The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

by Homer

  Where all the nervy flyers meet, and ligaments in one,

  That make the motion of those parts; through which he did convey

  The thong or bawdric of his shield, and so was drawing away

  All thanks from Hector and his friends; but in their stead he drew

  An ill that no man could avert: for Telamonius threw

  A lance that struck quite through his helm; his brain came leaping out.

  Down fell Letheides, and with him the body’s hoisted foot.

  Far from Larissa’s soil he fell, a little time allow’d

  To his industrious spirits, to quit the benefits bestow’d

  By his kind parents. But his wreak Priamides assay’d,

  And threw at Ajax; but his dart (discover’d) pass’d, and stay’d

  At Schedius, son of Iphitus, a man of ablest hand

  Of all the strong Phocensians, and liv’d with great command,

  In Fanopaeus. The fell dart fell through his channel-bone,

  Pierc’d through his shoulder’s upper part, and set his spirit gone.

  When (after his) another flew, the same hand giving wing

  To martial Phorcis’ startled soul, that was the after spring

  Of Phaenops’ seed: the javelin struck his curets through, and tore

  The bowels from the belly’s midst. His fall made those before

  Give back a little, Hector’s self enforc’d to turn his face.

  And then the Greeks bestow’d their shouts, took vantage of the chace,

  Drew off, and spoil’d Hippothous and Phorcis of their arms.

  And then ascended Ilion had shaken with alarms

  (Discovering th’ impotence of Troy) ev’n past the will of Jove,

  And by the proper force of Greece, had Phoebus fail’d to move

  Aeneas, in similitude of Periphas (the son

  Of grave Epytes) king at arms, and had good service done

  To old Anchises, being wise, and ev’n with him in years.

  But (like this man) the far-seen god to Venus’ son appears,

  And ask’d him how he would maintain steep Ilion in her height,

  In spite of gods (as he presum’d), when men approv’d so slight

  All his presumptions, and all theirs, that puff’d him with that pride,

  Believing in their proper strengths, and generally supplied

  With such unfrighted multitudes? But he well knew that Jove

  (Besides their self-conceits) sustain’d their forces with more love

  Than theirs of Greece, and yet all that lack’d power to hearten them.

  Aeneas knew the god, and said, it was a shame extreme

  That those of Greece should beat them so, and by their cowardice,

  Not want of man’s aid, nor the gods’, and this (before his eyes)

  A deity stood, ev’n now, and vouch’d, affirming Jove their aid.

  And so bade Hector and the rest (to whom all this he said)

  Turn head, and not in that quick ease part with the corse to Greece.

  This said, before them all he flew, and all (as of a piece)

  Against the Greeks flew. Venus’ son Leocritus did end,

  Son of Arisbas, and had place of Lycomedes’ friend,

  Whose fall he friendly pitied: and in revenge, bestow’d

  A lance that Apisaon struck so sore that straight he strow’d

  The dusty centre, and did stick in that congealed blood

  That forms the liver. Second man he was to all that stood

  In name for arms amongst the troop that from Paeonia came,

  Asteropaeus being the first: who was in ruth the same

  That Lycomedes was; like whom, he put forth for the wreak

  Of his slain friend, but wrought it not, because he could not break

  That bulwark made of Grecian shields and bristled wood of spears

  Combin’d about the body slain. Amongst whom Ajax bears

  The greatest labour, every way exhorting to abide,

  And no man fly the corse afoot, nor break their ranks in pride

  Of any foremost daring spirit, but each foot hold his stand,

  And use the closest fight they could. And this was the command

  Of mighty Ajax: which observ’d, they steep’d the earth in blood.

  The Trojans and their friends fell thick. Nor all the Grecians stood –

  Though far the fewer suffer’d fate, for ever they had care

  To shun confusion, and the toil that still oppresseth there.

  So set they all the field on fire; with which you would have thought

  The sun and moon had been put out, in such a smoke they fought

  About the person of the prince. But all the field beside

  Fought underneath a lightsome heaven: the sun was in his pride,

  And such expansure of his beams he thrust out of his throne

  That not a vapour durst appear in all that region –

  No, not upon the highest hill: there fought they still and breath’d,

  Shunn’d danger, cast their darts aloof, and not a sword unsheath’d.

