The Iliads of Homer Translated according to the Greek · Homer
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
When Hector had beheld His brother tumbled so to earth, his entrails still in hand, Dark sorrow overcast his eyes; nor far off could he stand A minute longer, but like fire he brake out of the throng, Shook his long lance at Thetis’ son; and then came he along To feed th’ encounter: “O,” said he, “here comes the man that most Of all the world destroys my mind, the man by whom I lost My dear Patroclus. Now not long the crooked paths of war Can yield us any privy scapes. ‘Come, keep not off so far,’ He cried to Hector, ‘make the pain of thy sure death as short, As one so desp’rate of his life hath reason.’” In no sort This frighted Hector, who bore close, and said: “Æacides, Leave threats for children. I have pow’r to thunder calumnies As well as others, and well know thy strength superior far To that my nerves hold; but the Gods, not nerves, determine war. And yet, for nerves, there will be found a strength of pow’r in mine To drive a lance home to thy life. My lance as well as thine Hath point and sharpness, and ’tis this.”
Thus brandishing his spear, He set it flying; which a breath of Pallas back did bear From Thetis’ son to Hector’s self, and at his feet it fell. Achilles us’d no dart, but close flew in; and thought to deal With no strokes but of sure dispatch, but, what with all his blood He labour’d, Phœbus clear’d with ease, as being a God, and stood For Hector’s guard, as Pallas did, Æacides, for thine. He rapt him from him, and a cloud of much night cast between His person and the point oppos’d. Achilles then exclaim’d: “O see, yet more Gods are at work. Apollo’s hand hath fram’d, Dog that thou art, thy rescue now; to whom go pay thy vows Thy safety owes him, I shall vent in time those fatal blows That yet beat in my heart on thine, if any God remain My equal fautor. In mean time, my anger must maintain His fire on other Ilians.” Then laid he at his feet Great Demuchus, Philetor’s son; and Dryope did greet With like encounter. Dardanus and strong Laogonus, Wise Bias’ sons, he hurl’d from horse; of one victorious With his close sword, the other’s life he conquer’d with his lance. Then Tros, Alastor’s son, made in, and sought to scape their chance With free submission.
Down he fell, and pray’d about his knees He would not kill him, but take ruth, as one that destinies Made to that purpose, being a man born in the self same year That he himself was. O poor fool, to sue to him to bear A ruthful mind! He well might know, he could not fashion him In ruth’s soft mould, he had no spirit to brook that interim In his hot fury, he was none of these remorseful men, Gentle and affable, but fierce at all times, and mad then. He gladly would have made a pray’r, and still so hugg’d his knee He could not quit him; till at last his sword was fain to free His fetter’d knees, that made a vent for his white liver’s blood That caus’d such pitiful affects; of which it pour’d a flood About his bosom, which it fill’d, ev’n till it drown’d his eyes, And all sense fail’d him. Forth then flew this prince of tragedies; Who next stoop’d Mulius ev’n to death with his insatiate spear; One ear it enter’d, and made good his pass to th’ other ear.
Echeclus then, Agenor’s son, he strook betwixt the brows; Whose blood set fire upon his sword, that cool’d it till the throes Of his then labouring brain let out his soul to fixéd fate, And gave cold entry to black death. Deucalion then had state In these men’s beings, where the nerves about the elbow knit, Down to his hand his spear’s steel pierc’d, and brought such pain to it As led death jointly; whom he saw before his fainting eyes, And in his neck felt, with a stroke, laid on so, that off flies His head. One of the twice-twelve bones, that all the backbone make, Let out his marrow; when the head he, helm and all, did take, And hurl’d amongst the Ilians; the body stretch’d on earth. Rhigmus of fruitful Thrace next fell. He was the famous birth Of Pireüs; his belly’s midst the lance took, whose stern force Quite tumbled him from chariot. In turning back the horse, Their guider Areithous receiv’d another lance That threw him to his lord. No end was put to the mischance Achilles enter’d. But as fire, fall’n in a flash from heav’n, Inflames the high woods of dry hills, and with a storm is driv’n Through all the sylvan deeps; and raves, till down goes ev’rywhere The smother’d hill; so ev’ry way Achilles and his spear Consum’d the champain, the black earth flow’d with the veins he tore. And look how oxen, yok’d and driv’n about the circular floor Of some fair barn, tread suddenly the thick sheaves thin of corn, And all the corn consum’d with chaff; so mix’d and overborne, Beneath Achilles’ one-hoof’d horse, shields, spears, and men, lay trod, His axle-trees and chariot wheels, all spatter’d with the blood Hurl’d from the steeds’ hooves and the strakes. Thus, to be magnified, His most inaccessible hands in human blood he dyed.
In two parts Troy’s host parted; Thetis’ son One to Scamander, one to Ilion, Pursues. Twelve lords he takes alive, to end In sacrifice for vengeance to his friend. Asteropæus dies by his fierce hand, And, Priam’s son, Lycaon. Over land The Flood breaks where Achilles being engag’d, Vulcan preserves him, and with spirit enrag’d Sets all the champain and the floods on fire. Contention then doth all the Gods inspire. Apollo in Agenor’s shape doth stay Achilles’ fury, and, by giving way, Makes him pursue, till the deceit gives leave That Troy in safety might her friends receive.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.