Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  Their fainting courage; through the camp he pass'd;

  On his broad hand a purple robe he bore,

  And stood upon Ulysses' lofty ship,

  The midmost, whence to shout to either side,

  Or to the tents of Ajax Telamon,

  Or of Achilles, who at each extreme,

  Confiding in their strength, had moor'd their ships.

  Thence to the Greeks he shouted, loud and clear:

  "Shame on ye, Greeks, base cowards, brave alone

  In outward semblance! where are now the vaunts

  Which once (so highly of ourselves we deem'd)

  Ye made, vain-glorious braggarts as ye were,

  In Lemnos' isle, when, feasting on the flesh

  Of straight-horn'd oxen, and your flowing cups

  Crowning with ruddy wine, not one of you,

  But for a hundred Trojans in the field,

  Or for two hundred, deem'd himself a match:

  Now quail ye all before a single man,

  Hector, who soon will wrap our ships in fire.

  O Father Jove! what sov'reign e'er hast thou

  So far deluded, of such glory robb'd?

  Yet ne'er, on this disastrous voyage bent,

  Have I unheeded pass'd thine altar by;

  The choicest off'rings burning still on each,

  In hopes to raze the well-built walls of Troy.

  Yet to this pray'r at least thine ear incline;

  Grant that this coast in safety we may leave,

  Nor be by Trojans utterly subdued."

  He said; and Jove, with pity, saw his tears;

  And, with a sign, his people's safety vouch'd.

  He sent an eagle, noblest bird that flies,

  Who in his talons bore a wild deer's fawn:

  The fawn he dropp'd beside the holy shrine,

  Where to the Lord of divination, Jove,

  The Greeks were wont their solemn rites to pay.

  The sign from Heav'n they knew; with courage fresh

  Assail'd the Trojans, and the fight renew'd.

  Then none of all the many Greeks might boast

  That he, before Tydides, drove his car

  Across the ditch, and mingled in the fight.

  His was the hand that first a crested chief,

  The son of Phradmon, Agelaus, struck.

  He turn'd his car for flight; but as he turn'd,

  The lance of Diomed, behind his neck,

  Between the shoulders, through his chest was driv'n;

  Headlong he fell, and loud his armour rang.

  Next to Tydides, Agamemnon came,

  And Menelaus, Atreus' godlike sons;

  Th' Ajaces both, in dauntless courage cloth'd;

  Idomeneus, with whom Meriones,

  His faithful comrade, terrible as Mars;

  Eurypylus, Euaemon's noble son;

  The ninth was Teucer, who, with bended bow,

  Behind the shield of Ajax Telamon

  Took shelter; Ajax o'er him held his shield;

  Thence look'd he round, and aim'd amid the crowd;

  And as he saw each Trojan, wounded, fall,

  Struck by his shafts, to Ajax close he press'd,

  As to its mother's shelt'ring arms a child,

  Conceal'd and safe beneath the ample targe.

  Say then, who first of all the Trojans fell

  By Teucer's arrows slain? Orsilochus,

  And Ophelestes, Daetor, Ormenus,

  And godlike Lycophontes, Chromius,

  And Amopaon, Polyaemon's son,

  And valiant Melanippus: all of these,

  Each after other, Teucer laid in dust.

  Him Agamemnon, with his well-strung bow

  Thinning the Trojan ranks, with joy beheld,

  And, standing at his side, address'd him thus:

  "Teucer, good comrade, son of Telamon,

  Shoot ever thus, if thou wouldst be the light

  And glory of the Greeks, and of thy sire,

  Who nursed thine infancy, and in his house

  Maintain'd, though bastard; him, though distant far,

  To highest fame let thine achievements raise.

  This too I say, and will make good my word:

  If by the grace of aegis-bearing Jove,

  And Pallas, Ilium's well-built walls we raze,

  A gift of honour, second but to mine,

  I in thy hands will place; a tripod bright,

  Or, with their car and harness, two brave steeds,

  Or a fair woman who thy bed may share."

