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

so long a time I may myself

Refrain from combat, and the people stay.”

 

To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire: “If by thy leave we may indeed perform His fun’ral rites, to thee, Achilles, great Will be our gratitude, if this thou grant.

Thou know’st how close the town is hemm’d around; And from the mountain, distant as it is, The Trojans well may fear to draw the wood.

Nine days to public mourning would we give; The tenth, to fun’ral rites and fun’ral feast; Then on th’ eleventh would we raise his mound; The twelfth, renew the war, if needs we must.”

 

To whom Achilles swift of foot replied: “So shall it be, old Priam; I engage

To stay the battle for the time requir’d.”

 

Thus speaking, with his hand the old man’s wrist He grasp’d, in token that he need not fear.

Then in the corridor lay down to rest

Old Priam and the herald, Elders sage; While in his tent’s recess Achilles slept, The fair Briseis resting by his side.

 

In night-long slumbers lay the other Gods, And helmed chiefs, by gentle sleep subdued; But on the eyes of Hermes, Guardian-God, No slumber fell, deep pond’ring in his mind How from the ships in safety to conduct The royal Priam, and the guard elude.

Above the sleeper’s head he stood, and cried: “Old man, small heed thou tak’st of coining ill, Who, when Achilles gives thee leave to go, Sleep’st undisturb’d, surrounded by thy foes.

Thy son hath been restor’d, and thou hast paid A gen’rous price; but to redeem thy life, If Agamemnon and the other Greeks

Should know that thou art here, full thrice so much Thy sons, who yet are left, would have to pay.”

 

He said; the old man trembled, and arous’d The herald; while the horses and the mules Were yok’d by Hermes, who with silent speed Drove through th’ encampment, unobserv’d of all.

But when they came to eddying Xanthus’ ford, Fair-flowing stream, born of immortal Jove, To high Olympus Hermes took his flight, As morn, in saffron robe, o’er all the earth Was light diffusing; they with fun’ral wail Drove cityward the horses; following came The mules that drew the litter of the dead.

The plain they travers’d o’er, observ’d of none, Or man or woman, till Cassandra, fair

As golden Venus, from the topmost height Of Pergamus, her father in his car

Upstanding saw, the herald at his side.

Him too she saw, who on the litter lay; Then lifted up her voice, and cried aloud To all the city, “Hither, Trojans, come, Both men and women, Hector see restor’d; If, while he liv’d, returning from the fight, Ye met him e’er rejoicing, who indeed

Was all the city’s chiefest joy and pride.”

 

She said; nor man nor woman then was left Within the city; o’er the minds of all Grief pass’d, resistless; to the gates in throngs They press’d, to crowd round him who brought the dead.

The first to clasp the body were his wife And honour’d mother; eagerly they sprang On the smooth-rolling wain, to touch the head Of Hector; round them, weeping, stood the crowd Weeping, till sunset, all the livelong day Had they before the gates for Hector mourn’d; Had not old Priam from the car address’d The crowd: “Make way, that so the mules may pass; When to my house I shall have brought my dead, Ye there may vent your sorrow as ye will.”

 

Thus as he spoke, obedient to his word They stood aside, and for the car made way: But when to Priam’s lordly house they came, They laid him on a rich-wrought couch, and call’d The minstrels in, who by the hero’s bed Should lead the melancholy chorus; they Pour’d forth the music of the mournful dirge, While women’s voices join’d in loud lament.

White-arm’d Andromache the wail began, The head of Hector clasping in her hands: “My husband, thou art gone in pride of youth, And in thine house hast left me desolate; Thy child an infant still, thy child and mine, Unhappy parents both! nor dare I hope

That he may reach the ripeness of his youth; For ere that day shall Troy in ruin fall, Since thou art gone, her guardian! thou whose arm Defended her, her wives, and helpless babes!

They now shall shortly o’er the sea be borne, And with them I shall go; thou too, my child, Must follow me, to servile labour doom’d, The suff’ring victim of a tyrant Lord; Unless perchance some angry Greek may seize And dash thee from the tow’r—a woful death!

Whose brother, or whose father, or whose son By Hector hath been slain; for many a Greek By Hector’s hand hath bit the bloody dust; Not light in battle was thy father’s hand!

Therefore for him the gen’ral city mourns; Thou to thy parents bitter grief hast caus’d, Hector! but bitt’rest grief of all hast left To me! for not to me was giv’n to clasp The hand extended from thy dying bed,

Nor words of wisdom catch, which night and day, With tears, I might have treasur’d in my heart.”

 

Weeping she spoke—the women join’d the wail.

Then Hecuba took up the loud lament:

“Hector, of all my children dearest thou!

Dear to th’ Immortals too in life wast thou, And they in death have borne thee still in mind; For other of my sons, his captives made, Across the wat’ry waste, to Samos’ isle Or Imbros, or th’ inhospitable shore

Of Lemnos, hath Achilles, swift of foot, To slav’ry sold; thee, when his sharp-edg’d spear Had robb’d thee of thy life, he dragg’d indeed Around Patroclus’ tomb, his comrade dear, Whom thou hadst slain; yet so he rais’d not up Ilis dead to life again; now liest thou here, All fresh and fair, as dew-besprent; like one Whom bright Apollo, with his arrows keen, God of the silver bow, hath newly slain.”

