Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  BOOK XIV.

  Nor did the battle-din not reach the ears

  Of Nestor, o'er the wine-cup; and his speech

  He thus address'd to AEsculapius' son:

  "Say, good Machaon, what these sounds may mean;

  For louder swells the tumult round the ships.

  But sit thou here, and drink the ruddy wine,

  Till fair-hair'd Hecamede shall prepare

  The gentle bath, and wash thy gory wounds;

  While I go forth, and all around survey."

  He said, and from the wall a buckler took,

  Well-wrought, with brass resplendent, which his son,

  Brave Thrasymedes, in the tent had left,

  While with his father's shield himself was girt;

  A sturdy spear too, tipp'd with brass, he took:

  Without the tent he stood; and there his eyes

  A woful sight beheld; the Greeks in flight,

  The haughty Trojans pressing on their rout

  Confus'd; the Greeks' protecting wall o'erthrown.

  As heaves the darkling sea with silent swell,

  Expectant of the boist'rous gale's approach;

  Nor onward either way is pour'd its flood,

  Until it feel th' impelling blast from Heav'n;

  So stood th' old man, his mind perplex'd with doubt,

  To mingle in the throng, or counsel seek

  Of mighty Agamemnon, Atreus' son.

  Thus as he mused, the better course appear'd,

  To seek Atrides; fiercely fought the rest

  With mutual slaughter; loud their armour rang

  With thrusts of swords and double-pointed spears.

  There Nestor met, advancing from the ships,

  The Heav'n-born Kings, Ulysses, Diomed,

  And Agamemnon, son of Atreus, all

  By wounds disabled; for the ships were beach'd

  Upon the shore, beside the hoary sea,

  Far from the battle; higher, tow'rd the plain

  The foremost had been drawn, and with a wall

  Their sterns surrounded; for the spacious beach

  Could not contain them, and in narrow bounds

  Were pent their multitudes; so high on land

  They drew, and rang'd them side by side, and fill'd,

  Within the headlands, all the wide-mouth'd bay.

  Thus they, their steps supporting on their spears,

  Together came, spectators of the fight;

  Deep sorrow fill'd their breasts; them Nestor met,

  The fear increasing, which their souls possess'd.

  To whom the monarch Agamemnon thus:

  "O Nestor, son of Neleus, pride of Greece,

  Why com'st thou here, and leav'st the battle-field?

  Greatly I fear that noble Hector now

  His menace will fulfil, who made his boast

  Before th' assembled Trojans, that to Troy

  He never would return, until our ships

  The flames had master'd, and ourselves the sword.

  Such was his threat, and now he makes it good.

  Heav'n! can it be that I of other Greeks,

  As of Achilles, have incurr'd the wrath,

  Who thence refuse to battle for the ships?"

  To whom Gerenian Nestor thus replied:

  "Such are indeed our prospects; Jove on high

  Could to our fortunes give no diff'rent turn.

  The wall is raz'd, wherein our trust we plac'd

  To guard, impregnable, ourselves and ships;

  And now around the ships their war they wage,

  Unceasing, unabated; none might tell

  By closest scrutiny, which way are driv'n

  The routed Greeks, so intermix'd they fall

  Promiscuous; and the cry ascends to Heav'n.

  But come, discuss we what may best be done,

  If judgment aught may profit us; ourselves

  To mingle in the fray I counsel not;

  It were not well for wounded men to fight."

  Whom answer'd Agamemnon, King of men:

  "Nestor, since to the ships the war is brought,

  Nor hath the wall avail'd to stay their course,

  Nor yet the deep-dug trench, on which we Greeks

  Much toil bestow'd, and which we vainly hop'd

  Might guard, impregnable, ourselves and ships;

  Seems it the will of Saturn's mighty son

  That, far from Argos, from our native land,

  We all should here in nameless graves be laid.

  I knew when once he lov'd to aid the Greeks;

  But now I see that to the blessed Gods

  Our foes he equals, and our strength confounds.