  The other plied it, and the war and night plied them as well,

  The cruel steel afflicting all; the strongest did not dwell

  Unhurt within their iron roofs. Two men of special name,

  Antilochus and Thrasimed, were yet unserv’d by fame

  With notice of Patroclus’ death: they thought him still alive,

  In foremost tumult – and might well: for (seeing their fellows thrive

  In no more comfortable sort than fight and death would yield)

  They fought apart; for so their sire, old Nestor, strictly will’d,

  Enjoining fight more from the fleet. War here increas’d his heat

  The whole day long; continually the labour and the sweat

  The knees, calves, feet, hands, faces, smear’d, of men that Mars applied

  About the good Achilles’ friend. And as a huge ox-hide

  A currier gives amongst his men, to supple and extend

  With oil till it be drunk withall; they tug, stretch out, and spend

  Their oil and liquor liberally, and chafe the leather so

  That out they make a vapour breathe, and in their oil doth go;

  A number of them set on work, and in an orb they pull,

  That all ways all parts of the hide they may extend at full:

  So here and there did both parts hale the corse in little place,

  And wrought it always with their sweat; the Trojans hop’d for grace

  To make it reach for Ilion, the Grecians to their fleet.

  A cruel tumult they stirr’d up, and such as, should Mars see ’t

  (That horrid hurrier of men), or she that betters him,

  Minerva, never so incens’d, they could not disesteem.

  So baneful a contention did Jove that day extend

  Of men and horse about the slain. Of whom his god-like friend

  Had no instruction. So far off, and underneath the wall

  Of Troy, that conflict was maintain’d: which was not thought at all

  By great Achilles, since he charg’d, that having set his foot

  Upon the ports, he would retire; well knowing Troy no boot

  For his assaults without himself, since not by him, as well

  He knew, it was to be subdu’d. His mother oft would tell

  The mind of mighty Jove therein, oft hearing it in heav’n.

  But of that great ill to his friend was no instruction giv’n

  By careful Thetis: by degrees must ill events be known.


  The foes cleft one to other still about the overthrown.

  His death with death infected both. Ev’n private Greeks would say

  Either to other: ‘Twere a shame for us to go our way,

  And let the Trojans bear to Troy the praise of such a prize:

  Which let the black earth gasp and drink our blood for sacrifice

  Before we suffer: ’tis an act much less infortunate.’

  And then would those of Troy resolve: ‘Though certainly our fate

  Will fell us all together here, of all not turn a face.’

  Thus either side his fellow’s strength excited past his place,

  And thus through all th’ unfruitful air an iron sound ascended

  Up to the golden firmament, when strange effects contended

  In these immortal heav’n-bred horse of great Aeacides;

  Whom (once remov’d from forth the fight) a sudden sense did seize

  Of good Patroclus’ death, whose hands they oft had undergone,

  And bitterly they wept for him: nor could Automedon

  With any manage make them stir; oft use the scourge to them,

  Oft use his fairest speech, as oft threats never so extreme,

  They neither to the Hellespont would bear him, nor the fight:

  But still as any tombstone lays his never-stirred weight

  On some good man or woman’s grave for rites of funeral,

  So unremoved stood these steeds, their heads to earth let fall,

  And warm tears gushing from their eyes, with passionate desire

  Of their kind manager; their manes, that flourish’d with the fire

  Of endless youth allotted them, fell through the yoky sphere,

  Ruthfully ruffled and defil’d. Jove saw their heavy cheer,

  And (pitying them) spake to his mind: ‘Poor wretched beasts,’ said he,

  ‘Why gave we you t’ a mortal king, when immortality

  And incapacity of age so dignifies your states?

  Was it to taste the miseries pour’d out on humans fates?

  Of all the miserablest things that breathe and creep on earth,

  No one more wretched is than man. And for your deathless birth

  Hector must fail to make you prize: is ’t not enough he wears

  And glories vainly in those arms? Your chariots and rich gears

  (Besides you) are too much for him. Your knees and spirits again

  My care of you shall fill with strength, that so ye may sustain

  Automedon, and bear him off. To Troy I still will give

  The grace of slaughter, till at fleet their bloody feet arrive,

  Till Phoebus drink the western sea, and sacred darkness throws

  Her sable mantle ’twixt their points.’ Thus in the steeds he blows

  Excessive spirit, and through the Greeks and Ilians they rapt

  The whirring chariot, shaking off the crumbled centre, wrapt

  Amongst their tresses: and with them, Automedon let fly

  Amongst the Trojans, making way through all as frightfully

  As through a jangling flock of geese a lordly vulture beats,

  Giv’n way with shrieks by every goose that comes but near his threats:

  With such state fled he through the press, pursuing as he fled,

  But made no slaughter – nor he could, alone being carried

  Upon the sacred chariot. How could he both works do,

  Direct his javelin and command his fiery horses too?

  At length he came where he beheld his friend Alcimedon,

  That was the good Laercius’ (the son of Aemon’s) son,

  Who close came to his chariot side, and ask’d, ‘What god is he

  That hath so robb’d thee of thy soul, to run thus franticly

  Amongst these forefights, being alone, thy fighter being slain,

  And Hector glorying in his arms?’ He gave these words again:

  ‘Alcimedon, what man is he, of all the Argive race,

  So able as thy self to keep in use of press and pace

  These deathless horse, himself being gone that like the gods had th’ art

  Of their high manage? Therefore take to thy command his part,

  And ease me of the double charge which thou hast blam’d with right.’

