The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

by Homer

  By either other, drown’d in dust; and round about the plain

  All hid with slaughter’d carcasses, yet still did hotly reign

  The martial planet, whose effects had any eye beheld

  Free and unwounded (and were led by Pallas through the field,

  To keep off javelins, and suggest the least fault could be found),

  He could not reprehend the fight, so many strew’d the ground.

  The end of the fourth book

  Book 5

  The Argument

  King Diomed (by Pallas’ spirit inspir’d

  With will and power) is for his acts admir’d:

  Mere men, and men deriv’d from deities,

  And deities themselves, he terrifies;

  Add wounds to terrors; his inflamed lance

  Draws blood from Mars, and Venus; in a trance

  He casts Aeneas with a weighty stone;

  Apollo quickens him, and gets him gone:

  Mars is recur’d by Paeon, but by Jove

  Rebuk’d, for authoring breach of human love.

  Another Argument

  In Epsilon, heav’n’s blood is shed

  By sacred rage of Diomed.

  Book 5

  Then Pallas breath’d in Tydeus’ son: to render whom supreme

  To all the Greeks, at all his parts, she cast a hotter beam

  On his high mind, his body fill’d with much superior might,

  And made his complete armour cast a far more complete light.

  From his bright helm and shield did burn a most unwearied fire,

  Like rich Autumnus’ golden lamp, whose brightness men admire

  Past all the other host of stars, when with his cheerful face,

  Fresh wash’d in lofty ocean waves, he doth the skies enchase.

  To let whose glory lose no sight, still Pallas made him turn

  Where tumult most express’d his power, and where the fight did burn.

  An honest and a wealthy man inhabited in Troy –

  Dares the priest of Mulciber, who two sons did enjoy,

  Idaeus and bold Phegeus, well seen in every fight:

  These (singled from their troops, and hors’d) assail’d Minerva’s knight,

  Who rang’d from fight to fight, on foot; all hasting mutual charge

  (And now drawn near), first Phegeus threw a javelin swift and large;

  Whose head the king’s left shoulder took, but did no harm at all:

  Then rush’d he out a lance at him, that had no idle fall,

  But in his breast stuck ’twixt the paps, and struck him from his horse.

  Which stern sight when Idaeus saw (distrustful of his force

  To save his slaughter’d brother’s spoil), it made him headlong leap

  From his fair chariot, and leave all: yet had not ’scap’d the heap

  Of heavy funeral, if the god, great president of fire,

  Had not in sudden clouds of smoke (and pity of his sire,

  To leave him utterly unheir’d) giv’n safe pass to his feet.

  He gone, Tydides sent the horse and chariot to the fleet.

  The Trojans seeing Dares’ sons, one slain, the other fled,

  Were struck-amaz’d: the blue-ey’d Maid (to grace her Diomed

  In giving free way to his power) made this so ruthful fact

  A fit advantage to remove the war-god out of act,

  Who rag’d so on the Ilion side; she grip’t his hand and said:

  ‘Mars, Mars, thou ruiner of men, that in the dust hast laid

  So many cities, and with blood thy godhead dost distain,

  Now shall we cease to show our breasts as passionate as men,

  And leave the mixture of our hands, resigning Jove his right –

  As rector of the gods – to give the glory of the fight

  Where he affecteth, lest he force what we should freely yield?

  He held it fit, and went with her from the tumultuous field,

  Who set him in an herby seat, on broad Scamander’s shore.

  He gone, all Troy was gone with him; the Greeks drave all before,

  And every leader slew a man; but first the king of men

  Deserv’d the honour of his name, and led the slaughter then,

  And slew a leader, one more huge than any man he led,

  Great Odius, duke of Halizons; quite from his chariot’s head

  He struck him with a lance to earth, as first he flight address’d;

  It took his forward-turned back, and look’d out of his breast:

  His huge trunk sounded, and his arms did echo the resound.

  Idomenaeus to the death did noble Phaestus wound,

  The son of Maeon Borus, that from cloddy Terna came:

  Who, taking chariot, took his wound, and tumbled with the same

  From his attempted seat; the lance through his right shoulder strook,

  And horrid darkness struck through him: the spoil his soldiers took.

  Atrides-Menelaus slew (as he before him fled)

  Scamandrius, son of Strophius, that was a huntsman bred;

  A skilful huntsman, for his skill Diana’s self did teach,

  And made him able with his dart, infallibly to reach

  All sorts of subtlest savages, which many a woody hill

  Bred for him, and he much preserv’d – and all to show his skill.

  Yet not the dart-delighting queen taught him to shun this dart,

  Nor all his hitting so far off (the mast’ry of his art):

  His back receiv’d it, and he fell upon his breast withal:

  His body’s ruin, and his arms, so sounded in his fall,

  That his affrighted horse flew off, and left him like his life.

