Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  If ten or twenty times so much as friends would rate thy price

  Were tendered here, with vows of more, to buy the cruelties

  I here have vowed, and after that thy father with his gold

  Would free thyself, all that should fail to let thy mother hold

  Solemnities of death with thee, and do thee such a grace

  To mourn thy whole corse on a bed, which piecemeal I'll deface

  With fowls and dogs." He, dying, said: " I, knowing thee well, foresaw

  Thy now tried tyranny, nor hoped for any other law,

  Of nature, or of nations; and that fear forced much more

  Than death my flight, which never touched at Hector's foot before.

  A soul of iron informs thee. Mark, what vengeance th' equal fates

  Will give me of thee for this rage, when in the Sctean gates

  Phoebus and Paris meet with thee." Thus death's hand closed his eyes,

  His soul flying his fair limbs to hell, mourning his destinies,

  To part so with his youth and strength. Thus dead, thus Thetis' son

  His prophecy answered : "Die thou now. When my short thread is spun,

  I'll bear it as the will of Jove." This said, his brazen spear

  He drew, and stuck by; then his arms, that all embrued were,

  He spoiled his shoulders of. Then all the Greeks ran in to him

  To see his person, and admired his terror-stirring, limb;

  Yet none stood by that gave no wound to his so goodly form;

  When each to other said : " O Jove, he is not in the storm

  He came to fleet in with his fire, he handles now more soft."

  “O friends," said stern Aeacides, " now that the Gods have brought

  This man thus down, I'll freely say, he brought more bane to Greece

  Than all his aiders. Try we then, thus armed at every piece,

  And girding all Troy with our host, if now their hearts will leave

  Their city clear, her clear stay slain, and all their lives receive,

  Or hold yet, Hector being no more. But why use I a word

  Of any act but what concerns my friend? Dead, undeplored,

  Unsepulchred, he lies at fleet, unthought on. Never hour

  Shall make his dead state, while the quick enjoys me, and this pow'r

  To move these movers. Though in hell, men say, that such as die

  Oblivion seizeth, yet in hell in me shall Memory

  Hold all her forms still of my friend. Now, youths of Greece, to fleet

  Bear we this body, pseans sing, and all our navy greet

  With endless honour; we have slain Hector, the period

  Of all Troy's glory, to whose worth all vowed as to a god."

  This said, a work not worthy him he set to; of both feet

  He bore the nerves through from the heel to th' ankle, and then knit

  Both to his chariot with a thong of whitleather, his head

  Trailing the centre. Up he got to chariot, where he laid

  The arms repurchased, and scourged on his horse that freely flew.

  A whirlwind made of startled dust drave with them as they drew,

  With which were all his black-brown curls knotted in heaps and filed.

  And there lay Troy's late Gracious, by Jupiter exiled

  To all disgrace in his own land, and by his parents seen;

  When, like her son's head, all with dust Troy's miserable queen

  Distained her temples, plucking off her honoured hair, and tore

  Her royal garments, shrieking out. In like kind Priam bore

  His sacred person, like a wretch that never saw good day,

  Broken with outcries. About both the people prostrate lay,

  Held down with clamour; all the town veiled with a cloud of tears.

  Ilion, with all his tops on fire, and all the massacres,

  Left for the Greeks, could put on looks of no more overthrow

  Than now frayed life. And yet the king did all their looks outshow.

