The Iliad by Homer (e reader books .TXT) đ
- Author: Homer
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Encouraged thus, the blameless man replies: âNor vows unpaid, nor slighted sacrifice, But he, our chief, provoked the raging pest, Apolloâs vengeance for his injured priest.
Nor will the godâs awakenâd fury cease, But plagues shall spread, and funeral fires increase, Till the great king, without a ransom paid, To her own Chrysa send the black-eyed maid. [14]
Perhaps, with added sacrifice and prayer, The priest may pardon, and the god may spare.â
The prophet spoke: when with a gloomy frown The monarch started from his shining throne; Black choler fillâd his breast that boilâd with ire, And from his eyeballs flashâd the living fire: âAugur accursed! denouncing mischief still, Prophet of plagues, for ever boding ill!
Still must that tongue some wounding message bring, And still thy priestly pride provoke thy king?
For this are Phoebusâ oracles explored, To teach the Greeks to murmur at their lord?
For this with falsehood is my honour stainâd, Is heaven offended, and a priest profaned; Because my prize, my beauteous maid, I hold, And heavenly charms prefer to profferâd gold?
A maid, unmatchâd in manners as in face, Skillâd in each art, and crownâd with every grace; Not half so dear were Clytaemnestraâs charms, When first her blooming beauties blessâd my arms.
Yet, if the gods demand her, let her sail; Our cares are only for the public weal: Let me be deemâd the hateful cause of all, And suffer, rather than my people fall.
The prize, the beauteous prize, I will resign, So dearly valued, and so justly mine.
But since for common good I yield the fair, My private loss let grateful Greece repair; Nor unrewarded let your prince complain, That he alone has fought and bled in vain.â
âInsatiate king (Achilles thus replies), Fond of the power, but fonder of the prize!
Wouldâst thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield, The due reward of many a well-fought field?
The spoils of cities razed and warriors slain, We share with justice, as with toil we gain; But to resume whateâer thy avarice craves (That trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves.
Yet if our chief for plunder only fight, The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite, Wheneâer, by Joveâs decree, our conquering powers Shall humble to the dust her lofty towers.â
Then thus the king: âShall I my prize resign With tame content, and thou possessâd of thine?
Great as thou art, and like a god in fight, Think not to rob me of a soldierâs right.
At thy demand shall I restore the maid?
First let the just equivalent be paid;
Such as a king might ask; and let it be A treasure worthy her, and worthy me.
Or grant me this, or with a monarchâs claim This hand shall seize some other captive dame.
The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign; [15]
Ulyssesâ spoils, or even thy own, be mine.
The man who suffers, loudly may complain; And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain.
But this when time requires.âIt now remains We launch a bark to plough the watery plains, And waft the sacrifice to Chrysaâs shores, With chosen pilots, and with labouring oars.
Soon shall the fair the sable ship ascend, And some deputed prince the charge attend: This Cretaâs king, or Ajax shall fulfil, Or wise Ulysses see performâd our will; Or, if our royal pleasure shall ordain, Achillesâ self conduct her oâer the main; Let fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage, The god propitiate, and the pest assuage.â
{Illustration: MARS.}
At this, Pelides, frowning stern, replied: âO tyrant, armâd with insolence and pride!
Inglorious slave to interest, ever joinâd With fraud, unworthy of a royal mind!
What generous Greek, obedient to thy word, Shall form an ambush, or shall lift the sword?
What cause have I to war at thy decree?
The distant Trojans never injured me;
To Phthiaâs realms no hostile troops they led: Safe in her vales my warlike coursers fed; Far hence removed, the hoarse-resounding main, And walls of rocks, secure my native reign, Whose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace, Rich in her fruits, and in her martial race.
Hither we sailâd, a voluntary throng,
To avenge a private, not a public wrong: What else to Troy the assembled nations draws, But thine, ungrateful, and thy brotherâs cause?
Is this the pay our blood and toils deserve; Disgraced and injured by the man we serve?
And darest thou threat to snatch my prize away, Due to the deeds of many a dreadful day?
A prize as small, O tyrant! matchâd with thine, As thy own actions if compared to mine.
Thine in each conquest is the wealthy prey, Though mine the sweat and danger of the day.
Some trivial present to my ships I bear: Or barren praises pay the wounds of war.
But know, proud monarch, Iâm thy slave no more; My fleet shall waft me to Thessaliaâs shore: Left by Achilles on the Trojan plain,
What spoils, what conquests, shall Atrides gain?â
To this the king: âFly, mighty warrior! fly; Thy aid we need not, and thy threats defy.
There want not chiefs in such a cause to fight, And Jove himself shall guard a monarchâs right.
Of all the kings (the godâs distinguishâd care) To power superior none such hatred bear: Strife and debate thy restless soul employ, And wars and horrors are thy savage joy, If thou hast strength, âtwas Heaven that strength bestowâd; For know, vain man! thy valour is from God.
Haste, launch thy vessels, fly with speed away; Rule thy own realms with arbitrary sway; I heed thee not, but prize at equal rate Thy short-lived friendship, and thy groundless hate.
Go, threat thy earth-born Myrmidons:âbut here [16]
âTis mine to threaten, prince, and thine to fear.
