The Iliad - Homer (ebook reader library .txt) š
- Author: Homer
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Thus spoke the Guardian-God, and on the car Mounting in haste, he took the whip and reins, And with fresh vigour mules and horses fillād.
When to the ship-towārs and the trench they came, The guard had late been busied with their meal; And with deep sleep the heavānly Guide oāerspread The eyes of all; then openād wide the gates, And pushād aside the bolts, and led within Both Priam, and the treasure-laden wain.
But when they reachād Achillesā lofty tent, (Which for their King the Myrmidons had built Of fir-trees fellād, and overlaid the roof With rushes mown from off the neighbāring mead; And all around a spacious court enclosād With cross-set palisades; a single bar Of fir the gateway guarded, which to shut Three men, of all the others, scarce sufficād, And three to open; but Achillesā hand
Unaided shut with ease the massive bar) Then for the old man Hermes opād the gate, And brought within the court the gifts designād For Peleusā godlike son; then from the car Sprang to the ground, and thus to Priam spoke: āOld man, a God hath hither been thy guide; Hermes I am, and sent to thee from Jove, Father of all, to bring thee safely here.
I now return, nor to Achillesā eyes
Will I appear; beseems it not a God
To greet a mortal in the sight of all.
But go thou in, and clasp Achillesā knees, And supplicate him for his fatherās sake, His fair-hairād motherās, and his childās, that so Thy words may stir an answer in his heart.ā
Thus saying, Hermes to Olympusā heights Returnād; and Priam from his chariot sprang, And left Idaeus there, in charge to keep The horses and the mules, while he himself Enterād the dwelling straight, where wont to sit Achilles, lovād of Heavān. The chief he found Within, his followers seated all apart; Two only in his presence ministerād,
The brave Automedon, and Alcimus,
A warrior bold; scarce ended the repast Of food and wine; the table still was set.
Great Priam enterād, unperceivād of all; And standing by Achilles, with his arms Embracād his knees, and kissād those fearful hands, Blood-stainād, which many of his sons had slain.
As when a man, by cruel fate pursued,
In his own land hath shed anotherās blood, And flying, seeks beneath some wealthy house A foreign refuge; wondāring, all behold: On godlike Priam so with wonder gazād
Achilles; wonder seizād thā attendants all, And one to other looked; then Priam thus To Peleusā son his suppliant speech addressād: āThink, great Achilles, rival of the Gods, Upon thy father, eāen as I myself
Upon the threshold of unjoyous age:
And haply he, from them that dwell around May suffer wrong, with no protector near To give him aid; yet he, rejoicing, knows That thou still livāst; and day by day may hope To see his son returning safe from Troy; While I, all hapless, that have many sons, The best and bravest through the breadth of Troy, Begotten, deem that none are left me now.
Fifty there were, when came the sons of Greece; Nineteen the offspring of a single womb; The rest, the women of my household bore.
Of these have many by relentless Mars
Been laid in dust; but he, my only one, The cityās and his brethrenās sole defence, He, bravely fighting in his countryās cause, Hector, but lately by thy hand hath fallān: On his behalf I venture to approach
The Grecian ships; for his release to thee To make my prayār, and priceless ransom pay.
Then thou, Achilles, reverence the Gods; And, for thy fatherās sake, look pitying down On me, more needing pity; since I bear Such grief as never man on earth hath borne.
Who stoop to kiss the hand that slew my son.ā
Thus as he spoke, within Achillesā breast Fond memāry of his father rose; he touchād The old manās hand, and gently put him by; Then wept they both, by various memāries stirrād: One, prostrate at Achillesā feet, bewailād His warrior son; Achilles for his sire, And for Patroclus wept, his comrade dear; And through the house their weeping loud was heard.
But when Achilles had indulgād his grief, And easād the yearning of his heart and limbs, Uprising, with his hand the aged sire, Pitying his hoary head and hoary beard, He raisād, and thus with gentle words addressād: āAlas, what sorrows, poor old man, are thine!
How couldst thou venture to the Grecian ships Alone, and to the presence of the man
Whose hand hath slain so many of thy sons, Many and brave? an iron heart is thine!
But sit thou on this seat; and in our hearts, Though filled with grief, let us that grief suppress; For woful lamentation nought avails.
Such, is the thread the Gods for mortals spin, To live in woe, while they from cares are free.
Two coffers lie beside the door of Jove, With gifts for man: one good, the other ill; To whom from each the Lord of lightning gives, Him sometimes evil, sometimes good befalls; To whom the ill alone, him foul disgrace And grinding misāry oāer the earth pursue: By God and man alike despisād he roams.
Thus from his birth the Gods to Peleus gave Excellent gifts; with wealth and substance blessād Above his fellows; oāer the Myrmidons
He rulād with sovāreign sway; and Heavān bestowād On him, a mortal, an immortal bride.
Yet this of ill was mingled in his lot, That in his house no rising race he saw Of future Kings; one only son he had,
One doomād to early death; nor is it mine To tend my fatherās age; but far from home Thee and thy sons in Troy I vex with war.
Much have we heard too of thy former wealth; Above what Lesbos northward, Macarās seat, Contains, and Upper Phrygia, and the shores Of boundless Hellespont, ātis said that thou In wealth and number of thy sons wast blessād.