  To whom in answer valiant Teucer thus:

  "Most mighty son of Atreus, why excite

  Who lacks not zeal? To th' utmost of my pow'r

  Since first we drove the Trojans back, I watch,

  Unceasing, every chance to ply my shafts.

  Eight barbed arrows have I shot e'en now,

  And in a warrior each has found its mark;

  That savage hound alone defeats my aim."

  At Hector, as he spoke, another shaft

  He shot, ambitious of so great a prize:

  He miss'd his aim; but Priam's noble son

  Gorgythion, through the breast his arrow struck,

  Whom from AEsyme brought, a wedded bride

  Of heavenly beauty, Castianeira bore.

  Down sank his head, as in a garden sinks

  A ripen'd poppy charg'd with vernal rains;

  So sank his head beneath his helmet's weight.

  At Hector yet another arrow shot

  Teucer, ambitious of so great a prize;

  Yet this too miss'd, by Phoebus turn'd aside;

  But Archeptolemus, the charioteer

  Of Hector, onward hurrying, through the breast

  It struck, beside the nipple; from the car

  He fell; aside the startled horses swerv'd;

  And as he fell the vital spirit fled.

  Deep, for his comrade slain, was Hector's grief;

  Yet him, though griev'd at heart, perforce he left,

  And to Cebriones, his brother, call'd,

  Then near at hand, the horses' reins to take;

  He heard, and straight obey'd; then Hector leap'd

  Down from his glitt'ring chariot to the ground,

  His fearful war-cry shouting; in his hand

  A pond'rous stone he carried; and, intent

  To strike him down, at Teucer straight he rush'd.

  He from his quiver chose a shaft in haste,

  And fitted to the cord; but as he drew

  The sinew, Hector of the glancing helm

  Hurl'd the huge mass of rock, which Teucer struck

  Near to the shoulder, where the collar-bone

  Joins neck and breast, the spot most opportune,

  And broke the tendon; paralys'd, his arm

  Dropp'd helpless by his side; upon his knees

  He fell, and from his hands let fall the bow.

  Not careless Ajax saw his brother's fall,

  But o'er him spread in haste his cov'ring shield.

  Two faithful friends, Mecisteus, Echius' son,

  And brave Alastor, from the press withdrew,

  And bore him, deeply groaning, to the ships.

  Then Jove again the Trojan courage fir'd,

  And backward to the ditch they forc'd the Greeks.

  Proud of his prowess, Hector led them on;

  And as a hound that, fleet of foot, o'ertakes

  Or boar or lion, object of his chase,

  Springs from behind, and fastens on his flank,

  Yet careful watches, lest he turn to bay:

  So Hector press'd upon the long-hair'd Greeks,

  Slaying the hindmost; they in terror fled.

  But, pass'd at length the ditch and palisade,

  With loss of many by the Trojans slain,

  Before the ships they rallied from their flight,

  And one to other call'd: and one and all

  With hands uplifted, pray'd to all the Gods
;

  While Hector, here and there, on ev'ry side

  His flying coursers wheel'd, with eyes that flash'd

  Awful as Gorgon's, or as blood-stain'd Mars.

  Juno, the white-arm'd Queen, with pity mov'd,

  To Pallas thus her winged words address'd:

  "O Heav'n, brave child of aegis-bearing Jove,

  Can we, ev'n now, in this their sorest need,

  Refuse the Greeks our aid, by one subdued,

  One single man, of pride unbearable,

  Hector, the son of Priam, who e'en now,

  Hath caus'd them endless grief?" To whom again

  The blue-ey'd Goddess, Pallas, thus replied:

  "I too would fain behold him robb'd of life,

  In his own country slain by Grecian hands;

  But that my sire, by ill advice misled,

  Rages in wrath, still thwarting all my plans;

  Forgetting now how oft his son I sav'd,

  Sore wearied with the toils Eurystheus gave.

  Oft would his tears ascend to Heav'n, and oft

  From Heav'n would Jove despatch me to his aid;

  But if I then had known what now I know,

  When to the narrow gates of Pluto's realm

  He sent him forth to bring from Erebus

  Its guardian dog, he never had return'd

  In safety from the marge of Styx profound.

