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

While from the sea I call the stormy blast Of Zephyr and brisk Notus, who shall drive The raging flames ahead, and burn alike The Trojans and their arms: do thou the while Burn down the trees on Xanthus’ banks; himself Assail with fire, nor by his honey’d words Nor by his menaces be turn’d aside;

Nor, till thou hear my voice, restrain thy pow’r; Then stay the raging flames’ unwearied course.”

 

Thus Juno spoke; and Vulcan straight prepar’d The heav’nly fire; and first upon the plain The flames he kindled, and the dead consum’d, Who lay, promiscuous, by Achilles slain: The plain was dried, and stay’d the wat’ry flood.

As when the breath of Boreas quickly dries In Autumn-time a newly-water’d field,

The tiller’s heart rejoicing: so was dried The spacious plain; then he, the dead consum’d, Against the river turn’d the fiery glare: Burnt were the willows, elms, and tamarisk shrubs, The lotus, and the reeds, and galingal, Which by the lovely river grew profuse.

The eels and fishes, ‘mid the eddying whirl, ‘Mid the clear wave were hurrying here and there, In dire distress from Vulcan’s fiery breath: Scorch’d by the flames, the mighty River spoke: “Vulcan, no God against thy pow’r can stand, Nor with thy fiery flames will I contend; Restrain thy wrath; though Peleus’ godlike son Should from their city drive the Trojans straight, With rival parties what concern have I?”

 

All scorch’d he spoke; his fair stream bubbling up, As when a caldron on a blazing fire,

Fill’d with the melting fat of well-fed swine, Boils up within, and bubbles all around, With well-dried wood beneath, so bubbling up The waters of the lovely River boil’d: Nor onward would he flow, but check’d his course, By the hot blast o’erborne, and fiery strength Of skilful Vulcan; and to Juno thus,

Imploring, he his winged words address’d: “Juno, what cause impels thy son, my stream, O’er all the rest, to visit with his wrath?

E’en less than others who the Trojans aid, Have I offended; yet at thy command

Will I withdraw; but bid that he too cease; And this I swear, no Trojan more to save, Though to devouring flames a prey, all Troy Were blazing, kindled by the valiant Greeks.”

 

This when the white-arm’d Goddess Juno heard, To Vulcan straight she thus address’d her speech: “Vulcan, my glorious son, restrain thy hand: In mortal men’s behalf, it is not meet To press thus hardly an Immortal God.”

 

She said, and Vulcan stay’d his fiery strength, And, back returning, in his wonted bed Flow’d the fair River. Xanthus thus subdued, These two their warfare ceas’d, by Juno check’d, Despite her wrath; but ‘mid the other Gods Arose contention fierce, and discord dire, Their warring passions rous’d on either side.

With fearful crash they met: the broad Earth groan’d; Loud rang the Heav’n as with a trumpet’s sound: Jove, on Olympus’ height, the tumult heard, And in his heart he laugh’d a joyous laugh, To see the Gods in angry battle met.

Not long they stood aloof, led on by Mars The buckler-breaker, who to Pallas first, Poising his spear, his bitter speech address’d: “What dost thou here, thou saucy jade, to war The Gods exciting, overbold of mood,

Led by thy haughty spirit? dost thou forget How thou the son of Tydeus, Diomed,

Didst urge against me, and with visible spear Direct his aim, and aid to wound my flesh?

For all I suffer’d then, thou now shalt pay.”

 

Thus as he spoke, he struck the tassell’d shield, Awful to view, which not the lightning bolt Of Jove himself could pierce: the blood-stain’d Mars Against it thrust in vain his pond’rous spear.

The Goddess stoop’d, and in her ample hand Took up a stone, that lay upon the plain, Dark, rugged, vast, which men of elder days Had set to mark the limits of their land.

Full on the neck of Mars she hurl’d the mass, His limbs relaxing: o’er sev’n hundred feet Prostrate he lay, his hair defil’d with dust: Loud rang his armour; and with scornful smile Pallas address’d him thus with vaunting speech: “Fool, hast thou yet to learn how mightier far My strength than thine, that me thou dar’st to meet?

Bear thus the burthen of thy mother’s curse, Who works thee harm, in wrath that thou the Greeks Deserting, aid’st the haughty Trojans’ cause.”

 

She said, and turn’d away her piercing glance: Him, deeply groaning, scarce to life restor’d, Jove’s daughter Venus taking by the hand, Led from the field; which when the white-arm’d Queen Beheld, in haste to Pallas thus she cried: “O Heav’n, brave child of aegis-bearing Jove, Undaunted! lo again this saucy jade

Amid the press, the bane of mortals, Mars Leads from the field; but haste thee in pursuit.”

 

Thus Juno: Pallas hasten’d in pursuit

Well pleas’d; and Venus with her pow’rful hand Assailing, struck upon the breast; at once The Goddess’ courage and her limbs gave way.

There on the ground the two together lay, While Pallas o’er them thus with vaunting speech: “Would all were such, who aid the Trojan cause, Whene’er they meet in fight the warlike Greeks, As valiant and as stout as Venus proves, Who brings her aid to Mars, confronting me; Then had our warlike labours long been o’er, And Ilium’s strong-built citadel overthrown.”

 

Thus Pallas spoke: the white-arm’d Goddess smil’d, And to Apollo thus th’ Earth-shaker spoke: “Phoebus, why stand we idly thus aloof?

The war begun by others, ‘tis not meet; And shame it were, that to Olympus’ height And to the brazen-floor’d abode of Jove We two without a contest should return.

Thou then begin, as younger: ‘twere not well For me, in age and practice more advanc’d.

Feeble of soul, how senseless is thy heart!

