Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  "Coward and slave indeed I might be deem'd.

  Could I submit to make thy word my law;

  To others thy commands; seek not to me

  To dictate, for I follow thee no more.

  But hear me speak, and ponder what I say:

  For the fair girl I fight not (since you choose

  To take away the prize yourselves bestow'd)

  With thee or any one; but of the rest

  My dark swift ship contains, against my will

  On nought shalt thou, unpunish'd, lay thy hand.

  Make trial if thou wilt, that these may know;

  Thy life-blood soon should reek upon my spear."

  After this conflict keen of angry speech,

  The chiefs arose, the assembly was dispers'd.

  With his own followers, and Menoetius' son,

  Achilles to his tents and ships withdrew.

  But Atreus' son launch'd a swift-sailing bark,

  With twenty rowers mann'd, and plac'd on board

  The sacred hecatomb; then last embark'd

  The fair Chryseis, and in chief command

  Laertes' son, the sage Ulysses, plac'd.

  They swiftly sped along the wat'ry way.

  Next, proclamation through the camp was made

  To purify the host; and in the sea,

  Obedient to the word, they purified;

  Then to Apollo solemn rites perform'd

  With faultless hecatombs of bulls and goats,

  Upon the margin of the wat'ry waste;

  And, wreath'd in smoke, the savour rose to Heav'n.

  The camp thus occupied, the King pursued

  His threaten'd plan of vengeance; to his side

  Calling Talthybius and Eurybates,

  Heralds, and faithful followers, thus he spoke:

  "Haste to Achilles' tent, and in your hand

  Back with you thence the fair Briseis bring:

  If he refuse to send her, I myself

  With a sufficient force will bear her thence,

  Which he may find, perchance, the worse for him."

  So spake the monarch, and with stern command

  Dismiss'd them; with reluctant steps they pass'd

  Along the margin of the wat'ry waste,

  Till to the tents and ships they came, where lay

  The warlike Myrmidons. Their chief they found

  Sitting beside his tent and dark-ribb'd ship.

  Achilles mark'd their coming, not well pleas'd:

  With troubled mien, and awe-struck by the King,

  They stood, nor dar'd accost him; but himself

  Divin'd their errand, and address'd them thus:

  "Welcome, ye messengers of Gods and men,

  Heralds! approach in safety; not with you,

  But with Atrides, is my just offence,

  Who for the fair Briseis sends you here.

  Go, then, Patroclus, bring the maiden forth,

  And give her to their hands; but witness ye,

  Before the blessed Gods and mortal men,

  And to the face of that injurious King,

  When he shall need my arm, from shameful rout

  To save his followers; blinded by his rage,

  He neither heeds experience of the past

  Nor scans the future, provident how best

  To guard his fleet and army from the foe."

  He spoke: obedient to his friend and chief,

  Patroclus led the fair Briseis forth,

  And gave her to their hands; they to the ships

  Retrac'd their steps, and with them the fair girl

  Reluctant went: meanwhile Achilles, plung'd

  In bitter grief, from all the band apart,

  Upon the margin of the hoary sea

  Sat idly gazing on the dark-blue waves;

  And to his Goddess-mother long he pray'd,

  With outstretch'd hands, "Oh, mother! since thy son

  To early death by destiny is doom'd,

  I might have hop'd the Thunderer on high,

  Olympian Jove, with honour would have crown'd

  My little space; but now disgrace is mine;

  Since Agamemnon, the wide-ruling King,

  Hath wrested from me, and still holds, my prize."

  Weeping, he spoke; his Goddess-mother heard,

  Beside her aged father where she sat

  In the deep ocean-caves: ascending quick

  Through the dark waves, like to a misty cloud,

  Beside her son she stood; and as he wept,

  She gently touch'd him with her hand, and said,

  "Why weeps my son? and whence his cause of grief?

  Speak out, that I may hear, and share thy pain."

  To whom Achilles, swift of foot, replied,

  Groaning, "Thou know'st; what boots to tell thee all?

