The Iliads of Homer Translated according to the Greek · Homer
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Omega sings the Exsequies, And Hector’s redemptory prise. The games perform’d; the soldiers wholly dispers’d to fleet, Supper and sleep their only care. Constant Achilles yet Wept for his friend, nor sleep itself, that all things doth subdue, Could touch at him; this way and that he turn’d, and did renew His friend’s dear memory, his grace in managing his strength, And his strength’s greatness, how life rack’d into their utmost length Griefs, battles, and the wraths of seas, in their joint sufferance. Each thought of which turn’d to a tear. Sometimes he would advance, In tumbling on the shore, his side; sometimes his face: then turn Flat on his bosom; start upright. Although he saw the morn Show sea and shore his ecstasy, he left not, till at last Rage varied his distraction; horse, chariot, in haste He call’d for; and, those join’d, the corse was to his chariot tied, And thrice about the sepulchre he made his fury ride, Dragging the person. All this past; in his pavilion Rest seiz’d him, but with Hector’s corse his rage had never done, Still suff’ring it t’ oppress the dust.
Apollo yet, ev’n dead, Pitied the prince, and would not see inhuman tyranny fed With more pollution of his limbs; and therefore cover’d round His person with his golden shield, that rude dogs might not wound His manly lineaments, which threat Achilles cruelly Had us’d in fury. But now Heav’n let fall a gen’ral eye Of pity on him; the blest Gods persuaded Mercury, Their good observer, to his stealth; and ev’ry Deity Stood pleas’d with it; Juno except, green Neptune, and the Maid Grac’d with the blue eyes, all their hearts stood hatefully appaid Long since, and held it, as at first, to Priam, Ilion, And all his subjects, for the rape of his licentious son, Proud Paris, that despis’d these Dames in their divine access Made to his cottage, and prais’d Her that his sad wantonness So costly nourish’d. The twelfth morn now shin’d on the delay Of Hector’s rescue, and then spake the Deity of the Day Thus to th’ Immortals: “Shameless Gods, authors of ill ye are To suffer ill. Hath Hector’s life at all times show’d his care Of all your rights, in burning thighs of beeves and goats to you, And are your cares no more of him?
Vouchsafe ye not ev’n now, Ev’n dead, to keep him, that his wife, his mother, and his son, Father, and subjects, may be mov’d to those deeds he hath done, Seeing you preserve him that serv’d you, and sending to their hands His person for the rites of fire? Achilles, that withstands All help to others, you can help; one that hath neither heart Nor soul within him, that will move or yield to any part That fits a man, but lion-like, uplandish, and mere wild, Slave to his pride, and all his nerves being naturally compil’d Of eminent strength, stalks out and preys upon a silly sheep. And so fares this man, that fit ruth that now should draw so deep In all the world being lost in him; and shame, a quality[1] Of so much weight, that both it helps and hurts excessively Men in their manners, is not known, nor hath the pow’r to be, In this man’s being. Other men a greater loss than he Have undergone, a son, suppose, or brother of one womb; Yet, after dues of woes and tears, they bury in his tomb All their deplorings.
Fates have giv’n to all that are true men True manly patience; but this man so soothes his bloody vein That no blood serves it, he must have divine-soul’d Hector bound To his proud chariot, and danc’d in a most barbarous round About his lov’d friend’s sepulchre, when he is slain. ’Tis vile, And draws no profit after it. But let him now awhile Mark but our angers; he is spent; let all his strength take heed It tempts not our wraths; he begets, in this outrageous deed, The dull earth with his fury’s hate.” White-wristed Juno said, Being much incens’d, “This doom is one that thou wouldst have obey’d, Thou bearer of the silver bow, that we in equal care And honour should hold Hector’s worth, with him that claims a share In our deservings. Hector suck’d a mortal woman’s breast, Æacides a Goddess’s; ourself had interest Both in his infant nourishment, and bringing up with state, And to the human Peleüs we gave his bridal mate, Because he had th’ Immortals’ love.
