Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  Thetis goes to the palace of Vulcan, to obtain new arms for her son. The description of the wonderful works of Vulcan; and, lastly, that noble one of the shield of Achilles.

  The latter part of the nine-and-twentieth day, and the night ensuing, take up this book. The scene is at Achilles' tent on the seashore, from whence it changes to the palace of Vulcan.

  BOOK XVIII.

  Thus, furious as the rage of fire, they fought.

  Meantime Antilochus to Peleus' son,

  Swift-footed messenger, his tidings bore.

  Him by the high-beak'd ships he found, his mind

  Th' event presaging, fill'd with anxious thoughts,

  As thus he commun'd with his mighty heart:

  "Alas! what means it, that the long-hair'd Greeks,

  Chas'd from the plain, are thronging round the ships?

  Let me not now, ye Gods, endure the grief

  My mother once foretold, that I should live

  To see the bravest of the Myrmidons

  Cut off by Trojans from the light of day.

  Menoetius' noble son has surely fall'n;

  Foolhardy! yet I warn'd him, and besought,

  Soon as the ships from hostile fires were safe,

  Back to return, nor Hector's onset meet."

  While in his mind and spirit thus he mus'd,

  Beside him stood the noble Nestor's son,

  And weeping, thus his mournful message gave:

  "Alas! great son of Peleus, woful news,

  Which would to Heav'n I had not to impart,

  To thee I bring; Patroclus lies in death;

  And o'er his body now the war is wag'd;

  His naked body, for his arms are now

  The prize of Hector of the glancing helm."

  He said; and darkest clouds of grief o'erspread

  Achilles' brow; with both his hands he seiz'd

  And pour'd upon his head the grimy dust,

  Marring his graceful visage; and defil'd

  With black'ning ashes all his costly robes.

  Stretch'd in the dust his lofty stature lay,

  As with his hands his flowing locks he tore;

  Loud was the wailing of the female band,

  Achilles' and Patroclus' prize of war,

  As round Achilles, rushing out of doors,

  Beating their breasts, with tott'ring limbs they press'd.

  In tears beside him stood Antilochus,

  And in his own Achilles' hand he held,

  Groaning in spirit, fearful lest for grief

  In his own bosom he should sheathe his sword.

  Loud were his moans; his Goddess-mother heard,

  Beside her aged father where she sat

  In the deep ocean caves; she heard, and wept:

  The Nereids all, in ocean's depths who dwell,

  Encircled her around; Cymodoce,

  Nesaee, Spio, and Cymothoe,

  The stag-ey'd Halia, and Amphithoe,

  Actaea, Limnorea, Melite,

  Doris, and Galatea, Panope;

  There too were Oreithyia, Clymene,

  And Amathea with the golden hair,

  And all the denizens of ocean's depths.

  Fill'd was the glassy cave; in unison

  They beat their breasts, as Thetis led the wail:

  "Give ear, my sister Nereids all, and learn

  How deep the grief that in my breast I bear.

  Me miserable! me, of noblest son

  Unhappiest mother! me, a son who bore,

  My brave, my beautiful, of heroes chief!

  Like a young tree he throve: I tended him,

  In a rich vineyard as the choicest plant;

  Till in the beaked ships I sent him forth

  To war with Troy; him ne'er shall I behold,

  Returning home, in aged Peleus' house.

  E'en while he lives, and sees the light of day,

  He lives in sorrow; nor, to soothe his grief,

  My presence can avail; yet will I go,

  That I may see my dearest child, and learn

  What grief hath reach'd him, from the war withdrawn."

  She said, and left the cave; with her they went,

  Weeping; before them parted th' ocean wave.

  But when they reach'd the fertile shore of Troy,

  In order due they landed on the beach,

  Where frequent, round Achilles swift of foot,

  Were moor'd the vessels of the Myrmidons.