  Hear then my counsel; let us all agree

  The ships that nearest to the sea are beach'd

  To launch upon the main, till nightfall there

  To ride at anchor: if that e'en by night

  The Trojans may suspend their fierce assault;

  Then may we launch in safety all the fleet.

  No shame it is to fly, although by night,

  Impending evil; better so to fly

  Than by the threaten'd danger be o'erta'en."

  To whom, with scornful glance, Ulysses sage:

  "What words have pass'd the barrier of thy lips,

  Thou son of Atreus? counsellor of ill!

  Would thou hadst been of some ignoble band

  The leader, not the chief of such a host

  As ours, on whom, from youth to latest age,

  Jove hath the gift bestow'd, to bear the brunt

  Of hardy war, till ev'ry man be slain.

  And think'st thou so to leave the lofty walls

  Of Troy, the object of our painful toil?

  Be silent, that no other Greek may hear

  Words, which no man might trust his tongue to speak,

  Who nobler counsels understands, and wields

  A royal sceptre, and th' allegiance claims

  Of numbers, such as those that own thy sway.

  Thy counsels all I utterly condemn;

  Who, 'mid the close and clamour of the fight,

  Wouldst have us launch our ships, and give the foe,

  Already too triumphant, cause renew'd

  For boasting; then were death our certain lot;

  For, if the ships he launch'd, not long will Greeks

  Sustain the war, but with reverted eyes

  Shrink from the fight; to such pernicious end

  Would lead thy baneful counsels, mighty chief."

  Whom answer'd Agamemnon, King of men:

  "Ulysses, thy rebuke hath wrung my soul;

  Yet never meant I, that against their will

  The sons of Greece should launch their well found ships:

  But if there be who better counsel knows,

  Or young or old, his words would please me well."

  Then rose the valiant Diomed, and said:

  "The man is near at hand, nor far to seek,

  If ye will hear, nor take offence, that I,

  The youngest of you all, presume to speak.

  Yet of a noble sire I boast me sprung,

  Tydeus, who sleeps beneath the Theban soil:

  To Portheus three brave sons were born, who dwelt

  In Pleuron and in lofty Calydon,

  Agrius, and Melas; bravest of them all,

  My father's father, OEneus, was the third.

  He there remain'd; my father, wand'ring long,

  To Argos came; such was the will of Jove

  And of th' Immortals all; he there espous'd

  Adrastus' daughter; own'd a wealthy house,

  With fertile corn-lands round, and orchards stor'd

  With goodly fruit-trees; num'rous flocks he had,

  And all the Greeks in feats of arms excell'd.

  Hear ye the words I speak, for they are true:

  And if my speech be wise, despise it not,

  As of one worthless, or ignobly born.


  Though wounded, to the battle I advise

  That we perforce repair; yet not ourselves

  To join the combat, or confront the spears,

  Lest wounds to wounds be added; but to rouse

  The spirits of some, who, zealous heretofore,

  How stand aloof, nor mingle in the fray."

  He said, and they, his words approving, went,

  By Agamemnon led, the King of men.

  Nor careless was the watch by Neptune kept:

  With them, in likeness of an aged man,

  He went, and Agamemnon, Atreus' son,

  By the right hand he took, and thus address'd:

  "O son of Atreus, great is now the joy

  With which Achilles' savage breast is fill'd,

  Who sees the slaughter and the rout of Greeks:

  For nought he has of heart, no, not a whit:

  But perish he, accursed of the Gods!

  Nor deem thou that to thee the blessed Gods

  Are wholly hostile; yet again the chiefs

  And councillors of Troy shall scour in flight

  The dusty plain; and from the ships and tents

  Thine eyes shall see them to the city fly."

  He said; and loudly shouting, onward rush'd.

  As of nine thousand or ten thousand men,

  In deadly combat meeting, is the shout;

  Such was the sound which from his ample chest

  Th' Earth-shaker sent; and ev'ry Greek inspir'd

  With stern resolve to wage unflinching war.