To celebrate the feast Of their high nuptials, ev’ry God was glad to be a guest; And thou fedd’st of his father’s cates, touching thy harp in grace Of that beginning of our friend, whom thy perfidious face, In his perfection, blusheth not to match with Priam’s son, O thou that to betray and shame art still companion!” Jove thus receiv’d her: “Never give these broad terms to a God. Those two men shall not be compar’d; and yet, of all that trod The well-pav’d Ilion, none so dear to all the Deities As Hector was; at least to me, for off’rings most of prize His hands would never pretermit. Our altars ever stood Furnish’d with banquets fitting us, odours and ev’ry good Smok’d in our temples; and for this, foreseeing it, his fate We mark’d with honour, which must stand. But, to give stealth estate In his deliv’rance, shun we that; nor must we favour one To shame another. Privily, with wrong to Thetis’ son, We must not work out Hector’s right. There is a ransom due, And open course, by laws of arms; in which must humbly sue The friends of Hector. Which just mean if any God would stay, And use the other, ’twould not serve; for Thetis night and day Is guardian to him.
But would one call Iris hither, I Would give directions that for gifts the Trojan king should buy His Hector’s body, which the son of Thetis shall resign.” This said, his will was done; the Dame that doth in vapours shine, Dewy and thin, footed with storms, jump’d to the sable seas ‘Twixt Samos and sharp Imber’s cliffs; the lake groan’d with the press Of her rough feet, and, plummet-like, put in an ox’s horn That bears death to the raw-fed fish, she div’d, and found forlorn Thetis lamenting her son’s fate, who was in Troy to have, Far from his country, his death serv’d. Close to her Iris stood, And said: “Rise, Thetis, prudent Jove, whose counsels thirst not blood, Calls for thee.” Thetis answer’d her with asking: “What’s the cause The great God calls? My sad pow’rs fear’d to break th’ immortal laws, In going fil’d with griefs to heav’n. But He sets snares for none With colour’d counsels; not a word of him but shall be done.” She said, and took a sable veil (a blacker never wore A heav’nly shoulder) and gave way. Swift Iris swum before. About both roll’d the brackish waves. They took their banks, and flew Up to Olympus; where they found Saturnius far-of-view Spher’d with heav’n’s ever-being States.
Minerva rose, and gave Her place to Thetis near to Jove; and Juno did receive Her entry with a cup of gold, in which she drank to her, Grac’d her with comfort, and the cup to her hand did refer. She drank, resigning it; and then the Sire of men and Gods Thus entertain’d her: “Com’st thou up to these our blest abodes, Fair Goddess Thetis, yet art sad; and that in so high kind As passeth suff’rance? This I know, and tried thee, and now find Thy will by mine rul’d, which is rule to all worlds’ government. Besides this trial yet, this cause sent down for thy ascent, Nine days’ contention hath been held amongst th’ Immortals here For Hector’s person and thy son; and some advices were To have our good spy Mercury steal from thy son the corse; But that reproach I kept far off, to keep in future force Thy former love and reverence. Haste then, and tell thy son The Gods are angry, and myself take that wrong he hath done To Hector in worst part of all, the rather since he still Detains his person. Charge him then, if he respect my will For any reason, to resign slain Hector.
I will send Iris to Priam to redeem his son, and recommend Fit ransom to Achilles’ grace, in which right he may joy And end his vain grief.” To this charge bright Thetis did employ Instant endeavour. From heav’n’s tops she reach’d Achilles’ tent, Found him still sighing, and some friends with all their complement Soothing his humour; other some with all contentión Dressing his dinner, all their pains and skills consum’d upon A huge wool-bearer, slaughter’d there. His rev’rend mother then Came near, took kindly his fair hand, and ask’d him: “Dear son, when Will sorrow leave thee? How long time wilt thou thus eat thy heart, Fed with no other food, nor rest? ’Twere good thou wouldst divert Thy friend’s love to some lady, cheer thy spirits with such kind parts As she can quit thy grace withal. The joy of thy deserts I shall not long have, death is near, and thy all-conqu’ring fate, Whose haste thou must not haste with grief, but understand the state Of things belonging to thy life, which quickly order. I Am sent from Jove t’ advértise thee, that ev’ry Deity Is angry with thee, himself most, that rage thus reigns in thee Still to keep Hector. Quit him then, and, for fit ransom, free His injur’d person.”