  Meriones slew Phereclus, whom she that ne’er was wife,

  Yet goddess of good housewives, held in excellent respect,

  For knowing all the witty things that grace an architect,

  And having pow’r to give it all the cunning use of hand:

  Harmonides his sire built ships, and made him understand

  (With all the practice it requir’d) the frame of all that skill.

  He built all Alexander’s ships, that author’d all the ill

  Of all the Trojans and his own, because he did not know

  The oracles advising Troy, for fear of overthrow,

  To meddle with no sea affair but live by tilling land.

  This man Meriones surpris’d, and drave his deadly hand

  Through his right hip; the lance’s head ran through the region

  About the bladder, underneath th’ in-muscles, and the bone;

  He (sighing) bow’d his knees to death, and sacrific’d to earth.

  Phylides stay’d Pedaeus’ flight, Antenor’s bastard birth,

  Whom virtuous Theano his wife, to please her husband, kept

  As tenderly as those she lov’d. Phylides near him stept,

  And in the fountain of the nerves did drench his fervent lance,

  At his head’s back-part; and so far the sharp head did advance,

  It cleft the organ of his speech, and th’ iron, cold as death,

  He took betwixt his grinning teeth, and gave the air his breath.

  Eurypilus the much renown’d, and great Evemon’s son,

  Divine Hypsenor slew, begot by stout Dolopion

  And consecrate Scamander’s priest; he had a god’s regard

  Amongst the people: his hard flight the Grecian follow’d hard,

  Rush’d in so close, that with his sword he on his shoulder laid

  A blow that his arm’s brawn cut
off; nor there his vigour stay’d,

  But drave down, and from off his wrist it hew’d his holy hand,

  That gush’d out blood, and down it dropp’d upon the blushing sand;

  Death with his purple finger shut – and violent fate – his eyes.

  Thus fought these, but distinguish’d well, Tydides so implies

  His fury, that you could not know whose side had interest

  In his free labours, Greece or Troy. But as a flood increas’d

  By violent and sudden show’rs, let down from hills like hills

  Melted in fury, swells and foams, and so he overfills

  His natural channel, that besides both hedge and bridge resigns

  To his rough confluence, far spread, and lusty flourishing vines

  Drown’d in his outrage: Tydeus’ son so overran the field,

  Strew’d such as flourish’d in his way, and made whole squadrons yield.

  When Pandarus, Lycaon’s son, beheld his ruining hand

  With such resistless insolence make lanes through every band,

  He bent his gold-tipp’d bow of horn, and shot him (rushing in)

  At his right shoulder, where his arms were hollow; forth did spin

  The blood, and down his curets ran; then Pandarus cried out:

  ‘Rank-riding Trojans, now rush in: now, now, I make no doubt

  Our bravest foe is mark’d for death; he cannot long sustain

  My violent shaft, if Jove’s fair son did worthily constrain

  My foot from Lycia.’ Thus he brav’d, and yet his violent shaft

  Struck short with all his violence; Tydides life was sav’d;

  Who yet withdrew himself behind his chariot and steeds,

  And call’d to Sthenelus: ‘Come, friend, my wounded shoulder needs

  Thy hand to ease it of this shaft.’ He hasted from his seat

  Before the coach, and drew the shaft: the purple wound did sweat,

  And drown his shirt of mail in blood, and as it bled he pray’d:

  ‘Hear me, of Jove Aegiochus thou most unconquer’d Maid,

  If ever in the cruel field thou hast assistful stood

  Or to my father or myself, now love, and do me good;

  Give him into my lance’s reach that thus hath giv’n a wound

  To him thou guard’st, preventing me, and brags that never more

  I shall behold the cheerful sun.’ Thus did the king implore.

  The goddess heard, came near, and took the weariness of fight

  From all his nerves and lineaments, and made them fresh and light,

  And said: ‘Be bold, O Diomed, in every combat shine;

  The great shield-shaker Tydeus’ strength (that knight, that sire of thine)

  By my infusion breathes in thee. And from thy knowing mind

  I have remov’d those erring mists that made it lately blind,

  That thou may’st difference gods from men, and therefore use thy skill

  Against the tempting deities, if any have a will

  To try if thou presum’st of that as thine, that flows from them,

  And so assum’st above thy right. Where thou discern’st a beam

  Of any other heavenly power than she that rules in love,

  That calls thee to the change of blows, resist not, but remove;

  But if that goddess be so bold (since she first stirr’d this war),

  Assault and mark her from the rest, with some infamous scar.’

