Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  Thus saying, Hector of the glancing helm

  Turn'd to depart; with rapid step he reach'd

  His own well-furnished house, but found not there

  His white-arm'd spouse, the fair Andromache.

  She with her infant child and maid the while

  Was standing, bath'd in tears, in bitter grief,

  On Ilium's topmost tower: but when her Lord

  Found not within the house his peerless wife,

  Upon the threshold pausing, thus he spoke:

  "Tell me, my maidens, tell me true, which way

  Your mistress went, the fair Andromache;

  Or to my sisters, or my brothers' wives?

  Or to the temple where the fair-hair'd dames

  Of Troy invoke Minerva's awful name?"

  To whom the matron of his house replied:

  "Hector, if truly we must answer thee,

  Not to thy sisters, nor thy brothers' wives,

  Nor to the temple where the fair-hair'd dames

  Of Troy invoke Minerva's awful name,

  But to the height of Ilium's topmost tow'r

  Andromache is gone; since tidings came

  The Trojan force was overmatch'd, and great

  The Grecian strength; whereat, like one distract,

  She hurried to the walls, and with her took,

  Borne in the nurse's arms, her infant child."

  So spoke the ancient dame; and Hector straight

  Through the wide streets his rapid steps retrac'd.

  But when at last the mighty city's length

  Was travers'd, and the Scaean gates were reach'd,

  Whence was the outlet to the plain, in haste

  Running to meet him came his priceless wife,

  Eetion's daughter, fair Andromache;

  Eetion, who from Thebes Cilicia sway'd,

  Thebes, at the foot of Placos' wooded heights.

  His child to Hector of the brazen helm

  Was giv'n in marriage: she it was who now

  Met him, and by her side the nurse, who bore,

  Clasp'd to her breast, his all unconscious child,

  Hector's lov'd infant, fair as morning star;

  Whom Hector call'd Scamandrius, but the rest

  Astyanax, in honour of his sire,

  The matchless chief, the only prop of Troy.

  Silent he smil'd as on his boy he gaz'd:

  But at his side Andromache, in tears,

  Hung on his arm, and thus the chief address'd:

  "Dear Lord, thy dauntless spirit will work thy doom:

  Nor hast thou pity on this thy helpless child,

  Or me forlorn, to be thy widow soon:

  For thee will all the Greeks with force combin'd

  Assail and slay: for me, 'twere better far,

  Of thee bereft, to lie beneath the sod;

  Nor comfort shall be mine, if thou be lost,

  But endless grief; to me nor sire is left,

  Nor honour'd mother; fell Achilles' hand

  My sire Eetion slew, what time his arms

  The populous city of Cilicia raz'd,

  The lofty-gated Thebes; he slew indeed,

  But stripp'd him not; he reverenc'd the dead;

  And o'er his body, with his armour burnt,

  A mound erected; and the mountain nymphs,

  The progeny of aegis-bearing Jove,

  Planted around his tomb a grove of elms.

  There were sev'n brethren in my father's house;

  All in one day they fell, amid their herds

  And fleecy flocks, by fierce Achilles' hand.

  My mother, Queen of Placos' wooded height,

  Brought with the captives here, he soon releas'd

  For costly ransom; but by Dian's shafts

  She, in her father's house, was stricken down.

  But, Hector, thou to me art all in one,

  Sire, mother, brethren! thou, my wedded love!

  Then pitying us, within the tow'r remain,

  Nor make thy child an orphan, and thy wife

  A hapless widow; by the fig-tree here

  Array thy troops; for here the city wall,

  Easiest of access, most invites assault.

  Thrice have their boldest chiefs this point assail'd,

  The two Ajaces, brave Idomeneus,

  Th' Atridae both, and Tydeus' warlike son,

  Or by the prompting of some Heav'n-taught seer,

  Or by their own advent'rous courage led."

  To whom great Hector of the glancing helm;

  "Think not, dear wife, that by such thoughts as these

  My heart has ne'er been wrung; but I should blush

  To face the men and long-rob'd dames of Troy,

  If, like a coward, I could shun the fight.

