The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature)

by Homer

  Wise Vulcan’s unresisted spirit. The flood out of a flame

  Cried to him: ‘Cease, O Mulciber, no deity can tame

  Thy matchless virtue: nor would I (since thou art thus hot) strive:

  Cease then thy strife; let Thetis’ son, with all thy wish’d haste, drive

  Ev’n to their gates these Ilians: what toucheth me their aid,

  Or this contention?’ Thus in flames the burning river pray’d:

  And as a cauldron, underput with store of fire, and wrought

  With boiling of a well-fed brawn, up leaps his wave aloft,

  Bavins of sere wood urging it, and spending flames apace,

  Till all the cauldron be engirt with a consuming blaze:

  So round this flood burn’d, and so sod his sweet and tortur’d streams,

  Nor could flow forth, bound in the fumes of Vulcan’s fiery beams.

  Who (then not mov’d) his mother’s ruth by all his means he craves,

  And ask’d, why Vulcan should invade and so torment his waves

  Past other floods, when his offence rose not to such degree

  As that of other gods for Troy, and that himself would free

  Her wrath to it, if she were pleas’d; and pray’d her, that her son

  Might be reflected, adding this, that he would ne’er be won

  To help keep off the ruinous day in which all Troy should burn,

  Fir’d by the Grecians. This vow heard, she charg’d her son to turn

  His fiery spirits to their homes, and said it was not fit

  A god should suffer so for men. Then Vulcan did remit

  His so unmeasur’d violence, and back the pleasant flood

  Ran to his channel. Thus these gods she made friends, th’ others stood

  At weighty diff’rence; both sides ran together with a sound

  That earth resounded, and great heav’n about did surrebound.

  Jove heard it, sitting on his hill, and laugh’d to see the gods

  Buckle to arms like angry men; and (he pleas’d with their odds)

  They laid it freely. Of them all, thump-buckler Mars began,

  And at Minerva with a lance of brass he headlong ran,

  These vile words ushering his blows: ‘Thou dog-fly, what’s the cause

  Thou mak’st gods fight thus? Thy huge heart breaks all our peaceful laws

  With thy insatiate shamelessness. Rememb’rest thou the hour

  When Diomed charg’d me – and by thee – and thou with all thy pow’r

  Took’st lance thyself, and in all sights rush’d on me with a wound?

  Now vengeance falls on thee for all.’ This said, the shield fring’d round

  With fighting adders, borne by Jove, that not to thunder yields,

  He clapt his lance on, and this god that with the blood of fields

  Pollutes his godhead, that shield pierc’d, and hurt the armed Maid:

  But back she leapt, and with her strong hand rapt a huge stone laid

  Above the champaign, black and sharp, that did in old time break

  Partitions to men’s lands; and that she dusted in the neck

  Of that impetuous challenger. Down to the earth he sway’d,

  And overlaid seven acres land: his hair was all beray’d

  With dust and blood mix’d, and his arms rung out. Minerva laugh’d,

  And thus insulted: ‘O thou fool, yet hast thou not been taught

  To know mine eminence? Thy strength opposest thou to mine?

  So pay thy mother’s furies then; who for these aids of thine

  (Ever afforded perjur’d Troy, Greece ever left) takes spleen

  And vows thee mischief.’ Thus she turn’d her blue eyes, when love’s queen

  The hand of Mars took, and from earth rais’d him with thick-drawn breath,

  His spirits not yet got up again. But from the press of death

  Kind Aphrodite was his guide. Which Juno seeing, exclaim’d:

  ‘Pallas, see, Mars is help’d from field! “Dog-fly” his rude tongue nam’d

  Thyself even now, but that his love, that dog-fly, will not leave

  Her old consort. Upon her fly.’ Minerva did receive

  This excitation joyfully, and at the Cyprian flew,

  Struck with her hard hand her soft breast, a blow that overthrew

  Both her and Mars, and there both lay together in broad field;

  When thus she triumph’d. ‘So lie all that any succours yield

  To these false Trojans ’gainst the Greeks so bold and patient,

  As Venus (shunning charge of me); and no less impotent

  Be all their aids than hers to Mars, so short work would be made

  In our depopulating Troy (this hardiest to invade

  Of all earth’s cities).’ At this wish white-wristed Juno smil’d.

  Next Neptune and Apollo stood upon the point of field,

  And thus spake Neptune: ‘Phoebus! Come, why at the lance’s end

  Stand we two thus?’ Twill be a shame for us to re-ascend

  Jove’s golden house, being thus in field and not to fight. Begin,

  For ’tis no graceful work for me: thou hast the younger chin,

  I older, and know more. O fool! What a forgetful heart

  Thou bear’st about thee, to stand here, press’d to take th’ Ilian part,

  And fight with me! Forget’st thou then what we two, we alone

  (Of all the gods) have suffer’d here, when proud Laomedon

  Enjoy’d our service a whole year for our agreed reward?

  Jove in his sway would have it so, and in that year I rear’d

  This broad brave wall about his town, that (being a work of mine)

  It might be inexpugnable. This service then was thine,

  In Ida (that so many hills and curl’d-head forests crown)

  To feed his oxen, crooked-shank’d, and headed like the moon.

