by Homer
Rent by the roots trees fresh adorn’d with fragrant apple flow’rs:
Which Meleager (Oeneus’ son) slew with assembled pow’rs
Of hunters, and of fiercest hounds from many cities brought:
For such he was that with few lives his death could not be bought.
Heaps of dead humans, by his rage, the funeral piles applied.
Yet, slain at last, the goddess stirr’d about his head and hide
A wondrous tumult, and a war betwixt the Curets wrought
And brave Aetolians. All the while fierce Meleager fought,
Ill far’d the Curets: near the walls none durst advance his crest,
Though they were many; but when wrath inflam’d his haughty breast
(Which oft the firm mind of the wise with passion doth infest),
Since ’twixt his mother queen and him arose a deadly strife,
He left the court, and privately liv’d with his lawful wife –
Fair Cleopatra, female birth of bright Marpissa’s pain
And of Idaeus, who of all terrestrial men did reign
At that time king of fortitude; and for Marpissa’s sake,
’Gainst wanton Phoebus, king of flames, his bow in hand did take,
Since he had ravish’d her, his joy; whom her friends after gave
The surname of Alcyone, because they could not save
Their daughter from Alcyone’s fate. In Cleopatra’s arms
Lay Meleager, feeding on his anger, for the harms
His mother pray’d might fall on him; who for her brother slain
By Meleager, griev’d and pray’d the gods to wreak her pain,
With all the horror could be pour’d upon her furious birth.
Still knock’d she with her impious hands the many-feeding earth,
To urge stern Pluto and his queen t’incline their vengeful ears,
Fell on her knees, and all her breast dew’d with her fiery tears,
To make them massacre her son, whose wrath enrag’d her thus:
Erynnis, wand’ring through the air, heard, out of Erebus,
Pray’rs fit for her unpleased mind. Yet Meleager lay
Obscur’d in fury; then the bruit of the tumultuous fray
Rung through the turrets as they scal’d; then came the Aetolian peers
To Meleager with low suits, to rise and free their fears:
Then sent they the chief priests of gods, with offer’d gifts t’ atone
His differing fury; bade him choose in sweet-soil’d Calydon,
Of the most fat and yieldy soil, what with an hundred steers
Might in an hundred days be plough’d – half that rich vintage bears,
And half of naked earth to plough: yet yielded not his ire.
Then to his lofty chamber-door ascends his royal sire,
With ruthful plaints, shook the strong bars: then came his sisters’ cries,
His mother then, and all intreat – yet still more stiff he lies.
His friends, most rev’rend, most esteem’d – yet none impression took,
Till the high turrets where he lay, and his strong chamber, shook
With the invading enemy, who now forc’d dreadful way
Along the city; then his wife, in pitiful dismay,
Besought him, weeping, telling him the miseries sustain’d
By all the citizens, whose town the enemy had gain’d:
Men slaughter’d, children bondslaves made, sweet ladies forc’d with lust,
Fires climbing tow’rs, and turning them to heaps of fruitless dust.
These dangers soft’ned his steel heart; up the stout prince arose,
Indu’d his body with rich arms, and freed th’ Aetolians’ woes,
His smother’d anger giving air, which gifts did not assuage,
But his own peril. And because he did not disengage
Their lives for gifts, their gifts he lost. But for my sake, dear friend,
Be not thou bent to see our plights to these extremes descend,
Ere thou assist us; be not so by thy ill angel turn’d
From thine own honour: it were shame to see our navy burn’d,
And then come with thy timeless aid. For offer’d presents come,
And all the Greeks will honour thee, as of celestial room:
But if without these gifts thou fight, forc’d by thy private woe,
Thou wilt be nothing so renown’d, though thou repel the foe.’
Achilles answer’d the last part of his oration thus:
‘Phoenix, renown’d and reverend, the honours urg’d on us
We need not: Jove doth honour me, and to my safety sees,
And will whiles I retain a spirit, or can command my knees.
Then do not thou with tears and woes impassion my affects,
Becoming gracious to my foe: nor fits it the respects
Of thy vow’d love, to honour him that hath dishonour’d me,
Lest such loose kindness lose his heart that yet is firm to thee.
It were thy praise to hurt with me the hurter of my state,
Since half my honour and my realm thou mayst participate.
Let these lords then return th’ event, and do thou here repose;
And when dark sleep breaks with the day, our counsels shall disclose
The course of our return or stay.’ This said, he with his eye
Made to his friend a covert sign, to hasten instantly
A good soft bed, that the old prince, soon as the peers were gone,
Might take his rest. When, soldier-like, brave Ajax Telamon
Spake to Ulysses, as with thought Achilles was not worth
The high direction of his speech, that stood so sternly forth,
Unmov’d with th’ other orators; and spake, not to appease
Pelides’ wrath, but to depart. His arguments were these:
‘High-issued Laertiades, let us insist no more
On his persuasion; I perceive the world would end before
Our speeches end in this affair: we must with utmost haste
Return his answer, though but bad: the peers are elsewhere plac’d,
And will not rise till we return. Great Thetis’ son hath stor’d
Proud wrath within him, as his wealth, and will not be implor’d,
Rude that he is; nor his friends’ love respects, do what they can –
Wherein past all we honour’d him. O unremorseful man!
