The Iliad - Homer (ebook reader library .txt) đ
- Author: Homer
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Her I release not, till her youth be fled; Within my walls, in Argos, far from home, Her lot is cast, domestic cares to ply, And share a masterâs bed. For thee, begone!
Incense me not, lest ill betide thee now.â
He said: the old man trembled, and obeyed; Beside the many-dashing Oceanâs shore
Silent he passâd; and all apart, he prayâd To great Apollo, fair Latonaâs son:
âHear me, God of the silver bow! whose care Chrysa surrounds, and Ciliaâs lovely vale; Whose sovâreign sway oâer Tenedos extends; O Smintheus, hear! if eâer my offered gifts Found favour in thy sight; if eâer to thee I burnâd the fat of bulls and choicest goats, Grant me this boonâupon the Grecian host Let thine unerring darts avenge my tears.â
Thus as he prayâd, his prayâr Apollo heard: Along Olympusâ heights he passâd, his heart Burning with wrath; behind his shoulders hung His bow, and ample quiver; at his back Rattled the fateful arrows as he movâd; Like the night-cloud he passâd, and from afar He bent against the ships, and sped the bolt; And fierce and deadly twangâd the silver bow.
First on the mules and dogs, on man the last, Was pourâd the arrowy storm; and through the camp, Constant and numârous, blazâd the funâral fires.
Nine days the heavânly Archer on the troops Hurlâd his dread shafts; the tenth, thâ assembled Greeks Achilles callâd to council; so inspirâd By Juno, white-armâd Goddess, who beheld With pitying eyes the wasting hosts of Greece.
When all were met, and closely throngâd around, Rose the swift-footed chief, and thus began: âGreat son of Atreus, to my mind there seems, If we would âscape from death, one only course, Home to retrace our steps: since here at once By war and pestilence our forces waste.
But seek we first some prophet, or some priest, Or some wise vision-seer (since visions too From Jove proceed), who may the cause explain, Which with such deadly wrath Apollo fires: If for neglected hecatombs or prayârs
He blame us; or if fat of lambs and goats May soothe his anger and the plague assuage.â
This said, he sat; and Thestorâs son arose, Calchas, the chief of seers, to whom were known The present, and the future, and the past; Who, by his mystic art, Apolloâs gift, Guided to Iliumâs shore the Grecian fleet.
Who thus with cautious speech replied, and said; âAchilles, lovâd of Heavân, thou biddâst me say Why thus incensâd the far-destroying King; Therefore I speak; but promise thou, and swear, By word and hand, to bear me harmless through.
For well I know my speech must one offend, The Argive chief, oâer all the Greeks supreme; And terrible to men of low estate
The anger of a King; for though awhile He veil his wrath, yet in his bosom pent It still is nursâd, until the time arrive; Say, then, wilt thou protect me, if I speak?â
Him answerâd thus Achilles, swift of foot: âSpeak boldly out whateâer thine art can tell; For by Apolloâs self I swear, whom thou, O Calchas, servâst, and who thy words inspires, That, while I live, and see the light of Heavân, Not one of all the Greeks shall dare on thee, Beside our ships, injurious hands to lay: No, not if Agamemnonâs self were he,
Who âmid our warriors boasts the foremost place.â
Emboldenâd thus, thâ unerring prophet spoke: âNot for neglected hecatombs or prayârs, But for his priest, whom Agamemnon scornâd, Nor took his ransom, nor his child restorâd; On his account the Far-destroyer sends This scourge of pestilence, and yet will send; Nor shall we cease his heavy hand to feel, Till to her sire we give the bright-eyâd girl, Unbought, unransomâd, and to Chrysaâs shore A solemn hecatomb despatch; this done, The God, appeasâd, his anger may remit.â
This said, he sat; and Atreusâ godlike son, The mighty monarch, Agamemnon, rose,
His dark soul fillâd with fury, and his eyes Flashing like flames of fire; on Calchas first A withâring glance he cast, and thus he spoke; âProphet of ill! thou never speakâst to me But words of evil omen; for thy soul
Delights to augur ill, but aught of good Thou never yet hast promisâd, nor performâd.
And now among the Greeks thou spreadâst abroad Thy lying prophecies, that all these ills Come from the Far-destroyer, for that I Refusâd the ransom of my lovely prize, And that I rather chose herself to keep, To me not less than Clytemnestra dear, My virgin-wedded wife; nor less adornâd In gifts of form, of feature, or of mind.
Yet, if it must he so, I give her back; I wish my peopleâs safety, not their death.
But seek me out forthwith some other spoil, Lest empty-handed I alone appear
Of all the Greeks; for this would ill beseem; And how I lose my present share, ye see.â
To whom Achilles, swift of foot, replied: âHaughtiest of men, and greediest of the prey!
How shall our valiant Greeks for thee seek out Some other spoil? no common fund have we Of hoarded treasures; what our arms have won From capturâd towns, has been already sharâd, Nor can we now resume thâ apportionâd spoil.
Restore the maid, obedient to the God!
And if Heavân will that we the strong-built walls Of Troy should raze, our warriors will to thee A threefold, fourfold recompense assign.â
To whom the monarch Agamemnon thus:
âThink not, Achilles, valiant though thou art In fight, and godlike, to defraud me thus; Thou shalt not so persuade me, nor oâerreach.
