The Iliad - Homer (best novels to read for beginners .txt) 📗

the unequal fight; These younger champions will oppress thy might.

Thy veins no more with ancient vigour glow, Weak is thy servant, and thy coursers slow.

Then haste, ascend my seat, and from the car Observe the steeds of Tros, renown’d in war.

Practised alike to turn, to stop, to chase, To dare the fight, or urge the rapid race: These late obey’d AEneas’ guiding rein; Leave thou thy chariot to our faithful train; With these against yon Trojans will we go, Nor shall great Hector want an equal foe; Fierce as he is, even he may learn to fear The thirsty fury of my flying spear.”

 

Thus said the chief; and Nestor, skill’d in war, Approves his counsel, and ascends the car: The steeds he left, their trusty servants hold; Eurymedon, and Sthenelus the bold:

The reverend charioteer directs the course, And strains his aged arm to lash the horse.

Hector they face; unknowing how to fear, Fierce he drove on; Tydides whirl’d his spear.

The spear with erring haste mistook its way, But plunged in Eniopeus’ bosom lay.

His opening hand in death forsakes the rein; The steeds fly back: he falls, and spurns the plain.

Great Hector sorrows for his servant kill’d, Yet unrevenged permits to press the field; Till, to supply his place and rule the car, Rose Archeptolemus, the fierce in war.

And now had death and horror cover’d all; [153]

Like timorous flocks the Trojans in their wall Inclosed had bled: but Jove with awful sound Roll’d the big thunder o’er the vast profound: Full in Tydides’ face the lightning flew; The ground before him flamed with sulphur blue; The quivering steeds fell prostrate at the sight; And Nestor’s trembling hand confess’d his fright: He dropp’d the reins: and, shook with sacred dread, Thus, turning, warn’d the intrepid Diomed: “O chief! too daring in thy friend’s defence Retire advised, and urge the chariot hence.

This day, averse, the sovereign of the skies Assists great Hector, and our palm denies.

Some other sun may see the happier hour, When Greece shall conquer by his heavenly power.

‘Tis not in man his fix’d decree to move: The great will glory to submit to Jove.”

 

“O reverend prince! (Tydides thus replies) Thy years are awful, and thy words are wise.

But ah, what grief! should haughty Hector boast I fled inglorious to the guarded coast.

Before that dire disgrace shall blast my fame, O’erwhelm me, earth; and hide a warrior’s shame!”

To whom Gerenian Nestor thus replied: [154]

“Gods! can thy courage fear the Phrygian’s pride?

Hector may vaunt, but who shall heed the boast?

Not those who felt thy arm, the Dardan host, Nor Troy, yet bleeding in her heroes lost; Not even a Phrygian dame, who dreads the sword That laid in dust her loved, lamented lord.”

He said, and, hasty, o’er the gasping throng Drives the swift steeds: the chariot smokes along; The shouts of Trojans thicken in the wind; The storm of hissing javelins pours behind.

Then with a voice that shakes the solid skies, Pleased, Hector braves the warrior as he flies.

“Go, mighty hero! graced above the rest In seats of council and the sumptuous feast: Now hope no more those honours from thy train; Go less than woman, in the form of man!

To scale our walls, to wrap our towers in flames, To lead in exile the fair Phrygian dames, Thy once proud hopes, presumptuous prince! are fled; This arm shall reach thy heart, and stretch thee dead.”

 

Now fears dissuade him, and now hopes invite.

To stop his coursers, and to stand the fight; Thrice turn’d the chief, and thrice imperial Jove On Ida’s summits thunder’d from above.

Great Hector heard; he saw the flashing light, (The sign of conquest,) and thus urged the fight: “Hear, every Trojan, Lycian, Dardan band, All famed in war, and dreadful hand to hand.

Be mindful of the wreaths your arms have won, Your great forefathers’ glories, and your own.

Heard ye the voice of Jove? Success and fame Await on Troy, on Greece eternal shame.

In vain they skulk behind their boasted wall, Weak bulwarks; destined by this arm to fall.

High o’er their slighted trench our steeds shall bound, And pass victorious o’er the levell’d mound.

Soon as before yon hollow ships we stand, Fight each with flames, and toss the blazing brand; Till, their proud navy wrapt in smoke and fires, All Greece, encompass’d, in one blaze expires.”

 

Furious he said; then bending o’er the yoke, Encouraged his proud steeds, while thus he spoke: “Now, Xanthus, AEthon, Lampus, urge the chase, And thou, Podargus! prove thy generous race; Be fleet, be fearless, this important day, And all your master’s well-spent care repay.

For this, high-fed, in plenteous stalls ye stand, Served with pure wheat, and by a princess’ hand; For this my spouse, of great Aetion’s line, So oft has steep’d the strengthening grain in wine.

Now swift pursue, now thunder uncontroll’d: Give me to seize rich Nestor’s shield of gold; From Tydeus’ shoulders strip the costly load, Vulcanian arms, the labour of a god:

These if we gain, then victory, ye powers!

This night, this glorious night, the fleet is ours!”

 

That heard, deep anguish stung Saturnia’s soul; She shook her throne, that shook the starry pole: And thus to Neptune: “Thou, whose force can make The stedfast earth from her foundations shake, Seest thou the Greeks by fates unjust oppress’d, Nor swells thy heart in that immortal breast?

Yet AEgae, Helice, thy power obey, [155]

And gifts unceasing on thine altars lay.

Would all the deities of Greece combine, In vain the gloomy Thunderer might repine: Sole should he sit, with scarce a god to friend, And see his Trojans to the shades descend: Such be the scene from his Idaean bower; Ungrateful prospect to the sullen power!”