He replied: “Let him come that shall give The ransom, and the person take. Jove’s pleasure must deprive Men of all pleasures.” This good speech, and many more, the son And mother us’d, in ear of all the naval statión. And now to holy Ilion Saturnius Iris sent: “Go, swift-foot Iris, bid Troy’s king bear fit gifts, and content Achilles for his son’s release; but let him greet alone The Grecian navy; not a man, excepting such a one As may his horse and chariot guide, a herald, or one old, Attending him; and let him take his Hector. Be he bold, Discourag’d nor with death nor fear, wise Mercury shall guide His passage till the prince be near; and, he gone, let him ride Resolv’d ev’n in Achilles’ tent. He shall not touch the state Of his high person, nor admit the deadliest desperate Of all about him; for, though fierce, he is not yet unwise, Nor inconsid’rate, nor a man past awe of Deities, But passing free and curious to do a suppliant grace.”
This said, the Rainbow to her feet tied whirlwinds, and the place Reach’d instantly. The heavy court Clamour and Mourning fill’d; The sons all set about the sire; and there stood Grief, and still’d Tears on their garments. In the midst the old king sate, his weed All wrinkled, head and neck dust-fil’d; the princesses his seed, The princesses his sons’ fair wives, all mourning by; the thought Of friends so many, and so good, being turn’d so soon to nought By Grecian hands, consum’d their youth, rain’d beauty from their eyes. Iris came near the king; her sight shook all his faculties, And therefore spake she soft, and said: “Be glad, Dardanides; Of good occurrents, and none ill, am I ambassadress. Jove greets thee, who, in care, as much as he is distant, deigns Eye to thy sorrows, pitying thee. My ambassy contains This charge to thee from him: He wills thou shouldst redeem thy son, Bear gifts t’ Achilles, cheer him so; but visit him alone, None but some herald let attend, thy mules and chariot To manage for thee.
Fear nor death let daunt thee, Jove hath got Hermes to guide thee, who as near to Thetis’ son as needs Shall guard thee; and being once with him, nor his, nor others’, deeds Stand touch’d with, he will all contain; nor is he mad, nor vain, Nor impious, but with all his nerves studious to entertain One that submits with all fit grace.” Thus vanish’d she like wind. He mules and chariot calls, his sons bids see them join’d, and bind A trunk behind it; he himself down to his wardrobe goes, Built all of cedar, highly roof’d, and odoriferous, That much stuff, worth the sight, contain’d. To him he call’d his queen, Thus greeting her: “Come, hapless dame, an angel I have seen, Sent down from Jove, that bade me free our dear son from the fleet With ransom pleasing to our foe. What holds thy judgment meet? My strength and spirit lays high charge on all my being to bear The Greeks’ worst, vent’ring through their host.”
The queen cried out to hear His vent’rous purpose, and replied: “O whither now is fled The late discretion that renown’d thy grave and knowing head In foreign and thine own rul’d realms, that thus thou dar’st assay Sight of that man, in whose brow sticks the horrible decay Of sons so many, and so strong? Thy heart is iron I think. If this stern man, whose thirst of blood makes cruelty his drink, Take, or but see, thee, thou art dead. He nothing pities woe, Nor honours age. Without his sight, we have enough to do To mourn with thought of him. Keep we our palace, weep we here, Our son is past our helps. Those throes, that my deliv’rers were Of his unhappy lineaments, told me they should be torn With black-foot dogs. Almighty Fate, that black hour he was born, Spun in his springing thread that end; far from his parents’ reach, This bloody fellow then ordain’d to be their mean, this wretch, Whose stony liver would to heav’n I might devour, my teeth My son’s revengers made! Curs’d Greek, he gave him not his death Doing an ill work; he alone fought for his country, he Fled not, nor fear’d, but stood his worst; and curséd policy Was his undoing.”
