The Iliads of Homer Translated according to the Greek · Homer
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Then with a sponge he drest His face all over, neck and hands, and all his hairy breast; Put on his coat, his sceptre took, and then went halting forth, Handmaids of gold attending him, resembling in all worth Living young damsels, fill’d with minds and wisdom, and were train’d In all immortal ministry, virtue and voice contain’d, And mov’d with voluntary pow’rs; and these still wait’d on Their fi’ry sov’reign, who (not apt to walk) sate near the throne Of fair-hair’d Thetis, took her hand, and thus he court’d her: “For what affair, O fair-train’d queen, rev’rend to me, and dear, Is our court honour’d with thy state, that hast not heretofore Perform’d this kindness? Speak thy thoughts, thy suit can be no more Than my mind gives me charge to grant. Can my pow’r get it wrought? Or that it have not only pow’r of only act in thought?” She thus: “O Vulcan, is there one, of all that are of heav’n, That in her never-quiet mind Saturnius hath giv’n So much affliction as to me: whom only he subjects, Of all the sea-nymphs, to a man; and makes me bear th’ affects Of his frail bed; and all against the freedom of my will; And he worn to his root with age?
From him another ill Ariseth to me; Jupiter, you know, hath giv’n a son, The excellent’st of men, to me; whose education On my part well hath answered his own worth, having grown As in a fruitful soil a tree, that puts not up alone His body to a naked height, but jointly gives his growth A thousand branches; yet to him so short a life I brought, That never I shall see him more return’d to Peleus’ court. And all that short life he hath spent in most unhappy sort; For first he won a lovely dame, and had her by the hands Of all the Grecians, yet this dame Atrides countermands; For which in much disdain he mourn’d, and almost pin’d away. And yet for this wrong he receiv’d some honour, I must say; The Greeks, being shut up at their ships, not suffer’d to advance A head out of their batter’d sterns; and mighty suppliance By all their grave men hath been made, gifts, honours, all propos’d For his reflection; yet he still kept close, and saw enclos’d Their whole host in this gen’ral plague. But now his friend put on His arms, being sent by him to field, and many a Myrmidon In conduct of him.
All the day, they fought before the gates Of Scæa, and, most certainly, that day had seen the dates Of all Troy’s honours in her dust, if Phœbus (having done Much mischief more) the envied life of good Menœtius’ son Had not with partial hands enforc’d, and all the honour giv’n To Hector, who hath pris’d his arms. And therefore I am driv’n T’ embrace thy knees for new defence to my lov’d son. Alas! His life, prefix’d so short a date, had need spent that with grace. A shield then for him, and a helm, fair greaves, and curets, such As may renown thy workmanship, and honour him as much, I sue for at thy famous hands.” “Be confident,” said he, “Let these wants breed thy thoughts no care. I would it lay in me To hide him from his heavy death, when fate shall seek for him, As well as with renownéd arms to fit his goodly limb; Which thy hands shall convey to him; and all eyes shall admire, See, and desire again to see, thy satisfied desire.” This said, he left her there, and forth did to his bellows go, Appos’d them to the fire again, commanding them to blow.
Through twenty holes made to his hearth at once blew twenty pair, That fir’d his coals, sometimes with soft, sometimes with vehement, air, As he will’d, and his work requir’d. Amids the flame he cast Tin, silver, precious gold, and brass; and in a stock he plac’d A mighty anvil; his right hand a weighty hammer held, His left his tongs. And first he forg’d a strong and spacious shield Adorn’d with twenty sev’ral hues; about whose verge he beat A ring, three-fold and radiant, and on the back he set A silver handle; five-fold were the equal lines he drew About the whole circumference, in which his hand did shew (Directed with a knowing mind) a rare variety; For in it he presented Earth; in it the Sea and Sky; In it the never-wearied Sun, the Moon exactly round, And all those Stars with which the brows of ample heav’n are crown’d, Orion, all the Pleiades, and those sev’n Atlas got, The close-beam’d Hyades, the Bear, surnam’d the Chariot, That turns about heav’n’s axle-tree, holds ope a constant eye Upon Orion, and, of all the cressets in the sky, His golden forehead never bows to th’ Ocean empery. Two cities in the spacious shield he built, with goodly state Of divers-languag’d men.
The one did nuptials celebrate, Observing at them solemn feasts, the brides from forth their bow’rs With torches usher’d through the streets, a world of paramours Excited by them; youths and maids in lovely circles danc’d, To whom the merry pipe and harp their spritely sounds advanc’d, The matrons standing in their doors admiring. Other where A solemn court of law was kept, where throngs of people were. The case in question was a fine, impos’d on one that slew The friend of him that follow’d it, and for the fine did sue; Which th’ other pleaded he had paid. The adverse part denied, And openly affirm’d he had no penny satisfied. Both put it to arbitrement. The people cried ’twas best For both parts, and th’ assistants too gave their dooms like the rest. The heralds made the people peace. The seniors then did bear The voiceful heralds’ sceptres, sat within a sacred sphere, On polish’d stones, and gave by turns their sentence. In the court Two talents’ gold were cast, for him that judg’d in justest sort. The other city other wars employ’d as busily; Two armies glittering in arms, of one confed’racy, Besieg’d it; and a parlè had with those within the town.
