The Iliad - Homer (ebook reader library .txt) š
- Author: Homer
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Menelaus sends Antilochus to Achilles, with the news of Patroclusās death: then returns to the fight, where, though attacked with the utmost fury, he and Meriones, assisted by the Ajaces, bear off the body to the ships.
The time is the evening of the eight-and-twentieth day. The scene lies in the fields before Troy.
BOOK XVII.
Nor was Patroclusā fall, by Trojans slain, Of warlike Menelaus unobservād;
Forward he sprang, in dazzling arms arrayād, And round him movād, as round her new-droppād calf Her first, a heifer moves with plaintive moan: So round Patroclus Menelaus movād,
His shieldās broad orb and spear before him held, To all who might oppose him threatāning death.
Nor, on his side, was Panthousā noble son Unmindful of the slain; but, standing near, The warlike Menelaus thus addressād:
āIllustrious son of Atreus, Heavān-born chief, Quit thou the dead; yield up the bloody spoils: For, of the Trojans and their famād Allies, Mine was the hand that in the stubborn fight First struck Patroclus; leave me then to wear Among the men of Troy my honours due,
Lest by my spear thou lose thy cherishād life.ā
To whom in anger Menelaus thus:
āO Father Jove, how ill this vaunting tone Beseems this braggart! In their own esteem, āWith Panthousā sons for courage none may vie; Nor pard, nor lion, nor the forest boar, Fiercest of beasts, and proudest of his strength.
Yet nought availād to Hyperenorās might His youthful vigour, when he held me cheap, And my encounter darād; of all the Greeks He deemād my prowess least; yet he, I ween, On his own feet returnād not, to rejoice His tender wifeās and honourād parentsā sight.
So shall thy pride be quellād, if me thou dare Encounter; but I warn thee, while ātis time, Ere ill betide thee, āmid the genāral throng That thou withdraw, nor stand to me opposād.
After thā event may eāen a fool be wise.ā
He spoke in vain; Euphorbus thus replied: āNow, Heavān-born Menelaus, shalt thou pay The forfeit for my brotherās life, oāer whom, Slain by thy hand, thou makāst thy boasting speech.
Thou in the chambers of her new-found home Hast made his bride a weeping widow; thou Hast fillād with bittārest grief his parentsā hearts: Some solace might those hapless mourners find, Could I thy head and armour in the hands Of Panthous and of honourād Phrontis place; Nor uncontested shall the proof remain, Nor long deferrād, of victāry or defeat.ā
He said, and struck the centre of the shield, But broke not through; against the stubborn brass The point was bent; then with a prayār to Jove The son of Atreus in his turn advancād; And, backward as he steppād, below his throat Took aim, and pressing hard with stalwart hand Drove through the yielding neck the pondārous spear: Thundāring he fell, and loud his armour rang.
Those locks, that with the Gracesā hair might vie, Those tresses bright, with gold and silver bound, Were dabbled all with blood. As when a man Hath rearād a fair and vigārous olive plant, In some lone spot, by copious-gushing springs, And seen expanding, nursād by evāry breeze, Its whitāning blossoms; till with sudden gust A sweeping hurricane of wind and rain
Uproots it from its bed, and prostrate lays; So lay the youthful son of Panthous, slain By Atreusā son, and of his arms despoilād.
And as a lion, in the mountains bred,
In pride of strength, amid the pasturing herd Seizes a heifer in his powārful jaws,
The choicest; and, her neck first broken, rends, And, on her entrails gorging, laps the blood; Though with loud clamour dogs and herdsmen round Assail him from afar, yet ventures none To meet his rage, for fear is on them all; So none was there so bold, with dauntless breast The noble Menelausā wrath to meet.
Now had Atrides borne away with ease
The spoils of Panthousā son; but Phoebus grudgād His prize of victāry, and against him launchād The might of Hector, terrible as Mars: To whom his winged words, in Mentesā form, Chief of the Cicones, he thus addressād: āHector, thy labour all is vain, pursuing Pelidesā flying steeds; and hard are they For mortal man to harness, or control.
Save for Achillesā self, the Goddess-born.
The valiant Menelaus, Atreusā son,
Defends meanwhile Patroclus; and eāen now Hath slain a noble Trojan, Panthousā son, Euphorbus, and his youthful vigour quellād.ā
He said, and joinād again the strife of men: Hectorās dark soul with bitter grief was fillād; He lookād amid the ranks, and saw the two, One slain, the other stripping off his arms, The blood outpouring from the gaping wound.
Forward he sprang, in dazzling arms arrayād, Loud shouting, blazing like the quenchless flames Of Vulcan: Menelaus heard the shout,
And, troubled, communād with his valiant heart: āOh, woe is me! for should I now the spoils Abandon, and Patroclus, who for me
And in my cause lies slain, of any Greek Who saw me, I might well incur the blame: And yet if here alone I dare to fight
With Hector and his Trojans, much I fear, Singly, to be by numbers overwhelmād;
For Hector all the Trojans hither brings.
But wherefore entertain such thoughts, my soul?
Who strives, against the will divine, with one Belovād of Heavān, a bitter doom must meet.
Then none may blame me, though I should retreat From Hector, who with Heavānās assistance wars.
