Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  Swift Achilles spoke, and leaping up, slew a white sheep, and his companions flayed it well, and fitly dressed it; then they skilfully cut it in pieces, pierced them with spits, roasted them diligently, and drew them all off. Then Automedon, taking bread, distributed it over the table in beautiful baskets; whilst Achilles helped the meat, and they stretched out their hands to the prepared victuals lying before them. But when they had dismissed the desire of food and drink, Dardanian Priam indeed marvelled at Achilles, such and so great; for he was like unto the gods; but Achilles marvelled at Dardanian Priam, seeing his amiable countenance, and hearing his conversation. When, however, they were satisfied with gazing at each other, him Priam, the godlike old man, first addressed:

  "Send me now to rest as soon as possible, Ο Jove-nurtured, that we, reclining, may take our fill of sweet sleep; for never have these eyes been closed beneath my eyelids from the time when my son lost his life by thy hands; but I ever lament and cherish many woes, rolling in the dust within the enclosures of my palaces. But now I have tasted food, and poured sweet wine down my throat; for before indeed I had not tasted it."

  He spoke; but Achilles ordered his companions, servants, and maids, to place couches beneath the porch, and to spread beautiful purple mats on them, and to strew embroidered carpets over them, and to lay on them well-napped cloaks, to be drawn over all. But they went out of the hall, having a torch in their hands, and hastening, they quickly spread two couches. But the swift-footed Achilles, jocularly addressing him, said:

  "Do you lie without, O revered old man, lest some counsellor of the Greeks come hither, who, sitting with me, constantly meditate plans, as is just. If any of these should see thee in the dark and dangerous night, he would forthwith tell Agamemnon, the shepherd of the people, and perchance there would be a delay of the redemption of the body. But come, tell me this, and tell it accurately: How many days dost thou desire to perform the funeral rites of noble Hector, that I may myself remain quiet so long, and restrain the people?"

  But him Priam, the godlike old man, then answered:

  "If indeed thou desirest me to celebrate the funeral of noble Hector, thus doing, O Achilles, thou dost surely gratify me. For thou knowest how we are hemmed in within the city, and it is far to carry wood from the mountain; and the Trojans greatly dread [to do so]. Nine days indeed we would lament him in our halls, but on the tenth would bury him, and the people should feast; but upon the eleventh we would make a tomb to him, and on the twelfth we will fight, if necessary." But him swift-footed Achilles again addressed:

  "These things shall be to thee, O aged Priam, as thou desirest; for I will prevent the fight as long a time as thou desirest."

  Thus having spoken, he grasped the right hand of the old man near the wrist, lest he should fear in his mind. They indeed, the herald and Priam, slept there in the porch of the house, having prudent counsels in their mind; while Achilles slept in the interior of the well-built tent; and beside him lay fair-cheeked Brisëis.

  The other gods indeed and chariot-fighting men slept all night, subdued by gentle slumber; but sleep seized not Mercury, the author of good, revolving in his mind how he should convey away king Priam from the ships, having escaped the notice of the sacred gate-keeper. Accordingly he stood over his head, and addressed him:

  "O aged man, certainly evil is not at all a care to thee, that thou sleepest thus amongst hostile men, after Achilles has suffered thee. Now indeed thou hast ransomed thy beloved son, and hast given much; but the sons left behind by thee would give three times as many ransoms for thee alive, if Agamemnon, the son of Atreus, should know of thy being here, and all the Greeks should know of it."

  Thus he spoke; but the old man feared, and awoke the herald. Then for them Mercury yoked the horses and mules, and quickly drove them himself through the camp, nor did any one perceive. But when they reached the course of the fair-flowing river, eddying Xanthus, which immortal Jove begat, then indeed Mercury went away to lofty Olympus; and saffron-robed Morn was diffused over the whole earth. They indeed drove the horses towards the city with wailing and lamentation, and the mules bore the body; nor did any other of the men and well-girdled women previously perceive it; but Cassandra, like unto golden Venus, ascending Pergamus, discovered her dear father standing in the driving-seat, and the city-summoning herald. She beheld him also upon the mules, lying on the litter; then indeed she shrieked, and cried aloud throughout the whole city:

  "O Trojans and Trojan women, going forth, behold Hector, if ever ye rejoiced at his returning alive from battle; for he was a great joy to the city, and to the whole people."

