by Homer
As th’ only present of them all; and fitted well their hands,
Being lovely, radiant, marvellous. O would to heaven thy throne,
With these fair deities of the sea, thou still hadst sat upon,
And Peleus had a mortal wife, since by his means is done
So much wrong to thy grieved mind, my death being set so soon,
And never suff’ring my return to grace of Peleus’ court;
Nor do I wish it, nor to live in any man’s resort,
But only that the crying blood for vengeance of my friend,
Mangled by Hector, may be still’d, his foe’s death paying his end.’
She, weeping, said: ‘That hour is near, and thy death’s hour then nigh,
Which in thy wish, serv’d of thy foe, succeedeth instantly.’
‘And instantly it shall succeed,’ he answer’d, ‘since my fate
Allow’d not to my will a pow’r to rescue (ere the date
Of his late slaughter) my true friend. Far from his friends he died,
Whose wrong therein my eyes had light and right to see denied.
Yet now I neither light myself, nor have so spent my light,
That either this friend or the rest (in numbers infinite
Slaughter’d by Hector) I can help, nor grace with wish’d repair
To our dear country, but breathe here unprofitable air,
And only live a load to earth, with all my strength, though none
Of all the Grecians equal it. In counsel many a one
Is my superior. What I have no grace gets; what I want
Disgraceth all. How, then, too soon can hastiest death supplant
My fate-curst life? Her instrument to my indignity
Being that black fiend Contention, who would to god might die
To gods and men, and Anger too, that kindles tyranny
In men most wise, being much more sweet than liquid honey is
To men of pow’r, to satiate their watchful enmities;
And like a pliant fume it spreads through all their breasts, as late
It stole stern passage thorough mine, which he did instigate
That is our general. But the fact so long past, the effect
Must vanish with it, though both griev’d, nor must we still respect
Our soothed humours. Need now takes the rule of either’s mind.
And when the looser of my friend his death in me shall find,
Let death take all. Send him, ye gods, I’ll give him my embrace.
Not Hercules himself shunn’d death, though dearest in the grace
Of Jupiter; ev’n him Fate stoop’d, and Juno’s cruelty.
And if such fate expect my life, where death strikes, I will lie.
Meantime I wish a good renown, that these deep-breasted dames
Of Ilion and Dardania may for th’ extinguish’d flames
Of their friends’ lives with both their hands wipe miserable tears
From their so curiously kept cheeks, and be the officers
To execute my sighs on Troy, when (seeing my long retreat
But gather’d strength, and gives my charge an answerable heat)
They well may know ’twas I lay still, and that my being away
Presented all their happiness. But any further stay
(Which your much love perhaps may wish) assay not to persuade;
All vows are kept, all pray’rs heard, now free way for fight is made.’
The silver-footed dame replied: ‘It fits thee well, my son,
To keep destruction from thy friends; but those fair arms are won
And worn by Hector that should keep thyself in keeping them,
Though their fruition be but short, a long death being near him,
Whose cruel glory they are yet: by all means then forbear
To tread the massacres of war till I again appear
From Mulciber with fit new arms; which, when thy eye shall see
The sun next rise, shall enter here, with his first beams and me.’
Thus to her sisters of the sea she turn’d, and bade them ope
The doors and deeps of Nereus; she in Olympus’ top
Must visit Vulcan for new arms, to serve her wreakful son,
And bade inform her father so, with all things further done.
This said, they underwent the sea, herself flew up to heav’n;
In mean space, to the Hellespont and ships the Greeks were driv’n
In shameful rout; nor could they yet, from rage of Priam’s son,
Secure the dead of new assaults, both horse and men made on
With such impression: thrice the feet the hands of Hector seiz’d,
And thrice th’ Ajaces thump’d him off. With whose repulse displeas’d,
He wreak’d his wrath upon the troops, then to the corse again
Made horrid turnings, crying out of his repulsed men,
And would not quit him quite for death. A lion almost sterv’d
Is not by upland herdsmen driv’n from urging to be serv’d
With more contention than his strength, by those two of a name,
And had perhaps his much prais’d will, if th’ airy-footed dame
(Swift Iris) had not stoop’d in haste, ambassadress from heav’n
To Peleus’ son, to bid him arm, her message being giv’n
By Juno, kept from all the gods; she thus excited him:
‘Rise, thou most terrible of men, and save the precious limb
Of thy belov’d, in whose behalf the conflict now runs high
Before the fleet; the either host fells other mutually,
These to retain, those to obtain; amongst whom most of all
Is Hector prompt, he’s apt to drag thy friend home, he your pall
Will make his shoulders, his head forc’d; he’ll be most famous. Rise,
No more lie idle, set the foe a much more costly prize
Of thy friend’s value; then let dogs make him a monument
Where thy name will be grav’n.’ He ask’d, ‘What deity hath sent
Thy presence hither?’ She replied: ‘Saturnia; she alone,
Not high Jove knowing, nor one god that doth inhabit on
Snowy Olympus.’ He again: ‘How shall I set upon
The work of slaughter, when mine arms are worn by Priam’s son?