He replied: “Whatever was his end Is not our question, we must now use all means to defend His end from scandal; from which act dissuade not my just will, Nor let me nourish in my house a bird presaging ill To my good actions; ’tis in vain. Had any earthly spirit Giv’n this suggestion, if our priests, or soothsay’rs, challenging merit Of prophets, I might hold it false, and be the rather mov’d To keep my palace, but these ears and these self eyes approv’d It was a Goddess. I will go; for not a word She spake I know was idle. If it were, and that my fate will make Quick riddance of me at the fleet, kill me, Achilles; come, When getting to thee, I shall find a happy dying room On Hector’s bosom, when enough thirst of my tears finds there Quench to his fervour.” This resolv’d, the works most fair and dear Of his rich screens he brought abroad; twelve veils wrought curiously; Twelve plain gowns; and as many suits of wealthy tapestry; As many mantles; horsemen’s coats; ten talents of fine gold; Two tripods; caldrons four; a bowl, whose value he did hold Beyond all price, presented by th’ ambassadors of Thrace.
The old king nothing held too dear, to rescue from disgrace His gracious Hector. Forth he came. At entry of his court The Trojan citizens so press’d, that this opprobrious sort Of check he us’d: “Hence, cast-aways! Away, ye impious crew! Are not your griefs enough at home? What come ye here to view? Care ye for my griefs? Would ye see how miserable I am? Is’t not enough, imagine ye? Ye might know, ere ye came, What such a son’s loss weigh’d with me. But know this for your pains, Your houses have the weaker doors; the Greeks will find their gains The easier for his loss, be sure. But O Troy! ere I see Thy ruin, let the doors of hell receive and ruin me!” Thus with his sceptre set he on the crowding citizens, Who gave back, seeing him so urge. And now he entertains His sons as roughly, Helenus, Paris, Hippothous, Pammon, divine Agathones, renown’d Deiphobus, Agavus, and Antiphonus, and last, not least in arms, The strong Polites: these nine sons the violence of his harms Help’d him to vent in these sharp terms: “Haste, you infamous brood, And get my chariot. Would to heav’n that all the abject blood In all your veins had Hector ’scus’d!
O me, accurséd man, All my good sons are gone, my light the shades Cimmerian Have swallow’d from me. I have lost Mestor, surnam’d the fair; Troilus, that ready knight at arms, that made his field repair Ever so prompt and joyfully; and Hector, amongst men Esteem’d a God, not from a mortal’s seed, but of th’ Eternal strain, He seem’d to all eyes. These are gone, you that survive are base, Liars and common freebooters; all faulty, not a grace, But in your heels, in all your parts; dancing companions Ye all are excellent. Hence, ye brats! Love ye to hear my moans? Will ye not get my chariot? Command it quickly, fly, That I may perfect this dear work.” This all did terrify; And straight his mule-drawn chariot came, to which they fast did bind The trunk with gifts. And then came forth, with an afflicted mind, Old Hecuba. In her right hand a bowl of gold she bore With sweet wine crown’d, stood near, and said: “Receive this, and implore, With sacrificing it to Jove, thy safe return. I see Thy mind likes still to go, though mine dislikes it utterly.
Pray to the black-cloud-gath’ring God, Idæan Jove, that views All Troy, and all her miseries, that he will deign to use His most-lov’d bird to ratify thy hopes, that, her broad wing Spread on thy right hand, thou mayst know thy zealous offering Accepted, and thy safe return confirm’d; but if he fail, Fail thy intent, though never so it labours to prevail.” “This I refuse not,” he replied, “for no faith is so great In Jove’s high favour, but it must with held-up hands intreat.” This said, the chambermaid, that held the ewer and basin by, He bade pour water on his hands; when, looking to the sky, He took the bowl, did sacrifice, and thus implor’d: “O Jove, From Ida using thy commands, in all deserts above All other Gods, vouchsafe me safe, and pity in the sight Of great Achilles; and, for trust to that wish’d grace, excite Thy swift-wing’d Messenger, most strong, most of air’s region lov’d, To soar on my right hand; which sight may firmly see approv’d Thy former summons, and my speed.” He pray’d, and heav’n’s King heard, And instantly cast from his fist air’s all-commanding bird, The black-wing’d huntress, perfectest of all fowls, which Gods call Percnos, the eagle.