  There, as he groan'd aloud, beside him stood

  His Goddess-mother; weeping, in her hands

  She held his head, while pitying thus she spoke:

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

  Speak out, and nought conceal; for all thy pray'r

  Which with uplifted hands thou mad'st to Jove,

  He hath fulfill'd, that, flying to their ships,

  The routed sons of Greece should feel how much

  They need thine aid, and mourn their insult past."

  To whom Achilles, deeply groaning, thus:

  "Mother, all this indeed hath Jove fulfill'd;

  Yet what avails it, since my dearest friend

  Is slain, Patroclus? whom I honour'd most

  Of all my comrades, lov'd him as my soul.

  Him have I lost: and Hector from his corpse

  Hath stripp'd those arms, those weighty, beauteous arms,

  A marvel to behold, which from the Gods

  Peleus receiv'd, a glorious gift, that day

  When they consign'd thee to a mortal's bed.

  How better were it, if thy lot had been

  Still 'mid the Ocean deities to dwell,

  And Peleus had espous'd a mortal bride!

  For now is bitter grief for thee in store,

  Mourning thy son; whom to his home return'd

  Thou never more shalt see; nor would I wish

  To live, and move amid my fellow-men,

  Unless that Hector, vanquish'd by my spear,

  May lose his forfeit life, and pay the price

  Of foul dishonour to Patroclus done."

  To whom, her tears o'erflowing, Thetis thus:

  "E'en as thou sayst, my son, thy term is short;

  Nor long shall Hector's fate precede thine own."

  Achilles, answ'ring, spoke in passionate grief:

  "Would I might die this hour, who fail'd to save

  My comrade slain! far from his native land

  He died, sore needing my protecting arm;

  And I, who ne'er again must see my home,

  Nor to Patroclus, nor the many Greeks

  Whom Hector's hand hath slain, have render'd aid;

  But idly here I sit, cumb'ring the ground:

  I, who amid the Greeks no equal own

  In fight; to others, in debate, I yield.

  Accurs'd of Gods and men be hateful strife

  And anger, which to violence provokes

  E'en temp'rate souls: though sweeter be its taste

  Than dropping honey, in the heart of man

  Swelling, like smoke; such anger in my soul

  Hath Agamemnon kindled, King of men.

  But pass we that; though still my heart be sore,

  Yet will I school my angry spirit down.

  In search of Hector now, of him who slew

  My friend, I go; prepar'd to meet my death,

  When Jove shall will it, and th' Immortals all.

  From death not e'en the might of Hercules,

  Though best belov'd of Saturn's son, could fly,

  By fate and Juno's bitter wrath subdued.

  I too, since such my doom, must lie in death;

  Yet, ere I die, immortal fame will win;

  And from their delicate cheeks, deep-bosom'd dames,

  Dardan and Trojan, bitter tears shall wipe,

  And groan in anguish; then shall all men know

  How long I have been absent from the field;

  Then, though thou love me, seek not from
the war

  To stay my steps; for bootless were thy speech."

  Whom answer'd thus the silver-footed Queen:

  "True are thy words, my son; and good it is,

  And commendable, from the stroke of death

  To save a worsted comrade; but thine arms,

  Thy brazen, flashing arms, the Trojans hold:

  Them Hector of the glancing helm himself

  Bears on his breast, exulting; yet not long

  Shall be his triumph, for his doom is nigh.

  But thou, engage not in the toils of war,

  Until thine eyes again behold me here;

  For with to-morrow's sun will I return

  With arms of heav'nly mould, by Vulcan wrought."

  Thus saying, from her son she turn'd away,

  And turning, to her sister Nereids spoke:

  "Back to the spacious bosom of the deep

  Retire ye now; and to my father's house,

  The aged Ocean God, your tidings bear;

  While I to high Olympus speed, to crave

  At Vulcan's hand, the skill'd artificer,

  A boon of dazzling armour for my son."

  She said; and they beneath the ocean wave

  Descended, while to high Olympus sped

  The silver-footed Goddess, thence in hope

  To bear the dazzling armour to her son.

