The Iliad by Homer (e reader books .TXT) 📖

the plain.

Dreadful he shouts: from earth a stone he took, And rush’d on Teucer with the lifted rock.

The youth already strain’d the forceful yew; The shaft already to his shoulder drew; The feather in his hand, just wing’d for flight, Touch’d where the neck and hollow chest unite; There, where the juncture knits the channel bone, The furious chief discharged the craggy stone: The bowstring burst beneath the ponderous blow, And his numb’d hand dismiss’d his useless bow.

He fell: but Ajax his broad shield display’d, And screen’d his brother with the mighty shade; Till great Alaster, and Mecistheus, bore The batter’d archer groaning to the shore.

 

Troy yet found grace before the Olympian sire, He arm’d their hands, and fill’d their breasts with fire.

The Greeks repulsed, retreat behind their wall, Or in the trench on heaps confusedly fall.

First of the foe, great Hector march’d along, With terror clothed, and more than mortal strong.

As the bold hound, that gives the lion chase, With beating bosom, and with eager pace, Hangs on his haunch, or fastens on his heels, Guards as he turns, and circles as he wheels; Thus oft the Grecians turn’d, but still they flew; Thus following, Hector still the hindmost slew.

When flying they had pass’d the trench profound, And many a chief lay gasping on the ground; Before the ships a desperate stand they made, And fired the troops, and called the gods to aid.

Fierce on his rattling chariot Hector came: His eyes like Gorgon shot a sanguine flame That wither’d all their host: like Mars he stood: Dire as the monster, dreadful as the god!

Their strong distress the wife of Jove survey’d; Then pensive thus, to war’s triumphant maid: “O daughter of that god, whose arm can wield The avenging bolt, and shake the sable shield!

Now, in this moment of her last despair, Shall wretched Greece no more confess our care, Condemn’d to suffer the full force of fate, And drain the dregs of heaven’s relentless hate?

Gods! shall one raging hand thus level all?

What numbers fell! what numbers yet shall fall!

What power divine shall Hector’s wrath assuage?

Still swells the slaughter, and still grows the rage!”

 

So spake the imperial regent of the skies; To whom the goddess with the azure eyes: “Long since had Hector stain’d these fields with gore, Stretch’d by some Argive on his native shore: But he above, the sire of heaven, withstands, Mocks our attempts, and slights our just demands; The stubborn god, inflexible and hard,

Forgets my service and deserved reward: Saved I, for this, his favourite son distress’d, By stern Eurystheus with long labours press’d?

He begg’d, with tears he begg’d, in deep dismay; I shot from heaven, and gave his arm the day.

Oh had my wisdom known this dire event, When to grim Pluto’s gloomy gates he went; The triple dog had never felt his chain, Nor Styx been cross’d, nor hell explored in vain.

Averse to me of all his heaven of gods, At Thetis’ suit the partial Thunderer nods; To grace her gloomy, fierce, resenting son, My hopes are frustrate, and my Greeks undone.

Some future day, perhaps, he may be moved To call his blue-eyed maid his best beloved.

Haste, launch thy chariot, through yon ranks to ride; Myself will arm, and thunder at thy side.

Then, goddess! say, shall Hector glory then?

(That terror of the Greeks, that man of men) When Juno’s self, and Pallas shall appear, All dreadful in the crimson walks of war!

What mighty Trojan then, on yonder shore, Expiring, pale, and terrible no more,

Shall feast the fowls, and glut the dogs with gore?”

 

She ceased, and Juno rein’d the steeds with care: (Heaven’s awful empress, Saturn’s other heir:) Pallas, meanwhile, her various veil unbound, With flowers adorn’d, with art immortal crown’d; The radiant robe her sacred fingers wove Floats in rich waves, and spreads the court of Jove.

Her father’s arms her mighty limbs invest, His cuirass blazes on her ample breast.

The vigorous power the trembling car ascends: Shook by her arm, the massy javelin bends: Huge, ponderous, strong! that when her fury burns Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o’erturns.

 

Saturnia lends the lash; the coursers fly; Smooth glides the chariot through the liquid sky.

