiten’d, burn’d, Beat, swell’d, and sigh’d as it would burst. So terribly he mourn’d, That Thetis, sitting in the deeps of her old father’s seas, Heard, and lamented. To her plaints the bright Nereides Flock’d all, how many those dark gulfs soever comprehend.
There Glauce, and Cymodoce, and Spio, did attend, Nessea, and Cymothoe, and calm Amphithoe, Thalia, Thoa, Panope, and swift Dynamene, Actæa, and Limnoria, and Halia the fair Fam’d for the beauty of her eyes, Amathia for her hair, Iæra, Proto, Clymene, and curl’d Dexamene, Pherusa, Doris, and with these the smooth Amphinome, Chaste Galatea so renown’d, and Callianira, came, With Doto and Orythia, to cheer the mournful dame. Apseudes likewise visited, and Callianassa gave Her kind attendance, and with her Agave grac’d the cave, Nemertes, Mæra, followéd, Melita, Ianesse, With Ianira, and the rest of those Nereides That in the deep seas make abode; all which together beat Their dewy bosoms; and to all, thus Thetis did repeat Her cause of mourning: “Sisters, hear, how much the sorrows weigh, Whose cries now call’d ye. Hapless I brought forth unhappily The best of all the sons of men; who, like a well-set plant In best soils, grew and flourishéd; and when his spirit did want Employment for his youth and strength, I sent him with a fleet To fight at Ilion; from whence his fate-confinéd feet Pass all my deity to retire. The court of his high birth, The glorious court of Peleüs, must entertain his worth Never hereafter.
All the life he hath to live with me Must waste in sorrows. And this son I now am bent to see, Being now afflicted with some grief not usually grave, Whose knowledge and recure I seek.” This said, she left her cave, Which all left with her; swimming forth, the green waves, as they sworn, Cleft with their bosoms, curl’d, and gave quick way to Troy. Being come, They all ascended, two and two, and trod the honour’d shore, Till where the fleet of Myrmidons, drawn up in heaps, it bore. There stay’d they at Achilles’ ship; and there did Thetis lay Her fair hand on her son’s curl’d head, sigh’d, wept, and bade him say What grief drew from his eyes those tears? “Conceal it not,” said she, “Till this hour thy uplifted hands have all things granted thee. The Greeks, all thrust up at their sterns, have pour’d out tears enow, And in them seen how much they miss remission of thy vow.” He said, “’Tis true, Olympius hath done me all that grace, But what joy have I of it all, when thus thrusts in the place Loss of my whole self in my friend?
Whom, when his foe had slain, He spoil’d of those profanéd arms, that Peleus did obtain From heav’n’s high Pow’rs, solemnizing thy sacred nuptial bands, As th’ only present of them all, and fitted well their hands, Being lovely, radiant, marvellous. O would to heav’n thy throne, With these fair Deities of the sea, thou still hadst sat upon, And Peleus had a mortal wife; since by his means is done So much wrong to thy grievéd mind, my death being set so soon, And never suff’ring my return to grace of Peleus’ court! Nor do I wish it; nor to live in any man’s resort, But only that the crying blood, for vengeance of my friend Mangled by Hector, may be still’d; his foe’s death paying his end.” She, weeping, said: “That hour is near, and thy death’s hour then nigh; Which, in thy wish serv’d of thy foe, succeedeth instantly.” “And instantly it shall succeed,” he answer’d “since my fate Allow’d not to my will a pow’r to rescue, ere the date Of his late slaughter, my true friend. Far from his friends he died, Whose wrong therein my eyes had light and right to see denied.
Yet now I neither light myself, nor have so spent my light, That either this friend or the rest (in numbers infinite Slaughter’d by Hector) I can help, nor grace with wish’d repair To our dear country, but breathe here unprofitable air, And only live a load to earth with all my strength, though none Of all the Grecians equal it. In counsel many a one Is my superior; what I have, no grace gets; what I want Disgraceth all. How then too soon can hastiest death supplant My fate-curst life? Her instrument to my indignity Being that black fiend Contention; whom would to God might die To Gods and men; and Anger too, that kindles tyranny In men most wise, being much more sweet than liquid honey is To men of pow’r to satiate their watchful enmities; And like a pliant fume it spreads through all their breasts; as late It stole stern passage thorough mine, which he did instigate That is our Gen’ral. But the fact so long past, the effect Must vanish with it, though both griev’d; nor must we still respect Our soothéd humours. Need now takes the rule of either’s mind. And when the loser of my friend his death in me shall find, Let death take all.