  The wretched people could not bear his sovereign wretchedness,

  Plaguing himself so, thrusting out, and praying all the press

  To open him the Dardan ports, that he alone might fetch

  His dearest son in, and (all filed with tumbling) did beseech

  Each man by name, thus: " Loved friends, be you content, let me,

  Though much ye grieve, be that poor mean to our sad remedy

  Now in our wishes; I will go and pray this impious man,

  Author of horrors, making proof if age's reverence can

  Excite his pity. His own sire is old like me; and he

  That got him to our griefs, perhaps, may, for my likeness, be

  Mean for our ruth to him. Alas, you have no cause of cares

  Compared with me! I many sons, graced with their freshest years,

  Have lost by him, and all their deaths in slaughter of this one

  (Afflicted man) are doubled. This will bitterly set gone

  My soul to hell. O would to heaven I could but hold him dead

  In these pined arms, then tears on tears might fall, till all were shed

  In common fortune! Now amaze their natural course doth stop,

  And pricks a mad vein." Thus he mourned, and with him all brake ope

  Their store of sorrows. The poor queen amongst the women wept,

  Turned into anguish: " O my son," she cried out, " why still kept

  Patient of horrors is my life, when thine is vanished?

  My days thou glorifidest, my nights rung of some honoured deed

  Done by thy virtues, joy to me, profit to all our care.

  All made a God of thee, and thou mad'st them all that they are,

  Now under fate, now dead." These two thus vented as they could

  Their sorrow's furnace : Hector's wife not having yet been told

  So much as of his stay without. She in her chamber close

  Sat at her loom; a piece of work, graced with a both sides' gloss,

  Strewed curiously with varied flowers, her pleasure was; her care,

  To heat a caldron for her lord, to bathe him turned from war,

  Of which she chief charge gave her maids. Poor dame, she little knew

  How much her cares lacked of his case! But now the clamour flew

  Up to her turret; then she shook, her work fell from her hand,

  And up she started, called her maids, she needs must understand

  That ominous outcry : " Come," said she, " I hear through all this cry

  My mother's voice shriek; to my throat my heart bounds; ecstasy

  Utterly alters me; some fate is near the hapless sons

  Of fading Priam. Would to God my words' suspicions

  No ear had heard yet! O I fear, and that most heartily,

  That with some stratagem the son of Peleus hath put by

  The wall of Ilion my lord, and, trusty of his feet,

  Obtained the chase of him alone, and now the curious heat

  Of his still desperate spirit is cooled. It let him never keep

  In guard of others : before all his violent foot must step,

  Or his place forfeited he held." Thus fury-like she went,

  Two women, as she willed, at hand, and made her quick ascent

  Up to the tow'r and press of men, her spirit in uproar. Round

  She cast her greedy eye, and saw her Hector slain, and bound

  T' Achilles' chariot, manlessly dragged to the Grecian fleet.

  Black night struck through her, under her trance took away her feet,

  And back she shrunk with such a sway that off her head-tire flew,

  Her coronet, caul, ribands, veil that golden Venus threw

  On her white shoulders that high day when warlike Hector won

  Her hand in nuptials in the court of king Eetion,

  And that great dower then given with her. About her, on their knees,

  Her husband's sisters, brother
s' wives, fell round, and by degrees

  Recovered her. Then, when again her respirations found

  Free pass (her mind and spirit met) these thoughts her words did sound

  “O Hector, O me, cursed dame, both born beneath one fate,

  Thou here, I in Cilician Thebes, where Placus doth elate

  His shady forehead, in the court where king Eetion,_

  Hapless, begot unhappy me, which would he had not done,

  To live past thee! Thou now art dined to Pluto's gloomy throne,

  Sunk through the coverts of the earth; I, in a hell of moan,

  Left here thy widow; one poor babe born to unhappy hoth,

  Whom thou leav'st helpless as he thee, he bom to all the wroth

  Of woe and labour. Lands left him will others seize upon;

  The orphan day of all friends' helps rohs every mother's son.