But since on thee this curse the Gods have brought, Still round thy city war and murder rage.
Bear up, nor thus with grief incessant mourn; Vain is thy sorrow for thy gallant son; Thou canst not raise him, and mayst suffer more.ā
To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire; āTell me not yet, illustrious chief, to sit, While Hector lies, uncarād for, in the tent; But let me quickly go, that with mine eyes I may behold my son; and thou accept
The ample treasures which we tender thee: Mayst thou enjoy them, and in safety reach Thy native land, since thou hast sparād my life, And biddāst me still behold the light of Heavān.ā
To whom Achilles thus with stern regard: āOld man, incense me not; I mean myself To give thee back thy son; for here of late Despatchād by Jove, my Goddess-mother came, The daughter of the aged Ocean-God:
And thee too, Priam, well I know, some God (I cannot err) hath guided to our ships.
No mortal, though in ventārous youth, would dare Our camp to enter; nor could hope to pass Unnoticād by the watch, nor easily
Remove the pondārous bar that guards our doors.
But stir not up my anger in my grief;
Lest, suppliant though thou be, within my tent I brook thee not, and Joveās command transgress.ā
He said; the old man trembled, and obeyād; Then to the doorway, with a lionās spring, Achilles rushād; not unaccompanied;
With him Automedon and Aleimus,
His two attendants, of his followers all, Next to the lost Patroclus, best-esteemād; They from the yoke the mules and horses loosād; Then led the herald of the old man in, And bade him sit; and from the polishād wain The costly ransom took of Hectorās head.
Two robes they left, and one well-woven vest, To clothe the corpse, and send with honour home.
Then to the female slaves he gave command To wash the body, and anoint with oil, Apart, that Priam might not see his son; Lest his grievād heart its passion unrestrainād Should utter, and Achilles, rousād to wrath, His suppliant slay, and Joveās command transgress.
When they had washād the body, and with oil Anointed, and around it wrappād the robe And vest, Achilles lifted up the dead
With his own hands, and laid him on the couch; Which to the polishād wain his followers raisād.
Then groaning, on his friend by name he callād: āForgive, Patroclus! be not wroth with me, If in the realm of darkness thou shouldst hear That godlike Hector to his fatherās arms, For no mean ransom, I restore; whereof A fitting share for thee I set aside.ā
This said, Achilles to the tent returnād; On the carvād couch, from whence he rose, he sat Beside the wall; and thus to Priam spoke: āOld man, thy son, according to thy prayār, Is givān thee back; upon the couch he lies; Thyself shalt see him at the dawn of day.
Meanwhile the evāning meal demands our care.
Not fair-hairād Niobe abstainād from food When in the house her children lay in death, Six beauteous daughters and six stalwart sons.
The youths, Apollo with his silver bow, The maids, the Archer-Queen, Diana, slew, With anger fillād that Niobe presumād
Herself with fair Latona to compare,
Her many children with her rivalās two; So by the two were all the many slain.
Nine days in death they lay; and none was there To pay their funāral rites; for Saturnās son Had given to all the people hearts of stone.
At length thā immortal Gods entombād the dead.
Nor yet did Niobe, when now her grief
Had worn itself in tears, from food refrain.
And now in Sipylus, amid the rocks,
And lonely mountains, where the Goddess nymphs That love to dance by Achelousā stream, āTis said, were cradled, she, though turnād to stone, Broods oāer the wrongs inflicted by the Gods.
So we too, godlike sire, the meal may share; And later, thou thy noble son mayst mourn, To Troy restorādāwell worthy he thy tears.ā
This said, he slaughterād straight a white-fleecād sheep; His comrades then the carcase flayād and dressād: The meat preparād, and fastenād to the spits; Roasted with care, and from the fire withdrew.
The bread Automedon from baskets fair
Apportionād out; the meat Achilles sharād.
They on the viands set before them fell.
The rage of thirst and hunger satisfied, In wonder Priam on Achilles gazād,
His form and stature; as a God he seemād; And he too lookād on Priam, and admirād His venerable face, and gracious speech.
With mutual pleasure each on other gazād, Till godlike Priam first addressād his host: āDismiss me now, illustrious chief, to rest; And lie we down, in gentle slumbers wrappād; For never have mine eyes been closād in sleep, Since by thy hand my gallant son was slain: But groaning still, I brood upon my woes, And in my court with dust my head defile.
Now have I tasted bread, now ruddy wine Hath oāer my palate passād; but not till now.ā
Thus he; his comrades and thā attendant maids Achilles orderād in the corridor
Two mattresses to place, with blankets fair Of purple wool oāerlaid; and on the top Rugs and soft sheets for upper covāring spread.
They from the chamber, torch in hand, withdrew, And with obedient haste two beds preparād.
Then thus Achilles spoke in jesting tone: āThou needs must sleep without, my good old friend; Lest any leader of the Greeks should come, As is their custom, to confer with me; Of them whoeāer should find thee here by night Forthwith to Agamemnon would report,
And Hector might not be so soon, restorād.
But tell me truly this; how many days
For godlike Hectorās funāral rites ye need; That for
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