And how broad the chamber nuptial Of any mighty man hath doors, such breadth cast either wing; Which now she us’d, and spread them wide on right hand of the king. All saw it, and rejoic’d, and up to chariot he arose, Drave forth, the portal and the porch resounding as he goes. His friends all follow’d him, and mourn’d as if he went to die; And bringing him past town to field, all left him; and the eye Of Jupiter was then his guard, who pitied him, and us’d These words to Hermes: “Mercury, thy help hath been profus’d Ever with most grace in consorts of travellers distress’d, Now cónsort Priam to the fleet; but so, that not the least Suspicion of him be attain’d, till at Achilles’ tent The convoy hath arriv’d him safe.” This charge incontinent He put in practice. To his feet his feather’d shoes he tied, Immortal, and made all of gold, with which he us’d to ride The rough sea and th’ unmeasur’d earth, and equall’d in his pace The puffs of wind. Then took he up his rod, that hath the grace To shut what eyes he lists with sleep, and open them again In strongest trances. This he held, flew forth, and did attain To Troy and Hellespontus straight.
Then like a fair young prince, First-down-chinn’d, and of such a grace as makes his looks convince Contending eyes to view him, forth he went to meet the king. He, having pass’d the mighty tomb of Ilus, watering His mules in Xanthus, the dark even fell on the earth; and then Idæus (guider of the mules) discern’d this grace of men, And spake afraid to Priamus: “Beware, Dardanides, Our states ask counsel; I discern the dangerous access Of some man near us; now I fear we perish. Is it best To fly, or kiss his knees and ask his ruth of men distress’d?” Confusion strook the king, cold fear extremely quench’d his veins, Upright upon his languishing head his hair stood, and the chains Of strong amaze bound all his pow’rs. To both which then came near The prince turn’d Deity, took his hand, and thus bespake the peer: “To what place, father, driv’st thou out through solitary night, When others sleep? Give not the Greeks sufficient cause of fright To these late travels, being so near, and such vow’d enemies? Of all which, if with all this load any should cast his eyes On thy adventures, what would then thy mind esteem thy state, Thyself old, and thy follow’r old?
Resistance could not rate At any value; as for me, be sure I mind no harm To thy grave person, but against the hurt of others arm. Mine own lov’d father did not get a greater love in me To his good, than thou dost to thine.” He answer’d: “The degree Of danger in my course, fair son, is nothing less than that Thou urgest; but some God’s fair hand puts in for my safe state, That sends so sweet a guardian in this so stern a time Of night, and danger, as thyself, that all grace in his prime Of body and of beauty show’st, all answer’d with a mind So knowing, that it cannot be but of some blessed kind Thou art descended.” “Not untrue,” said Hermes, “thy conceit In all this holds; but further truth relate, if of such weight As I conceive thy carriage be, and that thy care conveys Thy goods of most price to more guard; or go ye all your ways Frighted from holy Ilion, so excellent a son As thou hadst (being your special strength) fallen to destructión, Whom no Greek better’d for his fight?” “O, what art thou,” said he, “Most worthy youth, of what race born, that thus recount’st to me My wretched son’s death with such truth?”
“Now, father,” he replied, “You tempt me far, in wond’ring how the death was signified Of your divine son to a man so mere a stranger here As you hold me; but I am one that oft have seen him bear His person like a God in field; and when in heaps he slew The Greeks, all routed to their fleet, his so victorious view Made me admire, not feel his hand; because Æacides, Incens’d, admitted not our fight, myself being of access To his high person, serving him, and both to Ilion In one ship sail’d. Besides, by birth I breathe a Myrmidon, Polyctor, call’d the rich, my sire, declin’d with age like you. Six sons he hath, and me a seventh; and all those six live now In Phthia, since, all casting lots, my chance did only fall To follow hither. Now for walk I left my General. To-morrow all the sun-burn’d Greeks will circle Troy with arms, The princes rage to be withheld so idly, your alarms Not giv’n half hot enough they think, and can contain no more.” He answer’d: “If you serve the prince, let me be bold t’ implore This grace of thee, and tell me true: Lies Hector here at fleet, Or have the dogs his flesh?”
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.