  On Thebes we march'd, Eetion's sacred town,

  And storm'd the walls, and hither bore the spoil.

  The spoils were fairly by the sons of Greece

  Apportion'd out; and to Atrides' share

  The beauteous daughter of old Chryses fell.

  Chryses, Apollo's priest, to free his child,

  Came to th' encampment of the brass-clad Greeks,

  With costly ransom charg'd; and in his hand

  The sacred fillet of his God he bore,

  And golden staff; to all he sued, but chief

  To Atreus' sons, twin captains of the host.

  Then through the ranks assenting murmurs ran,

  The priest to rev'rence, and the ransom take:

  Not so Atrides; he, with haughty mien

  And bitter words, the trembling sire dismiss'd.

  The old man turn'd in sorrow; but his pray'r

  Phoebus Apollo heard, who lov'd him well.

  Against the Greeks he bent his fatal bow,

  And fast the people fell; on ev'ry side

  Throughout the camp the heav'nly arrows flew;

  A skilful seer at length the cause reveal'd

  Why thus incens'd the Archer-God; I then,

  The first, gave counsel to appease his wrath.

  Whereat Atrides, full of fury, rose,

  And utter'd threats, which he hath now fulfill'd.

  For Chryses' daughter to her native land

  In a swift-sailing ship the keen-ey'd Greeks

  Have sent, with costly off'rings to the God:

  But her, assign'd me by the sons of Greece,

  Brises' fair daughter, from my tent e'en now

  The heralds bear away. Then, Goddess, thou,

  If thou hast pow'r, protect thine injur'd son.

  Fly to Olympus, to the feet of Jove,

  And make thy pray'r to him, if on his heart

  Thou hast in truth, by word or deed, a claim.

  For I remember, in my father's house,

  I oft have heard thee boast, how thou, alone

  Of all th' Immortals, Saturn's cloud-girt son

  Didst shield from foul disgrace, when all the rest,

  Juno, and Neptune, and Minerva join'd,

  With chains to bind him; then, O Goddess, thou

  Didst set him free, invoking to his aid

  Him of the hundred arms, whom Briareus

  Th' immortal Gods, and men AEgeon call.

  He, mightier than his father, took his seat

  By Saturn's side, in pride of conscious strength:

  Fear seiz'd on all the Gods, nor did they dare

  To bind their King: of this remind him now,

  And clasp his knees, and supplicate his aid

  For Troy's brave warriors, that the routed Greeks

  Back to their ships with slaughter may be driv'n;

  That all may taste the folly of their King,

  And Agamemnon's haughty self may mourn

  The slight on Grecia's bravest warrior cast."

  Thus he; and Thetis, weeping, thus replied:

  "Alas, my child, that e'er I gave thee birth!

  Would that bes
ide thy ships thou could'st remain

  From grief exempt, and insult! since by fate

  Few years are thine, and not a lengthened term;

  At once to early death and sorrows doom'd

  Beyond the lot of man! in evil hour

  I gave thee birth! But to the snow-clad heights

  Of great Olympus, to the throne of Jove,

  Who wields the thunder, thy complaints I bear.

  Thou by thy ships, meanwhile, against the Greeks

  Thine anger nurse, and from the fight abstain.

  For Jove is to a solemn banquet gone

  Beyond the sea, on AEthiopia's shore,

  Since yesternight; and with him all the Gods.

  On the twelfth day he purpos'd to return

  To high Olympus; thither then will I,

  And to his feet my supplication make;

  And he, I think, will not deny my suit."

  This said, she disappear'd; and left him there

  Musing in anger on the lovely form

  Tom from his arms by violence away.

  Meantime, Ulysses, with his sacred freight,

  Arriv'd at Chrysa's strand; and when his bark

  Had reach'd the shelter of the deep sea bay,

  Their sails they furl'd, and lower'd to the hold;

  Slack'd the retaining shrouds, and quickly struck

  And stow'd away the mast; then with their sweeps

  Pull'd for the beach, and cast their anchors out,

  And made her fast with cables to the shore.