Another for his brother slain, another for his son,
Accepts of satisfaction; and he the deed hath done
Lives in belov’d society long after his amends,
To which his foe’s high heart, for gifts, with patience condescends:
But thee a wild and cruel spirit the gods for plague have giv’n –
And for one girl, of whose fair sex we come to offer sev’n,
The most exempt for excellence, and many a better prize.
Then put a sweet mind in thy breast, respect thy own allies,
Though others make thee not remiss: a multitude we are,
Sprung of thy royal family, and our supremest care
Is to be most familiar, and hold most love with thee
Of all the Greeks, how great an host soever here there be.’
He answer’d: ‘Noble Telamon, prince of our soldiers here,
Out of thy heart I know thou speak’st, and as thou hold’st me dear:
But still as often as I think how rudely I was us’d,
And like a stranger, for all rites fit for our good refus’d,
My heart doth swell against the man t
hat durst be so profane
To violate his sacred place; not for my private bane,
But since wrack’d virtue’s general laws he shameless did infringe,
For whose sake I will loose the reins, and give mine anger swinge,
Without my wisdom’s least impeach. He is a fool, and base,
That pities vice-plagu’d minds, when pain, not love of right, gives place.
And therefore tell your king, my lords, my just wrath will not care
For all his cares, before my tents and navy charged are
By warlike Hector, making way through flocks of Grecian lives,
Enlight’ned by their naval fire: but when his rage arrives
About my tent, and sable bark, I doubt not but to shield
Them and myself, and make him fly the there-strong-bounded field.’
This said, each one but kiss’d the cup, and to the ships retir’d,
Ulysses first. Patroclus then the men and maids requir’d
To make grave Phoenix’ bed with speed, and see he nothing lacks.
They straight obey’d, and thereon laid the subtile fruit of flax,
And warm sheep-fells for covering: and there the old man slept,
Attending till the golden Morn her usual station kept.
Achilles lay in th’ inner room of his tent richly wrought,
And that fair lady by his side that he from Lesbos brought,
Bright Diomeda, Phorbas’ seed. Patroclus did embrace
The beauteous Iphis, given to him when his bold friend did raze
The lofty Syrus, that was kept in Enyeius’ hold.
Now at the tent of Atreus’ son, each man with cups of gold
Receiv’d th’ ambassadors return’d; all cluster’d near to know
What news they brought, which first the king would have Ulysses show:
‘Say, most praiseworthy Ithacus, the Grecians’ great renown,
Will he defend us? Or not yet will his proud stomach down?’
Ulysses made reply: ‘Not yet will he appeased be,
But grows more wrathful, prizing light thy offer’d gifts and thee;
And wills thee to consult with us, and take some other course
To save our army and our fleet; and says, with all his force,
The morn shall light him on his way to Phthia’s wished soil,
For never shall high-seated Troy be sack’d with all our toil:
Jove holds his hand ’twixt us and it, the soldiers gather heart.’
Thus he replies, which Ajax here can equally impart,
And both these heralds. Phoenix stays, for so was his desire,
To go with him, if he thought good; if not, he might retire.’
All wond’red he should be so stern; at last bold Diomed spake:
‘Would god, Atrides, thy request were yet to undertake,
And all thy gifts unoffer’d him; he’s proud enough beside,
But this ambassage thou hast sent will make him burst with pride.
But let us suffer him to stay or go at his desire,
Fight when his stomach serves him best, or when Jove shall inspire.
Meanwhile our watch being strongly held, let us a little rest
After our food: strength lives by both, and virtue is their guest.
Then when the rosy-finger’d Morn holds out her silver light,
Bring forth thy host, encourage all, and be thou first in fight.’
The kings admir’d the fortitude that so divinely mov’d
The skilful horseman Diomed, and his advice approv’d.
Then with their nightly sacrifice each took his several tent,
Where all receiv’d the sov’reign gifts soft Somnus did present.
The end of the ninth book
Book 10
The Argument
Th’ Atrides watching, wake the other peers:
And (in the fort, consulting of their fears)
Two kings they send, most stout, and honour’d most,
For royal scouts, into the Trojan host:
Who meeting Dolon (Hector’s bribed spy)
Take him, and learn how all the quarters lie.
