The Iliad - Homer (ebook reader library .txt) 📗

in the groves Of lovely Nyssa, put to shameful rout

The youthful Bacchus’ nurses; they, in fear, Dropp’d each her thyrsus, scatter’d by the hand Of fierce Lycurgus, with an ox-goad arm’d.

Bacchus himself beneath the ocean wave In terror plung’d, and, trembling, refuge found In Thetis’ bosom from a mortal’s threats: The Gods indignant saw, and Saturn’s son Smote him with blindness; nor surviv’d he long, Hated alike by all th’ immortal Gods.

I dare not then the blessed Gods oppose; But be thou mortal, and the fruits of earth Thy food, approach, and quickly meet thy doom.”

 

To whom the noble Glaucus thus replied: “Great son of Tydeus, why my race enquire?

The race of man is as the race of leaves: Of leaves, one generation by the wind

Is scattered on the earth; another soon In spring’s luxuriant verdure bursts to light.

So with our race; these flourish, those decay.

But if thou wouldst in truth enquire and learn The race I spring from, not unknown of men; There is a city, in the deep recess

Of pastoral Argos, Ephyre by name:

There Sisyphus of old his dwelling had, Of mortal men the craftiest; Sisyphus, The son of AEolus; to him was born

Glaucus; and Glaucus in his turn begot Bellerophon, on whom the Gods bestow’d The gifts of beauty and of manly grace.

But Proetus sought his death; and, mightier far, From all the coasts of Argos drove him forth, To Proetus subjected by Jove’s decree.

For him the monarch’s wife, Antaea, nurs’d A madd’ning passion, and to guilty love Would fain have tempted him; but fail’d to move The upright soul of chaste Bellerophon.

With lying words she then address’d the King: ‘Die, Proetus, thou, or slay Bellerophon, Who basely sought my honour to assail.’

The King with anger listen’d to her words; Slay him he would not; that his soul abhorr’d; But to the father of his wife, the King Of Lycia, sent him forth, with tokens charg’d Of dire import, on folded tablets trac’d, Pois’ning the monarch’s mind, to work his death.

To Lycia, guarded by the Gods, he went; But when he came to Lycia, and the streams Of Xanthus, there with hospitable rites The King of wide-spread Lycia welcom’d him.

Nine days he feasted him, nine oxen slew; But with the tenth return of rosy morn He question’d him, and for the tokens ask’d He from his son-in-law, from Proetus, bore.

The tokens’ fatal import understood,

He bade him first the dread Chimaera slay; A monster, sent from Heav’n, not human born, With head of lion, and a serpent’s tail, And body of a goat; and from her mouth There issued flames of fiercely-burning fire: Yet her, confiding in the Gods, he slew.

Next, with the valiant Solymi he fought, The fiercest fight that e’er he undertook.

Thirdly, the women-warriors he o’erthrew, The Amazons; from whom returning home, The King another stratagem devis’d;

For, choosing out the best of Lycia’s sons, He set an ambush; they return’d not home, For all by brave Bellerophon were slain.

But, by his valour when the King perceiv’d His heav’nly birth, he entertain’d him well; Gave him his daughter; and with her the half Of all his royal honours he bestow’d:

A portion too the Lycians meted out,

Fertile in corn and wine, of all the state The choicest land, to be his heritage.

Three children there to brave Bellerophon Were born; Isander, and Hippolochus,

Laodamia last, belov’d of Jove,

The Lord of counsel; and to him she bore Godlike Sarpedon of the brazen helm.

Bellerophon at length the wrath incurr’d Of all the Gods; and to th’ Aleian plain Alone he wander’d; there he wore away

His soul, and shunn’d the busy haunts of men.

Insatiate Mars his son Isander slew

In battle with the valiant Solymi:

His daughter perish’d by Diana’s wrath.

I from Hippolochus my birth derive:

To Troy he sent me, and enjoin’d me oft To aim at highest honours, and surpass My comrades all; nor on my father’s name Discredit bring, who held the foremost place In Ephyre, and Lycia’s wide domain.

Such is my race, and such the blood I boast.”

 

He said; and Diomed rejoicing heard:

His spear he planted in the fruitful ground, And thus with friendly words the chief address’d: “By ancient ties of friendship are we bound; For godlike OEneus in his house receiv’d For twenty days the brave Bellerophon; They many a gift of friendship interchang’d; A belt, with crimson glowing, OEneus gave; Bellerophon a double cup of gold,

Which in my house I left when here I came.

Of Tydeus no remembrance I retain;

For yet a child he left me, when he fell With his Achaians at the gate of Thebes.

So I in Argos am thy friendly host;

Thou mine in Lycia, when I thither come: Then shun we, e’en amid the thickest fight, Each other’s lance; enough there are for me Of Trojans and their brave allies to kill, As Heav’n may aid me, and my speed of foot; And Greeks enough there are for thee to slay, If so indeed thou canst; but let us now Our armour interchange, that these may know What friendly bonds of old our houses join.”

Thus as they spoke, they quitted each his car; Clasp’d hand in hand, and plighted mutual faith.

Then Glaucus of his judgment Jove depriv’d, His armour interchanging, gold for brass, A hundred oxen’s worth for that of nine.

 

Meanwhile, when Hector reach’d the oak beside The Scaean gate, around him throng’d the wives Of Troy, and daughters, anxious to enquire The fate of children, brothers, husbands, friends; He to the Gods exhorted all to pray,

For deep the sorrows that o’er many hung.