How will my goddess-mother grieve, that bade I should not arm
Till she brought arms from Mulciber? But should I do such harm
To her and duty, who is he (but Ajax) that can vaunt
The fitting my breast with his arms? And he is conversant
Amongst the first in use of his, and rampiers of the foe
(Slain near Patroclus) builds to him.’ ‘All this,’ said she, ‘we know,
And wish thou only wouldst but show thy person to the eyes
Of these hot Ilians, that (afraid of further enterprise)
The Greeks may gain some little breath.’ She woo’d, and he was won,
And straight Minerva honour’d him, who Jove’s shield clapp’d upon
His mighty shoulders, and his head girt with a cloud of gold,
That cast beams round about his brows. And as when arms enfold
A city in an isle, from thence a fume at first appears
(Being in the day), but when the even her cloudy forehead rears,
Thick show the fires, and up they cast their splendour, that men nigh,
Seeing their distress, perhaps may set ships out to their supply:
So (to show such aid) from his head a light rose, scaling heav’n,
An
d forth the wall he stept and stood, nor brake the precept giv’n
By his great mother (mix’d in fight), but sent abroad his voice,
Which Pallas far-off echoed; who did betwixt them hoise
Shrill tumult to a topless height. And as a voice is heard
With emulous affection, when any town is spher’d
With siege of such a foe as kills men’s minds, and for the town
Makes sound his trumpet: so the voice from Thetis’ issue thrown
Won emulously th’ ears of all. His brazen voice once heard,
The minds of all were startled so, they yielded, and so fear’d
The fair-man’d horses that they flew back, and their chariots turn’d,
Presaging in their augurous hearts the labours that they mourn’d
A little after, and their guides a repercussive dread
Took from the horrid radiance of his refulgent head,
Which Pallas set on fire with grace. Thrice great Achilles spake,
And thrice (in heat of all the charge) the Trojans started back:
Twelve men, of greatest strength in Troy, left with their lives exhal’d
Their chariots and their darts to death, with his three summons call’d.
And then the Grecians spritefully drew from the darts the corse,
And hearst it, bearing it to fleet, his friends, with all remorse,
Marching about it. His great friend, dissolving then in tears
To see his truly-lov’d return’d so hors’d upon a hearse,
Whom with such horse and chariot he set out safe and whole,
Now wounded with unpitying steel, now sent without a soul,
Never again to be restor’d, never receiv’d but so,
He follow’d mourning bitterly. The sun (yet far to go)
Juno commanded to go down, who in his pow’r’s despite
Sunk to the ocean, over earth dispersing sudden night.
And then the Greeks and Trojans both gave up their horse and darts.
The Trojans all to council call’d, ere they refresh’d their hearts
With any supper; nor would sit, they grew so stiff with fear
To see (so long from heavy fight) Aeacides appear.
Polydamas began to speak, who only could discern
Things future by things past, and was vow’d friend to Hector, born
In one night both. He thus advis’d: ‘Consider well, my friends,
In this so great and sudden change that now itself extends,
What change is best for us t’ oppose. To this stands my command:
Make now the town our strength; not here abide light’s rosy hand,
Our wall being far off, and our foe (much greater) still as near.
Till this foe came, I well was pleas’d to keep our watches here;
My fit hope of the fleet’s surprise inclin’d me so, but now
’Tis stronger guarded; and (their strength increas’d) we must allow
Our own proportionate amends. I doubt exceedingly
That this indifference of fight ’twixt us and th’ enemy,
And these bounds we prefix to them, will nothing so confine
Th’ uncurb’d mind of Aeacides. The height of his design
Aims at our city, and our wives, and all bars in his way
(Being back’d with less than walls) his pow’r will scorn to make his stay,
And over-run, as over-seen, and not his object. Then
Let Troy be freely our retreat, lest being enforc’d, our men
’Twixt this and that be taken up by vultures, who by night
May safe come off, it being a time untimely for his might
To spend at random. That being sure, if next light show us here
To his assaults, each man will wish that Troy his refuge were,
And then feel what he hears not now. I would to heaven mine ear
Were free even now of those complaints that you must after hear,
If ye remove not. If ye yield (though wearied with a fight)
So late and long, we shall have strength in counsel and the night.