  Thus she spoke; nor was there any man left in the city, nor woman; for insupportable grief came upon them all, and they met him near the gates bringing in the body. But his wife and venerable mother first rushing to the well-wheeled chariot, plucked out their hair, touching his head; and the crowd stood around, weeping. And they indeed would have wept the whole day till sunset before the gates, lamenting Hector, had not the old man addressed the people from his chariot:

  "Give way to me, to pass through with the mules; but afterwards shall ye be satiated with weeping, after I shall carry him home." Thus he spoke; but they stood off. and made way for the chariot. But when they had brought him into the illustrious palace, they laid him upon perforated beds, and placed singers beside him, leaders of the dirges, who indeed sang a mournful ditty, while the women also uttered responsive groans. And amongst them white-armed Andromache began the lamentation, holding the head of man-slaughtering Hector between her hands:

  "O husband, young in years hast thou died, and hast left me a widow in the palace. And besides, thy son is thus an infant, to whom thou and I, ill-fated, gave birth; nor do I think he will attain to puberty; for before that, this city will be overthrown from its summit. Certainly thou, the protector, art dead, who didst defend its very self, and didst protect its venerable wives and infant children; who will soon be carried away in the hollow ships, and I indeed amongst them. But thou, O my son, wilt either accompany me, where thou shalt labour unworthy tasks, toiling for a merciless lord; or some one of the Greeks, enraged, seizing thee by the hand, will hurl thee from a tower, to sad destruction; to whom doubtless Hector has slain a brother, or a father, or even a son; for by the hands of Hector very many Greeks have grasped the immense earth with their teeth. For thy father was not gentle in the sad conflict; wherefore indeed the people lament him throughout the city. But thou hast caused unutterable grief and sorrow to thy parents, O Hector, but chiefly to me are bitter sorrows left. For thou didst not stretch out thy hands to me from the couch when dying; nor speak any prudent word [of solace], which I might for ever remember, shedding tears night and day."

  Thus she spoke, bewailing; but the women also lamented; and to them in turn Hecuba began her vehement lamentation:

  "O Hector, far of all my sons dearest to my soul, certainly being alive to me, thou wert beloved by the gods, who truly have had a care of thee, even in the destiny of death. For swift-footed Achilles sold all my other sons, whomsoever he seized, beyond the unfruitful sea, at Samos, Imbrus, and Lemnos without a harbour. But when he had taken away thy life with his long-bladed spear, he often dragged thee round the tomb of his comrade Patroclus, whom thou slewest; but he did not thus raise him up. But now thou liest, to my sorrow, in the palaces, fresh and lately slain like him whom silver-bowed Apollo, attacking, has slain with his mild weapons."

  Thus she spoke, weeping; and aroused a vehement lamentation. But to them Helen then, the third, began her lamentation:

  "O Hector, far dearest to my soul of all my brothers-in-law, for godlike Alexander is my husband, he who brought me to Troy:--would that I had perished first. But now already this is the twentieth year to me from the time when I came from thence, and quitted my native land; yet have I never heard from thee a harsh or reproachful word; but if any other of my brothers-in-law, or sisters-in-law, or well-attired husband's brothers' wives, reproached me in the palaces, or my mother
-in-law (for my father-in-law was ever gentle as a father), then thou, admonishing him with words, didst restrain him, both by thy gentleness and thy gentle words. So that, grieved at heart, I bewail at the same time thee and myself, unhappy; for there is not any other in wide Troy kind and friendly to me; but all abhor me."

  Thus she spoke, weeping; and again the countless throng groaned. And aged Priam spoke [this] speech amongst the people:

  "O Trojans, now bring wood to the city, nor at all fear in your mind a close ambuscade of the Greeks; for Achilles, dismissing me from the dark ships, thus promised me, that he would not commence hostilities, before the twelfth morning should arrive."