  Nor could my soul the lessons of my youth

  So far forget, whose boast it still has been

  In the fore-front of battle to be found,

  Charg'd with my father's glory and mine own.

  Yet in my inmost soul too well I know,

  The day must come when this our sacred Troy,

  And Priam's race, and Priam's royal self

  Shall in one common ruin be o'erthrown.

  But not the thoughts of Troy's impending fate,

  Nor Hecuba's nor royal Priam's woes,

  Nor loss of brethren, numerous and brave,

  By hostile hands laid prostrate in the dust,

  So deeply wring my heart as thoughts of thee,

  Thy days of freedom lost, and led away

  A weeping captive by some brass-clad Greek;

  Haply in Argos, at a mistress' beck,

  Condemn'd to ply the loom, or water draw

  From Hypereia's or Messeis' fount,

  Heart-wrung, by stern necessity constrain'd.

  Then they who see thy tears perchance may say,

  'Lo! this was Hector's wife, who, when they fought

  On plains of Troy, was Ilium's bravest chief.'

  Thus may they speak; and thus thy grief renew

  For loss of him, who might have been thy shield

  To rescue thee from slav'ry's bitter hour.

  Oh may I sleep in dust, ere be condemn'd

  To hear thy cries, and see thee dragg'd away!"

  Thus as he spoke, great Hector stretch'd his arms

  To take his child; but back the infant shrank,

  Crying, and sought his nurse's shelt'ring breast,

  Scar'd by the brazen helm and horse-hair plume,

  That nodded, fearful, on the warrior's crest.

  Laugh'd the fond parents both, and from his brow

  Hector the casque remov'd, and set it down,

  All glitt'ring, on the ground; then kiss'd his child,

  And danc'd him in his arms; then thus to Jove

  And to th' Immortals all address'd his pray'r:

  "Grant, Jove, and all ye Gods, that this my son

  May be, as I, the foremost man of Troy,

  For valour fam'd, his country's guardian King;

  That men may say, 'This youth surpasses far

  His father,' when they see him from the fight,

  From slaughter'd foes, with bloody spoils of war

  Returning, to rejoice his mother's heart!"

  Thus saying, in his mother's arms he plac'd

  His child; she to her fragrant bosom clasp'd,

  Smiling through tears; with eyes of pitying love

  Hector beheld, and press'd her hand, and thus

  Address'd her — "Dearest, wring not thus my heart!

  For till my day of destiny is come,

  No man may take my life; and when it comes,

  Nor brave nor coward can escape that day.

  But go thou home, and ply thy household cares,

  The loom, and distaff, and appoint thy maids

  Their sev'ral tasks; and leave to men of Troy

  And, chief of all to me, the toils of war."

  Great Hector said, and rai
s'd his plumed helm;

  And homeward, slow, with oft-reverted eyes,

  Shedding hot tears, his sorrowing wife return'd.

  Arriv'd at valiant Hector's well-built house,

  Her maidens press'd around her; and in all

  Arose at once the sympathetic grief.

  For Hector, yet alive, his household mourn'd,

  Deeming he never would again return,

  Safe from the fight, by Grecian hands unharm'd.

  Nor linger'd Paris in his lofty halls;

  But donn'd his armour, glitt'ring o'er with brass,

  And through the city pass'd with bounding steps.

  As some proud steed, at well-fill'd manger fed,

  His halter broken, neighing, scours the plain,

  And revels in the widely-flowing stream

  To bathe his sides; then tossing high his head,

  While o'er his shoulders streams his ample mane.

  Light borne on active limbs, in conscious pride.

  To the wide pastures of the mares he flies;

  So Paris, Priam's son, from Ilium's height,

  His bright arms flashing like the gorgeous sun,

  Hasten'd, with boastful mien, and rapid step.

  Hector he found, as from the spot he turn'd

  Where with his wife he late had converse held;

  Whom thus the godlike Paris first address'd:

  "Too long, good brother, art then here detain'd,

  Impatient for the fight, by my delay;

  Nor have I timely, as thou bad'st me, come."