  An orphan all men suffer sad; his eyes stand still with tears;

  Need tries his father's friends, and fails; of all his favourers,

  If one the cup gives, 'tis not long, the wine he finds in it

  Scarce moists his palate; if he chance to gain the grace to sit,

  Surviving fathers' sons repine, use contumelies, strike,

  Bid, ' leave us, where's thy father's place?' He weeping with dislike,

  Retires to me, to me alas! Astyanax is he

  Born to these miseries. He that late fed on his father's knee,

  To whom all knees bowed, daintiest fare apposed him, and when sleep

  Lay on his temples, his cries stilled, his heart even laid in steep

  Of all things precious, a soft hed, a careful nurse's arms,

  Took him to guardiance. But now as huge a world of harms

  Lies on his sufferance; now thou want'st thy father's hand to friend,

  O my Astyanax; O my lord, thy hand that did defend

  These gates of Ilion, these long walls by thy arm measured still

  Amply and only. Yet at fleet thy naked corse must fill

  Yile worms, when dogs are satiate, far from thy parents' care,

  Far from those funeral ornaments that thy mind would prepare

  (So sudden being the chance of arms) ever expecting death.

  Which task, though my heart would not serve t' employ my hands beneath,

  1 made my women yet perform. Many, and much in price,

  Were those integuments they wrought t' adorn thy exsequies;

  Which, since they fly thy use, thy corse not laid in their attire,

  Thy sacrifice they shall be made; these hands in mischievous fire

  Shall vent their vanities. And yet, being consecrate to thee,

  They shall be kept for citizens, aud their fair wives, to see."

  Thus spake she weeping; all the dames endeavouring to cheer

  Her desert state, fearing their own, wept with her tear for tear.

  BOOK XXIII.

  ARGUMENT.

  Achilles orders justs of exsequies

  For his Patroclus; and doth sacrifice

  Twelve Trojan princes, most loved hounds and horse,

  And other offerings, to the honoured corse.

  He institutes, besides, a Funeral Game;

  Where Diomed,for horse-race, wins the fame;

  For foot, Ulysses; others otherwise

  Strive, and obtain; and end the Exsequies.

  ANOTHER ARGUMENT.

  Psi sings the rites of the decease,

  Ordained by great Aeacides.

  THUS mourned all Troy. But when at fleet and Hellespontus' shore

  The Greeks arrived, each to his ship; only the Conqueror

  Kept undispersed his Myrmidons, and said: "Loved countrymen,

  Disjoin not we chariots and horse, but, bearing hard our rein,

  With state of both, march soft and close, and mourn about the corse;

  'Tis proper honour to the dead. Then take we out our horse,

  When with our friends' kind woe our hearts have felt delight to do

  A virtuous soul right, and then sup." This said, all full of woe

  Circled the corse; Achilles led, and thrice, about him close,

  All bore their goodly-coated horse. Amongst all Thetis rose,

  And stirred up a delight in grief, till all their arms with tears,

  And all,the sands, were wet; so much they loved that Lord of Fears.

  Then to the centre fell the prince; and, putting in the breast

  Of his slain friend his slaught'ring hands, began to all the rest

  Words to their tears: " Rejoice," said he, " O my Patroclus, thou

  Courted by Dis now. Now I pay to thy late overthrow

  All my revenges vowed before. Hector lies slaughtered here

  Dragged at my chariot, and our dogs shall all in pieces tear

  His hated limbs. Twelve Trojan youths, born of their noblest strains,

  I took alive; and, yet enraged, will empty all their veins

  Of vital spirits, sacrificed before thy heap of fire."

  This said, a work unworthy him he put upon his ire,

  And trampled Hector under foot at his friend's feet. The rest

  Disarmed, took horse from chariot, and all to sleep addressed

  At his black vessel. Infinite were those that rested there.