  He holds me now in hatred, and his ear

  To Thetis lends, who kiss'd his knees, and touch'd

  His beard, and pray'd him to avenge her son

  Achilles; yet the time shall come when I

  Shall be once more his own dear blue-ey'd Maid.

  But haste thee now, prepare for us thy car,

  While to the house of aegis-bearing Jove

  I go, and don my armour for the fight,

  To prove if Hector of the glancing helm,

  The son of Priam, will unmov'd behold

  Us two advancing o'er the pass of war;

  Or if the flesh of Trojans, slain by Greeks,

  Shall sate the maw of rav'ning dogs and birds."

  She said: the white-arm'd Queen her word obey'd.

  Juno, great Goddess, royal Saturn's child,

  The horses brought, with golden frontlets crown'd;

  While Pallas, child of aegis-bearing Jove,

  Within her father's threshold dropp'd her veil

  Of airy texture, work of her own hands;

  The cuirass donn'd of cloud-compelling Jove,

  And stood accoutred for the bloody fray.

  The fiery car she mounted; in her hand

  A spear she bore, long, weighty, tough; wherewith

  The mighty daughter of a mighty sire

  Sweeps down the ranks of those her wrath pursues.

  Then Juno sharply touch'd the flying steeds;

  Forthwith spontaneous opening, grated harsh

  The heavenly portals, guarded by the Hours,

  Who Heav'n and high Olympus have in charge,

  To roll aside or close the veil of cloud;

  Through these th' excited horses held their way.

  From Ida's heights the son of Saturn saw,

  And, fill'd with wrath, the heav'nly messenger,

  The golden-winged Iris, thus bespoke:

  "Haste thee, swift Iris; turn them back, and warn

  That farther they advance not: 'tis not meet

  That they and I in war should be oppos'd.

  This too I say, and will make good my words:

  Their flying horses I will lame; themselves

  Dash from their car, and break their chariot-wheels;

  And ten revolving years heal not the wound

  Where strikes my lightning; so shall Pallas learn

  What 'tis against her father to contend.

  Juno less moves my wonder and my wrath;

  Whate'er I plan, 'tis still her wont to thwart."

  Thus he: from Ida to Olympus' height

  The storm-swift Iris on her errand sped.

  At many-ridg'd Olympus' outer gate

  She met the Goddesses, and stay'd their course,

  And thus convey'd the sov'reign will of Jove:

  "Whither away? what madness fills your breasts?

  To give the Greeks your succour, Jove forbids;

  And thus he threatens, and will make it good:

  Your flying horses he will lame; yourselves

  Dash from the car, and break your chariot-wheels;

  And ten revolving years heal not the wounds

  His lightning makes: so, Pallas, shalt thou learn

  What 'tis against thy father to contend.

  Juno less moves his wonder and his wrath;

  Whate'er he plans, 'tis still her wont to thwart;

  But over-bold and void of shame art thou,

  If against Jove thou dare to lift thy spear."

  Thus as she spoke, swift Iris disappear'd.

  Then Juno thus to Pallas spoke: "No more,

  Daughter of aegis-bearing Jove, can we

  For mortal men his sov'reign will resist;

  Live they or die, as each man's fate may be;

  While he, 'twixt Greeks and Trojans, as 'tis meet,

  His own designs accomplishing, decides."

  She said, and backward turn'd her horses' heads.

  The horses from the car the Hours unyok'd,

  And safely tether'd in the heav'nly stalls;

  The car they rear'd against the inner wall,

  That brightly polish'd shone; the Goddesses

  Themselves meanwhile, amid th' Immortals all,

  With, sorrowing hearts on golden seats reclin'd.

  Ere long, on swiftly-rolling chariot borne,

  Jove to Olympus, to th' abode of Gods,

  From Ida's height return'd: th' earth-shaking God,

  Neptune, unyok'd his steeds; and on the stand

  Secur'd the car, and spread the cov'ring o'er.

  Then on his golden throne all-seeing Jove

  Sat down; beneath his feet Olympus shook.

  Juno and Pallas only sat aloof;

  No word they utter'd, no enquiry made.