  Standing on high Olympus' topmost peak,

  The golden-throned Juno downward look'd,

  And, busied in the glory-giving strife,

  Her husband's brother and her own she saw,

  Saw, and rejoic'd; next, seated on the crest

  Of spring-abounding Ida, Jove she saw,

  Sight hateful in her eyes! then ponder'd deep

  The stag-ey'd Queen, how best she might beguile

  The wakeful mind of aegis-bearing Jove;

  And, musing, this appear'd the readiest mode:

  Herself with art adorning, to repair

  To Ida; there, with fondest blandishment

  And female charm, her husband to enfold

  In love's embrace; and gentle, careless sleep

  Around his eyelids and his senses pour.

  Her chamber straight she sought, by Vulcan built,

  Her son; by whom were to the door-posts hung

  Close-fitting doors, with secret keys secur'd,

  That, save herself, no God might enter in.

  There enter'd she, and clos'd the shining doors;

  And with ambrosia first her lovely skin

  She purified, with fragrant oil anointing,

  Ambrosial, breathing forth such odours sweet,

  That, wav'd above the brazen floor of Jove,

  All earth and Heav'n were with the fragrance fill'd;

  O'er her fair skin this precious oil she spread;

  Comb'd out her flowing locks, and with her hand

  Wreath'd the thick masses of the glossy hair,

  Immortal, bright, that crown'd th' imperial head.

  A robe ambrosial then, by Pallas wrought,

  She donn'd, in many a curious pattern trac'd,

  With golden brooch beneath her breast confin'd.

  Her zone, from which a hundred tassels hung,

  She girt about her; and, in three bright drops,

  Her glitt'ring gems suspended from her ears;

  And all around her grace and beauty shone.

  Then o'er her head th' imperial Goddess threw

  A beauteous veil, new-wrought, as sunlight white;

  And on her well-turn'd feet her sandals bound.

  Her dress completed, from her chamber forth

  She issued, and from th' other Gods apart

  She call'd to Venus, and address'd her thus:

  "Say, wilt thou grant, dear child, the boon I ask?

  Or wilt thou say me nay, in wrath that I

  Espouse the Greek, as thou the Trojan cause?"

  To whom the laughter-loving Venus thus:

  "Daughter of Saturn, Juno, mighty Queen,

  Tell me thy wish; to grant it if my pow'r

  May aught avail, thy pleasure shall be done."

  To whom great Juno thus, with artful speech:

  "Give me the loveliness, and pow'r to charm,

  Whereby thou reign'st o'er Gods and men supreme.

  For to the bounteous Earth's extremest bounds

  I go, to visit old Oceanus,

  The sire of Gods, and Tethys, who of yore

  From Rhaea took me, when all-seeing Jove

  Hurl'd Saturn down below the earth and seas,

  And nurs'd me in their home with tend'rest care;

  I go to visit them, and reconcile

  A lengthen'd feud; for since some cause of wrath

  Has come between them, they from rites of love

  And from the marriage-bed have long abstain'd:

  Could I unite them by persuasive words,

  And to their former intercourse restore,

  Their love and rev'rence were for ever mine."

  Whom answer'd thus the laughter-loving Queen:

  "I ought not, and I cannot, say thee nay,

  Who liest encircled by the arms of Jove."

  Thus Venus spoke; and from her bosom loos'd

  Her broider'd cestus, wrought with ev'ry charm

  To win the heart; there Love, there young Desire,

  There fond Discourse, and there Persuasion dwelt,

  Which oft enthralls the mind of wisest men.

  This in her hand she plac'd, as thus she spoke:

  "Take thou from me, and in thy bosom hide,

  This broider'd cestus; and, whate'er thy wish,

  Thou shalt not here ungratified return."

  Thus Venus; smil'd the stag-ey'd Queen of Heav'n,

  And, smiling, in her bosom hid the gift.