Thinkâst thou to keep thy portion of the spoil, While I with empty hands sit humbly down?
The bright-eyâd girl thou biddâst me to restore; If then the valiant Greeks for me seek out Some other spoil, some compensation just, âTis well: if not, I with my own right hand Will from some other chief, from thee perchance, Or Ajax, or Ulysses, wrest his prey;
And woe to him, on whomsoeâer I call!
But this for future counsel we remit:
Haste we then now our dark-ribbâd bark to launch, Muster a fitting crew, and place on board The sacred hecatomb; then last embark
The fair Chryseis; and in chief command Let some one of our councillors be placâd, Ajax, Ulysses, or Idomeneus,
Or thou, the most ambitious of them all, That so our rites may soothe the angry God.â
To whom Achilles thus with scornful glance; âOh, clothâd in shamelessness! oh, sordid soul!
How canst thou hope that any Greek for thee Will brave the toils of travel or of war?
Well dost thou know that ât was no feud of mine With Troyâs brave sons that brought me here in arms; They never did me wrong; they never drove My cattle, or my horses; never sought
In Phthiaâs fertile, life-sustaining fields To waste the crops; for wide between us lay The shadowy mountains and the roaring sea.
With thee, O void of shame! with thee we sailâd, For Menelaus and for thee, ingrate,
Glory and fame on Trojan crests to win.
All this hast thou forgotten, or despisâd; And threatânest now to wrest from me the prize I labourâd hard to win, and Greeks bestowâd.
Nor does my portion ever equal thine,
When on some populous town our troops have made Successful war; in the contentious fight The larger portion of the toil is mine; But when the day of distribution comes, Thine is the richest spoil; while I, forsooth, Must be too well content to bear on board Some paltry prize for all my warlike toil.
To Phthia now I go; so better far,
To steer my homeward course, and leave thee here But little like, I deem, dishonouring me, To fill thy coffers with the spoils of war.â
Whom answerâd Agamemnon, King of men:
âFly then, if such thy mind! I ask thee not On mine account to stay; others there are Will guard my honour and avenge my cause: And chief of all, the Lord of counsel, Jove!
Of all the Heavân-born Kings, thou art the man I hate the most; for thou delightâst in nought But war and strife: thy prowess I allow; Yet this, remember, is the gift of Heavân.
Return then, with thy vessels, if thou wilt, And with thy followers, home; and lord it there Over thy Myrmidons! I heed thee not!
I care not for thy fury! Hear my threat: Since Phoebus wrests Chryseis from my arms, In mine own ship, and with mine own good crew, Her I send forth; and, in her stead, I mean, Evân from thy tent, myself, to bear thy prize, The fair Briseis; that henceforth thou know How far I am thy master; and that, taught By thine example, others too may fear
To rival me, and brave me to my face.â
Thus while he spake, Achilles chafâd with rage; And in his manly breast his heart was torn With thoughts conflictingâwhether from his side To draw his mighty sword, and thrusting by Thâ assembled throng, to kill thâ insulting King; Or school his soul, and keep his anger down.
But while in mind and spirit thus he musâd, And half unsheathâd his sword, from Heavân came down Minerva, sent by Juno, white-armâd Queen, Whose love and care both chiefs alike enjoyâd.
She stood behind, and by the yellow hair She held the son of Peleus, visible
To him alone, by all the rest unseen.
Achilles, wondâring, turnâd, and straight he knew The blue-eyed Pallas; awful was her glance; Whom thus the chief with winged words addressâd: âWhy comâst thou, child of aegis-bearing Jove?
To see the arrogance of Atreusâ son?
But this I say, and will make good my words, This insolence may cost him soon his life.â
To whom the blue-eyâd Goddess thus replied: âFrom Heavân I came, to curb, if thou wilt hear, Thy fury; sent by Juno, white-armâd Queen, Whose love and care ye both alike enjoy.
Cease, then, these broils, and draw not thus thy sword; In words, indeed, assail him as thou wilt.
But this I promise, and will make it good, The time shall come, when for this insolence A threefold compensation shall be thine; Only be swayâd by me, and curb thy wrath.â
Whom answerâd thus Achilles, swift of foot: âGoddess, I needs must yield to your commands, Indignant though I beâfor so âtis best; Who hears the Gods, of them his prayârs are heard.â
He said: and on the silver hilt he stayâd His powârful hand, and flung his mighty sword Back to its scabbard, to Minervaâs word Obedient: she her heavânward course pursued To join thâ Immortals in thâ abode of Jove.
But Peleusâ son, with undiminishâd wrath, Atrides thus with bitter words addressâd: âThou sot, with eye of dog, and heart of deer!
Who never darâst to lead in armed fight Thâ assembled host, nor with a chosen few To man the secret ambushâfor thou fearâst To look on deathâno doubt âtis easier far, Girt with thy troops, to plunder of his right Whoeâer may venture to oppose thy will!
A tyrant King, because thou rulâst oâer slaves!
Were it not so, this insult were thy last.
But this I say, and with an oath confirm, By this my royal staff, which never more Shall put forth leaf nor spray, since first it left Upon the mountain-side its parent stem, Nor blossom more; since all around the axe Hath loppâd both leaf and bark, and now âtis borne Emblem of justice, by the sons of Greece, Who guard the sacred
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