  Himself yet sleeps not, now his spirits were wrought about the cheer

  Fit for so high a funeral. About the steel used then

  Oxen iu heaps lay bellowing, preparing food for men;

  Bleating of sheep and goats filled air; numbers of white-toothed swine,

  Swimming in fat, lay singeing there. The person of the slain

  Was girt with slaughter. All this done, all the Greek kings conveyed

  Achilles to the King of men; his rage not yet allayed

  For his Patroclus. Being arrived at Agamemnon's tent,

  Himself bade heralds put to fire a caldron, and present

  The service of it to the prince, to try if they could win

  His pleasure to admit their pains to cleanse the blood soaked in

  About his conquering hands and brows. " Not by the King of Heaven,"

  He swore. " The laws of friendship damn this false-heart licence given

  To men that lose friends. Not a drop shall touch me till I put

  Patroclus in the funeral pile, before these curls be cut,

  His tomb erected. 'Tis the last of all care I shall take,

  While I consort the careful. Yet, for your entreaties' sake,

  And though I loathe food, I will eat. But early in the morn,

  Atrides, use your strict command that loads of wood be borne

  To our designed place, all that fits to light home such a one

  As is to pass the shades of death, that fire enough sot gone

  His person quickly from our eyes, and our diverted men

  May ply their business." This all ears did freely entertain,

  And found observance. Then they supped with all things fit, and all

  Repaired to tents and rest. The friend the shores maritimal

  Sought for his bed, and found a place, fair, and upon which played

  The munnuring billows. There his limbs to rest, not sleep, he laid,

  Heavily sighing. Round about, silent knd not too near,

  Stood all his Myrmidons, when straight, so over-laboured were

  His goodly lineaments with chase of Hector, that, beyond

  His resolution not to sleep, Sleep cast his sudden bond

  Over his sense, and loosed his care. Then of his wretched friend

  The Soul appeared; at every part the form did comprehend

  His likeness; his fair eyes, his voice, his stature, every weed

  His person wore, it fantasied; and stood above his head

  This sad speech uttering: " Dost thou sleep? JEacides, am I

  Forgotten of thee? Being alive, I found thy memory

  Ever respectful; but now, dead, thy dying love abates.

&
nbsp; Inter me quickly, enter me in Pluto's iron gates,

  For now the souls (the shades) of men, fled from this being, beat

  My spirit from rest, and stay my much-desired receipt

  Amongst souls placed beyond the flood. Now every way I err

  About this broad-doored house of Dis. O help then to prefer

  My soul yet further! Here I mourn, but, had the funeral fire

  Consumed my body, never more my spirit should retire

  From hell's low region; from thence souls never are retrieved

  To talk with friends here; nor shall I; a hateful fate deprived

  My being here, that at my birth was fixed, and to such fate

  Even thou, O godlike man, art marked; the deadly Ilion gate

  Must entertain thy death. O then, I charge thee now, take care

  That our bones part not; but as life combined in equal fare

  Our loving beings, so let death. When from Opunta's tow'rs

  My father brought me to your roofs (since, 'gainst my will, my pow'rs

  Incensed, and indiscreet at dice, slew fair Amphidamas)

  Then Peleus entertained me well; then in thy charge I was

  By his injunction and thy love; and therein let me still

  Receive protection. Both our bones, provide in thy last will,

  That one urn may contain; and make that vessel all of gold,

  That Thetis gave thee, that rich urn." This said, Sleep ceased to hold

  Achilles' temples, and the Shade thus he received : " O friend,

  What needed these commands? My care, before, meant to commend

  My bones to thine, and in that urn. Be sure thy will is done.

  A little stay yet, let's delight, with some full passion

  Of woe enough, either's affects; embrace we." Opening thus

  His greedy arms, he felt no friend; like matter vaporous

  The Spirit vanished under earth, and' murmured in his stoop.

  Achilles started, both his hands he clapped, and lifted up,

  In this sort wond'ring: " O ye Gods, I see we have a soul

  In th' und'er-dwellings, and a kind of man-resembling idol;

  The soul's seat yet, all matter felt, stays with the carcass here.

  O friends, hapless Patroclus' soul did all this night appear

  Weeping and making moan to me, commanding everything

  That I intended towards him; so truly figuring

  Himself at all parts, as was strange." This accident did turn

  To much more sorrow, and begat a greediness to mourn

  In all that heard. When mourning thus, the rosy Morn arose,