  Then on the shingly breakwater themselves

  They landed, and the sacred hecatomb

  To great Apollo; and Chryseis last.

  Her to the altar straight Ulysses led,

  The wise in counsel; in her father's hand

  He plac'd the maiden, and address'd him thus:

  "Chryses, from Agamemnon, King of men,

  To thee I come, thy daughter to restore;

  And to thy God, upon the Greeks' behalf,

  To offer sacrifice, if haply so

  We may appease his wrath, who now incens'd

  With grievous suff'ring visits all our host."

  Then to her sire he gave her; he with joy

  Receiv'd his child; the sacred hecatomb

  Around the well-built altar for the God

  In order due they plac'd; their hands then washed,

  And the salt cake prepar'd, before them all

  With hands uplifted Chryses pray'd aloud:

  "Hear me, God of the silver bow! whose care

  Chrysa surrounds, and Cilla's lovely vale,

  Whose sov'reign sway o'er Tenedos extends!

  Once hast thou heard my pray'r, aveng'd my cause,

  And pour'd thy fury on the Grecian host.

  Hear yet again, and grant what now I ask;

  Withdraw thy chast'ning hand, and stay the plague."

  Thus, as he pray'd, his pray'r Apollo heard.

  Their pray'rs concluded, and the salt cake strew'd

  Upon the victims' heads, they drew them back,

  And slew, and flay'd; then cutting from the thighs

  The choicest pieces, and in double layers

  O'erspreading them with fat, above them plac'd

  The due meat-off'rings; then the aged priest

  The cleft wood kindled, and libations pour'd

  Of ruddy wine; arm'd with the five-fork'd prongs

  Th' attendant ministers beside him stood.

  The thighs consum'd with fire, the inward parts

  They tasted first; the rest upon the spits

  Roasted with care, and from the fire withdrew.

  Their labours ended, and the feast prepar'd,

  They shared the social meal, nor lacked there aught.

  The rage of thirst and hunger satisfied,

  Th' attendant youths the flowing goblets crown'd,

  And in fit order serv'd the cups to all.

  All day they sought the favour of the God,

  The glorious paeans chanting, and the praise

  Of Phoebus: he, well pleas'd, the strain receiv'd

  But when the sun was set, and shades of night

  O'erspread the sky, upon the sandy beach

  Close to their ship they laid them down to rest.

  And when the rosy-finger'd morn appear'd,

  Back to the camp they took their homeward way

  A fav'ring breeze the Far-destroyer sent:

  They stepp'd the mast, and spread the snowy sail:

  Full in the midst the bellying sail receiv'd

  The gallant breeze; and round the vessel's prow

  The dark waves loudly roar'd, as on she rush'd

  Skimming the seas, and cut her wat'ry way.

  Arriv'd where lay the wide-spread host of Greece,

  Their dark-ribb'd vessel on the beach they drew

  High on the sand, and strongly shor'd her up;

  Then through the camp they took their sev'ral ways.

  Meantime, beside the ships Achilles sat,

  The Heav'n-born son of Peleus, swift of foot,

  Chafing with rage repress'd; no more he sought

  The honour'd council, nor the battle-field;

  But wore his soul away, and inly pin'd

  For the fierce joy and tumult of the fight.

  But when the twelfth revolving day was come,

  Back to Olympus' heights th' immortal Gods,

  Jove at their head, together all return'd.

  Then Thetis, mindful of her son's request,

  Rose from the ocean wave, and sped in haste

  To high Olympus, and the courts of Heav'n.

  Th' all-seeing son of Saturn there she found

  Sitting apart upon the topmost crest

  Of many-ridg'd Olympus; at his feet

  She sat, and while her left hand clasp'd his knees,

  Her right approached his beard, and suppliant thus

  She made her pray'r to Saturn's royal son:

  "Father, if e'er amid th' immortal Gods

  By word or deed I did thee service true,

  Hear now my pray'r! Avenge my hapless son,

  Of mortals shortest-liv'd, insulted now

  By mighty Agamemnon, King of men,

  And plunder'd of his lawful spoils of war.

