Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  But hear ye all, and do as I advise:

  Share now the meal, by ranks, throughout the host;

  Then set your watch, and each keep careful guard;

  And whom his spoils o'erload, if such there be,

  Let him divide them with the gen'ral crowd;

  Better that they should hold them than the Greeks:

  And with the morn, in arms, beside the ships,

  Will we again awake the furious war.

  But if indeed Achilles by the ships

  Hath reappear'd, himself, if so he choose,

  Shall be the suff'rer; from the perilous strife

  I will not shrink, but his encounter meet:

  So he, or I, shall gain immortal fame;

  Impartial Mars hath oft the slayer slain."

  Thus Hector spoke; the Trojans cheer'd aloud:

  Fools, and by Pallas of their sense bereft,

  Who all applauded Hector's ill advice,

  None the sage counsel of Polydamas!

  Then through the camp they shar'd the ev'ning meal.

  Meantime the Greeks all night with tears and groans

  Bewail'd Patroclus: on his comrade's breast

  Achilles laid his murder-dealing hands,

  And led with bitter groans the loud lament.

  As when the hunters, in the forest's depth,

  Have robb'd a bearded lion of his cubs;

  Too late arriving, he with anger chafes;

  Then follows, if perchance he may o'ertake,

  Through many a mountain glen, the hunters' steps,

  With grief and fury fill'd; so Peleus' son,

  With bitter groans, the Myrmidons address'd:

  "Vain was, alas! the promise which I gave,

  Seeking the brave Menoetius to console,

  To bring to Opus back his gallant son,

  Rich with his share of spoil from Troy o'erthrown;

  But Jove fulfils not all that man designs:

  For us hath fate decreed, that here in Troy

  We two one soil should redden with our blood;

  Nor me, returning to my native land,

  Shall aged Peleus in his halls receive,

  Nor Thetis; here must earth retain my bones.

  But since, Patroclus, I am doom'd on earth

  Behind thee to remain, thy fun'ral rites

  I will not celebrate, till Hector's arms,

  And head, thy haughty slayer's, here I bring;

  And on thy pyre twelve noble sons of Troy

  Will sacrifice, in vengeance of thy death.

  Thou by our beaked ships till then must lie;

  And weeping o'er thee shall deep-bosom'd dames,

  Trojan and Dardan, mourn both night and day;

  The prizes of our toil, when wealthy towns

  Before our valour and our spears have fall'n."

  He said, and bade his comrades on the fire

  An ample tripod place, without delay

  To cleanse Patroclus from the bloody gore:

  They on the burning fire the tripod plac'd,

  With water fill'd, and kindled wood beneath.

  Around the bellying tripod rose the flames,

  Heating the bath; within the glitt'ring brass

  Soon as the water boil'd, they wash'd the corpse,

  With lissom oils anointing, and the wounds

  With fragrant ointments fill'd, of nine years old;

  Then in fine linen they the body wrapp'd

  From head to feet, and laid it on a couch.

  And cover'd over with a fair white sheet.

  All night around Achilles swift of foot

  The Myrmidons with tears Patroclus mourn'd.

  To Juno then, his sister and his wife,

  Thus Saturn's son: "At length thou hast thy will,

  Imperial Juno, who hast stirr'd to war

  Achilles swift of foot; well might one deem

  These long-hair'd Greeks from thee deriv'd their birth."

  To whom in answer thus the stag-ey'd Queen:

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

  E'en man, though mortal, and inferior far

  To us in wisdom, might so much effect

  Against his fellow-man; then how should I,

  By double title chief of Goddesses,

  First by my birth, and next because thy wife

  I boast me, thine, o'er all the Gods supreme,

  Not work my vengeance on the Trojan race?"

  Such, converse while they held, to Vulcan's house,

  Immortal, starlike bright, among the Gods

  Unrivall'd, all of brass, by Vulcan's self

  Constructed, sped the silver-footed Queen.

  Him swelt'ring at his forge she found, intent

  On forming twenty tripods, which should stand

  The wall surrounding of his well-built house;

  With golden wheels beneath he furnish'd each,

  And to th' assembly of the Gods endued

  With pow'r to move spontaneous, and return,

  A marvel to behold! thus far his work

  He had completed; but not yet had fix'd

  The rich-wrought handles; these his labour now

  Engag'd, to fit them, and to rivet fast.

  While thus he exercis'd his practis'd skill,

  The silver-footed Queen approach'd the house.

  Charis, the skilful artist's wedded wife,

  Beheld her coming, and advanc'd to meet;

  And, as her hand she clasp'd, address'd her thus:

  "Say, Thetis of the flowing robe, belov'd

  And honour'd, whence this visit to our house,

  An unaccustom'd guest? but come thou in,

  That I may welcome thee with honour due."

  Thus, as she spoke, the Goddess led her in,

  And on a seat with silver studs adorn'd,

  Fair, richly wrought, a footstool at her feet,

  She bade her sit; then thus to Vulcan call'd:

  "Haste hither, Vulcan; Thetis asks thine aid."