  But when the much-joy–bringing hours brought term for our reward,

  The terrible Laomedon dismiss’d us both, and scar’d

  Our high deservings – not alone to hold our promis’d fee,

  But give us threats too. Hand and feet he swore to fetter thee

  And sell thee as a slave, dismiss’d far hence to foreign isles;

  Nay more, he would have both our ears. His vow’s breach, and reviles,

  Made us part angry with him then, and dost thou gratulate now

  Such a king’s subjects, or with us not their destruction vow,

  Ev’n to their chaste wives and their babes?’ He answer’d, he might hold

  His wisdom little, if with him (a god) for men he would

  Maintain contention – wretched men that flourish for a time

  Like leaves, eat some of that earth yields, and give earth in their prime

  Their whole selves for it. ‘Quickly then let us fly fight for them,

  Nor show it offer’d: let themselves bear out their own extreme.’

  Thus he retir’d, and fear’d to change blows with his uncle’s hands.

  His sister therefore chid him much (the goddess that commands

  In games of hunting), and thus spake: ‘Fliest thou, and leav’st the field

  To Neptune’s glory? And no blows? O fool! Why dost thou wield

  Thy idle bow? No more my ears shall hear thee vaunt in skies –

  Dares to meet Neptune – but I’ll tell thy coward’s tongue it lies.’

  He answer’d nothing; yet Jove’s wife could put on no such reins,

  But spake thus loosely: ‘How dar’st thou, dog, whom no fear contains,

  Encounte
r me? ’Twill prove a match of hard condition:

  Though the great Lady of the bow and Jove hath set thee down

  For lion of thy sex, with gift to slaughter any dame

  Thy proud will envies, yet some dames will prove th’ hadst better tame

  Wild lions upon hills than them. But if this question rests

  Yet under judgment in thy thoughts, and that thy mind contests,

  I’ll make thee know it. Suddenly with her left hand she catch’d

  Both Cynthia’s palms, lock’d fingers fast, and with her right she snatch’d

  From her fair shoulders her gilt bow, and (laughing) laid it on

  About her ears, and ev’ry way her turnings seiz’d upon,

  Till all her arrows scatter’d out, her quiver emptied quite.

  And as a dove, that (flying a hawk) takes to some rock her flight,

  And in his hollow breasts sits safe, her fate not yet to die:

  So fled she mourning, and her bow left there. Then Mercury

  His opposite thus undertook: ‘Latona, at no hand

  Will I bide combat; ’tis a work right dangerous to stand

  At difference with the wives of Jove. Go, therefore, freely vaunt

  Amongst the deities th’ hast subdued, and made thy combatant

  Yield with plain pow’r.’ She answer’d not, but gather’d up the bow

  And shafts fall’n from her daughter’s side, retiring. Up did go

  Diana to Jove’s starry hall, her incorrupted veil

  Trembling about her, so she shook. Phoebus (lest Troy should fail

  Before her fate) flew to her walls, the other deities flew

  Up to Olympus, some enrag’d, some glad. Achilles slew

  Both men and horse of Ilion. And as a city fir’d

  Casts up a heat that purples heaven, clamours and shrieks expir’d

  In every corner; toil to all, to many misery;

  Which fire th’ incensed gods let fall: Achilles so let fly

  Rage on the Trojans, toils and shrieks as much by him impos’d.

  Old Priam in his sacred tow’r stood, and the flight disclos’d

  Of his forc’d people, all in rout, and not a stroke return’d,

  But fled resistance. His eyes saw in what a fury burn’d

  The son of Peleus, and down went weeping from the tow’r

  To all the port-guards, and their chiefs, told of his flying pow’r,

  Commanding th’ opening of the ports, but not to let their hands

  Stir from them, for Aeacides would pour in with his bands.

  ‘Destruction comes. O shut them strait when we are in,’ he pray’d;

  ‘For not our walls, I fear, will check this violent man.’ This said,

  Off lifted they the bars; the ports hal’d open, and they gave

  Safety her entry, with the host; which yet they could not save

  Had not Apollo sallied out, and struck destruction

  (Brought by Achilles in their necks) back; when they right upon

  The ports bore all, dry, dusty, spent, and on their shoulders rode

  Rabid Achilles with his lance, still glory being the goad

  That prick’d his fury. Then the Greeks high-ported Ilion

  Had seiz’d, had not Apollo stirr’d Antenor’s famous son,

  Divine Agenor, and cast in an undertaking spirit

  To his bold bosom, and himself stood by to strengthen it,

  And keep the heavy hand of death from breaking in. The god

  Stood by him, leaning on a beech, and cover’d his abode

  With night-like darkness; yet for all the spirit he inspir’d,

  When that great city-raser’s force his thoughts struck, he retir’d,

  Stood, and went on – a world of doubts still falling in his way –

  When (angry with himself) he said: ‘Why suffer I this stay

  In this so strong need to go on? If, like the rest, I fly,

  ’Tis his best weapon to give chase, being swift, and I should die

  Like to a coward. If I stand, I fall too. These two ways

  Please not my purpose; I would live. What if I suffer these

  Still to be routed, and (my feet affording further length)