 

Neptune with wrath rejects the rash design: “What rage, what madness, furious queen! is thine?

I war not with the highest. All above

Submit and tremble at the hand of Jove.”

 

Now godlike Hector, to whose matchless might Jove gave the glory of the destined fight, Squadrons on squadrons drives, and fills the fields With close-ranged chariots, and with thicken’d shields.

Where the deep trench in length extended lay, Compacted troops stand wedged in firm array, A dreadful front! they shake the brands, and threat With long-destroying flames the hostile fleet.

The king of men, by Juno’s self inspired, Toil’d through the tents, and all his army fired.

Swift as he moved, he lifted in his hand His purple robe, bright ensign of command.

High on the midmost bark the king appear’d: There, from Ulysses’ deck, his voice was heard: To Ajax and Achilles reach’d the sound, Whose distant ships the guarded navy bound.

“O Argives! shame of human race! (he cried: The hollow vessels to his voice replied,) Where now are all your glorious boasts of yore, Your hasty triumphs on the Lemnian shore?

Each fearless hero dares a hundred foes, While the feast lasts, and while the goblet flows; But who to meet one martial man is found, When the fight rages, and the flames surround?

O mighty Jove! O sire of the distress’d!

Was ever king like me, like me oppress’d?

With power immense, with justice arm’d in vain; My glory ravish’d, and my people slain!

To thee my vows were breathed from every shore; What altar smoked not with our victims’ gore?

With fat of bulls I fed the constant flame, And ask’d destruction to the Trojan name.

Now, gracious god! far humbler our demand; Give these at least to ‘scape from Hector’s hand, And save the relics of the Grecian land!”

 

Thus pray’d the king, and heaven’s great father heard His vows, in bitterness of soul preferr’d: The wrath appeased, by happy signs declares, And gives the people to their monarch’s prayers.

His eagle, sacred bird of heaven! he sent, A fawn his talons truss’d, (divine portent!) High o’er the wondering hosts he soar’d above, Who paid their vows to Panomphaean Jove; Then let the prey before his altar fall; The Greeks beheld, and transport seized on all: Encouraged by the sign, the troops revive, And fierce on Troy with doubled fury drive.

Tydides first, of all the Grecian force, O’er the broad ditch impell’d his foaming horse, Pierced the deep ranks, their strongest battle tore, And dyed his javelin red with Trojan gore.

Young Agelaus (Phradmon was his sire)

With flying coursers shunn’d his dreadful ire; Struck through the back, the Phrygian fell oppress’d; The dart drove on, and issued at his breast: Headlong he quits the car: his arms resound; His ponderous buckler thunders on the ground.

Forth rush a tide of Greeks, the passage freed; The Atridae first, the Ajaces next succeed: Meriones, like Mars in arms renown’d,

And godlike Idomen, now passed the mound; Evaemon’s son next issues to the foe,

And last young Teucer with his bended bow.

Secure behind the Telamonian shield

The skilful archer wide survey’d the field, With every shaft some hostile victim slew, Then close beneath the sevenfold orb withdrew: The conscious infant so, when fear alarms, Retires for safety to the mother’s arms.

Thus Ajax guards his brother in the field, Moves as he moves, and turns the shining shield.

Who first by Teucer’s mortal arrows bled?

Orsilochus; then fell Ormenus dead:

The godlike Lycophon next press’d the plain, With Chromius, Daetor, Ophelestes slain: Bold Hamopaon breathless sunk to ground; The bloody pile great Melanippus crown’d.

Heaps fell on heaps, sad trophies of his art, A Trojan ghost attending every dart.

Great Agamemnon views with joyful eye

The ranks grow thinner as his arrows fly: “O youth forever dear! (the monarch cried) Thus, always thus, thy early worth be tried; Thy brave example shall retrieve our host, Thy country’s saviour, and thy father’s boast!

Sprung from an alien’s bed thy sire to grace, The vigorous offspring of a stolen embrace: Proud of his boy, he own’d the generous flame, And the brave son repays his cares with fame.

Now hear a monarch’s vow: If heaven’s high powers Give me to raze Troy’s long-defended towers; Whatever treasures Greece for me design, The next rich honorary gift be thine:

Some golden tripod, or distinguished car, With coursers dreadful in the ranks of war: Or some fair captive, whom thy eyes approve, Shall recompense the warrior’s toils with love.”

 

To this the chief: “With praise the rest inspire, Nor urge a soul already fill’d with fire.

What strength I have, be now in battle tried, Till every shaft in Phrygian blood be dyed.

Since rallying from our wall we forced the foe, Still aim’d at Hector have I bent my bow: Eight forky arrows from this hand have fled, And eight bold heroes by their points lie dead: But sure some god denies me to destroy

This fury of the field, this dog of Troy.”

 

He said, and twang’d the string. The weapon flies At Hector’s breast, and sings along the skies: He miss’d the mark; but pierced Gorgythio’s heart, And drench’d in royal blood the thirsty dart.

(Fair Castianira, nymph of form divine, This offspring added to king Priam’s line.) As full-blown poppies, overcharged with rain, [156]

Decline the head, and drooping kiss the plain; So sinks the youth: his beauteous head, depress’d Beneath his helmet, drops upon his breast.

Another shaft the raging archer drew,

That other shaft with erring fury flew, (From Hector, Phoebus turn’d the flying wound,) Yet fell not dry or guiltless to the ground: Thy breast, brave Archeptolemus! it tore, And dipp’d its feathers in no vulgar gore.

Headlong he falls: his sudden fall alarms The steeds, that startle at his sounding arms.

Hector with grief his charioteer beheld All pale and breathless on the sanguine field: Then bids Cebriones direct the rein,

Quits his bright car, and issues on