by Homer
As from a lofty rock a spring doth his black waters cast;
And deeply sighing, thus bespake the Achives: ‘O my friends,
Princes and leaders of the Greeks, heav’n’s adverse king extends
His wrath with too much detriment to my so just design,
Since he hath often promis’d me, and bound it with the sign
Of his bent forehead, that this Troy our vengeful hands should race,
And safe return: yet now, engag’d, he plagues us with disgrace,
When all our trust to him hath drawn so much blood from our friends.
My glory, nor my brother’s wreak, were the proposed ends
For which he drew you to these toils, but your whole country’s shame,
Which had been huge, to bear the rape of so divine a dame,
Made in despite of our revenge. And yet not that had mov’d
Our pow’rs to these designs, if Jove had not our drifts approv’d;
Which since we see he did for blood, ’tis desperate fight in us
To strive with him; then let us fly: ’tis flight he urgeth thus.
Long time still silence held them all; at last did Diomed rise:
‘Atrides, I am first must cross thy indiscreet advice,
As may become me, being a king, in this our martial court.
Be not displeas’d then, for thyself didst broadly misreport
In open field my fortitude, and call’d me faint and weak;
Yet I was silent, knowing the time, loath any rites to break
That appertain’d thy public rule: yet all the Greeks knew well
(Of every age) thou didst me wrong. As thou then didst refel
My valour first of all the host, as of a man dismay’d,
So now, with fit occasion giv’n, I first blame thee – afraid.
Inconstant Saturn’s son hath giv’n inconstant spirits to thee,
And with a sceptre over all, an eminent degree.
But with a sceptre’s sovereign grace, the chief pow’r, fortitude,
To bridle thee, he thought not best thy breast should be endu’d.
Unhappy king, think’st thou the Greeks are such a silly sort,
And so excessive impotent, as thy weak words import?
If thy mind move thee to be gone, the way is open; go:
Mycenian ships enow ride near, that brought thee to this woe.
The rest of Greece will stay, nor stir till Troy be overcome,
With full eversion; or if not, but – doters of their home –
Will put on wings to fly with thee, myself and Sthenelus
Will fight, till (trusting favouring Jove) we bring home Troy with us.’
This all applauded, and admir’d the spirit of Diomed;
When Nestor, rising from the rest, his speech thus seconded:
‘Tydides, thou art questionless our strongest Greek in war,
And gravest in thy counsels too, of all that equal are
In place with thee, and stand on strength; nor is there any one
Can blame or contradict thy speech: and yet thou hast not gone
So far, but we must further go. Thou’rt young, and well mightst be
My youngest son, though still I yield thy words have high degree
Of wisdom in them to our king, since well they did become
Their right in question, and refute inglorious going home.
But I, well known thy senior far, will speak, and handle all
Yet to propose which none shall check – no, not our general.
A hater of society, unjust and wild, is he
That loves intestine war, being stuff’d with manless cruelty:
And therefore in persuading peace, and home-flight, we the less
May blame our gen’ral, as one loath to wrap in more distress
His loved soldiers. But because they bravely are resolv’d
To cast lives after toils, before they part in shame involv’d,
Provide we for our honour’d stay: obey black night, and fall
Now to our suppers, then appoint our guards without the wall,
And in the bottom of the dike; which guards I wish may stand
Of our brave youth. And, Atreus’ son, since thou art in command
Before our other kings, be first in thy command’s effect:
It well becomes thee, since ’tis both what all thy peers expect,
And in the royal right of things is no impair to thee.
Nor shall it stand with less than right, that they invited be
To supper by thee; all thy tents are amply stor’d with wine,
Brought daily in Greek ships from Thrace; and to this grace of thine
All necessaries thou hast fit, and store of men to wait:
And many meeting there, thou mayst hear every man’s conceit,
And take the best. It much concerns all Greeks to use advice
Of gravest nature, since so near our ships our enemies
Have lighted such a sort of fires: with which what man is joy’d?
Look how all bear themselves this night: so live, or be destroy’d.’
All heard, and follow’d his advice. There was appointed then
Seven captains of the watch, who forth did march with all their men.
The first was famous Thrasymed, adviceful Nestor’s son;
Ascalaphus, and Ialmen, and mighty Merion,
Alphareus, and Deipyrus, and lovely Lycomed,
Old Creon’s joy. These sev’n bold lords an hundred soldiers led,
In every sever’d company, and every man his pike.
Some placed on the rampire’s top, and some amidst the dike,
All fires made, and their suppers took. Atrides to his tent
Invited all the peers of Greece, and food sufficient
Appos’d before them, and the peers appos’d their hands to it.
Hunger and thirst being quickly quench’d, to counsel still they sit.
