The Iliad - Homer (ebook reader library .txt) đ
- Author: Homer
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I too, since such my doom, must lie in death; Yet, ere I die, immortal fame will win; And from their delicate cheeks, deep-bosomâd dames, Dardan and Trojan, bitter tears shall wipe, And groan in anguish; then shall all men know How long I have been absent from the field; Then, though thou love me, seek not from the war To stay my steps; for bootless were thy speech.â
Whom answerâd thus the silver-footed Queen: âTrue are thy words, my son; and good it is, And commendable, from the stroke of death To save a worsted comrade; but thine arms, Thy brazen, flashing arms, the Trojans hold: Them Hector of the glancing helm himself Bears on his breast, exulting; yet not long Shall be his triumph, for his doom is nigh.
But thou, engage not in the toils of war, Until thine eyes again behold me here; For with to-morrowâs sun will I return With arms of heavânly mould, by Vulcan wrought.â
Thus saying, from her son she turnâd away, And turning, to her sister Nereids spoke: âBack to the spacious bosom of the deep Retire ye now; and to my fatherâs house, The aged Ocean God, your tidings bear; While I to high Olympus speed, to crave At Vulcanâs hand, the skillâd artificer, A boon of dazzling armour for my son.â
She said; and they beneath the ocean wave Descended, while to high Olympus sped
The silver-footed Goddess, thence in hope To bear the dazzling armour to her son.
She to Olympus sped; the Greeks meanwhile Before the warrior-slayer Hector fled
With wild, tumultuous uproar, till they reachâd Their vessels and the shore of Hellespont.
Nor had the well-greavâd Greets Achillesâ friend, Patroclus, from amid the fray withdrawn; For close upon him followâd horse and man, And Hector, son of Priam, fierce as flame; Thrice noble Hector, seizing from behind, Sought by the feet to drag away the dead, Cheering his friends; thrice, clad in warlike might, The two Ajaces drove him from his prey.
Yet, fearless in his strength, now rushing on He dashâd amid the fray; now, shouting loud, Stood firm; but backward not a step retirâd.
As from a carcase herdsmen strive in vain To scare a tawny lion, hunger-pinchâd; Eâen so thâ Ajaces, mail-clad warriors, failâd The son of Priam from the corpse to scare.
And now the body had he borne away,
With endless fame; but from Olympusâ height Came storm-swift Iris down to Peleusâ son, And bade him don his arms; by Juno sent, Unknown to Jove, and to thâ Immortals all.
She stood beside him, and addressâd him thus: âUp, son of Peleus! up, thou prince of men!
Haste to Patroclusâ rescue; whom, around, Before the ships, is wagâd a fearful war, With mutual slaughter; these the dead defending, And those to Iliumâs breezy heights intent To bear the body; noble Hector chief,
Who longs to sever from the tender neck, And fix upon the spikes, thy comradeâs head.
Up then! delay no longer; deem it shame Patroclusâ corpse should glut the dogs of Troy, Dishonâring thee, if aught dishonour him.â
Whom answerâd thus Achilles, swift of foot: âSay, heavânly Iris, of thâ immortal Gods Who bade thee seek me, and this message bring?â
To whom swift Iris thus: âTo thee I come By Juno sent, thâ imperial wife of Jove; Unknown to Saturnâs son, and all the Gods Who on Olympusâ snowy summit dwell.â
To whom again Achilles, swift of foot: âHow in the battle toil can I engage?
My arms are with the Trojans; and to boot My mother warnâd me not to arm for fight, Till I again should see her; for she hopâd To bring me heavânly arms by Vulcan wrought: Nor know I well whose armour I could wear, Save the broad shield of Ajax Telamon
And he, methinks, amid the foremost ranks Evân now is fighting oâer Patroclusâ corpse.â
Whom answerâd storm-swift Iris: âWell we know Thy glorious arms are by the Trojans held; But go thou forth, and from above the ditch Appear before them; daunted at the sight, Haply the Trojans may forsake the field, And breathing-time afford the sons of Greece, Toil-worn; for little pause has yet been theirs.â
Swift Iris said, and vanishâd; then uprose Achilles, dear to Jove; and Pallas threw Her tassellâd aegis oâer his shoulders broad; His head encircling with a coronet
Of golden cloud, whence fiery flashes gleamâd.
As from an island city up to Heavân
The smoke ascends, which hostile forces round Beleaguer, and all day with cruel war
From its own state cut off; but when the sun Hath set, blaze frequent forth the beacon fires; High rise the flames, and to the dwellers round Their signal flash, if haply oâer the sea May come the needful aid; so brightly flashâd That fiery light around Achillesâ head.
He left the wall, and stood above the ditch, But from the Greeks apart, remembâring well His motherâs prudent counsel; there he stood, And shouted loudly; Pallas joinâd her voice, And fillâd with terror all the Trojan host.
Clear as the trumpetâs sound, which calls to arms Some town, encompassâd round with hostile bands, Rang out the voice of great AEacides.
But when Achillesâ voice of brass they heard, They quailâd in spirit; the sleek-skinâd steeds themselves, Conscious of coming ill, bore back the cars: Their charioteers, dismayâd, beheld the flame Which, kindled by the blue-eyâd Goddess, blazâd Unquenchâd around the head of Peleusâ son.
