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

be thyself A bird of evil omen in my house;

For thou shalt not persuade me. If indeed This message had been brought by mortal man, Prophet, or seer, or sacrificing priest, I should have deem’d it false, and laugh’d to scorn The idle tale; but now (for I myself

Both saw and heard the Goddess) I must go; Nor unfulfill’d shall be the words I speak: And if indeed it be my fate to die

Beside the vessels of the brass-clad Greeks, I am content! by fierce Achilles’ hand Let me be slain, so once more in my arms I hold my boy, and give my sorrow vent.”

Then raising up the coffer’s polish’d lid, He chose twelve gorgeous shawls, twelve single cloaks.

As many rugs, as many splendid robes,

As many tunics; then of gold he took

Ten talents full; two tripods, burnish’d bright, Four caldrons; then a cup of beauty rare, A rich possession, which the men of Thrace Had giv’n, when there he went ambassador; E’en this he spar’d not, such his keen desire His son to ransom. From the corridor

With angry words he drove the Trojans all: “Out with ye, worthless rascals, vagabonds!

Have ye no griefs at home, that here ye come To pester me? or is it not enough

That Jove with deep affliction visits me, Slaying my bravest son? ye to your cost Shall know his loss: since now that he is gone, The Greeks shall find you easier far to slay.

But may my eyes be clos’d in death, ere see The city sack’d, and utterly destroy’d.”

 

He said, and with his staff drove out the crowd; Before the old man’s anger fled they all; Then to his sons in threat’ning tone he cried; To Paris, Helenus, and Agathon,

Pammon, Antiphonus, Polites brave,

Deiphobus, and bold Hippothous,

And godlike Dius; all these nine with threats And angry taunts the aged sire assail’d: “Haste, worthless sons, my scandal and my shame!

Would that ye all beside the Grecian ships In Hector’s stead had died! Oh woe is me, Who have begotten sons, in all the land The best and bravest; now remains not one; Mestor, and Troilus, dauntless charioteer, And Hector, who a God ‘mid men appear’d, Nor like a mortal’s offspring, but a God’s: All these hath Mars cut off; and left me none, None but the vile and refuse; liars all, Vain skipping coxcombs, in the dance alone, And in nought else renown’d; base plunderers, From their own countrymen, of lambs and kids.

When, laggards, will ye harness me the car Equipp’d with all things needed for the way?”

 

He said; they quail’d beneath their father’s wrath, And brought the smoothly-running mule-wain out, Well-fram’d, new-built; and fix’d the wicker seat; Then from the peg the mule-yoke down they took, Of boxwood wrought, with boss and rings complete; And with the yoke, the yokeband brought they forth, Nine cubits long; and to the polish’d pole At the far end attach’d; the breast-rings then Fix’d to the pole-piece: and on either side Thrice round the knob the leathern thong they wound.

And bound it fast, and inward turn’d the tongue.

Then the rich ransom, from the chambers brought, Of Hector’s head, upon the wain they pil’d; And yok’d the strong-hoof’d mules, to harness train’d, The Mysians’ splendid present to the King: To Priam’s car they harness’d then the steeds, Which he himself at polish’d manger fed.

 

Deep thoughts revolving, in the lofty halls Were met the herald and the aged King, When Hecuba with troubled mind drew near; In her right hand a golden cup she bore Of luscious wine, that ere they took their way They to the Gods might due libations pour; Before the car she stood, and thus she spoke: “Take, and to father Jove thine off’ring pour, And pray that he may bring thee safely home From all thy foes; since sore against my will Thou needs wilt venture to the ships of Greece.

Then to Idaean Jove, the cloud-girt son Of Saturn, who th’ expanse of Troy surveys, Prefer thy pray’r, beseeching him to send, On thy right hand, a winged messenger, The bird he loves the best, of strongest flight; That thou thyself mayst see and know the sign, And, firm in faith, approach the ships of Greece.

But should all-seeing Jove the sign withhold, Then not with my consent shouldst thou attempt, Whate’er thy wish, to reach the Grecian ships.”

 

To whom, in answer, godlike Priam thus: “O woman, I refuse not to obey

Thy counsel; good it is to raise the hands In pray’r to Heav’n, and Jove’s protection seek.”

The old man said; and bade th’ attendant pour Pure water on his hands; with ewer she, And basin, stood beside him: from his wife, The due ablutions made, he took the cup; Then in the centre of the court he stood, And as he pour’d the wine, look’d up to Heav’n, And thus with voice uplifted pray’d aloud: “O father Jove, who rul’st on Ida’s height, Most great, most glorious! grant that I may find Some pity in Achilles’ heart; and send, On my right hand, a winged messenger,

The bird thou lov’st the best, of strongest flight, That I myself may see and know the sign, And, firm in faith, approach the ships of Greece.”

 

Thus as he pray’d, the Lord of counsel heard; And sent forthwith an eagle, feather’d king, Dark bird of chase, and Dusky thence surnam’d: Wide as the portals, well secur’d with bolts, That guard some wealthy monarch’s lofty hall, On either side his ample pinions spread.

On the right hand appear’d he, far above The city soaring; they the fav’ring sign With joy beheld, and ev’ry heart was cheer’d.