Know, if the god the beauteous dame demand, My bark shall waft her to her native land; But then prepare, imperious prince! prepare, Fierce as thou art, to yield thy captive fair: Even in thy tent Iâll seize the blooming prize, Thy loved Briseis with the radiant eyes.
Hence shalt thou prove my might, and curse the hour Thou stoodâst a rival of imperial power; And hence, to all our hosts it shall be known, That kings are subject to the gods alone.â
Achilles heard, with grief and rage oppressâd, His heart swellâd high, and labourâd in his breast; Distracting thoughts by turns his bosom ruled; Now fired by wrath, and now by reason coolâd: That prompts his hand to draw the deadly sword, Force through the Greeks, and pierce their haughty lord; This whispers soft his vengeance to control, And calm the rising tempest of his soul.
Just as in anguish of suspense he stayâd, While half unsheathed appearâd the glittering blade, [17]
Minerva swift descended from above,
Sent by the sister and the wife of Jove (For both the princes claimâd her equal care); Behind she stood, and by the golden hair Achilles seized; to him alone confessâd; A sable cloud concealâd her from the rest.
He sees, and sudden to the goddess cries, Known by the flames that sparkle from her eyes: {Illustration: MINERVA REPRESSING THE FURY OF ACHILLES.}
âDescends Minerva, in her guardian care, A heavenly witness of the wrongs I bear From Atreusâ son?âThen let those eyes that view The daring crime, behold the vengeance too.â
âForbear (the progeny of Jove replies)
To calm thy fury I forsake the skies:
Let great Achilles, to the gods resignâd, To reason yield the empire oâer his mind.
By awful Juno this command is given;
The king and you are both the care of heaven.
The force of keen reproaches let him feel; But sheathe, obedient, thy revenging steel.
For I pronounce (and trust a heavenly power) Thy injured honour has its fated hour,
When the proud monarch shall thy arms implores And bribe thy friendship with a boundless store.
Then let revenge no longer bear the sway; Command thy passions, and the gods obey.â
To her Pelides:ââWith regardful ear,
âTis just, O goddess! I thy dictates hear.
Hard as it is, my vengeance I suppress: Those who revere the gods the gods will bless.â
He said, observant of the blue-eyed maid; Then in the sheath returnâd the shining blade.
The goddess swift to high Olympus flies, And joins the sacred senate of the skies.
Nor yet the rage his boiling breast forsook, Which thus redoubling on Atrides broke: âO monster! mixâd of insolence and fear, Thou dog in forehead, but in heart a deer!
When wert thou known in ambushâd fights to dare, Or nobly face the horrid front of war?
âTis ours, the chance of fighting fields to try; Thine to look on, and bid the valiant die: So much âtis safer through the camp to go, And rob a subject, than despoil a foe.
Scourge of thy people, violent and base!
Sent in Joveâs anger on a slavish race; Who, lost to sense of generous freedom past, Are tamed to wrongs;âor this had been thy last.
Now by this sacred sceptre hear me swear, Which never more shall leaves or blossoms bear, Which severâd from the trunk (as I from thee) On the bare mountains left its parent tree; This sceptre, formâd by temperâd steel to prove An ensign of the delegates of Jove,
From whom the power of laws and justice springs (Tremendous oath! inviolate to kings);
By this I swear:âwhen bleeding Greece again Shall call Achilles, she shall call in vain.
When, flushâd with slaughter, Hector comes to spread The purpled shore with mountains of the dead, Then shall thou mourn the affront thy madness gave, Forced to deplore when impotent to save: Then rage in bitterness of soul to know This act has made the bravest Greek thy foe.â
He spoke; and furious hurlâd against the ground His sceptre starrâd with golden studs around: Then sternly silent sat. With like disdain The raging king returnâd his frowns again.
To calm their passion with the words of age, Slow from his seat arose the Pylian sage, Experienced Nestor, in persuasion skillâd; Words, sweet as honey, from his lips distillâd: [18]
Two generations now had passâd away,
Wise by his rules, and happy by his sway; Two ages oâer his native realm he reignâd, And now the example of the third remainâd.
All viewâd with awe the venerable man;
Who thus with mild benevolence began:â
âWhat shame, what woe is this to Greece! what joy To Troyâs proud monarch, and the friends of Troy!
That adverse gods commit to stern debate The best, the bravest, of the Grecian state.
Young as ye are, this youthful heat restrain, Nor think your Nestorâs years and wisdom vain.
A godlike race of heroes once I knew,
Such as no more these aged eyes shall view!
Lives there a chief to match Pirithousâ fame, Dryas the bold, or Ceneusâ deathless name; Theseus, endued with more than mortal might, Or Polyphemus, like the gods in fight?
With these of old, to toils of battle bred, In early youth my hardy days I led;
Fired with the thirst which virtuous envy breeds, And smit with love of honourable deeds, Strongest of men, they pierced the mountain boar, Ranged the wild deserts red with monstersâ gore, And from their hills the shaggy Centaurs tore: Yet these with soft persuasive arts I swayâd; When Nestor spoke, they listenâd and obeyâd.
If in my youth, even these esteemâd me wise; Do you, young warriors, hear my age advise.
Atrides, seize not on the beauteous slave; That prize the Greeks by common
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