And (where we here have no more force than need will force us to,
And which must rise out of our nerves) high ports, tow’rs, walls will do
What wants in us. And in the morn, all arm’d upon our tow’rs,
We all will stand out to our foe. Twill trouble all his pow’rs
To come from fleet and give us charge, when his high-crested horse
His rage shall satiate with the toil of this and that way’s course,
Vain entry seeking underneath our well-defended walls,
And he be glad to turn to fleet, about his funerals.
For of his entry here at home, what mind will serve his thirst,
Or ever feed him with sack’d Troy? The dogs shall eat him first.’
At this speech Hector bent his brows, and said, ‘This makes not great
Your grace with me, Polydamas, that argue for retreat
To Troy’s old prison; have we not enough of those tow’rs yet?
And is not Troy yet charg’d enough with impositions set
Upon her citizens to keep our men from spoil without,
But still we must impose within? That houses with our rout,
As well as purses, may be plagued? Before time, Priam’s town
Traffick’d with divers-languag’d men, and all gave the renown
Of rich Troy to it, brass and gold abounding: but her store
Is now from every house exhaust, possessions evermore
Are sold out into Phrygia, and lovely Maeonie,
And have been ever since Jove’s wrath. And now his clemency
Gives me the mean to quit our want with glory, and conclude
The Greeks in sea-bords and our seas, or slack it, and extrude
His offer’d bounty by our flight. Fool that thou art, bewray
This counsel to no common ear, for no man shall obey.
If any will, I’ll check his will. But what our self command,
Let all observe: take suppers all, keep watch of every hand.
If any Trojan have some spoil that takes his too much care,
Make him dispose it publicly; ’tis better any fare
The better for him than the Greeks. When light then decks the skies,
Let all arm for a fierce assault. If great Achilles rise,
And will enforce our greater toil, it may rise so to him;
On my back he shall find no wings, my spirit shall force my limb
To stand his worst, and give or take; Mars is our common lord,
And the desirous swordman’s life he ever puts to sword.’
This counsel gat applause of all, so much were all unwise.
Minerva robb’d them of their brains, to like the ill advice
The great man gave, and leave the good, since by the meaner given.
All took their suppers, but the Greeks spent all the heavy even
About Patroclus’ mournful rites, Pelides leading all
In all the forms of heaviness: he by his side did fall,
And his man-slaughtering hands impos’d into his oft-kiss’d breast;
Sighs blew up sighs, and lion-like, grac’d with a goodly crest,
That in his absence being robb’d by hunters of his whelps,
Returns to his so desolate den, and for his wanted helps
Beholding his unlook’d-for wants, flies roaring back again,
Hunts the sly hunter, many a vale resounding his disdain:
So mourn’d Pelides his late loss; so weighty were his
moans
Which (for their dumb sounds) now gave words to all his Myrmidons:
‘O gods,’ said he, ‘how vain a vow I made to cheer the mind
Of sad Menoetius, when his son his hand to mine resign’d,
That high tower’d Opus he should see, and leave rac’t Ilion
With spoil and honour, ev’n with me! But Jove vouchsafes to none
Wish’d passages to all his vows; we both were destinate
To bloody one earth here in Troy, nor any more estate
In my return hath Peleus or Thetis; but because
I last must undergo the ground, I’ll keep no funeral laws
(O my Patroclus) for thy corse, before I hither bring
The arms of Hector and his head to thee for offering.
Twelve youths, the most renown’d of Troy, I’ll sacrifice beside,
Before thy heap of funeral, to thee unpacified.
In mean time, by our crooked sterns lie, drawing tears from me,
And round about thy honour’d corse these dames of Dardanie
And Ilion with the ample breasts (whom our long spears and pow’rs
And labours purchas’d from the rich, and by-us-ruin’d tow’rs,
And cities strong and populous with divers-languag’d men)
Shall kneel, and neither day nor night be licens’d to abstain
From solemn watches, their toil’d eyes held ope with endless tears.’
This passion past, he gave command to his near soldiers
To put a tripod to the fire, to cleanse the fester’d gore
From off the person. They obey’d, and presently did pour
Fresh water in it, kindled wood, and with an instant flame
The belly of the tripod girt, till fire’s hot quality came
Up to the water. Then they wash’d and fill’d the mortal wound
With wealthy oil of nine years old; then wrapp’d the body round
In largeness of a fine white sheet, and put it then in bed,
When all watch’d all night with their lord, and spent sighs on the dead.
Then Jove ask’d Juno, if at length she had suffic’d her spleen,
Achilles being won to arms? Or if she had not been
The natural mother of the Greeks, she did so still prefer
Their quarrel? She incens’d, ask’d why he still was taunting her
For doing good to those she lov’d, since man to man might show
Kind offices, though thrall to death, and though they did not know