Mounting his car in haste, the aged King Drove thro’ the court, and thro’ the echoing porch; The mules in front, by sage Idaeus driv’n, That drew the four-wheel’d wain; behind them came The horses, down the city’s steep descent Urg’d by th’ old man to speed; the crowd of friends That follow’d mourn’d for him, as doom’d to death.

Descended from the city to the plain,

His sons and sons-in-law to Ilium took Their homeward way; advancing o’er the plain They two escap’d not Jove’s all-seeing eye; Pitying he saw the aged sire; and thus At once to Hermes spoke, his much-lov’d son: “Hermes, for thou in social converse lov’st To mix with men, and hear’st whome’er thou wilt; Haste thee, and Priam to the Grecian ships So lead, that none of all the Greeks may see Ere at Achilles’ presence he attain.”

 

He said; nor disobey’d the heav’nly Guide; His golden sandals on his feet he bound, Ambrosial work; which bore him o’er the waves, Swift as the wind, and o’er the wide-spread earth; Then took his rod, wherewith he seals at will The eyes of men, and wakes again from sleep.

This in his hand he bore, and sprang for flight.

Soon the wide Hellespont he reach’d, and Troy, And pass’d in likeness of a princely youth, In op’ning manhood, fairest term of life.

 

The twain had pass’d by Ilus’ lofty tomb, And halted there the horses and the mules Beside the margin of the stream to drink; For darkness now was creeping o’er the earth: When through the gloom the herald Hermes saw Approaching near, to Priam thus he cried: “O son of Dardanus, bethink thee well; Of prudent counsel great is now our need.

A man I see, and fear he means us ill.

Say, with the horses shall we fly at once, Or clasp his knees, and for his mercy sue?”

The old man heard, his mind confus’d with dread; So grievously he fear’d, that ev’ry hair Upon his bended limbs did stand on end; He stood astounded; but the Guardian-God Approach’d, and took him by the hand, and said: “Where, father, goest thou thus with horse and mule In the still night, when men are sunk in sleep?

And fear’st thou not the slaughter-breathing Greeks, Thine unrelenting foes, and they so near?

If any one of them should see thee now, So richly laden in the gloom of night, How wouldst thou feel? thou art not young thyself, And this old man, thy comrade, would avail But little to protect thee from assault.

I will not harm thee, nay will shield from harm, For like my father’s is, methinks, thy face.”

 

To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire: “‘Tis as thou say’st, fair son; yet hath some God Extended o’er me his protecting hand,

Who sends me such a guide, so opportune.

Bless’d are thy parents in a son so grac’d In face and presence, and of mind so wise.”

 

To whom in answer thus the Guardian-God: “O father, well and wisely dost thou speak; But tell me this, and truly: dost thou bear These wealthy treasures to some foreign land, That they for thee in safety may be stor’d?

Or have ye all resolv’d to fly from Troy In fear, your bravest slain, thy gallant son, Who never from the Greeks’ encounter flinch’d?”

 

To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire: “Who art thou, noble Sir, and what thy race, That speak’st thus fairly of my hapless son?”

 

To whom in answer thus the Guardian-God: “Try me, old man; of godlike Hector ask; For often in the glory-giving fight

These eyes have seen him; chief, when to the ships The Greeks he drove, and with the sword destroy’d.

We gaz’d in wonder; from the fight restrain’d By Peleus’ son, with Agamemnon wroth.

His follower I; one ship convey’d us both; One of the Myrmidons I am; my sire

Polyctor, rich, but aged, e’en as thou.

Six sons he hath, besides myself, the sev’nth; And I by lot was drafted for the war.

I from the ships am to the plain come forth; For with the dawn of day the keen-ey’d Greeks Will round the city marshal their array.

They chafe in idleness; the chiefs in vain Strive to restrain their ardour for the fight.”

 

To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire: “If of Achilles, Peleus’ son, thou art Indeed a follower, tell me all the truth; Lies yet my son beside the Grecian ships, Or hath Achilles torn him limb from limb, And to his dogs the mangled carcase giv’n?”

 

To whom in answer thus the Guardian-God: “On him, old man, nor dogs nor birds have fed, But by the ship of Peleus’ son he lies Within the tent; twelve days he there hath lain, Nor hath corruption touch’d his flesh, nor worms, That wont to prey on men in battle slain.

The corpse, indeed, with each returning morn, Around his comrade’s tomb Achilles drags, Yet leaves it still uninjur’d; thou thyself Mightst see how fresh, as dew-besprent, he lies, From blood-stains cleans’d, and clos’d his many wounds, For many a lance was buried in his corpse.

So, e’en in death, the blessed Gods above, Who lov’d him well, protect thy noble son.”

 

He said; th’ old man rejoicing heard his words, And answer’d, “See, my son, how good it is To give th’ immortal Gods their tribute due; For never did my son, while yet he liv’d, Neglect the Gods who on Olympus dwell; And thence have they remember’d him in death.

Accept, I pray, this goblet rich-emboss’d; Be thou my guard, and, under Heav’n, my guide, Until I reach the tent of Peleus’ son.”

 

To whom in answer thus the Guardian-God: “Old father, me thy younger wouldst thou tempt, In vain; who bidd’st me at thy hands accept Thy proffer’d presents, to Achilles’ wrong.

I dread his anger; and should hold it shame To plunder him, through fear of future ill.

But, as thy guide, I could conduct thee safe, As far as Argos, journeying by thy side, On ship-board or on foot;