  Whom answer'd thus the skill'd artificer:

  "An honour'd and a venerated guest

  Our house contains; who sav'd me once from woe,

  When by my mother's act from Heav'n I fell,

  Who, for that I was crippled in my feet,

  Deem'd it not shame to hide me: hard had then

  My fortune been, had not Eurynome

  And Thetis in their bosoms shelter'd me;

  Eurynome, from old Oceanus

  Who drew her birth, the ever-circling flood.

  Nine years with them I dwelt, and many a work

  I fashion'd there of metal, clasps, and chains

  Of spiral coil, rich cups, and collars fair,

  Hid in a cave profound; where th' ocean stream

  With ceaseless murmur foam'd and moan'd around;

  Unknown to God or man, but to those two

  Who sav'd me, Thetis and Eurynome.

  Now to my house hath fair-hair'd Thetis come;

  To her, my life preserv'd its tribute owes:

  Then thou the hospitable rites perform.

  While I my bellows and my tools lay by."

  He said, and from the anvil rear'd upright

  His massive strength; and as he limp'd along,

  His tottering knees were bow'd beneath his weight.

  The bellows from the fire he next withdrew,

  And in a silver casket plac'd his tools;

  Then with a sponge his brows and lusty arms

  He wip'd, and sturdy neck and hairy chest.

  He donn'd his robe, and took his weighty staff;

  Then through the door with halting step he pass'd;

  There waited on their King the attendant maids;

  In form as living maids, but wrought in gold;

  Instinct with consciousness, with voice endued,

  And strength, and skill from heav'nly teachers drawn.

  These waited, duteous, at the Monarch's side,
/>   His steps supporting; he, with halting gait,

  Pass'd to a gorgeous chair by Thetis' side,

  And, as her hand he clasp'd, address'd her thus:

  "Say, Thetis of the flowing robe, belov'd

  And honour'd, whence this visit to our house.

  An unaccustom'd guest? say what thy will,

  And, if within my pow'r, esteem it done."

  To whom in answer Thetis, weeping, thus:

  "Vulcan, of all the Goddesses who dwell

  On high Olympus, lives there one whose soul

  Hath borne such weight of woe, so many griefs,

  As Saturn's son hath heap'd on me alone?

  Me, whom he chose from all the sea-born nymphs,

  And gave to Peleus, son of AEacus,

  His subject; I endur'd a mortal's bed,

  Though sore against my will; he now, bent down

  By feeble age, lies helpless in his house.

  Now adds he farther grief; he granted me

  To bear, and rear, a son, 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 receive,

  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; a girl, his prize,

  Selected for him by the sons of Greece,

  Great Agamemnon wrested from his arms:

  In grief and rage he pin'd his soul away;

  Then by the Trojans were the Greeks hemm'd in

  Beside their ships, and from within their camp

  No outlet found; the Grecian Elders then

  Implor'd his aid, and promis'd costly gifts.

  With his own hand to save them he refus'd;

  But, in his armour clad, to battle sent

  His friend Patroclus, with a num'rous band.

  All day they fought before the Scaean* gates;

  And in that day had Ilium been destroy'd,

  But in the van, Menoetius' noble son.

  After great deeds achiev'd, Apollo slew,

  And crown'd with glory Hector, Priam's son.

  Therefore a suppliant to thy knees I come,

  If to my son, to early death condemn'd,

  Thou wilt accord the boon of shield and helm,

  And well-wrought greaves with silver clasps secur'd,

  And breastplate; for his own, his faithful friend,

  By Trojan hands subdued, hath lost; and he,

  O'erwhelm'd with grief, lies prostrate on the earth."

  Whom answer'd thus the skill'd artificer:

  "Take comfort, nor let this disturb thy mind;

  Would that as surely, when his hour shall come,

  I could defend him from the stroke of death,

  As I can undertake that his shall be

  Such arms as they shall marvel who behold."

  He left her thus, and to his forge return'd;

  The bellows then directing to the fire,

  He bade them work; through twenty pipes at once

  Forthwith they pour'd their diverse-temper'd blasts;

  Now briskly seconding his eager haste,

  Now at his will, and as the work requir'd.

  The stubborn brass, and tin, and precious gold,

  And silver, first he melted in the fire,

  Then on its stand his weighty anvil plac'd;

  And with one hand the hammer's pond'rous weight

  He wielded, while the other grasp'd the tongs.

  And first a shield he fashion'd, vast and strong,

  With rich adornment; circled with a rim,

  Threefold, bright-gleaming, whence a silver belt

  Depended; of five folds the shield was form'd;

  And on its surface many a rare design

  Of curious art his practis'd skill had wrought.

  Thereon were figur'd earth, and sky, and sea,

  The ever-circling sun, and full-orb'd moon,

  And all the signs that crown the vault of Heav'n;

  Pleiads and Hyads, and Orion's might,

  And Arctos, call'd the Wain, who wheels on high

  His circling course, and on Orion waits;

  Sole star that never bathes in th' ocean wave.

  And two fair populous towns were sculptur'd there;

  In one were marriage pomp and revelry.

  And brides, in gay procession, through the streets

  With blazing torches from their chambers borne,

  While frequent rose the hymeneal song.