  Pass all these fields of Ilion, till Ida’s sylvan strength

  And steep heights shroud me, and at ev’n refresh me in the flood,

  And turn to Ilion? O my soul! Why drown’st thou in the blood

  Of these discourses? If this course that talks of further flight

  I give my feet, his feet more swift have more odds. Get he sight

  Of that pass, I pass least; for pace, and length of pace, his thighs

  Will stand out all men. Meet him then, my steel hath faculties

  Of pow’r to pierce him; his great breast but one soul holds, and that

  Death claims his right in (all men say), but he holds special state

  In Jove’s high bounty, that’s past man, that every way will hold;

  And that serves all men, every way.’ This last heart made him bold

  To stand Achilles, and stirr’d up a mighty mind to blows.

  And as a panther (having heard the hounds’ trails) doth disclose

  Her freckled forehead, and stares forth from out some deep-grown wood

  To try what strength dares her abroad, and when her fiery blood

  The hounds have kindled, no quench serves, of love to live or fear,

  Though struck, though wounded, though quite through she feels the mortal spear,

  But till the man’s close strength she tries, or strews earth with his dart,

  She puts her strength out: so it far’d with brave Agenor’s heart,

  And till Achilles he had prov’d, no thoughts, no deeds once stirr’d

  His fixed foot. To his broad breast his round shield he preferr’d,

  And up his arm went with his aim, his voice out with this cry:

  ‘Thy hope is too great, Peleus’ son, this day to show thine eye

  Troy’s Ilion at thy foot; O fool! The Greeks with much more woes,

  More than are suffer’d yet, must buy great Ilion’s overthrows.

  We are within her many strong, that for our parents’ sakes,

  Our wives and children, will save Troy, and thou (though he that makes

  Thy name so terrible) shalt make a sacrifice to her

  With thine own ruins.’ Thus he threw, nor did his javelin err,

  But struck his foe’s leg near his knee; the fervent steel did ring

  Against his tin greaves, and leap’d back. The fire’s strong-handed king

  Gave virtue of repulse, and then Aeacides assail’d

  Divine Agenor, but in vain; Apollo’s pow’r prevail’d,

  And rapt Agenor from his reach, whom quietly he plac’d

  Without the skirmish, casting mists to save from being chas’d

  His tender’d person, and (he gone) to give his soldiers ’scape,

  The deity turn’d Achilles still, by putting on the shape

  Of him he thirsted; evermore he fed his eye, and fled,

  And he with all his knees pursu’d. So cunningly he led,

  That still he would be near his reach, to draw his rage with hope,

  Far from the conflict, to the flood maintaining still the scope

  Of his attraction. In mean time, the other frighted pow’rs

  Came to the city, comforted, when Troy and all her tow’rs

  Strooted with fillers; none would stand to see who staid without,

  Who ’scap’d, and who came short: the ports cleft to receive the rout

&
nbsp; That pour’d itself in. Every man was for himself, most fleet

  Most fortunate; whoever scap’d, his head might thank his feet.

  The end of the twenty-first book

  Book 22

  The Argument

  All Trojans hous’d but Hector, only he

  Keeps field, and undergoes th’ extremity.

  Aeacides assaulting, Hector flies.

  Minerva stays him: he resists, and dies;

  Achilles to his chariot doth enforce,

  And to the naval station drags his corse.

  Another Argument

  Hector in Chi to death is done

  By pow’r of Peleus’ angry son.

  Book 22

  Thus (chas’d like hinds) the Ilians took time to drink and eat,

  And to refresh them, getting off the mingled dust and sweat,

  And good strong rampires on instead. The Greeks then cast their shields

  Aloft their shoulders; and now Fate their near invasion yields

  Of those tough walls, her deadly hand compelling Hector’s stay

  Before Troy at the Scaean ports. Achilles still made way

  At Phoebus, who his bright head turn’d, and ask’d: ‘Why, Peleus’ son,

  Pursu’st thou (being a man) a god? Thy rage hath never done.

  Acknowledge not thine eyes my state? Esteems thy mind no more

  Thy honour in the chase of Troy, but puts my chase before

  Their utter conquest? They are all now hous’d in Ilion,

  While thou hunt’st me. What wishest thou? My blood will never run

  On thy proud javelin.’ ‘It is thou,’ replied Aeacides,

  ‘That putt’st dishonour thus on me, thou worst of deities;

  Thou turnd’st me from the walls, whose ports had never entertain’d

  Numbers now enter’d, over whom thy saving hand hath reign’d,

  And robb’d my honour. And all is, since all thy actions stand

  Past fear of reckoning: but held I the measure in my hand,

  It should afford thee dear-bought scapes.’ Thus with elated spirits

  (Steed-like, that at Olympus’ games wears garlands for his merits,

  And rattles home his chariot, extending all his pride)

  Achilles so parts with the god. When aged Priam spied

  The great Greek come, spher’d round with beams, and show’ng as if the star