Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  Make fierce assault; awhile at utmost speed

  They stretch toward him hungering, for the prey,

  But oft as, turning sudden, the stout brawn

  Faces them, scatter'd on all sides escape;

  The Trojans so, thick thronging in the rear,

  Ceaseless with falchions and spears double-edged

  Annoy'd them sore, but oft as in retreat

  The dauntless heroes, the Ajaces turn'd

  To face them, deadly wan grew every cheek,

  And not a Trojan dared with onset rude

  Molest them more in conflict for the dead.

  Thus they, laborious, forth from battle bore

  Patroclus to the fleet, tempestuous war

  Their steps attending, rapid as the flames

  Which, kindled suddenly, some city waste;

  Consumed amid the blaze house after house

  Sinks, and the wind, meantime, roars through the fire;

  So them a deafening tumult as they went

  Pursued, of horses and of men spear-arm'd.

  And as two mules with strength for toil endued,

  Draw through rough ways down from the distant hills

  Huge timber, beam or mast; sweating they go,

  And overlabor'd to faint weariness;

  So they the body bore, while, turning oft,

  The Ajaces check'd the Trojans. As a mound

  Planted with trees and stretch'd athwart the mead

  Repels an overflow; the torrents loud

  Baffling, it sends them far away to float

  The level land, nor can they with the force

  Of all their waters burst a passage through;

  So the Ajaces, constant, in the rear

  Repress'd the Trojans; but the Trojans them

  Attended still, of whom Æneas most

  Troubled them, and the glorious Chief of Troy.

  They as a cloud of starlings or of daws

  Fly screaming shrill, warn'd timely of the kite

  Or hawk, devourers of the smaller kinds,

  So they shrill-clamoring toward the fleet,

  Hasted before Æneas and the might

  Of Hector, nor the battle heeded more.

  Much radiant armor round about the foss

  Fell of the flying Grecians, or within

  Lay scatter'd, and no pause of war they found.

  BOOK XVIII.

  * * *

  ARGUMENT OF THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK.

  Achilles, by command of Juno, shows himself to the Trojans, who fly at his appearance; Vulcan, at the insistence of Thetis, forges for him a suit of armor.

  * * *

  BOOK XVIII.

  Thus burn'd the battle like devouring fire.

  Meantime, Antilochus with rapid steps

  Came to Achilles. Him he found before

  His lofty barks, occupied, as he stood,

  With boding fears of all that had befall'n.

  He groan'd, and to his noble self he said.

  Ah! wo is me — why falls Achaia's host,

  With such disorder foul, back on the fleet?

  I tremble lest the Gods my anxious thoughts

  Accomplish and my mother's words, who erst

  Hath warn'd me, that the bravest and the best

  Of all my Myrmidons, while yet I live,

  Slain under Troy, must view the sun no more.

  Brave Menœtiades is, doubtless, slain.

  Unhappy friend! I bade thee oft, our barks

  Deliver'd once from hostile fires, not seek

  To cope in arms with Hector, but return.

  While musing thus he stood, the son approach'd

  Of noble Nestor, and with tears his cheeks

  Bedewing copious, his sad message told.

  Oh son of warlike Peleus! thou shalt hear

  Tidings of deeds which best had never been.

  Patroclus is no more. The Grecians fight

  For his bare corse, and Hector hath his arms.

  Then clouds of sorrow fell on Peleus' son,

  And, grasping with both hands the ashes, down

  He pour'd them on his head, his graceful brows

  Dishonoring, and thick the sooty shower

  Descending settled on his fragrant vest.

  Then, stretch'd in ashes, at the vast extent

  Of his whole length he lay, disordering wild

  With his own hands, and rending off his hair.

  The maidens, captived by himself in war

  And by Patroclus, shrieking from the tent

  Ran forth, and hemm'd the glorious Chief around.

  All smote their bosoms, and all, fainting, fell.

