The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

by Homer

  The grave priest reverenc’d, and his gifts of so much price embrac’d.

  The general yet bore no such mind, but viciously disgrac’d

  With violent terms the priest; and said: ‘Dotard! Avoid our fleet;

  Where ling’ring be not found by me, nor thy returning feet

  Let ever visit us again, lest nor thy godhead’s crown

  Nor sceptre save thee! Her thou seek’st I still will hold mine own

  Till age deflow’r her. In our court at Argos, far transferr’d

  From her lov’d country, she shall ply her web, and see prepar’d

  With all fit ornaments my bed. Incense me then no more;

  But if thou wilt be safe, begone.’ This said, the sea-beat shore

  (Obeying his high will) the priest trod off with haste and fear;

  And walking silent, till he left far off his enemies’ ear,

  Phoebus, fair-hair’d Latona’s son, he stirr’d up with a vow

  To this stern purpose: ‘Hear, thou god that bear’st the silver bow,

  That Chrysa guard’st, rul’st Tenedos with strong hand, and the round

  Of Cilla most divine dost walk – O Sminthius! If crown’d

  With thankful offerings thy rich fane I ever saw, or fir’d

  Fat thighs of oxen and of goats to thee, this grace desir’d

  Vouchsafe to me: pains for my tears, let these rude Greeks repay,

  Forc’d with thy arrows.’ Thus he pray’d, and Phoebus heard him pray;

  And vex’d at heart, down from the tops of steep heaven stoop’d; his bow

  And quiver cover’d round, his hands did on his shoulders throw;

  And of the angry deity the arrows as he mov’d

  Rattled about him. Like the night he rang’d the host, and rov’d

  (Apart the fleet set) terribly: with his hard-loosing hand

  His silver bow twang’d; and his shafts did first the mules command

  And swift hounds; then the Greeks themselves his deadly arrows shot.

  The fires of death went never out: nine days his shafts flew hot

  About the army; and the tenth, Achilles called a court

  Of all the Greeks: heaven’s white-arm’d queen (who everywhere cut short,

  Beholding her lov’d Greeks, by death) suggested it; and he –

  All met in one – arose, and said: ‘Atrides, now I see

  We must be wandering again, flight must be still our stay

  (If flight can save us now); at once sickness and battle lay

  Such strong hand on us. Let us ask some prophet, priest, or prove

  Some dream-interpreter (for dreams are often sent from Jove)

  Why Phoebus is so much incens’d; if unperformed vows

  He blames in us, or hecatombs; and if these knees he bows

  To death, may yield his graves no more: but offering all supply

  Of savours burnt from lambs and goats, avert his fervent eye,

  And turn his temperate.’ Thus, he sate: and then stood up to them

  Chalcas, surnam’d Thestorides, of augurs the supreme:

  (He knew things present, past, to come; and rul’d the equipage

  Of th’ Argive fleet to Ilion for his prophetic rage

  Given by Apollo:) who, well-seen in th’ ill they felt, propos’d

  This to Achilles: ‘Jove’s belov’d, would thy charge see disclos’d

  The secret of Apollo’s wrath? Then covenant and take oath

  To my discovery – that with words and powerful actions both,

  Thy strength will guard the truth in me, because I well conceive

  That he whose empire governs all, whom all the Grecians give

  Confirm’d obedience, will be mov’d; and then you know the state

  Of him that moves him, when a king hath once mark’d for his hate

  A man inferior: though that day his wrath seems to digest

  Th’ offence he takes, yet evermore he rakes up in his breast

  Brands of quick anger, till revenge hath quench’d to his desire

  The fire reserved. Tell me, then, if whatsoever ire

  Suggests in hurt of me to him, thy valour will prevent?’

  Achilles answer’d: ‘All thou know’st speak, and be confident:

  For by Apollo, Jove’s belov’d (to whom performing vows,

  O Chalcas, for the state of Greece, thy spirit prophetic shows

  Skills that direct us), not a man of all these Grecians here –

  I living, and enjoying the light shot through this flowery sphere –

  Shall touch thee with offensive hands, though Agamemnon be

  The man in question, that doth boast the mightiest empery

  Of all our army.’ Then took heart the prophet, unreprov’d,

  And said: ‘They are not unpaid vows, nor hecatombs, that mov’d

  The god against us: his offence is for his priest impair’d

  By Agamemnon, that refus’d the present he preferr’d,

  And kept his daughter. This is cause why heaven’s Far-darter darts

  These plagues amongst us; and this still will empty in our hearts

  His deathful quiver, uncontain’d, till to her loved sire

  The black-eyed damsel be resign’d; no redemptory hire

  Took for her freedom – not a gift – but all the ransom quit,

  And she convey’d, with sacrifice, till her enfranchis’d feet

  Tread Chrysa under: then the god, so pleas’d, perhaps we may

  Move to remission.’ Thus, he sate; and up, the great in sway,

  Heroic Agamemnon rose, eagerly bearing all:

  His mind’s seat overcast with fumes: an anger general

  Fill’d all his faculties; his eyes sparkled like kindling fire,

  Which sternly cast upon the priest, thus vented he his ire:

  ‘Prophet of ill! For never good came from thee towards me

  Not to a word’s worth: evermore thou took’st delight to be

  Offensive in thy auguries, which thou continuest still,

  Now casting thy prophetic gall, and vouching all our ill

  (Shot from Apollo) is impos’d since I refus’d the price

  Of fair Chryseis’ liberty; which would in no worth rise

  To my rate of herself: which moves my vows to have her home,

  Past Clytemnestra loving her, that grac’d my nuptial room

  With her virginity and flower: nor ask her merits less,

  For person, disposition, wit, and skill in housewif’ries.