Yet could I hear brave Ajaxā battle cry, We two, returning, would the encounter dare, Eāen against Heavān, if so for Peleusā son We might regain, and bear away the dead: Some solace of our loss might then be ours.ā
While in his mind and spirit thus he musād, By Hector led, the Trojan ranks advancād: Backward he movād, abandoning the dead; But turning oft, as when by men and dogs A bearded lion from the fold is drivān With shouts and spears; yet grieves his mighty heart, And with reluctant step he quits the yard: So from Patroclus Menelaus movād;
Yet when he reachād his comradesā ranks, he turnād, And lookād around, if haply he might find The mighty Ajax, son of Telamon.
Him on the battleās farthest left he spied, Cheering his friends and urging to the fight, For sorely Phoebus had their courage tried; And hastāning to his side, addressād him thus: āAjax, haste hither; to the rescue come Of slain Patroclus; if perchance we two May to Achilles, Peleusā son, restore
His body: his naked body, for his arms Are prize to Hector of the glancing helm.ā
He said, and Ajaxā spirit within him stirrād; Forward he sprang, and with him Atreusā son.
Hector was dragging now Patroclusā corpse, Stripped of its glittāring armour, and intent The head to sever with his sword, and give The mangled carcase to the dogs of Troy: But Ajax, with his towār-like shield, approachād; Then Hector to his comradesā ranks withdrew, Rushād to his car, and bade the Trojans bear The glittāring arms, his glorious prize, to Troy: While Ajax with his mighty shield oāerspread Menoetiusā son; and stood, as for his cubs A lion stands, whom hunters, unaware,
Have with his offspring met amid the woods.
Proud in his strength he stands; and down are drawn, Covāring his eyes, the wrinkles of his brow: So oāer Patroclus mighty Ajax stood,
And by his side, his heart with grief oppressād, The warlike Menelaus, Atreusā son.
Then Glaucus, leader of the Lycian host, To Hector thus, with scornful glance, addressād His keen reproaches: āHector, fair of form, How art thou wanting in the fight! thy fame, Coward and runaway, thou hast belied.
Bethink thee now, if thou alone canst save The city, aided but by Trojans born;
Henceforth no Lycian will go forth for Troy To fight with Greeks; since favour none we gain By unremitting toil against the foe.
How can a meaner man expect thine aid, Who basely to the Greeks a prize and spoil Sarpedon leavāst, thy comrade and thy guest?
Greatly he servād the city and thyself, While yet he livād; and now thou darāst not save His body from the dogs! By my advice
If Lycians will be rulād, we take at once Our homeward way, and Troy may meet her doom.
But if in Trojan bosoms there abode
The daring, dauntless courage, meet for men Who in their countryās cause against the foe Endure both toil and war, we soon should see Patroclus brought within the walls of Troy; Him from the battle could we bear away, And, lifeless, bring to royal Priamās town, Soon would the Greeks Sarpedonās arms release, And we to Iliumās heights himself might bear: For with his valiant comrades there lies slain The follower of the bravest chief of Greece.
But thou before the mighty Ajax stoodāst With downcast eyes, nor durst in manly fight Contend with one thy better far confessād.ā
To whom thus Hector of the glancing helm, With stern regard, replied: āWhy, Glaucus, speak, Brave as thou art, in this oāerbearing strain?
Good friend, I heretofore have held thee wise Oāer all who dwell in Lyciaās fertile soil; But now I change, and hold thy judgment cheap, Who chargest me with flying from the might Of giant Ajax; never have I shrunk
From the stern fight, and clatter of the cars; But all oāerruling is the mind of Jove, Who strikes with panic, and of victāry robs The bravest; and anon excites to war.
Stand by me now, and see if through the day I prove myself the coward that thou sayāst, Or suffer that a Greek, how brave soeāer, Shall rescue from my hands Patroclusā corpse.ā
He said, and loudly on the Trojans callād: āTrojans and Lycians, and ye Dardans, famād In close encounter, quit ye now like men; Maintain awhile the stubborn fight, while I The splendid armour of Achilles don,
My glorious prize from slain Patroclus torn.ā
So saying, Hector of the glancing helm, Withdrawing from the field, with rapid steps His comrades followād, and ere long oāertook, Who towārd the town Achillesā armour bore; Then standing from the bloody fight aloof The armour he exchangād; his own he bade The warlike Trojans to the city bear;
While he, of Peleusā son, Achilles, donnād The heavānly armour, which thā immortal Gods Gave to his sire; he to his son conveyād; Yet in that armour grew not old that son.
Him when apart the Cloud-compeller saw Girt with the arms of Peleusā godlike son, He shook his head, and inly thus he musād: āAh hapless! little deemāst thou of thy fate, Though now so nigh! Thou of the prime of men, The dread of all, hast donnād thā immortal arms, Whose comrade, brave and good, thy hand hath slain; And shamād him, stripping from his head and breast Helmet and cuirass; yet thy latest hours Will I with glory crown; since neāer from thee, Eeturnād from battle, shall Andromache Receive the spoils of Peleusā godlike son.ā
He said, and nodded with his shadowy brows; Then with the armour, fitted to his form By Jove himself, was Hector girt by Mars The fierce and terrible; with vigārous strength His limbs were strung, as āmid his brave allies He sprang, loud-shouting; glittāring in his arms, To all he seemād Achillesā godlike self.
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