  On the other side, Antilochus the hands

  Held of Achilles, mourning and deep groans

  Uttering from his noble heart, through fear

  Lest Peleus' son should perish self-destroy'd.

  Loud groan'd the hero, whose loud groans within

  The gulfs of ocean, where she sat beside

  Her ancient sire, his Goddess-mother heard,

  And hearing shriek'd; around her at the voice

  Assembled all the Nereids of the deep

  Cymodoce, Thalia, Glauca came,

  Nisæa, Spio, Thoa, and with eyes

  Protuberant beauteous Halia; came with these

  Cymothöe, and Actæa, and the nymph

  Of marshes, Limnorea, nor delay'd

  Agave, nor Amphithöe the swift,

  Iæra, Doto, Melita, nor thence

  Was absent Proto or Dynamene,

  Callianira, Doris, Panope,

  Pherusa or Amphinome, or fair

  Dexamene, or Galatea praised

  For matchless form divine; Nemertes pure

  Came also, with Apseudes crystal-bright,

  Callianassa, Mæra, Clymene,

  Janeira and Janassa, sister pair,

  And Orithya and with azure locks

  Luxuriant, Amathea; nor alone

  Came these, but every ocean-nymph beside,

  The silver cave was fill'd; each smote her breast,

  And Thetis, loud lamenting, thus began.

  Ye sister Nereids, hear! that ye may all

  From my own lips my boundless sorrow learn.

  Ah me forlorn! ah me, parent in vain

  Of an illustrious birth! who, having borne

  A noble son magnanimous, the chief

  Of heroes, saw him like a thriving plant

  Shoot vigorous under my maternal care,

  And sent him early in his gallant fleet

  Embark'd, to combat with the sons of Troy.

  But him from fight return'd I shall receive

  Beneath the roof of Peleus, never more;

  And while he lives, and on the sun his eyes

  Opens, he mourns, nor, going, can I aught

  Assist him; yet I go, that I may see

  My darling son, and from his lips be taught

  What grief hath now befallen him, who close

  Abiding in his tent shares not the war.

  So saying she left the cave, whom all her nymphs

  Attended weeping, and where'er they pass'd

  The breaking billows open'd wide a way.

  At fruitful Troy arrived, in order fair

  They climb'd the beach, where by his numerous barks

  Encompass'd, swift Achilles sighing lay.

  Then, drawing nigh to her afflicted son,

  The Goddess-mother press'd between her palms

  His temples, and in accents wing'd inquired.

  Why weeps my son? what sorrow wrings thy soul?

  Speak, hide it not. Jove hath fulfill'd the prayer

  Which erst with lifted hands thou didst prefer,

  That all Achaia's host, wanting thy aid,

  Might be compell'd into the fleet, and foul

  Disgrace incur, there prison'd for thy sake.

  To whom Achilles, groaning deep, replied.

  My mother! it is true; Olympian Jove

&
nbsp; That prayer fulfils; but thence, what joy to me,

  Patroclus slain? the friend of all my friends

  Whom most I loved, dear to me as my life —

  Him I have lost. Slain and despoil'd he lies

  By Hector of his glorious armor bright,

  The wonder of all eyes, a matchless gift

  Given by the Gods to Peleus on that day

  When thee they doom'd into a mortal's arms.

  Oh that with these thy deathless ocean-nymphs

  Dwelling content, thou hadst my father left

  To espouse a mortal bride, so hadst thou 'scaped

  Pangs numberless which thou must now endure

  For thy son's death, whom thou shalt never meet

  From Troy return'd, in Peleus' mansion more!

  For life I covet not, nor longer wish

  To mix with human kind, unless my spear

  May find out Hector, and atonement take

  By slaying him, for my Patroclus slain.

  To whom, with streaming tears, Thetis replied.

  Swift comes thy destiny as thou hast said,

  For after Hector's death thine next ensues.

  Then answer, thus, indignant he return'd.