And first spake Nestor, who they thought of late advis’d so well,
A father grave, and rightly wise, who thus his tale did tell:
‘Most high Atrides, since in thee I have intent to end,
From thee will I begin my speech, to whom Jove doth commend
The empire of so many men, and puts into thy hand
A sceptre, and establish’d laws, that thou mayst well command,
And counsel all men under thee. It therefore doth behove
Thyself to speak most, since of all thy speeches most will move –
And yet to hear as well as speak, and then perform as well
A free just counsel; in thee still must stick, what others tell.
For me, what in my judgment stands the most convenient
I will advise; and am assur’d, advice more competent
Shall not be given; the general proof that hath before been made
Of what I speak, confirms me still, and now may well persuade,
Because I could not then, yet ought, when thou, most royal king,
Ev’n from the tent Achilles’ love didst violently bring,
Against my counsel urging thee by all means to relent.
But you, obeying your high mind, would venture the event,
Dishonouring our ablest Greek, a man th’ immortals grace:
Again yet let’s deliberate, to make him now embrace
Affection to our general good, and bring his force to field:
Both which, kind words and pleasing gifts must make his virtues yield.’
‘O father,’ answered the king, ‘my wrongs thou tell’st me right;
Mine own offence
mine own tongue grants; one man must stand in fight
For our whole army; him I wrong’d, him Jove loves from his heart:
He shows it in thus honouring him; who living thus apart,
Proves us but number: for his want makes all our weakness seen.
Yet after my confess’d offence, soothing my hum’rous spleen,
I’ll sweeten his affects again with presents infinite:
Which, to approve my firm intent, I’ll openly recite:
Seven sacred tripods free from fire, ten talents of fine gold,
Twenty bright cauldrons, twelve young horse, well shap’d and well controll’d,
And victors too; for they have won the prize at many a race.
That man should not be poor, that had but what their winged pace
Hath added to my treasury, nor feel sweet gold’s defect.
Seven Lesbian ladies he shall have, that were the most select,
And in their needles rarely skill’d: whom, when he took the town
Of famous Lesbos, I did choose; who won the chief renown
For beauty from their whole fair sex, amongst whom I’ll resign
Fair Brysis; and I deeply swear (for any fact of mine
That may discourage her receipt) she is untouch’d, and rests
As he resign’d her. To these gifts, if Jove to our requests
Vouchsafe performance, and afford the work for which we wait,
Of winning Troy, with brass and gold he shall his navy freight;
And (ent’ring when we be at spoil) that princely hand of his
Shall choose him twenty Trojan dames, excepting Tyndaris,
The fairest Pergamus enfolds; and if we make retreat
To Argos (call’d of all the world the Navel, or chief seat)
He shall become my son-in-law, and I will honour him
Ev’n as Orestes, my sole son, that doth in honours swim.
Three daughters in my well-built court unmarried are, and fair:
Laodice, Chrysothemis that hath the golden hair,
And Iphianassa; of all three the worthiest let him take,
All jointureless to Peleus’ court: I will her jointure make –
And that so great as never yet did any maid prefer.
Seven cities right magnificent I will bestow on her:
Enope, and Cardamile, Hyra for herbs renown’d,
The fair Aepaea, Pedasus that doth with grapes abound,
Antaea girded with green meads, Phera surnam’d Divine:
All whose bright turrets on the seas in sandy Pylos shine.
Th’ inhabitants in flocks and herds are wondrous confluent,
Who like a god will honour him, and him with gifts present,
And to his throne will contribute what tribute he will rate.
All this I gladly will perform, to pacify his hate.
Let him be mild and tractable: ’tis for the god of ghosts
To be unrul’d, implacable, and seek the blood of hosts,
Whom therefore men do much abhor: then let him yield to me;
I am his greater, being a king, and more in years than he.’
‘Brave king,’ said Nestor, ‘these rich gifts must make him needs relent:
Choose then fit legates instantly, to greet him at his tent.
But stay; admit my choice of them, and let them straight be gone:
Jove-loved Phoenix shall be chief, then Ajax Telamon,
And prince Ulysses; and on them let these two heralds wait,
Grave Odius and Euribates. Come, lords, take water straight,
Make pure your hands, and with sweet words appease Achilles’ mind,
Which we will pray the king of gods may gently make inclin’d.’
All lik’d his speech, and on their hands the heralds water shed:
The youths crown’d cups of sacred wine to all distributed.
But having sacrific’d and drunk to every man’s content
(With many notes by Nestor given), the legates forward went.
With courtship in fit gestures us’d he did prepare them well,
But most Ulysses, for his grace did not so much excel.
Such rites beseem ambassadors; and Nestor urged these,
That their most honours might reflect enrag’d Aeacides.