  But Jove, Olympian, Lord of counsel, Thou

  Avenge his cause; and give to Trojan arms

  Such strength and pow'r, that Greeks may learn how much

  They need my son, and give him honour due."

  She said: the Cloud-compeller answer'd not,

  But silent sat; then Thetis clasp'd his knees,

  And hung about him, and her suit renew'd:

  "Give me thy promise sure, thy gracious nod,

  Or else refuse (for thou hast none to fear),

  That I may learn, of all th' immortal Gods,

  How far I stand the lowest in thine eyes."

  Then, much disturb'd, the Cloud-compeller spoke:

  "Sad work thou mak'st, in bidding me oppose

  My will to Juno's, when her bitter words

  Assail me; for full oft amid the Gods

  She taunts me, that I aid the Trojan cause.

  But thou return, that Juno see thee not,

  And leave to me the furth'rance of thy suit.

  Lo, to confirm thy faith, I nod my head;

  And well among th' immortal Gods is known

  The solemn import of that pledge from me:

  For ne'er my promise shall deceive, or fail,

  Or be recall'd, if with a nod confirm'd."

  He said, and nodded with his shadowy brows;

  Wav'd on th' immortal head th' ambrosial locks,

  And all Olympus trembled at his nod.

  They parted thus: from bright Olympus' heights

  The Goddess hasted to her ocean-caves,

  Jove to his palace; at his entrance all

  Rose from their seats at once; not one presum'd

  To wait h
is coming, but advanc'd to meet.

  Then on his throne he sat; but not unmark'd

  Of Juno's eye had been the council held

  In secret with the silver-footed Queen,

  The daughter of the aged Ocean-God;

  And with sharp words she thus addressed her Lord:

  "Tell me, deceiver, who was she with whom

  Thou late held'st council? ever 'tis thy way

  Apart from me to weave thy secret schemes,

  Nor dost thou freely share with me thy mind."

  To whom the Sire of Gods and men replied:

  "Expect not, Juno, all my mind to know;

  My wife thou art, yet would such knowledge be

  Too much for thee; whate'er I deem it fit

  That thou shouldst know, nor God nor man shall hear

  Before thee; but what I in secret plan,

  Seek not to know, nor curiously inquire."

  Whom answer'd thus the stag-ey'd Queen of Heav'n:

  "What words, dread son of Saturn, dost thou speak?

  Ne'er have I sought, or now, or heretofore,

  Thy secret thoughts to know; what thou think'st fit

  To tell, I wait thy gracious will to hear.

  Yet fear I in my soul thou art beguil'd

  By wiles of Thetis, silver-footed Queen,

  The daughter of the aged Ocean-God;

  For she was with thee early, and embrac'd

  Thy knees, and has, I think, thy promise sure,

  Thou wilt avenge Achilles' cause, and bring

  Destructive slaughter on the Grecian host."

  To whom the Cloud-compeller thus replied:

  "Presumptuous, to thy busy thoughts thou giv'st

  Too free a range, and watchest all I do;

  Yet shalt thou not prevail, but rather thus

  Be alien'd from my heart — the worse for thee!

  If this be so, it is my sov'reign will.

  But now, keep silence, and my words obey,

  Lest all th' Immortals fail, if I be wroth,

  To rescue thee from my resistless hand."

  He said, and terror seiz'd the stag-ey'd Queen:

  Silent she sat, curbing her spirit down,

  And all the Gods in pitying sorrow mourn'd.

  Vulcan, the skill'd artificer, then first

  Broke silence, and with soothing words address'd

  His mother, Juno, white-arm'd Queen of Heav'n:

  "Sad were't, indeed, and grievous to be borne,

  If for the sake of mortal men you two

  Should suffer angry passions to arise,

  And kindle broils in Heav'n; so should our feast

  By evil influence all its sweetness lack.

  Let me advise my mother (and I know

  That her own reason will my words approve)

  To speak my father fair; lest he again

  Reply in anger, and our banquet mar.

  For Jove, the lightning's Lord, if such his will,