  Thus he spoke; and they yoked both oxen and mules beneath the waggons; and then assembled before the city. For nine days indeed they brought together an immense quantity of wood; but when now the tenth morn, bearing light to mortals, had appeared, then indeed, weeping, they carried out noble Hector, and placed the body on the lofty pile, and cast in the fire.

  But when the mother of dawn, rosy-fingered Morn, appeared, then were the people assembled round the pile of illustrious Hector. But after they were assembled, and collected together, first indeed they extinguished all the pyre with dark wine, as much as the force of the fire had possessed; but then his brothers and companions collected his white bones, weeping, and the abundant tear streamed down their cheeks. And, taking them, they placed them in a golden urn, covering them with soft purple robes, and forthwith deposited it in a hollow grave; and then strewed it above with numerous great stones. But they built up the tomb in haste, and watches sat around on every side, lest the well-greaved Greeks should make an attack too soon. And having heaped up the tomb, they returned; and then being assembled together in order, they feasted on a splendid banquet in the palaces of Priam, the Jove-nurtured king.

  Thus indeed they performed the funeral of steed-breaking Hector.

  END OF THE ILIAD.

  THE ILIAD – Derby’s Translation

  Edward, Earl of Derby’s 1864 translation was composed in blank verse, iambic pentameter, providing a poetic rendering, though lacking in literal accuracy.

  Edward Earl of Derby

  THE ILIAD

  CONTENTS

  PREFACE.

  BOOK I.

  BOOK II.

  BOOK III.

  BOOK IV.

  BOOK V.

  BOOK VI.

  BOOK VII.

  BOOK VIII.

  BOOK IX.

  BOOK X.

  BOOK XI.

  BOOK XII.

  BOOK XIII.

  BOOK XIV.

  BOOK XV.

  BOOK XVI.

  BOOK XVII.

  BOOK XVIII.

  BOOK XIX.

  BOOK XX.

  BOOK XXI.

  BOOK XXII.

  BOOK XXIII.

  BOOK XXIV.

  THE ILIAD OF HOMER

  RENDERED INTO ENGLISH BLANK VERSE. BY

  EDWARD EARL OF DERBY.

  PREFACE.

  In the spring of 1862 I was induced, at the request of some personal friends, to print, for private circulation only, a small volume of "Translations of Poems Ancient and Modern," in which was included the first Book of the Iliad. The opinions expressed by some competent judges of the degree of success which had attended this "attempt to infuse into an almost literal English version something of the spirit, as well as the simplicity, of the great original," [Footnote: Introduction to unpublished volume.] were sufficiently favourable to encourage me to continue the work which I had begun. It has afforded me, in the intervals of more urgent business, an unfailing, and constantly increasing source of interest; and it is not without a feeling of regret at the completion of my task, and a sincere diffidence as to its success, that I venture to submit the result of my labour to the ordeal of public criticism.

  Various causes, irrespective of any demerits of the work itself, forbid me to anticipate for this translation any extensive popularity. First, I fear that the taste for, and appreciation of, Classical Literature, are greatly on the decline; next, those who have kept up their classical studies, and are able to read and enjoy the original, will hardly take an interest in a mere translation; while the English reader, unacquainted with Greek, will naturally prefer the harmonious versification and polished brilliancy of Pope's translation; with which, as a happy adaptation of the Homeric story to the spirit of English poetry, I have not the presumption to enter into competition. But, admirable as it is, Pope's Iliad can hardly be said to be Homer's Iliad; and there may be some who, having lost the familiarity with the original language which they once possessed, may, if I have at all succeeded in my attempt, have recalled to their minds a faint echo of the strains which delighted their earlier days, and may recognize some slight trace of the original perfume.