  He took the scourge and reins in hand, Automedon the fight:

  Which Hector seeing, instantly (Aeneas standing near)

  He told him, he discern’d the horse that mere immortal were,

  Address’d to fight with coward guides, and therefore hop’d to make

  A rich prize of them, if his mind would help to undertake,

  For these two could not stand their charge. He granted, and both cast

  Dry solid hides upon their necks, exceeding soundly brast;

  And forth thy went, associate with two more god-like men,

  Aretus and bold Chronius, nor made they question then

  To prize the goodly-crested horse, and safely send to hell

  The souls of both their guardians: O fools, that could not tell

  They could not work out their return from fierce Automedon

  Without the liberal cost of blood; who first made orison

  To father Jove, and then was fill’d with fortitude and strength,

  When (counselling Alcimedon to keep at no great length

  The horse from him, but let them breathe upon his back, because

  He saw th’ advance that Hector made, whose fury had no laws

  Propos’d to it, but both their lives, and those horse made his prize –

  Or his life theirs – he call’d to friend these well-approv’d supplies,

  Th’ Ajaces and the Spartan king, and said: ‘Come, princes, leave

  A sure guard with the corse, and then to your kind care receive

  Our threaten’d safeties; I discern the two chief props of Troy

  Prepar’d against us: but herein, what best men can enjoy

  Lies in the free knees of the gods; my dart shall lead ye all.

  The sequel to the care of Jove I leave, whatever fall.’

  All this spake good Automedon; then, brandishing his lance,

  He threw, and struck Aretus’ shield, that gave it enterance

  Through all the steel, and (by his belt) his belly’s inmost part

  It pierc’d, and all his trembling limbs gave life up to his dart.

  Then Hector at Automedon a blazing lance let fly,

  Whose flight he saw, and falling flat, the compass was too high,

  And made it stick beyond in earth, th’ extreme part burst, and there

  Mars buried all his violence. The sword then for the spear

  Had chang’d the conflict, had not haste sent both th’ Ajaces in

  (Both serving close their fellow’s call) who, where they did begin,

  There drew the end: Priamides, Aeneas, Chronius

  (In doubt of what such aid might work) left broken-hearted thus

  Aretus to Automedon, who spoil’d his arms, and said:

  ‘A little this revives my life, for him so lately dead

  (Though by this nothing countervail’d)’; and with his little vent

  Of inward grief, he took the spoil, with which he made ascent

  Up to his chariot, hands and feet of bloody stains so full,

  That lion-like he look’d, new turn’d from tearing up a bull.

  And now another bitter fight about Patroclus grew,

  Tear-thirsty, and of toil enough, which Pallas did renew,

  Descending from the cope of stars, dismiss’d by sharp-ey’d Jove,

>   To animate the Greeks; for now inconstant change did move

  His mind from what he held of late: and as the purple bow

  Jove bends at mortals, when of war he will the signal show,

  Or make it a presage of cold, in such tempestuous sort,

  That men are of their labours eas’d, but labouring cattle hurt:

  So Pallas in a purple cloud involv’d herself, and went

  Amongst the Grecians; stirr’d up all, but first encouragement

  She breath’d in Atreus’ younger son, and (for disguise) made choice

  Of aged Phoenix’ shape, and spake with his unwearied voice:

  ‘O Menelaus, much defame and equal heaviness

  Will touch at thee, if this true friend of great Aeacides

  Dogs tear beneath the Trojan walls; and therefore bear thee well,

  Toil through the host, and every man with all thy spirit impel.’

  He answer’d: ‘O thou long-since born! O Phoenix, that hast won

  The honour’d foster-father’s name of Thetis’ god-like son!

  I would Minerva would but give strength to me, and but keep

  These busy darts off, I would then make in indeed, and steep

  My income in their bloods, in aid of good Patroclus; much

  His death afflicts me, much: but yet this Hector’s grace is such

  With Jove, and such a fiery strength and spirit he has, that still

  His steel is killing, killing still.’ The king’s so royal will

  Minerva joy’d to hear, since she did all the gods outgo

  In his remembrance. For which grace she kindly did bestow

  Strength on his shoulders, and did fill his knees as liberally

  With swiftness, breathing in his breast the courage of a fly,

  Which loves to bite so, and doth bear man’s blood so much good will,

  That still (though beaten from a man) she flies upon him still:

  With such a courage Pallas fill’d the black parts near his heart;

  And then he hasted to the slain, cast off a shining dart,

  And took one Podes, that was heir to old Eëtion,

  A rich man, and a strenuous, and by the people done

  Much honour – and by Hector too, being consort, and his guest;

  And him the yellow-headed king laid hold on at his waist,

  In offering flight. His iron pile struck through him, down he fell,

  And up Atrides drew his corse. Then Phoebus did impel