  To whom thus Hector of the glancing helm:

  "My gallant brother, none who thinks aright

  Can cavil at thy prowess in the field;

  For thou art very valiant; but thy will

  Is weak and sluggish; and it grieves my heart,

  When from the Trojans, who in thy behalf

  Such labours undergo, I hear thy name

  Coupled with foul reproach! But go we now!

  Henceforth shall all be well, if Jove permit

  That from our shores we drive th' invading Greeks,

  And to the ever-living Gods of Heav'n

  In peaceful homes our free libations pour."

  ARGUMENT.

  THE SINGLE COMBAT OF HECTOR AND AJAX.

  The battle renewing with double ardour upon the return of Hector, Minerva is under apprehensions for the Greeks. Apollo, seeing her descend from Olympus, joins her near the Scaean gate. They agree to put off the general engagement for that day, and incite Hector to challenge the Greeks to a single combat. Nine of the princes accepting the challenge, the lot is cast, and falls upon Ajax. These heroes, after several attacks, are parted by the night. The Trojans calling a council, Antenor proposes the delivery of Helen to the Greeks, to which Paris will not consent, but offers to restore them her riches. Priam sends a herald to make this offer, and to demand a truce for burning the dead, the last of which only is agreed to by Agamemnon. When the funerals are performed, the Greeks, pursuant to the advice of Nestor, erect a fortification to protect their fleet and camp, flanked with towers, and defended by a ditch and palisades. Neptune testifies his jealousy at this work, but is pacified by a promise from Jupiter. Both armies pass the night in feasting, but Jupiter disheartens the Trojans with thunder and other signs of his wrath.

  The three-and-twentieth day ends with the duel of Hector and Ajax; the next day the truce is agreed: another is taken up in the funeral rites of the slain; and one more in building the fortification before the ships; so that somewhat above three days is employed in this book. The scene lies wholly in the field.

  BOOK VII.

  Thus as he spoke, from out the city gates

  The noble Hector pass'd, and by his side

  His brother Paris; in the breast of both

  Burnt the fierce ardour of the battle-field.

  As when some God a fav'ring breeze bestows

  On seamen tugging at the well-worn oar,

  Faint with excess of toil, ev'n so appear'd

  Those brethren twain to Troy's o'erlabour'd host.

  Then to their prowess fell, by Paris' hand

  Menesthius, royal Areithous' son,

  Whom to the King, in Arna, where he dwelt,

  The stag-ey'd dame Phylomedusa bore;

  While Hector smote, with well-directed spear,

  Beneath the brass-bound headpiece, through the throat,

  Eioneus, and slack'd his limbs in death;

  And Glaucus, leader of the Lycian bands,

  Son of Hippolochus, amid the fray

  Iphinous, son of Dexias, borne on high

  By two fleet mares upon a lofty car,

  Pierc'd through the shoulder; from the car he fell

  Prone to the earth, his limbs relax'd in death.

  But them when Pallas saw, amid the fray

  Dealing destruction on the hosts of Greece,

  From high Olympus to the walls of Troy

  She came in haste; Apollo there she found,

  As down he look'd from Ilium's topmost tow'r,

  Devising vict'ry to the arms of Troy.

  Beside the oak they met; Apollo first,

  The son of Jove, the colloquy began:

  "Daughter of Jove, from great Olympus' heights,

  Why com'st thou here, by angry passion led?

  Wouldst thou the vict'ry, swaying here and there,

  Give to the Greeks? since pitiless thou see'st

  The Trojans slaughter'd? Be advis'd by me,

  For so 'twere better; cause we for today

  The rage of battle and of war to cease;

  To-morrow morn shall see the fight renew'd,

  Until the close of Ilium's destiny;

  For so ye Goddesses have wrought your will,

  That this fair city should in ruin fall."

  To whom the blue-ey'd Goddess thus replied:

  "So be it, Archer-King; with like intent

  I from Olympus came; but say, what means

  Wilt thou devise to bid the conflict cease?"

