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

ministry of law

Before the face of Jove! a mighty oath!

The time shall come, when all the sons of Greece Shall mourn Achilles’ loss; and thou the while, Heart-rent, shalt be all-impotent to aid, When by the warrior-slayer Hector’s hand Many shall fall; and then thy soul shall mourn The slight on Grecia’s bravest warrior cast.”

 

Thus spoke Pelides; and upon the ground He cast his staff, with golden studs emboss’d, And took his seat; on th’ other side, in wrath, Atrides burn’d; but Nestor interpos’d; Nestor, the leader of the Pylian host, The smooth-tongued chief, from whose persuasive lips Sweeter than honey flowed the stream of speech.

Two generations of the sons of men

For him were past and gone, who with himself Were born and bred on Pylos’ lovely shore, And o’er the third he now held royal sway.

He thus with prudent words the chiefs address’d: “Alas, alas! what grief is this for Greece!

What joy for Priam, and for Priam’s sons!

What exultation for the men of Troy,

To hear of feuds ‘tween you, of all the Greeks The first in council, and the first in fight!

Yet, hear my words, I pray; in years, at least, Ye both must yield to me; and in times past I liv’d with men, and they despis’d me not, Abler in counsel, greater than yourselves.

Such men I never saw, and ne’er shall see, As Pirithous and Dryas, wise and brave, Coeneus, Exadius, godlike Polypheme,

And Theseus, AEgeus’ more than mortal son.

The mightiest they among the sons of men; The mightiest they, and of the forest beasts Strove with the mightiest, and their rage subdued.

With them from distant lands, from Pylos’ shore I join’d my forces, and their call obey’d; With them I play’d my part; with them, not one Would dare to fight of mortals now on earth.

Yet they my counsels heard, my voice obey’d; And hear ye also, for my words are wise.

Nor thou, though great thou be, attempt to rob Achilles of his prize, but let him keep The spoil assign’d him by the sons of Greece; Nor thou, Pelides, with the monarch strive In rivalry; for ne’er to sceptred King Hath Jove such pow’rs, as to Atrides, giv’n; And valiant though thou art, and Goddess-born, Yet mightier he, for wider is his sway.

Atrides, curb thy wrath! while I beseech Achilles to forbear; in whom the Greeks From adverse war their great defender see.”

 

To whom the monarch, Agamemnon, thus:

“O father, full of wisdom are thy words; But this proud chief o’er all would domineer; O’er all he seeks to rule, o’er all to reign, To all to dictate; which I will not bear.

Grant that the Gods have giv’n him warlike might, Gave they unbridled license to his tongue?”

 

To whom Achilles, interrupting, thus:

“Coward and slave indeed I might be deem’d.

Could I submit to make thy word my law; To others thy commands; seek not to me To dictate, for I follow thee no more.

But hear me speak, and ponder what I say: For the fair girl I fight not (since you choose To take away the prize yourselves bestow’d) With thee or any one; but of the rest

My dark swift ship contains, against my will On nought shalt thou, unpunish’d, lay thy hand.

Make trial if thou wilt, that these may know; Thy life-blood soon should reek upon my spear.”

 

After this conflict keen of angry speech, The chiefs arose, the assembly was dispers’d.

 

With his own followers, and Menoetius’ son, Achilles to his tents and ships withdrew.

But Atreus’ son launch’d a swift-sailing bark, With twenty rowers mann’d, and plac’d on board The sacred hecatomb; then last embark’d The fair Chryseis, and in chief command Laertes’ son, the sage Ulysses, plac’d.

They swiftly sped along the wat’ry way.

 

Next, proclamation through the camp was made To purify the host; and in the sea,

Obedient to the word, they purified;

Then to Apollo solemn rites perform’d

With faultless hecatombs of bulls and goats, Upon the margin of the wat’ry waste;

And, wreath’d in smoke, the savour rose to Heav’n.

 

The camp thus occupied, the King pursued His threaten’d plan of vengeance; to his side Calling Talthybius and Eurybates,

Heralds, and faithful followers, thus he spoke: “Haste to Achilles’ tent, and in your hand Back with you thence the fair Briseis bring: If he refuse to send her, I myself

With a sufficient force will bear her thence, Which he may find, perchance, the worse for him.”

 

So spake the monarch, and with stern command Dismiss’d them; with reluctant steps they pass’d Along the margin of the wat’ry waste,

Till to the tents and ships they came, where lay The warlike Myrmidons. Their chief they found Sitting beside his tent and dark-ribb’d ship.

Achilles mark’d their coming, not well pleas’d: With troubled mien, and awestruck by the King, They stood, nor dar’d accost him; but himself Divin’d their errand, and address’d them thus: “Welcome, ye messengers of Gods and men, Heralds! approach in safety; not with you, But with Atrides, is my just offence,

Who for the fair Briseis sends you here.

Go, then, Patroclus, bring the maiden forth, And give her to their hands; but witness ye, Before the blessed Gods and mortal men, And to the face of that injurious King, When he shall need my arm, from shameful rout To save his followers; blinded by his rage, He neither heeds experience of the past Nor scans the future, provident how best To guard his fleet and army from the foe.”

 

He spoke: obedient to his friend and chief, Patroclus led the fair Briseis forth,

And gave her to their hands; they to the ships Retrac’d their steps, and with them the fair girl Reluctant went: meanwhile Achilles, plung’d In bitter grief, from all the band apart, Upon the margin of the hoary sea

Sat idly gazing on the dark-blue waves; And to his Goddess-mother long he pray’d, With outstretch’d hands, “Oh, mother! since thy son To early death by destiny is doom’d,

I might have hop’d the Thunderer on high, Olympian Jove, with honour would have crown’d My little space; but now disgrace is mine; Since Agamemnon, the wide-ruling King, Hath wrested from me, and still holds, my prize.”