  Youths whirl'd around in joyous dance, with sound

  Of flute and harp; and, standing at their doors,

  Admiring women on the pageant gaz'd.

  Meanwhile a busy throng the forum fill'd:

  There between two a fierce contention rose,

  About a death-fine; to the public one

  Appeal'd, asserting to have paid the whole;

  While one denied that he had aught receiv'd.

  Both were desirous that before the Judge

  The issue should be tried; with noisy shouts

  Their several partisans encourag'd each.

  The heralds still'd the tumult of the crowd:

  On polish'd chairs, in solemn circle, sat

  The rev'rend Elders; in their hands they held

  The loud-voic'd heralds' sceptres; waving these,

  They heard th' alternate pleadings; in the midst

  Two talents lay of gold, which he should take

  Who should before them prove his righteous cause.

  Before the second town two armies lay,

  In arms refulgent; to destroy the town

  Th' assailants threaten'd, or among themselves

  Of all the wealth within the city stor'd

  An equal half, as ransom, to divide.

  The terms rejecting, the defenders mann'd

  A secret ambush; on the walls they plac'd

  Women and children muster'd for defence,

  And men by age enfeebled; forth they went,

  By Mars and Pallas led; these, wrought in gold,

  In golden arms array'd, above the crowd

  For beauty and stature, as befitting Gods,

  Conspicuous shone; of lesser height the rest.

  But when the destin'd ambuscade was reach'd,

  Beside the river, where the shepherds drove

  Their flocks and herds to water, down they lay,

  In glitt'ring arms accoutred; and apart

  They plac'd two spies, to notify betimes

  Th' approach of flocks of sheep and lowing herds.

  These, in two shepherds' charge, ere long appear'd,

  Who, unsuspecting as they mov'd along,

  Enjoy'd the music of their past'ral pipes.

  They on the booty, from afar discern'd,

  Sprang from their ambuscade; and cutting off

  The herds, and fleecy flocks, their guardians slew.

  Their comrades heard the tumult, where they sat

  Before their sacred altars, and forthwith

  Sprang on their cars, and with fast-stepping steeds

  Pursued the plund'rers, and o'ertook them soon.

  There on the river's bank they met in arms,

  And each at other hurl'd their brazen spears.

  And there were figur'd Strife, and Tumult wild,

  And deadly Fate, who in her iron grasp

  One newly-wounded, one unwounded bore,

  While by the feet from out the press she dragg'd

  Another slain: about her shoulders hung

  A garment crimson'd with the blood of men.

  Like living men they seem'd to move, to fight,

  To drag away the bodies of the slain.

  And there was grav'n a wide-extended plain

  Of fallow land, rich, ferti
le, mellow soil,

  Thrice plough'd; where many ploughmen up and down

  Their teams were driving; and as each attain'd

  The limit of the field, would one advance,

  And tender him a cup of gen'rous wine:

  Then would he turn, and to the end again

  Along the furrow cheerly drive his plough.

  And still behind them darker show'd the soil,

  The true presentment of a new-plough'd field,

  Though wrought in gold; a miracle of art.

  There too was grav'n a corn-field, rich in grain,

  Where with sharp sickles reapers plied their task,

  And thick, in even swathe, the trusses fell;

  The binders, following close, the bundles tied:

  Three were the binders; and behind them boys

  In close attendance waiting, in their arms

  Gather'd the bundles, and in order pil'd.

  Amid them, staff in hand, in silence stood

  The King, rejoicing in the plenteous swathe.

  A little way remov'd, the heralds slew

  A sturdy ox, and now beneath an oak

  Prepar'd the feast; while women mix'd, hard by,

  White barley porridge for the lab'rers' meal.

  And, with rich clusters laden, there was grav'n

  A vineyard fair, all gold; of glossy black

  The bunches were, on silver poles sustain'd;

  Around, a darksome trench; beyond, a fence

  Was wrought, of shining tin; and through it led

  One only path, by which the bearers pass'd,

  Who gather'd in the vineyard's bounteous store.

  There maids and youths, in joyous spirits bright,

  In woven baskets bore the luscious fruit.

  A boy, amid them, from a clear-ton'd harp

  Drew lovely music; well his liquid voice

  The strings accompanied; they all with dance

  And song harmonious join'd, and joyous shouts,

  As the gay bevy lightly tripp'd along.

  Of straight-horn'd cattle too a herd was grav'n;

  Of gold and tin the heifers all were wrought:

  They to the pasture, from the cattle-yard,

  With gentle lowings, by a babbling stream,

  Where quiv'ring reed-beds rustled, slowly mov'd.

  Four golden shepherds walk'd beside the herd,

  By nine swift dogs attended; then amid

  The foremost heifers sprang two lions fierce

  Upon the lordly bull: he, bellowing loud,

  Was dragg'd along, by dogs and youths pursued.

  The tough bull's-hide they tore, and gorging lapp'd

  Th' intestines and dark blood; with vain attempt

  The herdsmen following closely, to the attack

  Cheer'd their swift dogs; these shunn'd the lions' jaws,

  And close around them baying, held aloof.

  And there the skilful artist's hand had trac'd