 

Weeping, she spoke; and rous’d the gen’ral grief.

Then Helen, third, the mournful strain renew’d: “Hector, of all my brethren dearest thou!

True, godlike Paris claims me as his wife, Who bore me hither—would I then had died!

But twenty years have pass’d since here I came, And left my native land; yet ne’er from thee I heard one scornful, one degrading word; And when from others I have borne reproach, Thy brothers, sisters, or thy brothers’ wives, Or mother, (for thy sire was ever kind E’en as a father) thou hast check’d them still With tender feeling, and with gentle words.

For thee I weep, and for myself no less: For, through the breadth of Troy, none love me now, None kindly look on me, but all abhor.”

 

Weeping she spoke, and with her wept the crowd.

At length the aged Priam gave command: “Haste now, ye Trojans, to the city bring Good store of fuel; fear no treach’rous wile; For when he sent me from the dark-ribb’d ships, Achilles promis’d that from hostile arms Till the twelfth morn we should no harm sustain.”

 

He said; and they the oxen and the mules Yok’d to the wains, and from the city throng’d: Nine days they labour’d, and brought back to Troy Good store of wood; but when the tenth day’s light Upon the earth appear’d, weeping, they bore Brave Hector out; and on the fun’ral pile Laying the glorious dead, applied the torch.

 

While yet the rosy-finger’d morn was young Round noble Hector’s pyre the people press’d: When all were gather’d round, and closely throng’d First on the burning mass, as far as spread The range of fire, they pour’d the ruddy wine, And quench’d the flames: his brethren then and friends Weeping, the hot tears flowing down their cheeks, Collected from the pile the whiten’d bones; These in a golden casket they enclos’d, And o’er it spread soft shawls of purple dye; Then in a grave they laid it, and in haste With stone in pond’rous masses cover’d o’er; And rais’d a mound, and watch’d on ev’ry side, From sudden inroad of the Greeks to guard.

The mound erected, back they turn’d; and all Assembled duly, shar’d the solemn feast In Priam’s palace, Heav’n-descended King.

 

Such were the rites to glorious Hector paid.

 

END OF VOLUME II.

 

THE END.

 

FOOTNOTES

 

[1]

 

The text of the original leaves it somewhat in doubt whether the anger of the Greeks were directed against Thersites or Agamemnon. I believe the preponderance of authority, ancient and modern, is in favour of the former interpretation; but the latter is not without the support of some eminent scholars, and after much consideration I have been induced to adopt it. The original represents the Greeks as filled with anger and resentment against some one. Thersites was an object of general contempt, but he had done nothing to excite those feelings: indeed, apart from the offensiveness of his tone, the public sympathy was with him; for the army was deeply dissatisfied, and resented the conduct of Agamemnon against Achilles, mainly perhaps because they had ceased to be enriched with the plunder of his successful forays (see i. 202, and ix. 387). This dissatisfaction and resentment are referred to by Neptune (xiii. 126), and by Agamemnon himself (xiv. 55). They had lately manifested themselves in the alacrity with which the whole army had caught at the insidious suggestion of abandoning the war; and, just before the second assembly, Thersites avails himself of the general feeling, constituting himself the representative of a popular grievance, to vent his personal spite against Agamemnon. Ulysses saw how dangerous such a display might be at such a moment; and artfully assuming (line 281) that the feeling was confined to Thersites alone (though in his subsequent speech, line 335, he admits and excuses the general discontent), he proceeds to cut short its expression by summary chastisement. Thereupon the fickle multitude, “despite their anger” (against Agamemnon), cannot refrain from laughing at the signal discomfiture of their self-constituted champion.

 

This view is very fully set forth in a note on the passage appended to a translation of the Iliad by Mr. Barter, published in 1859, but which I have only seen since the publication of this work.

 

[2]

 

See also Book xxii. l. 252.

Milton, in the corresponding passage at the close of the 4th Book of ‘Paradise Lost,’ reverses the sign, and represents the scale of the vanquished as “flying up” and “kicking the beam.”

“The Fiend look’d up, and knew His mounted scale aloft; nor more, but fled Murm’ring, and with him fled the shades of night.”]

 

[3]

 

This comparison does not afford a very accurate criterion of the “space interposed,” which cannot be estimated without knowing the total distance within which the faster was to outstrip the slower team.

 

[4]

 

This passage would seem to be the result of an oversight on the part of the Poet; who, apparently, had forgotten that Pylasmenes, “the Paphlagonian Chief,” had himself been killed by Menelaus, some time before the death of his son See Book V., l. 656.

 

[5]

 

Line 45 et seqq. I hope I may be pardoned for having somewhat curtailed the list of these ladies, which in the original extends over ten lines of names only. In doing so, I have followed the example of Virgil, who represents the same ladies [G. 4. 336] in attendance on Cyrene; and has not only reduced the list, but added some slight touches illustrating their occupations and private history: a liberty permissible to an imitator, but not to a translator.]

 

[6]

 

L. 151. Chthizos, yesterday. But either the word must have a more extended signification than is usually given to it, or Homer must here have fallen into an error; for two complete nights and one