  Numerous as have been the translators of the Iliad, or of parts of it, the metres which have been selected have been almost as various: the ordinary couplet in rhyme, the Spenserian stanza, the Trochaic or Ballad metre, all have had their partisans, even to that "pestilent heresy" of the so-called English Hexameter; a metre wholly repugnant to the genius of our language; which can only be pressed into the service by a violation of every rule of prosody; and of which, notwithstanding my respect for the eminent men who have attempted to naturalize it, I could never read ten lines without being irresistibly reminded of Canning's

  "Dactylics call'st thou them? God help thee, silly one!"

  But in the progress of this work, I have been more and more confirmed in the opinion which I expressed at its commencement, that (whatever may be the extent of my own individual failure) "if justice is ever to be done to the easy flow and majestic simplicity of the grand old Poet, it can only be in the Heroic blank verse." I have seen isolated passages admirably rendered in other metres; and there are many instances in which a translation line for line and couplet for couplet naturally suggests itself, and in which it is sometimes difficult to avoid an involuntary rhyme; but the blank verse appears to me the only metre capable of adapting itself to all the gradations, if I may use the term, of the Homeric style; from the finished poetry of the numerous similes, in which every touch is nature, and nothing is overcoloured or exaggerated, down to the simple, almost homely, style of some portions of the narrative. Least of all can any other metre do full justice to the spirit and freedom of the various speeches, in which the old warriors give utterance, without disguise or restraint, to all their strong and genuine emotions. To subject these to the trammels of couplet and rhyme would be as destructive of their chief characteristics, as the application of a similar process to the Paradise Lost of Milton, or the tragedies of Shakespeare; the effect indeed may be seen by comparing, with some of the noblest speeches of the latter, the few couplets which he seems to have considered himself bound by custom to tack on to their close, at the end of a scene or an act.

  I have adopted, not without hesitation, the Latin, rather than the Greek, nomenclature for the Heathen Deities. I have been induced to do so from the manifest incongruity of confounding the two; and from the fact that though English readers may be familiar with the names of Zeus, or Aphrodite, or even Poseidon, those of Hera, or Ares, or Hephaestus, or Leto, would hardly convey to them a definite signification.

  It has been my aim throughout to produce a translation and not a paraphrase; not indeed such a translation as would satisfy, with regard to each word, the rigid requirements of accurate scholarship; but such as would fairly and honestly give the sense and spirit of every passage, and of every line; omitting nothing, and expanding nothing; and adhering, as closely as our language will allow, ever to every epithet which is capable of being translated, and which has, in the particular passage, anything of a special and distinctive character. Of the many deficiencies in my execution of this intention, I am but too conscious; whether I have been in any degree successful, must be left to the impartial decision of such of the Public as may honour this work with their perusal.

  D.


  KNOWSLEY, OCT., 1864

  ARGUMENT.

  THE CONTENTION OF ACHILLES AND AGAMEMNON.

  In the war of Troy, the Greeks having sacked some of the neighbouring towns, and taken from thence two beautiful captives, Chryseis and Briseis, allotted the first to Agamemnon, and the last to Achilles. Chryses, the father of Chryseis, and priest of Apollo, comes to the Grecian camp to ransom her; with which the action of the poem opens, in the tenth year of the siege. The priest being refused, and insolently dismissed by Agamemnon, entreats for vengeance from his god, who inflicts a pestilence on the Greeks. Achilles calls a council, and encourages Calchas to declare the cause of it, who attributes it to the refusal of Chryseis. The King being obliged to send back his captive, enters into a furious contest with Achilles, which Nestor pacifies; however, as he had the absolute command of the army, he seizes on Briseis in revenge. Achilles in discontent withdraws himself and his forces from the test of the Greeks; and complaining to Thetis, she supplicates Jupiter to render them sensible of the wrong done to her son, by giving victory to the Trojans. Jupiter granting her suit, incenses Juno, between whom the debate runs high, till they are reconciled by the address of Vulcan.

  The time of two-and-twenty days is taken up in this book; nine during the plague, one in the council and quarrel of the Princes, and twelve for Jupiter's stay among the Ethiopians, at whose return Thetis prefers her petition. The scene lies in the Grecian camp, then changes to Chrysa, and lastly to Olympus.

  BOOK I.

  Of Peleus' son, Achilles, sing, O Muse,