They went along the shore, and pray’d the god that earth doth bind
In brackish chains, they might not fail, but bow his mighty mind.
The quarter of the Myrmidons they reach’d, and found him set
Delighted with his solemn harp, which curiously was fret
With works conceited; through the verge the bawdrick that embrac’d
His lofty neck was silver twist; this, when his hand laid waste
Aëtion’s city, he did choose as his especial prize;
And, loving sacred music well, made it his exercise.
To it he sung the glorious deeds of great heroës dead,
And his true mind, that practice fail’d, sweet contemplation fed.
With him alone, and opposite, all silent sat his friend,
Attentive, and beholding him who now his song did end.
Th’ ambassadors did forwards press, renown’d Ulysses led,
And stood in view: their sudden sight his admiration bred,
Who with his harp and all arose: so did Menoetius’ son
When he beheld them; their receipt Achilles thus begun:
‘Health to my lords! Right welcome men assure yourselves you be,
Though some necessity I know doth make you visit me,
Incens’d with just cause ’gainst the Greeks.’ This said, a several seat
With purple cushions he set forth, and did their ease intreat;
And said: ‘Now, friend, our greatest bowl, with wine unmix’d and neat,
Appose these lords; and of the depth let every man make proof:
These are my best-esteemed friends, and underneath my roof.
Patroclus did his dear friend’s will; and he that did desire
To cheer the lords (come faint from fight), set on a blazing fire
A great brass pot, and into it a chine of mutton put,
And fat goat’s flesh: Automedon held, while he pieces cut
To roast and boil; right cunningly then of a well-fed swine
A huge fat shoulder he cuts out, and spits it wondrous fine;
His good friend made a goodly fire, of which the force once past,
He laid the spit low, near the coals, to make it brown at last:
Then sprinkled it with sacred salt, and took it from the racks:
This roasted, and on dresser set, his friend Patroclus takes
Bread in fair baskets; which set on, Achilles brought the meat,
And to divinest Ithacus took his opposed seat
Upon the bench. Then did he will his friend to sacrifice,
Who cast sweet incense in the fire to all the deities.
Thus fell they to their ready food. Hunger and thirst allay’d,
Ajax to Phoenix made a sign as if too long they stay’d
Before they told their legacy. Ulysses saw him wink,
And filling the great bowl with wine did to Achilles drink:
‘Health to Achilles! But our plights stand not in need of meat,
Who late supp’d at Atrides’ tent, though for thy love we eat
Of many things, whereof a part would make a complete feast.
Nor can we joy in these kind rites, that have our hearts oppress’d,
O Prince, with fear of utter spoil: ’tis made a question now
If we can save our fleet
or not, unless thyself endow
Thy powers with wonted fortitude. Now Troy and her consorts,
Bold of thy want, have pitch’d their tents close to our fleet and forts,
And made a firmament of fires, and now no more they say
Will they be prison’d in their walls, but force their violent way
Ev’n to our ships; and Jove himself hath with his lightnings show’d
Their bold adventures happy signs; and Hector grows so proud
Of his huge strength, borne out by Jove, that fearfully he raves,
Presuming neither men nor gods can interrupt his braves.
Wild rage invades him, and he prays that soon the sacred morn
Would light his fury, boasting then our streamers shall be torn,
And all our naval ornaments fall by his conquering stroke;
Our ships shall burn, and we ourselves lie stifled in the smoke.
And I am seriously afraid heav’n will perform his threats,
And that ’tis fatal to us all, far from our native seats,
To perish in victorious Troy. But rise, though it be late,
Deliver the afflicted Greeks from Troy’s tumultuous hate.
It will hereafter be thy grief, when no strength can suffice
To remedy th’ effected threats of our calamities;
Consider these affairs in time, while thou mayst use thy pow’r,
And have the grace to turn from Greece fate’s unrecover’d hour.
O friend, thou know’st thy royal sire forewarn’d what should be done,
That day he sent thee from his court, to honour Atreus’ son.
“My son,” said he, “the victory let Jove and Pallas use
At their high pleasures, but do thou no honour’d means refuse
That may advance her; in fit bounds contain thy mighty mind,
Nor let the knowledge of thy strength be factiously inclin’d,
Contriving mischiefs; be to fame and general good profess’d:
The more will all sorts honour thee; benignity is best.”
Thus charg’d thy sire, which thou forgett’st: yet now those thoughts appease
That torture thy great spirit with wrath; which if thou wilt surcease,
The king will merit it with gifts; and if thou wilt give ear,
I’ll tell how much he offers thee – yet thou sitt’st angry here.
Seven tripods that no fire must touch, twice ten pans fit for flame;
Ten talents of fine gold, twelve horse that ever overcame,