Send him, ye Gods, I’ll give him my embrace. Not Hercules himself shunn’d death, though dearest in the grace Of Jupiter; ev’n him Fate stoop’d, and Juno’s cruelty. And if such fate expect my life, where death strikes I will lie. Meantime I wish a good renown that these deep breasted dames Of Ilion and Dardania may, for the extinguish’d flames Of their friends’ lives, with both their hands wipe miserable tears From their so-curiously-kept cheeks, and be the officers To execute my sighs on Troy, when (seeing my long retreat But gather’d strength, and gives my charge an answerable heat) They well may know ’twas I lay still, and that my being away Presented all their happiness. But any further stay (Which your much love perhaps may wish) assay not to persuade; All vows are kept, all pray’rs heard; now, free way for fight is made.” The silver-footed Dame replied: “It fits thee well, my son, To keep destruction from thy friends; but those fair arms are won And worn by Hector, that should keep thyself in keeping them, Though their fruition be but short, a long death being near him, Whose cruel glory they are yet.
By all means then forbear To tread the massacres of war, till I again appear From Mulciber with fit new arms; which, when thy eye shall see The sun next rise, shall enter here with his first beams and me.” Thus to her Sisters of the Sea she turn’d, and bade them ope The doors and deeps of Nereüs; she in Olympus’ top Must visit Vulcan for new arms to serve her wreakful son, And bade inform her father so, with all things further done. This said, they underwent the sea, herself flew up to heav’n. In mean space, to the Hellespont and ships the Greeks were driv’n In shameful rout; nor could they yet, from rage of Priam’s son, Secure the dead of new assaults, both horse and men made on With such impression. Thrice the feet the hands of Hector seiz’d, And thrice th’ Ajaces thump’d him off. With whose repulse displeas’d, He wreak’d his wrath upon the troops, then to the corse again Made horrid turnings, crying out of his repulséd men, And would not quit him quite for death.
A lion almost sterv’d Is not by upland herdsman driv’n, from urging to be serv’d, With more contention, than his strength by those two of a name; And had perhaps his much-prais’d will, if th’ airy-footed Dame, Swift Iris, had not stoop’d in haste, ambassadress from heav’n To Peleus’ son, to bid him arm; her message being giv’n By Juno, kept from all the Gods; she thus excited him: “Rise, thou most terrible of men, and save the precious limb Of thy belov’d; in whose behalf, the conflict now runs high Before the fleet, the either host fells other mutually, These to retain, those to obtain. Amongst whom most of all Is Hector prompt, he’s apt to drag thy friend home, he your pall Will make his shoulders; his head forc’d, he’ll be most famous; rise, No more lie idle, set the foe a much more costly prize Of thy friend’s value than let dogs make him a monument, Where thy name will be grav’n.” He ask’d, “What Deity hath sent Thy presence hither?” She replied: “Saturnia, she alone, Not high Jove knowing, nor one God that doth inhabit on Snowy Olympus.” He again: “How shall I set upon The work of slaughter, when mine arms are worn by Priam’s son?
How will my Goddess-mother grieve, that bade I should not arm Till she brought arms from Mulciber! But should I do such harm To her and duty, who is he, but Ajax, that can vaunt The fitting my breast with his arms; and he is conversant Amongst the first in use of his, and rampires of the foe Slain near Patroclus builds to him?” “All this,” said she, “we know, And wish thou only wouldst but show thy person to the eyes Of these hot Ilians, that, afraid of further enterprise, The Greeks may gain some little breath.” She woo’d, and he was won; And straight Minerva honour’d him, who Jove’s shield clapp’d upon His mighty shoulders, and his head girt with a cloud of gold That cast beams round about his brows.
And as when arms enfold A city in an isle, from thence a fume at first appears, Being in the day, but, when the even her cloudy forehead rears, Thick show the fires, and up they cast their splendour, that men nigh, Seeing their distress, perhaps may set ships out to their supply; So (to show such aid) from his head a light rose, scaling heav’n, And forth the wall he stept and stood, nor brake the precept giv’n By his great mother, mix’d in fight, but sent abroad his voice; Which Pallas far-off echoéd, who did betwixt them hoise Shrill tumult to a topless height. And as a voice is heard With emulous affectión, when any town is spher’d With siege of such a foe as kills men’s minds, and for the town Makes sound his trumpet; so the voice from Thetis’ issue thrown Won emulously th’ ears of all. His brazen voice once heard, The minds of all were startled so they yielded; and so fear’d The fair-man’d horses, that they flew back, and their chariots turn’d, Presaging in their augurous hearts the labours that they mourn’d A little after; and their guides a repercussive dread Took from the horrid radiance of his refulgent head, Which Pallas set on fire with grace.
