The Iliad by Homer (pride and prejudice read .TXT) 📖

there she found, As down he look’d from Ilium’s topmost tow’r, Devising vict’ry to the arms of Troy.

Beside the oak they met; Apollo first, The son of Jove, the colloquy began:

“Daughter of Jove, from great Olympus’ heights, Why com’st thou here, by angry passion led?

Wouldst thou the vict’ry, swaying here and there, Give to the Greeks? since pitiless thou see’st The Trojans slaughter’d? Be advis’d by me, For so ‘twere better; cause we for today The rage of battle and of war to cease; To-morrow morn shall see the fight renew’d, Until the close of Ilium’s destiny;

For so ye Goddesses have wrought your will, That this fair city should in ruin fall.”

 

To whom the blue-ey’d Goddess thus replied: “So be it, Archer-King; with like intent I from Olympus came; but say, what means Wilt thou devise to bid the conflict cease?”

 

To whom Apollo, royal son of Jove:

“The might of valiant Hector let us move To challenge to the combat, man to man, Some Grecian warrior; while the brass-clad Greeks Their champion urge the challenge to accept, And godlike Hector meet in single fight.”

 

He said; nor did Minerva not assent;

But Helenus, the son of Priam, knew

The secret counsel by the Gods devis’d; And drawing near to Hector, thus he spoke: “Hector, thou son of Priam, sage as Jove In council, hearken to a brother’s words.

Bid that the Greeks and Trojans all sit down, And thou defy the boldest of the Greeks With thee in single combat to contend; By revelation from th’ eternal Gods,

I know that here thou shalt not meet thy fate.”

 

He said, and Hector joy’d to hear his words; Forth in the midst he stepp’d, and with his spear Grasp’d in the middle, stay’d the Trojan ranks.

With one accord they sat; on th’ other side Atrides bade the well-greav’d Greeks sit down; While, in the likeness of two vultures, sat On the tall oak of aegis-bearing Jove, Pallas, and Phoebus of the silver bow, With heroes’ deeds delighted; dense around Bristled the ranks, with shield, and helm, and spear.

As when the west wind freshly blows, and brings A dark’ning ripple o’er the ocean waves, E’en so appear’d upon the plain the ranks Of Greeks and Trojans; standing in the midst, Thus to both armies noble Hector spoke: “Hear, all ye Trojans, and ye well-greav’d Greeks, The words I speak, the promptings of my soul.

It hath not pleas’d high-thron’d Saturnian Jove To ratify our truce, who both afflicts With labours hard, till either ye shall take Our well-fenc’d city, or yourselves to us Succumb beside your ocean-going ships.

Here have ye all the chiefest men of Greece; Of all, let him who dares with me to fight, Stand forth, and godlike Hector’s might confront.

And this I say, and call to witness Jove, If with the sharp-edg’d spear he vanquish me, He shall strip off, and to the hollow ships In triumph bear my armour; but my corpse Restore, that so the men and wives of Troy May deck with honours due my funeral pyre.

But, by Apollo’s grace should I prevail, I will his arms strip off and bear to Troy, And in Apollo’s temple hang on high;

But to the ships his corpse I will restore, That so the long-hair’d Greeks with solemn rites May bury him, and to his mem’ry raise

By the broad Hellespont a lofty tomb;

And men in days to come shall say, who urge Their full-oar’d bark across the dark-blue sea, ‘Lo there a warrior’s tomb of days gone by, A mighty chief, whom glorious Hector slew:’

Thus shall they say, and thus my fame shall live.”

 

Thus Hector spoke; they all in silence heard, Sham’d to refuse, but fearful to accept.

At length in anger Menelaus rose,

Groaning in spirit, and with bitter words Reproach’d them: “Shame, ye braggart cowards, shame!

Women of Greece! I cannot call you men!

‘Twere foul disgrace indeed, and scorn on scorn, If Hector’s challenge none of all the Greeks Should dare accept; to dust and water turn All ye who here inglorious, heartless sit!

I will myself confront him; for success, Th’ immortal Gods above the issues hold.”

 

Thus as he spoke, he donn’d his dazzling arms.

Then, Menelaus, had thine end approach’d By Hector’s hands, so much the stronger he, Had not the Kings withheld thee and restrain’d.

Great Agamemnon’s self, wide-ruling King, Seizing his hand, address’d him thus by name: “What! Heav’n-born Menelaus, art thou mad?

Beseems thee not such folly; curb thy wrath, Though vex’d; nor think with Hector to contend, Thy better far, inspiring dread in all.

From his encounter in the glorious fight, Superior far to thee, Achilles shrinks; But thou amid thy comrades’ ranks retire; Some other champion will the Greeks provide; And, fearless as he is, and of the fight Insatiate, yet will Hector, should he ‘scape Unwounded from the deadly battle-strife, Be fain, methinks, to rest his weary limbs.”

 

He said, and with judicious counsel sway’d His brother’s mind; he yielded to his words, And gladly his attendants doff’d his arms.

 

Then Nestor rose, and thus address’d the Greeks: “Alas, alas! what shame is this for Greece!

What grief would fill the aged Peleus’ soul, Sage chief in council, of the Myrmidons Leader approv’d, who often in his house Would question me, and lov’d from me to hear Of all the Greeks the race and pedigree, Could he but learn how Hector cow’d them all!

He to the Gods with hands uprais’d would pray His soul might from his body be divorc’d, And sink beneath the earth! Oh would to Jove, To Pallas and Apollo, such were now

My vig’rous youth, as when beside the banks Of swiftly-flowing Celadon, the men

Of Pylos with th’ Arcadian spearmen fought, By Pheia’s walls, around Iardan’s streams.