Two ways they stood resolv’d; to see the city overthrown, Or that the citizens should heap in two parts all their wealth, And give them half. They neither lik’d, but arm’d themselves by stealth, Left all their old men, wives, and boys, behind to man their walls, And stole out to their enemy’s town. The Queen of martials, And Mars himself, conducted them; both which, being forg’d of gold, Must needs have golden furniture, and men might so behold They were presented Deities. The people, Vulcan forg’d Of meaner metal. When they came, where that was to be urg’d For which they went, within a vale close to a flood, whose stream Us’d to give all their cattle drink, they there enambush’d them, And sent two scouts out to descry, when th’ enemy’s herds and sheep Were setting out. They straight came forth, with two that us’d to keep Their passage always; both which pip’d, and went on merrily, Nor dream’d of ambuscadoes there. The ambush then let fly, Slew all their white-fleec’d sheep, and neat, and by them laid their guard.
When those in siege before the town so strange an uproar heard, Behind, amongst their flocks and herds (being then in council set) They then start up, took horse, and soon their subtle enemy met, Fought with them on the river’s shore, where both gave mutual blows With well-pil’d darts. Amongst them all perverse Contention rose, Amongst them Tumult was enrag’d, amongst them ruinous Fate Had her red-finger; some they took in an unhurt estate, Some hurt yet living, some quite slain, and those they tugg’d to them By both the feet, stripp’d off and took their weeds, with all the stream Of blood upon them that their steels had manfully let out. They far’d as men alive indeed drew dead indeed about. To these the fi’ry Artizan did add a new-ear’d field, Large and thrice plough’d, the soil being soft, and of a wealthy yield; And many men at plough he made, that drave earth here and there, And turn’d up stitches orderly; at whose end when they were, A fellow ever gave their hands full cups of luscious wine; Which emptied, for another stitch, the earth they undermine, And long till th’ utmost bound be reach’d of all the ample close.
The soil turn’d up behind the plough, all black like earth arose, Though forg’d of nothing else but gold, and lay in show as light As if it had been plough’d indeed, miraculous to sight. There grew by this a field of corn, high, ripe, where reapers wrought, And let thick handfuls fall to earth, for which some bought Bands, and made sheaves. Three binders stood, and took the handfuls reap’d From boys that gather’d quickly up, and by them armfuls heap’d. Amongst these at furrow’s end, the king stood pleas’d at heart, Said no word, but his sceptre show’d. And from him, much apart, His harvest-bailiffs underneath an oak a feast prepar’d And having kill’d a mighty ox, stood there to see him shar’d Which women for their harvest folks (then come to sup) had dress’d, And many white wheat-cakes bestow’d, to make it up a feast. He set near this a vine of gold, that crack’d beneath the weight Of bunches black with being ripe; to keep which at the height, A silver rail ran all along, and round about it flow’d An azure moat, and to this guard, a quickset was bestow’d Of tin, one only path to all, by which the pressmen came In time of vintage.
Youths and maids, that bore not yet the flame Of manly Hymen, baskets bore, of grapes and mellow fruit. A lad that sweetly touch’d a harp, to which his voice did suit, Center’d the circles of that youth, all whose skill could not do The wanton’s pleasure to their minds, that danc’d, sung, whistled too. A herd of oxen then he carv’d, with high rais’d heads, forg’d all Of gold and tin, for colour mix’d, and bellowing from their stall Rush’d to their pastures at a flood, that echo’d all their throats, Exceeding swift, and full of reeds; and all in yellow coats Four herdsmen follow’d; after whom, nine mastiffs went. In head Of all the herd, upon a bull, that deadly bellowéd, Two horrid lions rampt, and seiz’d, and tugg’d off bellowing still; Both men and dogs came; yet they tore the hide, and lapp’d their fill Of black blood, and the entrails ate. In vain the men assay’d To set their dogs on; none durst pinch, but cur-like stood and bay’d In both the faces of their kings, and all their onsets fled. Then in a passing pleasant vale, the famous Artsman fed, Upon a goodly pasture ground, rich flocks of white-fleec’d sheep, Built stables, cottages, and cotes, that did the shepherds keep From wind and weather.
Next to these, he cut a dancing place, All full of turnings, that was like the admirable maze For fair-hair’d Ariadne made, by cunning Dædalus; And in it youths and virgins danc’d, all young and beauteous, And glewéd in another’s palms. Weeds that the wind did toss The virgins wore; the youths wov’n coats, that cast a faint dim gloss Like that of oil. Fresh garlands too, the virgins’ temples crown’d; The youths gilt swords wore at their thighs, with silver bawdrics bound. Sometimes all wound close in a ring, to which as fast they spun As any wheel a turner makes, being tried how it will run, While he is set; and out again, as full of speed they wound, Not one left fast, or breaking hands. A multitude stood round, Delighted with their nimble sport; to end which two begun, Mids all, a song, and turning sung the sports conclusión, All this he circled in the shield, with pouring round about, In all his rage, the Ocean, that it might never out. This shield thus done, he forg’d for him, such curets as outshin’d The blaze of fire. A helmet then (through which no steel could find Forc’d passage) he compos’d, whose hue a hundred colours took, And in the crest a plume of gold, that each breath stirr’d, he stuck. All done, he all to Thetis brought, and held all up to her. She took them all, and like t’ the hawk, surnam’d the osspringer, From Vulcan to her mighty son, with that so glorious show, Stoop’d from the steep Olympian hill, hid in eternal snow. Thetis presenting armour to her son, He calls a court, with full reflection Of all his wrath; takes of the king of men Free-offer’d gifts. All take their breakfast then; He only fasting, arms, and brings abroad The Grecian host, and (hearing the abode Of his near death by Xanthus prophesied) The horse, for his so bold presage, doth chide.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.