He told them, in the Thracian regiment,
Of rich king Rhesus and his royal tent,
Striving for safety; but they end his strife,
And rid poor Dolon of a dangerous life.
Then with digressive wiles, they use their force
On Rhesus’ life, and take his snowy horse.
Another Argument
Kappa the night exploits applies:
Rhesus’ and Dolon’s tragedies.
Book 10
The other princes at their ships soft-finger’d Sleep did bind,
But not the general; Somnus’ silks bound not his labouring mind,
That turn’d, and return’d, many thoughts. And as quick lightnings fly
From well-deck’d Juno’s sovereign, out of the thick’ned sky,
Preparing some exceeding rain, or hail, the fruit of cold,
Or down-like snow, that suddenly makes all the fields look old,
Or opes the gulfy mouth of war, with his ensulphur’d hand
In dazzling flashes, pour’d from clouds, on any punish’d land:
So from Atrides’ troubled heart, through his dark sorrows, flew
Redoubled sighs; his entrails shook, as often as his view
Admir’d the multitude of fires that gilt the Phrygian shade,
And heard the sounds of fifes and shawms, and tumults soldiers made.
But when he saw his fleet and host kneel to his care and love,
He rent his hair up by the roots, as sacrifice to Jove,
Burnt in his fiery sighs, still breath’d out of his royal heart,
And first thought good to Nestor’s care his sorrows to impart,
To try if royal diligence, with his approv’d advice,
Might fashion counsels to prevent their threat’ned miseries.
So up he rose, attir’d himself, and to his strong feet tied
Rich shoes, and cast upon his back a ruddy lion’s hide,
So ample, it his ankles reach’d: then took his royal spear.
Like him was Menelaus pierc’d with an industrious fear,
Nor sat sweet slumber on his eyes, lest bitter fates should quite
The Greeks’ high favours, that for him resolv’d such endless fight.
And first a freckled panther’s hide hid his broad back athwart;
His head his brazen helm did arm, his able hand his dart;
Then made he all his haste to raise his brother’s head as rare,
That he who most excell’d in rule might help t’ effect his care.
He found him at his ship’s crook’d stern, adorning him with arms,
Who joy’d to see his brother’s spirits awak’d without alarms,
Well weighing th’ importance of the time. And first the younger spake:
‘Why, brother, are ye arming thus? Is it to undertake
The sending of some vent’rous Greek t’ explore the foe’s intent?
Alas! I greatly fear, not one will give that work consent,
Expos’d alone to all the fears that flow in gloomy night:
He that doth this must know death well, in which ends every fright.’
‘Brother,’ said he, ‘in these affairs we both must use advice;
Jove is against us, and accepts great Hector’s sacrifice,
For I have never seen nor heard, in one day, and by one,
So many high attempts well urg’d, as Hector’s pow’r hath done
> Against the hapless sons of Greece, being chiefly dear to Jove –
And without cause, being neither fruit of any goddess’ love,
Nor helpful god: and yet I fear the deepness of his hand,
Ere it be ’ras’d out of our thoughts, will many years withstand.
But, brother, hie thee to thy ships, and Idomen dis-ease
With warlike Ajax: I will haste to grave Neleides,
Exhorting him to rise, and give the sacred watch command,
For they will specially embrace incitement at his hand;
And now his son their captain is, and Idomen’s good friend
Bold Merion, to whose discharge we did that charge commend.’
‘Command’st thou then,’ his brother ask’d, ‘that I shall tarry here
Attending thy resolv’d approach, or else the message bear,
And quickly make return to thee?’ He answer’d: ‘Rather stay,
Lest otherwise we fail to meet: for many a different way
Lies through our labyrinthian host; speak ever as you go,
Command strong watch, from sire to son, urge all t’ observe the foe,
Familiarly, and with their praise, exciting every eye,
Not with unseason’d violence of proud authority:
We must our patience exercise, and work ourselves with them,
,Jove in our births combin’d such care to either’s diadem.’
Thus he dismiss’d him, knowing well his charge, before he went
Himself to Nestor, whom he found in bed within his tent:
By him his damask curets hung, his shield, a pair of darts,
His shining casque, his arming waist: in these he led the hearts
Of his apt soldiers to sharp war, not yielding to his years.
He quickly started from his bed, when to his watchful ears
Untimely feet told some approach: he took his lance in hand,
And spake to him: ‘Ho, what art thou that walk’st at midnight? Stand.
Is any wanting at the guards? Or lack’st thou any peer?
Speak, come not silent towards me, say what intend’st thou here.’
He answer’d, ‘O Neleides, grave honour of our host,
’Tis Agamemnon thou mayst know, whom Jove afflicteth most
Of all the wretched men that live, and will, whilst any breath
Gives motion to my toiled limbs, and bears me up from death.
I walk the round thus, since sweet sleep cannot inclose mine eyes,