Thrice great Achilles spake, And thrice (in heat of all the charge) the Trojans started back. Twelve men, of greatest strength in Troy, left with their lives exhal’d Their chariots and their darts, to death with his three summons call’d. And then the Grecians spritefully drew from the darts the corse, And hears’d it, bearing it to fleet; his friends with all remorse Marching about it. His great friend dissolving then in tears To see his truly-lov’d return’d, so hors’d upon an hearse, Whom with such horse and chariot he set out safe and whole, Now wounded with unpitying steel, now sent without a soul, Never again to be restor’d, never receiv’d but so, He follow’d mourning bitterly. The sun (yet far to go) Juno commanded to go down; who, in his pow’r’s despite, Sunk to the ocean, over earth dispersing sudden night. And then the Greeks and Trojans both gave up their horse and darts. The Trojans all to council call’d, ere they refresh’d their hearts With any supper, nor would sit; they grew so stiff with fear To see, so long from heavy fight, Æacides appear. Polydamas began to speak, who only could discern Things future by things past, and was vow’d friend to Hector, born In one night both.
He thus advis’d: “Consider well, my friends, In this so great and sudden change, that now itself extends, What change is best for us t’ oppose. To this stands my command: Make now the town our strength, not here abide light’s rosy hand, Our wall being far off, and our foe, much greater, still as near. Till this foe came, I well was pleas’d to keep our watches here, My fit hope of the fleet’s surprise inclin’d me so; but now ’Tis stronglier guarded, and, their strength increas’d, we must allow Our own proportionate amends. I doubt exceedingly That this indiff’rency of fight ’twixt us and th’ enemy, And these bounds we prefix to them, will nothing so confine Th’ uncurb’d mind of Æacides. The height of his design Aims at our city and our wives; and all bars in his way (Being back’d with less than walls) his pow’r will scorn to make his stay, And over-run, as over-seen and not his object. Then Let Troy be freely our retreat; lest, being enforc’d, our men ‘Twixt this and that be taken up by vultures, who by night May safe come off, it being a time untimely for his might To spend at random; that being sure.
If next light show us here To his assaults, each man will wish, that Troy his refuge were, And then feel what he hears not now. I would to heav’n mine ear Were free ev’n now of those complaints, that you must after hear If ye remove not! If ye yield, though wearied with a fight So late and long, we shall have strength in council and the night. And (where we here have no more force, than need will force us to, And which must rise out of our nerves) high ports, tow’rs, walls will do What wants in us; and in the morn, all arm’d upon our tow’rs, We all will stand out to our foe. ’Twill trouble all his pow’rs, To come from fleet and give us charge, when his high-crested horse His rage shall satiate with the toil of this and that way’s course, Vain entry seeking underneath our well-defended walls, And he be glad to turn to fleet, about his funerals. For of his entry here at home, what mind will serve his thirst, Or ever feed him with sack’d Troy? The dogs shall eat him first.” At this speech Hector bent his brows, and said: “This makes not great Your grace with me, Polydamas, that argue for retreat To Troy’s old prison.
Have we not enough of those tow’rs yet? And is not Troy yet charg’d enough, with impositions set Upon her citizens, to keep our men from spoil without, But still we must impose within? That houses with our rout As well as purses may be plagu’d? Before time, Priam’s town Traffick’d with divers-languag’d men, and all gave the renown Of rich Troy to it, brass and gold abounding; but her store Is now from ev’ry house exhaust; possessions evermore Are sold out into Phrygia and lovely Mæony; And have been ever since Jove’s wrath. And now his clemency Gives me the mean to quit our want with glory, and conclude The Greeks in sea-bords and our seas, to slack it, and extrude His offer’d bounty by our flight. Fool that thou art, bewray This counsel to no common ear, for no man shall obey; If any will, I’ll check his will. But what our self command, Let all observe. Take suppers all, keep watch of ev’ry hand. If any Trojan have some spoil, that takes his too much care, Make him dispose it publicly; ’tis better any fare The better for him, than the Greeks. When light then decks the skies, Let all arm for a fierce assault.