But when to Priam’s splendid house he came, With polish’d corridors adorn’d—within Were fifty chambers, all of polish’d stone, Plac’d each by other; there the fifty sons Of Priam with their wedded wives repos’d; On th’ other side, within the court were built Twelve chambers, near the roof, of polish’d stone, Plac’d each by other; there the sons-in-law Of Priam with their spouses chaste repos’d; To meet him there his tender mother came, And with her led the young Laodice,

Fairest of all her daughters; clasping then His hands, she thus address’d him: “Why, my son, Why com’st thou here, and leav’st the battle-field?

Are Trojans by those hateful sons of Greece, Fighting around the city, sorely press’d?

And com’st thou, by thy spirit mov’d, to raise, On Ilium’s heights, thy hands in pray’r to Jove?

But tarry till I bring the luscious wine, That first to Jove, and to th’ Immortals all, Thou mayst thine off’ring pour; then with the draught Thyself thou mayst refresh; for great the strength Which gen’rous wine imparts to men who toil, As thou hast toil’d, thy comrades to protect.”

 

To whom great Hector of the glancing helm: “No, not for me, mine honour’d mother, pour The luscious wine, lest thou unnerve my limbs, And make me all my wonted prowess lose.

The ruddy wine I dare not pour to Jove With hands unwash’d; nor to the cloud-girt son Of Saturn may the voice of pray’r ascend From one with blood bespatter’d and defil’d.

Thou, with the elder women, seek the shrine Of Pallas; bring your gifts; and on the knees Of fair-hair’d Pallas place the fairest robe In all the house, the amplest, best esteem’d; And at her altar vow to sacrifice

Twelve yearling kine, that never felt the goad; So she have pity on the Trojan state,

Our wives, and helpless babes; and turn away The fiery son of Tydeus, spearman fierce, The Minister of Terror; to the shrine

Of Pallas thou; to Paris I, to call

If haply he will hear; would that the earth Would gape and swallow him! for great the curse That Jove thro’ him hath brought on men of Troy, On noble Priam, and on Priam’s sons.

Could I but know that he were in his grave, Methinks my sorrows I could half forget.”

 

He said: she, to the house returning, sent Th’ attendants through the city, to collect The train of aged suppliants; she meanwhile Her fragrant chamber sought, wherein were stor’d Rich garments by Sidonian women work’d, Whom godlike Paris had from Sidon brought, Sailing the broad sea o’er, the selfsame path By which the highborn Helen he convey’d.

Of these, the richest in embroidery,

The amplest, and the brightest, as a star Refulgent, plac’d with care beneath the rest, The Queen her off’ring bore to Pallas’ shrine: She went, and with her many an ancient dame.

But when the shrine they reach’d on Ilium’s height, Theano, fair of face, the gates unlock’d, Daughter of Cisseus, sage Antenor’s wife, By Trojans nam’d at Pallas’ shrine to serve.

They with deep moans to Pallas rais’d their hands; But fair Theano took the robe, and plac’d On Pallas’ knees, and to the heav’nly Maid, Daughter of Jove, she thus address’d her pray’r: “Guardian of cities, Pallas, awful Queen, Goddess of Goddesses, break thou the spear Of Tydeus’ son; and grant that he himself Prostrate before the Scaean gates may fall; So at thine altar will we sacrifice

Twelve yearling kine, that never felt the goad, If thou have pity on the state of Troy, The wives of Trojans, and their helpless babes.”

 

Thus she; but Pallas answer’d not her pray’r.

While thus they call’d upon the heav’nly Maid, Hector to Paris’ mansion bent his way; A noble structure, which himself had built Aided by all the best artificers

Who in the fertile realm of Troy were known; With chambers, hall, and court, on Ilium’s height, Near to where Priam’s self and Hector dwelt.

There enter’d Hector, well belov’d of Jove; And in his hand his pond’rous spear he bore, Twelve cubits long; bright flash’d the weapon’s point Of polish’d brass, with circling hoop of gold.

There in his chamber found he whom he sought, About his armour busied, polishing

His shield, his breastplate, and his bended bow.

While Argive Helen, ‘mid her maidens plac’d, The skilful labours of their hands o’erlook’d.

To him thus Hector with reproachful words; “Thou dost not well thine anger to indulge; In battle round the city’s lofty wall

The people fast are falling; thou the cause That fiercely thus around the city burns The flame of war and battle; and thyself Wouldst others blame, who from the fight should shrink.

Up, ere the town be wrapp’d in hostile fires.”

 

To whom in answer godlike Paris thus:

“Hector, I own not causeless thy rebuke; Yet will I speak; hear thou and understand; ‘Twas less from anger with the Trojan host, And fierce resentment, that I here remain’d, Than that I sought my sorrow to indulge; Yet hath my wife, e’en now, with soothing words Urg’d me to join the battle; so, I own, ‘Twere best; and Vict’ry changes oft her side.

Then stay, while I my armour don; or thou Go first: I, following, will o’ertake thee soon.”

 

He said: but Hector of the glancing helm Made answer none; then thus with gentle tones Helen accosted him: “Dear brother mine, (Of me, degraded, sorrow-bringing, vile!) Oh that the day my mother gave me birth Some storm had on the mountains cast me forth!

Or that the many-dashing ocean’s waves Had swept me off, ere all this woe were wrought!

Yet if these evils were of Heav’n ordain’d, Would that a better man had call’d me wife; A sounder judge of honour and disgrace: For he, thou know’st, no firmness hath of mind, Nor ever will; a want he well may rue.

But come thou in, and rest thee here awhile, Dear brother, on this couch; for travail sore Encompasseth thy soul, by me impos’d,

Degraded as I am, and Paris’ guilt;

On whom this burthen Heav’n hath laid, that shame