  And yet, for all this, she shall go, if more conducible

  That course be than her holding here. I rather wish the weal

  Of my lov’d army than the death. Provide yet instantly

  Supply for her, that I alone of all our royalty

  Lose not my winnings: ’tis not fit: ye see all – I lose mine

  Forc’d by another – see as well, some other may resign

  His prize to me.’ To this replied the swift-foot, god-like son

  Of Thetis, thus: ‘King of us all in all ambition,

  Most covetous of all that breathe, why should the great-soul’d Greeks

  Supply thy lost prize out of theirs? Nor what thy avarice seeks

  Our common treasury can find; so little it doth guard

  Of what our raz’d towns yielded us, of all which most is shar’d,

  And given our soldiers: which again to take into our hands

  Were ignominious and base. Now then, since god commands,

  Part with thy most-lov’d prize to him: not any one of us

  Exacts it of
thee; yet we all, all loss thou suffer’st thus

  Will treble – quadruple in gain, when Jupiter bestows

  The sack of well-wall’d Troy on us; which by his word he owes.’

  ‘Do not deceive yourself with wit,’ he answer’d, ‘god-like man,

  Though your good name may colour it, ’tis not your swift foot can

  Outrun me here; nor shall the gloss set on it with the god

  Persuade me to my wrong. Wouldst thou maintain in sure abode

  Thine own prize, and slight me of mine? Resolve this: if our friends,

  As fits in equity my worth, will right me with amends,

  So rest it; otherwise, myself will enter personally

  On thy prize, that of Ithacus, or Ajax, for supply:

  Let him on whom I enter rage. But come, we’ll order these

  Hereafter, and in other place. Now put to sacred seas

  Our black sail; in it rowers put, in it fit sacrifice;

  And to these I will make ascend my so much envied prize,

  Bright-cheek’d Chryseis. For conduct of all which, we must choose

  A chief out of our counsellors; thy service we must use,

  Idomeneus; Ajax, thine; or thine, wise Ithacus;

  Or thine, thou terriblest of men, thou son of Peleus:

  Which fittest were, that thou might’st see these holy acts perform’d

  For which thy cunning zeal so pleads; and he, whose bow thus storm’d

  For our offences, may be calm’d.’ Achilles with a frown

  Thus answer’d: ‘O thou impudent! Of no good but thine own

  Ever respectful, but of that with all craft covetous:

  With what heart can a man attempt a service dangerous –

  Or at thy voice be spirited to fly upon a foe –

  Thy mind thus wretched? For myself, I was not injur’d so

  By any Trojan, that my powers should bid them any blows;

  In nothing bear they blame of me: Phthia, whose bosom flows

  With corn and people, never felt impair of her increase

  By their invasion: hills enow, and far-resounding seas,

  Pour out their shades and deeps between: but thee, thou frontless man,

  We follow, and thy triumphs make, with bonfires of our bane:

  Thine, and thy brother’s vengeance sought, thou dog’s eyes, of this Troy

  By our expos’d lives; whose deserts thou neither dost employ

  With honour nor with care. And now, thou threat’st to force from me

  The fruit of my sweat, which the Greeks gave all: and though it be –

  Compar’d with thy part, then snatch’d up – nothing, nor ever is

  At any sack’d town; but of fight, the fetcher in of this,

  My hands have most share: in whose toils when I have emptied me

  Of all my forces, my amends in liberality –

  Though it be little – I accept, and turn pleas’d to my tent:

  And yet that little, thou esteem’st too great a continent

  In thy incontinent avarice. For Phthia therefore now

  My course is, since ’tis better far, than here t’ endure that thou

  Should’st still be ravishing my right, draw my whole treasure dry – ’

  ‘And add, dishonour,’ he replied: ‘if thy heart serve thee, flee;

  Stay not for my cause; other here will aid and honour me:

  If not, yet Jove I know is sure; that counsellor is he

  That I depend on: as for thee, of all our Jove-kept kings

  Thou still art most mine enemy: strifes, battles, bloody things,

  Make thy blood feasts still. But if strength, that these moods build upon,

  Flow in thy nerves, god gave thee it; and so ’tis not thine own,

  But in his hands still: what then lifts thy pride in this so high?