  She to Olympus sped; the Greeks meanwhile

  Before the warrior-slayer Hector fled

  With wild, tumultuous uproar, till they reach'd

  Their vessels and the shore of Hellespont.

  Nor had the well-greav'd Greets Achilles' friend,

  Patroclus, from amid the fray withdrawn;

  For close upon him follow'd horse and man,

  And Hector, son of Priam, fierce as flame;

  Thrice noble Hector, seizing from behind,

  Sought by the feet to drag away the dead,

  Cheering his friends; thrice, clad in warlike might,

  The two Ajaces drove him from his prey.

  Yet, fearless in his strength, now rushing on

  He dash'd amid the fray; now, shouting loud,

  Stood firm; but backward not a step retir'd.

  As from a carcase herdsmen strive in vain

  To scare a tawny lion, hunger-pinch'd;

  E'en so th' Ajaces, mail-clad warriors, fail'd

  The son of Priam from the corpse to scare.

  And now the body had he borne away,

  With endless fame; but from Olympus' height

  Came storm-swift Iris down to Peleus' son,

  And bade him don his arms; by Juno sent,

  Unknown to Jove, and to th' Immortals all.

  She stood beside him, and address'd him thus:

  "Up, son of Peleus! up, thou prince of men!

  Haste to Patroclus' rescue; whom, around,

  Before the ships, is wag'd a fearful war,

  With mutual slaughter; these the dead defending,

  And those to Ilium's breezy heights intent

  To bear the body; noble Hector chief,

  Who longs to sever from the tender neck,

  And fix upon the spikes, thy comrade's head.

  Up then! delay no longer; deem it shame

  Patroclus' corpse should glut the dogs of Troy,

  Dishon'ring thee, if aught dishonour him."

  Whom answer'd thus Achilles, swift of foot:

  "Say, heav'nly Iris, of th' immortal Gods

  Who bade thee seek me, and this message bring?"

  To whom swift Iris thus: "To thee I come

  By Juno sent, th' imperial wife of Jove;

  Unknown to Saturn's son, and all the Gods

  Who on Olympus' snowy summit dwell."

  To whom again Achilles, swift of foot:

  "How in the battle toil can I engage?

  My arms are with the Trojans; and to boot

  My mother warn'd me not to arm for fight,

  Till I again should see her; for she hop'd

  To bring me heav'nly arms by Vulcan wrought:

  Nor know I well whose armour I could wear,

  Save the broad shield of Ajax Telamon

  And he, methinks, amid the foremost ranks

  Ev'n now is fighting o'er Patroclus' corpse."

  Whom answer'd storm-swift Iris: "Well we know

  Thy glorious arms are by the Trojans held;

  But go thou forth, and from above the ditch

  Appear before them; daunted at the sight,

  Haply the Trojans may forsake the field,

  And breathing-time afford the sons of Greece,

  Toil-worn; for little pause has yet been theirs."

  Swift Iris said, and vanish'd; then uprose

  Achilles, dear to Jove; and Pallas threw

  Her tassell'd aegis o'er his shoulders broad;

  His head encircling with a coronet

  Of golden cloud, whence fiery flashes gleam'd.

  As from an island city up to Heav'n

  The smoke ascends, which hostile forces round

  Beleaguer, and all day with cruel war

  From its own state cut off; but when the sun

  Hath set, blaze frequent forth the beacon fires;

  High rise the flames, and to the dwellers round

  Their signal flash, if haply o'er the sea

  May come the needful aid; so brightly flash'd

  That fiery light around Achilles' head.

  He left the wall, and stood above the ditch,

  But from the Greeks apart, rememb'ring well

  His mother's prudent counsel; there he stood,

  And shouted loudly; Pallas join'd her voice,

  And fill'd with terror all the Trojan host.

  Clear as the trumpet's sound, which calls to arms

  Some town, encompass'd round with hostile bands,

  Rang out the voice of great AEacides.