Thrice shouted from the ditch the godlike chief; Thrice terror struck both Trojans and Allies; And there and then beside their chariots fell Twelve of their bravest; while the Greeks, well pleasâd, Patroclusâ body from the fray withdrew, And on a litter laid; around him stood His comrades mourning; with them, Peleusâ son, Shedding hot tears, as on his friend he gazâd, Laid on the bier, and piercâd with deadly wounds: Him to the war with horses and with cars He sent; but neâer to welcome his return.
By stag-eyâd Juno sent, reluctant sank Thâ unwearied sun beneath the ocean wave; The sun had set, and breathâd awhile the Greeks From the fierce labours of the balancâd field; Nor less the Trojans, from the stubborn fight Retiring, from the chariots loosâd their steeds: But ere they sharâd the evâning meal, they met In council; all stood up; none darâd to sit; For fear had fallen on all, when reappearâd Achilles, from the battle long withdrawn.
First Panthousâ son, the sage Polydamas, Addressâd thâ assembly; his sagacious mind Alone beheld the future and the past;
The friend of Hector, born the selfsame night; One in debate, the other best in arms; Who thus with prudent speech began, and said: âBe well advisâd, my friends! my counsel is That we regain the city, nor the morn
Here in the plain, beside the ships, await, So far removâd from our protecting walls.
While fiercely burnâd âgainst Atreusâ godlike son That mighty warriorâs wrath, âtwas easier far With thâ other Greeks to deal; and I rejoicâd When by the ships we passâd the night, in hopes We soon might call them ours; but now, I own Achilles, swift of foot, excites my fear.
His proud, impetuous spirit will spurn the plain, Where Greeks and Trojans oft in warlike strife Their balancâd strength exert; if he come forth, Our fight will be to guard our homes and wives.
Gain we the city; trust me, so âtwere best.
Now, for a while, ambrosial night detains The son of Peleus; but at early morn
If issuing forth in arms he find us here, His prowess we shall know; and happy he Who, flying, shall in safety reach the walls Of sacred Troy; for many a Trojan slain Shall feed the vultures; Heavân avert such fate!
But if, though loth, ye will by me be rulâd, This night in council husband we our strength; While towârs, and lofty gates, and folding doors Close joinâd, well-fitting, shall our city guard: Then issuing forth in arms at early morn Man we the towârs; so harder were his task If, from the ships advancing, round the wall He offer battle; bootless to return,
His strong-neckâd horses worn with labour vain In coursing, purposeless, around the town.
To force an entrance, or the town destroy, Is not his aim; and ere that end be gainâd, The dogs of Troy upon his flesh shall feed.â
To whom thus Hector of the glancing helm With stern regard: âPolydamas, thy words Are such as grate unkindly on mine ear, Who fain wouldst have us to the walls retire.
What? have ye not already long enough
Been coopâd within the towârs? the wealth of Troy, Its brass, its gold, were once the common theme Of evâry tongue; our hoarded treasures now Are gone, to Phrygian and Maeonian shores For sale exported, costly merchandise, Since on our city fell the wrath of Jove.
And now, when deep-designing Saturnâs son Such glory gives me as to gain the ships, And, crowded by the sea, hem in the Greeks, Fool! put not thou these timid counsels forth, Which none will follow, nor will I allow.
But hear ye all, and do as I advise:
Share now the meal, by ranks, throughout the host; Then set your watch, and each keep careful guard; And whom his spoils oâerload, if such there be, Let him divide them with the genâral crowd; Better that they should hold them than the Greeks: And with the morn, in arms, beside the ships, Will we again awake the furious war.
But if indeed Achilles by the ships
Hath reappearâd, himself, if so he choose, Shall be the suffârer; from the perilous strife I will not shrink, but his encounter meet: So he, or I, shall gain immortal fame; Impartial Mars hath oft the slayer slain.â
Thus Hector spoke; the Trojans cheerâd aloud: Fools, and by Pallas of their sense bereft, Who all applauded Hectorâs ill advice, None the sage counsel of Polydamas!
Then through the camp they sharâd the evâning meal.
Meantime the Greeks all night with tears and groans Bewailâd Patroclus: on his comradeâs breast Achilles laid his murder-dealing hands, And led with bitter groans the loud lament.
As when the hunters, in the forestâs depth, Have robbâd a bearded lion of his cubs; Too late arriving, he with anger chafes; Then follows, if perchance he may oâertake, Through many a mountain glen, the huntersâ steps, With grief and fury fillâd; so Peleusâ son, With bitter groans, the Myrmidons addressâd: âVain was, alas! the promise which I gave, Seeking the brave Menoetius to console, To bring to Opus back his gallant son, Rich with his share of spoil from Troy oâerthrown; But Jove fulfils not all that man designs: For us hath fate decreed, that here in Troy We two one soil should redden with our blood; Nor me, returning to my native land,
Shall aged Peleus in his halls receive, Nor Thetis; here must earth retain my bones.
But since, Patroclus, I am doomâd on earth Behind thee to remain, thy funâral rites I will not celebrate, till Hectorâs arms, And head, thy haughty slayerâs, here I bring; And on thy pyre twelve noble sons of Troy Will sacrifice, in vengeance of thy death.
Thou by our beaked ships till then must lie; And weeping oâer thee shall deep-bosomâd dames, Trojan and Dardan, mourn both night and day; The prizes of our toil, when wealthy towns Before our valour and our spears have fallân.â
He said, and bade his comrades on the fire An ample tripod place, without delay
To cleanse Patroclus from the bloody gore: They on the burning fire the tripod placâd, With water fillâd, and kindled wood beneath.
Around the bellying tripod rose the flames, Heating the bath; within the
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