  Home with thy fleet, and myrmidons; use there their empery:

  Command not here. I weigh thee not, nor mean to magnify

  Thy rough-hewn rages; but instead I thus far threaten thee:

  Since Phoebus needs will force from me Chryseis, she shall go;

  My ships and friends shall waft her home: but I will imitate so

  His pleasure, that mine own shall take, in person, from thy tent

  Bright-cheek’d Briseis; and so tell thy strength how eminent

  My power is, being compar’d with thine: all other making fear

  To vaunt equality with me, or in this proud kind bear

  Their beards against me.’ Thetis’ son at this stood vex’d, his heart

  Bristled his bosom, and two ways drew his discursive part,

  If from his thigh his sharp sword drawn, he should make room about

  Atrides’ person, slaught’ring him, or sit his anger out,

  And curb his spirit. While these thoughts striv’d in his blood and mind,

  And he his sword drew, down from heaven Athenia stoop’d, and shin’d

  About his temples: being sent by th’ ivory-wristed queen

  Saturnia, who out of her heart had ever loving been

  And careful for the good of both. She stood behind, and took

  Achilles by the yellow curls, and only gave her look

  To him; appearance not a man of all the rest could see.

  He, turning back his eye, amaze strook every faculty:

  Yet straight he knew her by her eyes, so terrible they were,

  Sparkling with ardour, and thus spake: ‘Thou seed of Jupiter,

  Why com’st thou? To behold his pride that boasts our empery?

  Then witness with it my revenge, and see that insolence die

  That lives to wrong me.’ She replied, ‘I come from heaven to see

  Thine anger settled, if thy soul will use her sovereignty

  In fit reflection. I am sent from Juno, whose affects

  Stand heartily inclin’d to both: come, give us both, respects;

  And cease contention: draw no sword; use words, and such as may

  Be bitter to his pride, but just; for trust in what I say,

  A time shall come, when thrice the worth of that he forceth now,

  He shall propose for recompense of these wrongs: therefore throw

  Reins on thy passions, and serve us.’ He answer’d: ‘Though my heart

  Burn in just anger, yet my soul must conquer th’ angry part,

  And yield you conquest: who subdues his earthy part for heaven,

  Heaven to his prayers subdues his wish.’ This said, her charge was given

  Fit honour: in his silver hilt he held his able hand,

  And forc’d his broad sword up; and up to heaven did re-ascend

  Minerva, who, in Jove’s high roof that bears the rough shield, took

  Her place with other deities. She gone, again forsook

  Patience his passion, and no more his silence could confine

  His wrath, that this broad language gave: ‘Thou ever steep’d in wine!

  Dog’s face, with heart but of a hart, that nor in th’ open eye

  Of fight dar’st thrust into a press, nor with our noblest lie

  In secret ambush. These works seem too full of death for thee:

  Tis safer far in th’ open host to dare an injury

  To any crosser of thy lust. Thou subject-eating king!

  Base spirits thou govern’st, or this wrong had been the last foul thing

  Thou ever author’dst: yet I vow, and by a great oath swear,

  Even by this sceptre, that as this never again shall bear

  Green leaves or branches, nor increase with any growth his size,

/>   Nor did since first it left the hills, and had his faculties

  And ornaments bereft with iron; which now to other end

  Judges of Greece bear, and their laws, receiv’d from Jove, defend

  (For which my oath to thee is great): so, whensoever need

  Shall burn with thirst of me thy host, no prayers shall ever breed

  Affection in me to their aid, though well-deserved woes

  Afflict thee for them, when to death man-slaught’ring Hector throws

  Whole troops of them, and thou torment’st thy vex’d mind with conceit

  Of thy rude rage now, and his wrong that most deserv’d the right

  Of all thy army.’ Thus: he threw his sceptre gainst the ground,

  With golden studs stuck, and took seat. Atrides’ breast was drown’d

  In rising choler. Up to both sweet-spoken Nestor stood,

  The cunning Pylian orator; whose tongue pour’d forth a flood

  Of more than honey-sweet discourse (two ages were increas’d

  Of divers-languag’d men, all born in his time and deceas’d,

  In sacred Pylos, where he reign’d amongst the third ag’d men):

  He, well-seen in the world, advis’d, and thus express’d it then.

  ‘O gods! Our Greek earth will be drown’d in just tears; rapeful Troy,

  Her king, and all his sons, will make as just a mock, and joy

  Of these disjunctions, if of you, that all our host excel

  In counsel and in skill of fight, they hear this: come, repel

  These young men’s passions; y’are not both, put both your years in one,

  So old as I: I liv’d long since, and was companion

  With men superior to you both, who yet would ever hear

  My counsels with respect. Mine eyes yet never witness were,

  Nor ever will be, of such men as then delighted them –

  Perithous, Exadius, and god-like Polyphem,

  Ceneus, and Dryas prince of men, Aegean Theseus,

  A man like heaven’s immortals form’d; all, all most vigorous,

  Of all men that even those days bred; most vigorous men, and fought

  With beasts most vigorous – mountain beasts! – (for men in strength were nought

  Match’d with their forces) – fought with them, and bravely fought them down.

  Yet even with these men I convers’d, being call’d to the renown

  Of their societies, by their suites, from Pylos far, to fight

  In th’ Asian kingdom; and I fought to a degree of might