  But when Achilles' voice of brass they heard,

  They quail'd in spirit; the sleek-skin'd steeds themselves,

  Conscious of coming ill, bore back the cars:

  Their charioteers, dismay'd, beheld the flame

  Which, kindled by the blue-ey'd Goddess, blaz'd

  Unquench'd around the head of Peleus' son.

  Thrice shouted from the ditch the godlike chief;

  Thrice terror struck both Trojans and Allies;

  And there and then beside their chariots fell

  Twelve of their bravest; while the Greeks, well pleas'd,

  Patroclus' body from the fray withdrew,

  And on a litter laid; around him stood

  His comrades mourning; with them, Peleus' son,

  Shedding hot tears, as on his friend he gaz'd,

  Laid on the bier, and pierc'd with deadly wounds:

  Him to the war with horses and with cars

  He sent; but ne'er to welcome his return.

  By stag-ey'd Juno sent, reluctant sank

  Th' unwearied sun beneath the ocean wave;

  The sun had set, and breath'd awhile the Greeks

  From the fierce labours of the balanc'd field;

  Nor less the Trojans, from the stubborn fight

  Retiring, from the chariots loos'd their steeds:

  But ere they shar'd the ev'ning meal, they met

  In council; all stood up; none dar'd to sit;

  For fear had fallen on all, when reappear'd

  Achilles, from the battle long withdrawn.

  First Panthous' son, the sage Polydamas,

  Address'd th' assembly; his sagacious mind

  Alone beheld the future and the past;

  The friend of Hector, born the selfsame night;

  One in debate, the other best in arms;

  Who thus with prudent speech began, and said:

  "Be well advis'd, my friends! my counsel is

  That we regain the city, nor the morn

  Here in the plain, beside the ships, await,

  So far remov'd from our protecting
walls.

  While fiercely burn'd 'gainst Atreus' godlike son

  That mighty warrior's wrath, 'twas easier far

  With th' other Greeks to deal; and I rejoic'd

  When by the ships we pass'd the night, in hopes

  We soon might call them ours; but now, I own

  Achilles, swift of foot, excites my fear.

  His proud, impetuous spirit will spurn the plain,

  Where Greeks and Trojans oft in warlike strife

  Their balanc'd strength exert; if he come forth,

  Our fight will be to guard our homes and wives.

  Gain we the city; trust me, so 'twere best.

  Now, for a while, ambrosial night detains

  The son of Peleus; but at early morn

  If issuing forth in arms he find us here,

  His prowess we shall know; and happy he

  Who, flying, shall in safety reach the walls

  Of sacred Troy; for many a Trojan slain

  Shall feed the vultures; Heav'n avert such fate!

  But if, though loth, ye will by me be rul'd,

  This night in council husband we our strength;

  While tow'rs, and lofty gates, and folding doors

  Close join'd, well-fitting, shall our city guard:

  Then issuing forth in arms at early morn

  Man we the tow'rs; so harder were his task

  If, from the ships advancing, round the wall

  He offer battle; bootless to return,

  His strong-neck'd horses worn with labour vain

  In coursing, purposeless, around the town.

  To force an entrance, or the town destroy,

  Is not his aim; and ere that end be gain'd,

  The dogs of Troy upon his flesh shall feed."

  To whom thus Hector of the glancing helm

  With stern regard: "Polydamas, thy words

  Are such as grate unkindly on mine ear,

  Who fain wouldst have us to the walls retire.

  What? have ye not already long enough

  Been coop'd within the tow'rs? the wealth of Troy,

  Its brass, its gold, were once the common theme

  Of ev'ry tongue; our hoarded treasures now

  Are gone, to Phrygian and Maeonian shores

  For sale exported, costly merchandise,

  Since on our city fell the wrath of Jove.

  And now, when deep-designing Saturn's son

  Such glory gives me as to gain the ships,

  And, crowded by the sea, hem in the Greeks,

  Fool! put not thou these timid counsels forth,

  Which none will follow, nor will I allow.