 

Weeping, he spoke; his Goddess-mother heard, Beside her aged father where she sat

In the deep ocean-caves: ascending quick Through the dark waves, like to a misty cloud, Beside her son she stood; and as he wept, She gently touch’d him with her hand, and said, “Why weeps my son? and whence his cause of grief?

Speak out, that I may hear, and share thy pain.”

 

To whom Achilles, swift of foot, replied, Groaning, “Thou know’st; what boots to tell thee all?

On Thebes we march’d, Eetion’s sacred town, And storm’d the walls, and hither bore the spoil.

The spoils were fairly by the sons of Greece Apportion’d out; and to Atrides’ share The beauteous daughter of old Chryses fell.

Chryses, Apollo’s priest, to free his child, Came to th’ encampment of the brass-clad Greeks, With costly ransom charg’d; and in his hand The sacred fillet of his God he bore,

And golden staff; to all he sued, but chief To Atreus’ sons, twin captains of the host.

Then through the ranks assenting murmurs ran, The priest to rev’rence, and the ransom take: Not so Atrides; he, with haughty mien

And bitter words, the trembling sire dismiss’d.

The old man turn’d in sorrow; but his pray’r Phoebus Apollo heard, who lov’d him well.

Against the Greeks he bent his fatal bow, And fast the people fell; on ev’ry side Throughout the camp the heav’nly arrows flew; A skilful seer at length the cause reveal’d Why thus incens’d the Archer-God; I then, The first, gave counsel to appease his wrath.

Whereat Atrides, full of fury, rose,

And utter’d threats, which he hath now fulfill’d.

For Chryses’ daughter to her native land In a swift-sailing ship the keen-ey’d Greeks Have sent, with costly off’rings to the God: But her, assign’d me by the sons of Greece, Brises’ fair daughter, from my tent e’en now The heralds bear away. Then, Goddess, thou, If thou hast pow’r, protect thine injur’d son.

Fly to Olympus, to the feet of Jove,

And make thy pray’r to him, if on his heart Thou hast in truth, by word or deed, a claim.

For I remember, in my father’s house,

I oft have heard thee boast, how thou, alone Of all th’ Immortals, Saturn’s cloud-girt son Didst shield from foul disgrace, when all the rest, Juno, and Neptune, and Minerva join’d, With chains to bind him; then, O Goddess, thou Didst set him free, invoking to his aid Him of the hundred arms, whom Briareus Th’ immortal Gods, and men AEgeon call.

He, mightier than his father, took his seat By Saturn’s side, in pride of conscious strength: Fear seiz’d on all the Gods, nor did they dare To bind their King: of this remind him now, And clasp his knees, and supplicate his aid For Troy’s brave warriors, that the routed Greeks Back to their ships with slaughter may be driv’n; That all may taste the folly of their King, And Agamemnon’s haughty self may mourn The slight on Grecia’s bravest warrior cast.”

 

Thus he; and Thetis, weeping, thus replied: “Alas, my child, that e’er I gave thee birth!

Would that beside thy ships thou could’st remain From grief exempt, and insult! since by fate Few years are thine, and not a lengthened term; At once to early death and sorrows doom’d Beyond the lot of man! in evil hour

I gave thee birth! But to the snow-clad heights Of great Olympus, to the throne of Jove, Who wields the thunder, thy complaints I bear.

Thou by thy ships, meanwhile, against the Greeks Thine anger nurse, and from the fight abstain.

For Jove is to a solemn banquet gone

Beyond the sea, on AEthiopia’s shore,

Since yesternight; and with him all the Gods.

On the twelfth day he purpos’d to return To high Olympus; thither then will I,

And to his feet my supplication make;

And he, I think, will not deny my suit.”

 

This said, she disappear’d; and left him there Musing in anger on the lovely form

Tom from his arms by violence away.

 

Meantime, Ulysses, with his sacred freight, Arriv’d at Chrysa’s strand; and when his bark Had reach’d the shelter of the deep sea bay, Their sails they furl’d, and lower’d to the hold; Slack’d the retaining shrouds, and quickly struck And stow’d away the mast; then with their sweeps Pull’d for the beach, and cast their anchors out, And made her fast with cables to the shore.

Then on the shingly breakwater themselves They landed, and the sacred hecatomb

To great Apollo; and Chryseis last.

Her to the altar straight Ulysses led, The wise in counsel; in her father’s hand He plac’d the maiden, and address’d him thus: “Chryses, from Agamemnon, King of men, To thee I come, thy daughter to restore; And to thy God, upon the Greeks’ behalf, To offer sacrifice, if haply so

We may appease his wrath, who now incens’d With grievous suff’ring visits all our host.”

Then to her sire he gave her; he with joy Receiv’d his child; the sacred hecatomb Around the well-built altar for the God In order due they plac’d; their hands then washed, And the salt cake prepar’d, before them all With hands uplifted Chryses pray’d aloud: “Hear me, God of the silver bow! whose care Chrysa surrounds, and Cilla’s lovely vale, Whose sov’reign sway o’er Tenedos extends!

Once hast thou heard my pray’r, aveng’d my cause, And pour’d thy fury on the Grecian host.

Hear yet again, and grant what now I ask; Withdraw thy chast’ning hand, and stay