  The blue-eyed goddess vanished, and he was seen again

  Amongst the foremost; who before though he were prompt and fain

  To fight against the Trojans powers, now on his spirits were call’d

  With thrice the vigour – lion-like, that hath been lately gall’d

  By some bold shepherd in a field, where his curl’d flocks were laid,

  Who took him as he leap’d the fold; not slain yet, but appay’d

  With greater spirit, comes again, and then the shepherd hides

  (The rather for the desolate place) and in his coate abides,

  His flocks left guardless; which amaz’d, shake and shrink up in heaps;

  He ruthless freely takes his prey, and out again he leaps:

  So sprightly, fierce, victorious, the great heroë flew

  Upon the Trojans, and at once he two commanders slew,

  Hypenor and Astynous; in one his lance he fix’d

  Full at the nipple of his breast, the other smote betwixt

  The neck and shoulder with his sword; which was so well laid on,

  It swept his arm and shoulder off. These left, he rush’d upon

  Abbas and Polyëidus, of old Eurydamas

  The hapless sons; who could by dreams tell what would come to pass:

  Yet when his sons set forth to Troy, the old man could not read

  By their dreams what would chance to them; for both were stricken dead

  By great Tydides. After these, he takes into his rage

  Xanthus, and Thoön, Phenops’ sons, born to him in his age;

  The good old man even pin’d with years, and had not one son more

  To heir his goods; yet Diomed took both, and left him store

  Of tears and sorrows in their steads, since he could never see

  His sons leave those hot wars alive: so this the end must be

  Of all his labours; what he heap’d, to make his issue great,

  Authority heir’d, and with her seed fill’d his forgotten seat.

  Then snatch’d he up two Priamists that in one chariot stood,

  Echemon and fair Chromius; as feeding in a wood

  Oxen or steers are, one of which a lion leaps upon,

  Tears down, and wrings in two his neck: so sternly Tydeus’ son

  Threw from their chariot both these hopes of old Dardanides,

  Then took their arms, and sent their horse to those that ride the seas.

  Aeneas, seeing the troops thus toss’d, broke through the heat of fight

  And all the whizzing of the darts, to find the Lycian knight,

  Lycaon’s son; whom having found, he thus bespake the peer:

  ‘O Pandarus! Where’s now thy bow? Thy deathful arrows, where?

  In which no one in all our host but gives the palm to thee;

  Nor in the sun-lov’d Lycian greens, that breed our archery,

  Lives any that exceeds thyself. Come, lift thy hands to Jove,

  And send an arrow at this man, if but a man he prove,

  That wins such god-like victories, and now affects our host

  With so much sorrow: since so much of our best blood is lost

  By his high valour, I have fear some god in him doth threat,

  Incens’d for want of sacrifice; the wrath of god is great.’

  Lycaon’s famous son replied: ‘Great counsellor of Troy,

  This man so excellent in arms, I think is Tydeus’ joy;

  I know him by his fiery shield, by his bright three-plum’d casque,

  And by his horse; nor can I say, if or some god doth mask

  In his appearance, or he be whom I nam’d Tydeus’ son:

  But without god the things he does for certain are not done.

  Some great immortal, that conveys his shoulders in a cloud,

  Goes by and puts by every dart at his bold breast bestow’d,

  Or lets it take with little hurt; for I myself let fly

  A shaft that shot him through his arms, but had as good gone by:

  Yet which I gloriously affirm’d, had driven him down to hell.

  Some god is angry, and with me; for far hence, where I dwell,
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  My horse and chariots idle stand, with which some other way

  I might repair this shameful miss: eleven fair chariots stay

  In old Lycaon’s court, new made, new trimm’d to have been gone,

  Curtain’d and arrast under foot, two horse to every one,

  That eat white barley and black oats, and do no good at all:

  And these Lycaon (that well knew how these affairs would fall)

  Charg’d, when I set down this design, I should command with here;

  And gave me many lessons more, all which much better were

  Than any I took forth myself. The reason I laid down

  Was but the sparing of my horse, since in a sieged town

  I thought our horse-meat would be scant, when they were us’d to have

  Their manger full; so I left them, and like a lackey slave

  Am come to Ilion, confident in nothing but my bow,

  That nothing profits me; two shafts I vainly did bestow

  At two great princes, but of both, my arrows neither slew;

  Nor this, nor Atreus’ younger son: a little blood I drew,

  That serv’d but to incense them more. In an unhappy star

  I therefore from my armoury have drawn those tools of war,

  That day when for great Hector’s sake, to amiable Troy

  I came to lead the Trojan bands. But if I ever joy

  (In safe return) my country’s sight, my wives, my lofty tow’rs,

  Let any stranger take this head, if to the fiery pow’rs

  This bow, these shafts, in pieces burst, by these hands be not thrown,

  Idle companions that they are, to me and my renown.’

  Aeneas said: ‘Use no such words; for any other way

  Than this, they shall not now be us’d: we first will both assay

  This man with horse and chariot. Come then, ascend to me,

  That thou mayst try our Trojan horse, how skill’d in field they be,

  And in pursuing those that fly, or flying being pursu’d,

  How excellent they are of foot: and these, if Jove conclude

  The ’scape of Tydeus again, and grace him with our flight,

  Shall serve to bring us safely off. Come, I’ll be first shall fight:

  Take thou these fair reins and this scourge; or (if thou wilt) fight thou,

  And leave the horses’ care to me.’ He answer’d: ‘I will now

  Descend to fight; keep thou the reins, and guide thyself thy horse,