  To whom Apollo, royal son of Jove:

  "The might of valiant Hector let us move

  To challenge to the combat, man to man,

  Some Grecian warrior; while the brass-clad Greeks

  Their champion urge the challenge to accept,

  And godlike Hector meet in single fight."

  He said; nor did Minerva not assent;

  But Helenus, the son of Priam, knew

  The secret counsel by the Gods devis'd;

  And drawing near to Hector, thus he spoke:

  "Hector, thou son of Priam, sage as Jove

  In council, hearken to a brother's words.

  Bid that the Greeks and Trojans all sit down,

  And thou defy the boldest of the Greeks

  With thee in single combat to contend;

  By revelation from th' eternal Gods,

  I know that here thou shalt not meet thy fate."

  He said, and Hector joy'd to hear his words;

  Forth in the midst he stepp'd, and with his spear

  Grasp'd in the middle, stay'd the Trojan ranks.

  With one accord they sat; on th' other side

  Atrides bade the well-greav'd Greeks sit down;

  While, in the likeness of two vultures, sat

  On the tall oak of aegis-bearing Jove,

  Pallas, and Phoebus of the silver bow,

  With heroes' deeds delighted; dense around

  Bristled the ranks, with shield, and helm, and spear.

  As when the west wind freshly blows, and brings

  A dark'ning ripple o'er the ocean waves,

  E'en so appear'd upon the plain the ranks

  Of Greeks and Trojans; standing in the midst,

  Thus to both armies noble Hector spoke:

  "Hear, all ye Trojans, and ye well-greav'd Greeks,

  The words I speak, the promptings of my soul.

  It hath not pleas'd high-thron'd Saturnian Jove
<
br />   To ratify our truce, who both afflicts

  With labours hard, till either ye shall take

  Our well-fenc'd city, or yourselves to us

  Succumb beside your ocean-going ships.

  Here have ye all the chiefest men of Greece;

  Of all, let him who dares with me to fight,

  Stand forth, and godlike Hector's might confront.

  And this I say, and call to witness Jove,

  If with the sharp-edg'd spear he vanquish me,

  He shall strip off, and to the hollow ships

  In triumph bear my armour; but my corpse

  Restore, that so the men and wives of Troy

  May deck with honours due my funeral pyre.

  But, by Apollo's grace should I prevail,

  I will his arms strip off and bear to Troy,

  And in Apollo's temple hang on high;

  But to the ships his corpse I will restore,

  That so the long-hair'd Greeks with solemn rites

  May bury him, and to his mem'ry raise

  By the broad Hellespont a lofty tomb;

  And men in days to come shall say, who urge

  Their full-oar'd bark across the dark-blue sea,

  'Lo there a warrior's tomb of days gone by,

  A mighty chief, whom glorious Hector slew:'

  Thus shall they say, and thus my fame shall live."

  Thus Hector spoke; they all in silence heard,

  Sham'd to refuse, but fearful to accept.

  At length in anger Menelaus rose,

  Groaning in spirit, and with bitter words

  Reproach'd them: "Shame, ye braggart cowards, shame!

  Women of Greece! I cannot call you men!

  'Twere foul disgrace indeed, and scorn on scorn,

  If Hector's challenge none of all the Greeks

  Should dare accept; to dust and water turn

  All ye who here inglorious, heartless sit!

  I will myself confront him; for success,

  Th' immortal Gods above the issues hold."

  Thus as he spoke, he donn'd his dazzling arms.

  Then, Menelaus, had thine end approach'd

  By Hector's hands, so much the stronger he,

  Had not the Kings withheld thee and restrain'd.

  Great Agamemnon's self, wide-ruling King,

  Seizing his hand, address'd him thus by name:

  "What! Heav'n-born Menelaus, art thou mad?

  Beseems thee not such folly; curb thy wrath,

  Though vex'd; nor think with Hector to contend,

  Thy better far, inspiring dread in all.

  From his encounter in the glorious fight,

  Superior far to thee, Achilles shrinks;

  But thou amid thy comrades' ranks retire;

  Some other champion will the Greeks provide;

  And, fearless as he is, and of the fight