Then from the ranks, in likeness as a God, Advanc’d their champion, Ereuthalion bold.

The arms of Areithous he wore:

Of godlike Areithous, whom men

And richly-girdled women had surnam’d

The Macebearer; for not with sword or bow He went to fight, but with an iron mace Broke through the squadrons: him Lycurgus slew, By stealth, not brav’ry, in a narrow way, Where nought avail’d his iron mace from death To save him; for Lycurgus, with his spear, Preventing, thrust him through the midst; he fell Prostrate; and from his breast the victor stripp’d His armour off, the gift of brass-clad Mars; And in the tug of war he wore it oft;

But when Lycurgus felt th’ approach of age, He to his faithful follower and friend, To Ereuthalion gave it; therewith, arm’d, He now to combat challeng’d all the chiefs.

None dar’d accept, for fear had fallen on all; Then I with dauntless spirit his might oppos’d, The youngest of them all; with him I fought, And Pallas gave the vict’ry to my arm.

Him there I slew, the tallest, strongest man; For many another there beside him lay.

Would that my youth and strength were now the same; Then soon should Hector of the glancing helm A willing champion find; but ye, of Greece The foremost men, with Hector fear to fight.”

 

The old man spoke reproachful; at his words Up rose nine warriors: far before the rest, The monarch Agamemnon, King of men;

Next Tydeus’ son, the valiant Diomed;

The two Ajaces, cloth’d with courage high; Idomeneus, and of Idomeneus

The faithful follower, brave Meriones, Equal in fight to blood-stain’d Mars; with these Eurypylus, Euaemon’s noble son;

Thoas, Andraemon’s son; Ulysses last:

These all with Hector offer’d to contend.

Then thus again Gerenian Nestor spoke: “Shake then the lots; on whomsoe’er it fall, Great profit shall he bring to Grecian arms, Great glory to himself, if he escape

Unwounded from the deadly battle strife.”

He said: each mark’d his sev’ral lot, and all Together threw in Agamemnon’s helm.

The crowd, with hands uplifted, pray’d the Gods, And looking heav’nward, said, “Grant, Father Jove, The lot on Ajax, or on Tydeus’ son,

Or on Mycenae’s wealthy King may fall.”

 

Thus they: then aged Nestor shook the helm, And forth, according to their wish, was thrown The lot of Ajax; then from left to right A herald show’d to all the chiefs of Greece, In turn, the token; they who knew it not, Disclaim’d it all; but when to him he came Who mark’d, and threw it in Atrides’ helm, The noble Ajax, and, approaching, placed The token in his outstretch’d hand, forthwith He knew it, and rejoic’d; before his feet He threw it down upon the ground, and said, “O friends, the lot is mine; great is my joy, And hope o’er godlike Hector to prevail.

But now, while I my warlike armour don, Pray ye to Saturn’s royal son, apart,

In silence, that the Trojans hear ye not; Or ev’n aloud, for nought have we to fear.

No man against my will can make me fly, By greater force or skill; nor will, I hope, My inexperience in the field disgrace

The teaching of my native Salamis.”

 

Thus he; and they to Saturn’s royal son Address’d their pray’rs, and looking heav’nward, said: “O Father Jove, who rul’st on Ida’s height!

Most great! most glorious! grant that Ajax now May gain the vict’ry, and immortal praise: Or if thy love and pity Hector claim,

Give equal pow’r and equal praise to both.”

 

Ajax meanwhile in dazzling brass was clad; And when his armour all was duly donn’d, Forward he mov’d, as when gigantic Mars Leads nations forth to war, whom Saturn’s son In life-destroying conflict hath involv’d; So mov’d the giant Ajax, prop of Greece, With sternly smiling mien; with haughty stride He trod the plain, and pois’d his pond’rous spear.

The Greeks, rejoicing, on their champion gaz’d, The Trojans’ limbs beneath them shook with fear; Ev’n Hector’s heart beat quicker in his breast; Yet quail he must not now, nor back retreat Amid his comrades—he, the challenger!

Ajax approach’d; before him, as a tow’r His mighty shield he bore, sev’n-fold, brass-bound, The work of Tychius, best artificer

That wrought in leather; he in Hyla dwelt.

Of sev’n-fold hides the pond’rous shield was wrought Of lusty bulls; the eighth was glitt’ring brass.

This by the son of Telamon was borne

Before his breast; to Hector close he came, And thus with words of haughty menace spoke: “Hector, I now shall teach thee, man to man, The mettle of the chiefs we yet possess, Although Achilles of the lion heart,

Mighty in battle, be not with us still; He by his ocean-going ships indeed

Against Atrides nurses still his wrath; Yet are there those who dare encounter thee, And not a few; then now begin the fight.”

 

To whom great Hector of the glancing helm: “Ajax, brave leader, son of Telamon,

Deal not with me as with a feeble child, Or woman, ign’rant of the ways of war; Of war and carnage every point I know; And well I know to wield, now right, now left, The tough bull’s-hide that forms my stubborn targe: Well know I too my fiery steeds to urge, And raise the war-cry in the standing fight.

But not in secret ambush would I watch, To strike, by stealth, a noble foe like thee; But slay thee, if I may, in open fight.”

 

He said; and, poising, hurl’d his pond’rous spear; The brazen cov’ring of the shield it struck, The outward fold, the eighth, above the sev’n Of tough bull’s-hide; through six it drove its way With stubborn force; but in the seventh was stay’d, Then Ajax hurl’d in turn his pond’rous spear, And struck the circle true of Hector’s shield; Right thro’ the glitt’ring shield the stout spear pass’d, And thro’ the well-wrought breastplate drove its way; And, underneath, the linen vest it tore; But Hector, stooping, shunn’d