  Then Venus to her father's house return'd;

  But Juno down from high Olympus sped;

  O'er sweet Emathia, and Pieria's range,

  O'er snowy mountains of horse-breeding Thrace,

  Their topmost heights, she soar'd, nor touch'd the earth.

  From Athos then she cross'd the swelling sea,

  Until to Lemnos, godlike Thoas' seat,

  She came; there met she Sleep, twin-born with Death,

  Whom, as his hand she clasp'd, she thus address'd:

  "Sleep, universal King of Gods and men,

  If ever thou hast listen'd to my voice,

  Grant me the boon which now I ask, and win

  My ceaseless favour in all time to come.

  When Jove thou seest in my embraces lock'd,

  Do thou his piercing eyes in slumber seal.

  Rich guerdon shall be thine; a gorgeous throne,

  Immortal, golden; which my skilful son,

  Vulcan, shall deftly frame; beneath, a stool

  Whereon at feasts thy feet may softly rest."

  Whom answer'd thus the gentle God of Sleep:

  "Daughter of Saturn, Juno, mighty Queen,

  On any other of th' immortal Gods

  I can with ease exert my slumb'rous pow'r;

  Even to the stream of old Oceanus,

  Prime origin of all; but Saturn's son,

  Imperial Jove, I dare not so approach,

  Nor sink in sleep, save by his own desire.

  Already once, obeying thy command,

  A fearful warning I receiv'd, that day

  When from the capture and the sack of Troy

  That mighty warrior, son of Jove, set sail;

  For, circumfus'd around, with sweet constraint

  I bound the sense of aegis-bearing Jove,

  While thou, with ill-design, rousing the force

  Of winds tempestuous o'er the stormy sea,

  Didst cast him forth on Coos' thriving isle,

  Far from his f
riends; then Jove, awaking, pour'd

  His wrath, promiscuous, on th' assembled Gods;

  Me chief his anger sought; and from on high

  Had hurl'd me, plung'd beneath th' unfathom'd sea,

  But Night, the vanquisher of Gods and men,

  Her fugitive received me; he his wrath

  Repress'd, unwilling to invade the claims

  Of holy Night; and now thou fain wouldst urge

  That I another reckless deed essay."

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

  "Why, Sleep, with thoughts like these perplex thy mind

  Think'st thou that Jove as ardently desires

  To aid the men of Troy, as fiercely burn'd

  His anger on his valiant son's behalf?

  Grant my request; and of the Graces one,

  The youngest and the fairest, have to wife,

  Pasithea, whom thy love hath long pursued."

  Thus promis'd Juno; Sleep, rejoicing, heard,

  And answer'd thus: "Swear then the awful oath.

  Inviolable, by the stream of Styx,

  Thy one hand laid upon the fruitful earth,

  The other resting on the sparkling sea;

  That all the Gods who in the nether realms

  With Saturn dwell, may of our solemn bond

  Be witnesses, that of the Graces one,

  The youngest, fairest, I shall have to wife,

  Pasithea, whom my love hath long pursued."

  He said: nor did the white-arm'd Queen refuse;

  She took the oath requir'd; and call'd by name

  On all the Titans, sub-Tartarean Gods:

  Then, sworn and ratified the oath, they pass'd

  From Lemnos, and from Imbros, veil'd in cloud,

  Skimming their airy way; on Lectum first,

  In spring-abounding Ida, nurse of beasts,

  The sea they left, and journey'd o'er the land,

  While wav'd beneath their feet the lofty woods.

  There Sleep, ere yet he met the eye of Jove,

  Remain'd; and, mounted on a lofty pine,

  The tallest growth of Ida, that on high

  Flung through the desert air its boughs to Heav'n,

  Amid the pine's close branches lay ensconc'd;

  Like to a mountain bird of shrillest note,

  Whom Gods the Chalcis, men the night-hawk call.

  Juno meanwhile to Ida's summit sped,

  To Gargarus; the Cloud-compeller saw;

  He saw, and sudden passion fir'd his soul,

  As when, their parents' eyes eluding, first