If great Achilles rise, And will enforce our greater toil, it may rise so to him. On my back he shall find no wings, my spirit shall force my limb To stand his worst, and give or take. Mars is our common lord, And the desirous swordsman’s life he ever puts to sword.” This counsel gat applause of all, so much were all unwise; Minerva robb’d them of their brains, to like the ill advice The great man gave, and leave the good since by the meaner given. All took their suppers; but the Greeks spent all the heavy even About Patroclus’ mournful rites, Pelides leading all In all the forms of heaviness. He by his side did fall, And his man-slaught’ring hands impos’d into his oft-kiss’d breast, Sighs blew up sighs; and lion-like, grac’d with a goodly crest, That in his absence being robb’d by hunters of his whelps, Returns to his so desolate den, and, for his wanted helps, Beholding his unlook’d-for wants, flies roaring back again, Hunts the sly hunter, many a vale resounding his disdain; So mourn’d Pelides his late loss, so weighty were his moans, Which, for their dumb sounds, now gave words to all his Myrmidons: “O Gods,” said he, “how vain a vow I made, to cheer the mind Of sad Menœtius, when his son his hand to mine resign’d, That high-tow’r’d Opus he should see, and leave ras’d Ilion With spoil and honour, ev’n with me! But Jove vouchsafes to none Wish’d passages to all his vows; we both were destinate To bloody one earth here in Troy; nor any more estate In my return hath Peleüs or Thetis; but because I last must undergo the ground, I’ll keep no fun’ral laws, O my Patroclus, for thy corse, before I hither bring The arms of Hector and his head to thee for offering. Twelve youths, the most renown’d of Troy, I’ll sacrifice beside, Before thy heap of funeral, to thee unpacified.
In mean time, by our crooked sterns lie, drawing tears from me, And round about thy honour’d corse, these dames of Dardanie, And Ilion, with the ample breasts (whom our long spears and pow’rs And labours purchas’d from the rich and by-us-ruin’d tow’rs, And cities strong and populous with divers-languag’d men) Shall kneel, and neither day nor night be licens’d to abstain From solemn watches, their toil’d eyes held ope with endless tears.” This passion past, he gave command to his near soldiers To put a tripod to the fire, to cleanse the fester’d gore From off the person. They obey’d, and presently did pour Fresh water in it, kindled wood, and with an instant flame The belly of the tripod girt, till fire’s hot quality came Up to the water. Then they wash’d, and fill’d the mortal wound With wealthy oil of nine years old; then wrapp’d the body round In largeness of a fine white sheet, and put it then in bed; When all watch’d all night with their lord, and spent sighs on the dead. Then Jove ask’d Juno: “If at length she had sufficed her spleen, Achilles being won to arms? Or if she had not been The natural mother of the Greeks, she did so still prefer Their quarrel?”
She, incens’d, ask’d: “Why he still was taunting her, For doing good to those she lov’d? since man to man might show Kind offices, though thrall to death, and though they did not know Half such deep counsels as disclos’d beneath her far-seeing state, She, reigning queen of Goddesses, and being in generate Of one stock with himself, besides the state of being his wife And must her wrath, and ill to Troy, continue such a strife From time to time ’twixt him and her?” This private speech they had. And now the Silver-footed Queen had her ascension made To that incorruptible house, that starry golden court Of fi’ry Vulcan, beautiful amongst th’ immortal sort, Which yet the lame God built himself. She found him in a sweat About his bellows, and in haste had twenty tripods beat. To set for stools about the sides of his well-builded hall, To whose feet little wheels of gold he put, to go withal, And enter his rich dining room, alone, their motion free, And back again go out alone, miraculous to see. And thus much he had done of them, yet handles were to add, For which he now was making studs.
And while their fashion had Employment of his skilful hand, bright Thetis was come near; Whom first fair well-hair’d Charis saw, that was the nuptial fere Of famous Vulcan, who the hand of Thetis took, and said: “Why, fair-train’d, lov’d, and honour’d dame, are we thus visited By your kind presence? You, I think, were never here before. Come near, that I may banquet you, and make you visit more.” She led her in, and in a chair of silver (being the fruit Of Vulcan’s hand) she made her sit, a footstool of a suit Apposing to her crystal feet; and call’d the God of fire, For Thetis was arriv’d, she said, and entertain’d desire Of some grace that his art might grant. “Thetis to me,” said he, “Is mighty, and most reverend, as one that nourish’d me, When grief consum’d me, being cast from heaven by want of shame In my proud mother, who, because she brought me forth so lame, Would have me made away; and then, had I been much distress’d Had Thetis and Eurynome in either’s silver breast Not rescu’d me; Eurynome that to her father had Reciprocal Oceanus. Nine years with them I made A number of well-arted things, round bracelets, buttons brave, Whistles, and carquenets.
My forge stood in a hollow cave, About which, murmuring with foam, th’ unmeasur’d ocean Was ever beating; my abode known nor to God nor man, But Thetis and Eurynome, and they would see me still, They were my loving guardians. Now then the starry hill, And our particular roof, thus grac’d with bright-hair’d Thetis here, It fits me always to repay, a recompense as dear To her thoughts, as my life to me. Haste, Charis, and appose Some dainty guest-rites to our friend, while I my bellows loose From fire, and lay up all my tools.” Then from an anvil rose Th’ unwieldy monster, halt’d down, and all awry he went. He took his bellows from the fire, and ev’ry instrument Lock’d safe up in a silver chest.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.