  Death, seize me now! since when my friend was slain,

  My doom was, not to succor him. He died

  From home remote, and wanting me to save him.

  Now, therefore, since I neither visit more

  My native land, nor, present here, have aught

  Avail'd Patroclus or my many friends

  Whom noble Hector hath in battle slain,

  But here I sit unprofitable grown,

  Earth's burden, though of such heroic note,

  If not in council foremost (for I yield

  That prize to others) yet in feats of arms,

  Such as none other in Achaia's host,

  May fierce contention from among the Gods

  Perish, and from among the human race,

  With wrath, which sets the wisest hearts on fire;

  Sweeter than dropping honey to the taste,

  But in the bosom of mankind, a smoke!

  Such was my wrath which Agamemnon roused,

  The king of men. But since the past is fled

  Irrevocable, howsoe'er distress'd,

  Renounce we now vain musings on the past,

  Content through sad necessity. I go

  In quest of noble Hector, who hath slain

  My loved Patroclus, and such death will take

  As Jove ordains me and the Powers of Heaven

  At their own season, send it when they may.

  For neither might the force of Hercules,

  Although high-favored of Saturnian Jove,

  From death escape, but Fate and the revenge

  Restless of Juno vanquish'd even Him.

  I also, if a destiny like his

  Await me, shall, like him, find rest in death;

  But glory calls me now; now will I make

  Some Trojan wife or Dardan with both hands

  Wipe her soft cheeks, and utter many a groan.

  Long time have I been absent from the field,

  And they shall know it. Love me as thou may'st,

  Yet thwart me not, for I am fixt to go.

  Whom Thetis answer'd, Goddess of the Deep.

  Thou hast well said, my son! it is no blame

  To save from threaten'd death our suffering friends.

  But thy magnificent and dazzling arms

  Are now in Trojan hands; them Hector wears

  Exulting, but ordain'd not long to exult,

  So habited; his death is also nigh.

  But thou with yonder warring multitudes

  Mix not till thou behold me here again;

  For with the rising sun I will return

  To-morrow, and will bring thee glorious arms,

  By Vulcan forged himself, the King of fire.

  She said, and turning from her son aside,

  The sisterhood of Ocean thus address'd.

  Plunge ye again into the briny Deep,

  And to the hoary Sovereign of the floods

  Report as ye have heard. I to the heights

  Olympian haste, that I may there obtain

  From Vulcan, glorious artist of the skies,

  Arms of excelling beauty for my son.

  She said; they plunged into the waves again,

  And silver-footed Thetis, to the heights

  Olympian soaring swiftly to obtain

  Arms for renown'd Achilles, disappear'd.

  Meantime, with infinite uproar the Greeks

  From Hector's hero-slaying arm had fled

  Home to their galleys station'd on the banks

  Of Hellespont. Nor yet Achaia's sons

  Had borne the body of Patroclus clear

  From flight of darts away, but still again

  The multitude of warriors and of steeds

  Came on, by Priameian Hector led

  Rapid as fire. Thrice noble Hector seized

  His ancles from behind, ardent to drag

  Patroclus, calling to his host the while;

  But thrice, the two Ajaces, clothed with might,

  Shock'd and repulsed him reeling. He with force

  Fill'd indefatigable, through his ranks

  Issuing, by turns assail'd them, and by turns

  Stood clamoring, yet not a step retired;

  But as the hinds deter not from his prey

  A tawny lion by keen hunger urged,

  So would not both Ajaces, warriors bold,

  Intimidate and from the body drive

  Hector; and he had dragg'd him thence and won

  Immortal glory, but that Iris, sent

  Unseen by Jove and by the powers of heaven,

  From Juno, to Achilles brought command

  That he should show himself. Full near she drew,

  And in wing'd accents thus the Chief address'd.