Hast thou forgotten all the cruel wrongs We two, alone of all th’ Immortals, bore, When here, in Ilium, for a year, we serv’d, By Jove’s command, the proud Laomedon, For promis’d hire; and he our tasks assign’d?

His fortress, and a wall both broad and fair I built, the town’s impregnable defence; While thou didst on his plodding herds attend, In many-crested Ida’s woody glens.

But when the joyous seasons, in their course, Had brought our labour’s term, the haughty King Denied our guerdon, and with threats dismiss’d.

Bound hand and foot, he threaten’d thee to send And sell to slav’ry in the distant isles, And with the sword cut off the ears of both.

So in indignant sorrow we return’d,

Robb’d of the hire he promis’d, but denied.

For this thy favour dost thou show to Troy; And dost not rather join thy force to ours, That down upon their knees the Trojans all Should perish, with their babes and matrons chaste.”

 

Whom answer’d thus the far-destroying King: “Earth-shaking God, I should not gain with thee The esteem of wise, if I with thee should fight For mortal men; poor wretches, who like leaves Flourish awhile, and eat the fruits of earth, But, sapless, soon decay: from combat then Refrain we, and to others leave the strife.”

 

He turn’d, thus saying: for he deem’d it shame His father’s brother to assail in arms; But him his sister, Goddess of the chase, Rebuk’d, and thus with scornful speech address’d: “Fliest thou, Apollo? and to Neptune leav’st The easy victory and baseless fame?

Why o’er thy shoulder hangs thine idle bow?

Ne’er in our father’s halls again, as erst Among th’ Immortals, let me hear thee boast How thou with Neptune wouldst in arms contend.”

 

Thus she; Apollo answer’d not a word;

But Jove’s imperial consort, fill’d with wrath, Assail’d with bitter words the Archer-Queen.

 

“How canst thou dare, thou saucy minx, to stand [7]

Oppos’d to me, too great for thine assault, Despite thy bow? though Jove hath giv’n thee pow’r O’er feeble women, whom thou wilt, to slay, E’en as a lion; better were’t for thee To chase the mountain beasts and flying hinds, Than thy superiors thus to meet in arms, But since thou dar’st confront me, thou shalt know And feel how far my might surpasses thine.”

 

She said; and with the left hand both the wrists Of Dian grasping, with her ample right The bow and quiver from her shoulders tore; And with them, as she turn’d away her head, With scornful laughter buffeted her ears: The arrows keen were scatter’d on the ground: Weeping, the Goddess fled; as flies a dove The hawk’s pursuit, and in a hollow rock Finds refuge, doom’d not yet to fall a prey; So, weeping, Dian fled, and left her bow.

 

Them Hermes to Latona thus: “With thee I strive not; shame it were to meet in fight A consort of the cloud-compelling Jove.

Freely amid th’ Immortals make thy boast, That by thy prowess thou hast vanquish’d me.”

 

Thus he: Latona gather’d up the bow,

And fallen arrows, scatter’d here and there Amid the whirling dust; then, these regain’d, Following her daughter, from the field withdrew.

Meanwhile to high Olympus fled the Maid, And to the brazen-floor’d abode of Jove.

There, weeping, on her father’s knees she sat, While quiver’d round her form th’ ambrosial robe.

The son of Saturn tow’rds him drew his child, And thus, with gracious smile, enquiry made: “Which of the heav’nly pow’rs hath wrong’d thee thus My child, as guilty of some open shame?”

 

To whom the bright-crown’d Goddess of the chase: “Thy wife, my father, white-arm’d Juno; she Hath dealt thus rudely with me; she, from whom All jars and strife among the Gods proceed.”

 

Such converse while they held, the gates of Troy Apollo enter’d, for the well-built wall Alarm’d, lest e’en against the will of fate The Greeks that day should raze it to the ground.

The other Gods were to Olympus gone,

Triumphant these, and those in angry mood, And took their seats before the cloud-girt Sire.

But on the Trojans pressing, Peleus’ son Horses and men alike, promiscuous, slew.

As in a city, which the Gods in wrath

Have fir’d, whose volleying smoke ascends to Heav’n, On all her people grievous toil is cast, On many, harm and loss; such toil, such loss Achilles wrought amid the Trojan host.

 

Upon a lofty tow’r, the work of Gods,

The aged Priam stood, and thence beheld By fierce Achilles driven in flight confused, Their courage quite subdued, the Trojan host: Then, groaning, from the tow’r he hasten’d down, And to the warders cried along the wall: “Stand to the gates, and hold them open’d wide, That in the crowd of fugitives may pour, And refuge find; for close upon their flight Achilles hangs; disaster now is near.

But while our friends, receiv’d within the walls, Find time to breathe again, replace in haste The closely-fitting portals; for I fear That man of blood may e’en the city storm.”

 

He said; the gates they open’d, and drew back The solid bars; the portals, op’ning wide, Let in the light; but in the vacant space Apollo stood, the Trojan host to save.

The flyers, parch’d with thirst and dust-begrim’d, Straight for the city and the lofty wall Made from the plain; Achilles, spear in hand, Press’d hotly on the rearmost; for his soul With rage was fill’d, and madd’ning lust of fame.

And now the lofty-gated city of Troy

The sons of Greece had won; but Phoebus rous’d Agenor’s spirit, a valiant youth and strong, Son of Antenor; he his bosom fill’d

With dauntless courage, and beside him stood To turn aside the heavy hand of death, As, veil’d in cloud, against the oak he lean’d.

He, when Achilles’ awful form he knew, Yet firmly stood, though much perplex’d in mind, As thus he commun’d with his mighty heart: “Oh woe is me! should I attempt to fly Before Achilles’ might, where