  Jove knew their thoughts, and thus address'd them both:

  "Pallas and Juno, wherefore sit ye thus

  In angry silence? In the glorious fight

  No lengthen'd toil have ye sustain'd, to slay

  The Trojans, whom your deadly hate pursues.

  Not all the Gods that on Olympus dwell

  Could turn me from my purpose, such my might,

  And such the pow'r of my resistless hand;

  But ye were struck with terror ere ye saw

  The battle-field, and fearful deeds of war.

  But this I say, and bear it in your minds,

  Had I my lightning launch'd, and from your car

  Had hurl'd ye down, ye ne'er had reach'd again

  Olympus' height, th' immortal Gods' abode."

  So spoke the God; but, seated side by side,

  Juno and Pallas glances interchang'd

  Of ill portent for Troy; Pallas indeed

  Sat silent, and, though inly wroth with Jove,

  Yet answer'd not a word; but Juno's breast

  Could not contain her rage, and thus she spoke:

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

  Well do we know thy pow'r invincible,

  Yet deeply grieve we for the warlike Greeks,

  Condemn'd to hopeless ruin: from the fight,

  Since such is thy command, we stand aloof;

  But yet some saving counsel may we give,

  Lest in thine anger thou destroy them quite."

  To whom the Cloud-compeller thus replied:

  "Yet greater slaughter, stag-ey'd Queen of Heav'n,

  To-morrow shalt thou see, if so thou list,

  Wrought on the warrior Greeks by Saturn's son;

  For Hector's proud career shall not be check'd

  Until the wrath of Peleu
s' godlike son

  Beside the ships be kindled, in the day

  When round Patroclus' corpse, in narrow space,

  E'en by the vessels' sterns, the war shall rage.

  Such is the voice of destiny: for thee,

  I reck not of thy wrath; nor should I care

  Though thou wert thrust beneath the lowest deep

  Of earth and ocean, where Iapetus

  And Saturn lie, uncheer'd by ray of sun

  Or breath of air, in Tartarus profound.

  Though there thou wert to banishment consign'd,

  I should not heed, but thy reproaches hear

  Unmov'd; for viler thing is none than thou."

  He said, but white-arm'd Juno answer'd not.

  The sun, now sunk beneath the ocean wave,

  Drew o'er the teeming earth the veil of night.

  The Trojans saw, reluctant, day's decline;

  But on the Greeks thrice welcome, thrice invoked

  With earnest prayers, the shades of darkness fell.

  The noble Hector then to council call'd

  The Trojan leaders; from the ships apart

  He led them, by the eddying river's side,

  To a clear space of ground, from corpses free.

  They from their cars dismounting, to the words

  Of godlike Hector listen'd: in his hand

  His massive spear he held, twelve cubits long,

  Whose glitt'ring point flash'd bright, with hoop of gold

  Encircled round; on this he leant, and said,

  "Hear me, ye Trojans, Dardans, and Allies;

  I hop'd that to the breezy heights of Troy

  We might ere now in triumph have return'd,

  The Grecian ships and all the Greeks destroy'd:

  But night hath come too soon, and sav'd awhile

  The Grecian army and their stranded ships.

  Then yield we to the night; prepare the meal;

  Unyoke your horses, and before them place

  Their needful forage; from the city bring

  Oxen and sheep; the luscious wine provide;

  Bring bread from out our houses; and collect

  Good store of fuel, that the livelong night,

  E'en till the dawn of day, may broadly blaze

  Our num'rous watchfires, and illume the Heav'ns;

  Lest, e'en by night, the long-hair'd Greeks should seek

  O'er the broad bosom of the sea to fly,

  That so not unassail'd they may embark,

  Nor undisturb'd; but haply some may bear,

  E'en to their homes, the mem'ry of a wound

  Receiv'd from spear or arrow, as on board

  They leap'd in haste; and others too may fear

  To tempt with hostile arms the pow'r of Troy.

  Then let the sacred heralds' voice proclaim

  Throughout the city, that the stripling youths

  And hoary-headed sires allot themselves

  In sev'ral watches to the Heav'n-built tow'rs.