  Hero! most terrible of men, arise!

  protect Patroclus, for whose sake the war

  Stands at the fleet of Greece. Mutual prevails

  The slaughter, these the dead defending, those

  Resolute hence to drag him to the gates

  Of wind-swept Ilium. But beyond them all

  Illustrious Hector, obstinate is bent

  To win him, purposing to lop his head,

  And to exhibit it impaled on high.

  Thou then arise, nor longer on the ground

  Lie stretch'd inactive; let the thought with shame

  Touch thee, of thy Patroclus made the sport

  Of Trojan dogs, whose corse, if it return

  Dishonored home, brings with it thy reproach.

  To whom Achilles matchless in the race.

  Iris divine! of all the Gods, who sent thee?

  Then, thus, the swift ambassadress of heaven.

  By Juno sent I come, consort of Jove.

  Nor knows Saturnian Jove high-throned, himself,

  My flight, nor any of the Immortal Powers,

  Tenants of the Olympian heights snow-crown'd.

  Her answer'd then Pelides, glorious Chief.

  How shall I seek the fight? they have my arms.

  My mother charged me also to abstain

  From battle, till she bring me armor new

  Which she hath promised me from Vulcan's hand.

  Meantime, whose armor else might serve my need

  I know not, save perhaps alone the shield

  Of Telamonian Ajax, whom I deem

  Himself now busied in the stormy van,

  Slaying the Trojans in my friend's defence.

  To whom the swift-wing'd messenger of heaven,

  Full well we know thine armor Hector's prize

  Yet, issuing to the margin of the foss,

  Show thyself only. Panic-seized, perchance,

  The Trojans shall from fight desist, and yield

  To the o'ertoil'd though dauntless sons of Greece

&n
bsp; Short respite; it is all that war allows.

  So saying, the storm-wing'd Iris disappear'd.

  Then rose at once Achilles dear to Jove,

  Athwart whose shoulders broad Minerva cast

  Her Ægis fringed terrific, and his brows

  Encircled with a golden cloud that shot

  Fires insupportable to sight abroad.

  As when some island, situate afar

  On the wide waves, invested all the day

  By cruel foes from their own city pour'd,

  Upsends a smoke to heaven, and torches shows

  On all her turrets at the close of eve

  Which flash against the clouds, kindled in hope

  Of aid from neighbor maritime allies,

  So from Achilles' head light flash'd to heaven.

  Issuing through the wall, beside the foss

  He stood, but mix'd not with Achaia's host,

  Obedient to his mother's wise command.

  He stood and shouted; Pallas also raised

  A dreadful shout and tumult infinite

  Excited throughout all the host of Troy.

  Clear as the trumpet's note when it proclaims

  A numerous host approaching to invest

  Some city close around, so clear the voice

  Rang of Æacides, and tumult-toss'd

  Was every soul that heard the brazen tone.

  With swift recoil the long-maned coursers thrust

  The chariots back, all boding wo at hand,

  And every charioteer astonish'd saw

  Fires that fail'd not, illumining the brows

  Of Peleus' son, by Pallas kindled there.

  Thrice o'er the trench Achilles sent his voice

  Sonorous, and confusion at the sound

  Thrice seized the Trojans, and their famed allies.

  Twelve in that moment of their noblest died

  By their own spears and chariots, and with joy

  The Grecians from beneath a hill of darts

  Dragging Patroclus, placed him on his bier.

  Around him throng'd his fellow-warriors bold,

  All weeping, after whom Achilles went

  Fast-weeping also at the doleful sight

  Of his true friend on his funereal bed

  Extended, gash'd with many a mortal wound,

  Whom he had sent into the fight with steeds

  And chariot, but received him thence no more.

  And now majestic Juno sent the sun,

  Unwearied minister of light, although

  Reluctant, down into the Ocean stream.

  So the sun sank, and the Achaians ceased

  From the all-wasting labors of the war.

  On the other side, the Trojans, from the fight

  Retiring, loosed their steeds, but ere they took

  Thought of refreshment, in full council met.

  It was a council at which no man sat,