Heaven’s gates spontaneous open to the powers, Heaven’s golden gates, kept by the winged Hours.

Commission’d in alternate watch they stand, The sun’s bright portals and the skies command; Close, or unfold, the eternal gates of day Bar heaven with clouds, or roll those clouds away.

The sounding hinges ring, the clouds divide.

Prone down the steep of heaven their course they guide.

But Jove, incensed, from Ida’s top survey’d, And thus enjoin’d the many-colour’d maid.

 

{Illustration: JUNO AND MINERVA GOING TO ASSIST THE GREEKS.}

 

“Thaumantia! mount the winds, and stop their car; Against the highest who shall wage the war?

If furious yet they dare the vain debate, Thus have I spoke, and what I speak is fate: Their coursers crush’d beneath the wheels shall lie, Their car in fragments, scatter’d o’er the sky: My lightning these rebellious shall confound, And hurl them flaming, headlong, to the ground, Condemn’d for ten revolving years to weep The wounds impress’d by burning thunder deep.

So shall Minerva learn to fear our ire, Nor dare to combat hers and nature’s sire.

For Juno, headstrong and imperious still, She claims some title to transgress our will.”

 

Swift as the wind, the various-colour’d maid From Ida’s top her golden wings display’d; To great Olympus’ shining gate she flies, There meets the chariot rushing down the skies, Restrains their progress from the bright abodes, And speaks the mandate of the sire of gods.

 

“What frenzy goddesses! what rage can move Celestial minds to tempt the wrath of Jove?

Desist, obedient to his high command:

This is his word; and know his word shall stand: His lightning your rebellion shall confound, And hurl ye headlong, flaming, to the ground; Your horses crush’d beneath the wheels shall lie, Your car in fragments scatter’d o’er the sky; Yourselves condemn’d ten rolling years to weep The wounds impress’d by burning thunder deep.

So shall Minerva learn to fear his ire, Nor dare to combat hers and nature’s sire.

For Juno, headstrong and imperious still, She claims some title to transgress his will: But thee, what desperate insolence has driven To lift thy lance against the king of heaven?”

 

Then, mounting on the pinions of the wind, She flew; and Juno thus her rage resign’d: “O daughter of that god, whose arm can wield The avenging bolt, and shake the dreadful shield No more let beings of superior birth

Contend with Jove for this low race of earth; Triumphant now, now miserably slain,

They breathe or perish as the fates ordain: But Jove’s high counsels full effect shall find; And, ever constant, ever rule mankind.”

 

She spoke, and backward turn’d her steeds of light, Adorn’d with manes of gold, and heavenly bright.

The Hours unloosed them, panting as they stood, And heap’d their mangers with ambrosial food.

There tied, they rest in high celestial stalls; The chariot propp’d against the crystal walls, The pensive goddesses, abash’d, controll’d, Mix with the gods, and fill their seats of gold.

 

{Illustration: THE HOURS TAKING THE HORSES FROM JUNO’S CAR.}

 

And now the Thunderer meditates his flight From Ida’s summits to the Olympian height.

Swifter than thought, the wheels instinctive fly, Flame through the vast of air, and reach the sky.

‘Twas Neptune’s charge his coursers to unbrace, And fix the car on its immortal base;

There stood the chariot, beaming forth its rays, Till with a snowy veil he screen’d the blaze.

He, whose all-conscious eyes the world behold, The eternal Thunderer sat, enthroned in gold.

High heaven the footstool of his feet he makes, And wide beneath him all Olympus shakes.

Trembling afar the offending powers appear’d, Confused and silent, for his frown they fear’d.

He saw their soul, and thus his word imparts: “Pallas and Juno! say, why heave your hearts?

Soon was your battle o’er: proud Troy retired Before your face, and in your wrath expired.

But know, whoe’er almighty power withstand!

Unmatch’d our force, unconquer’d is our hand: Who shall the sovereign of the skies control?

Not all the gods that crown the starry pole.

Your hearts shall tremble, if our arms we take, And each immortal nerve with horror shake.

For thus I speak, and what I speak shall stand; What power soe’er provokes our lifted hand, On this our hill no more shall hold his place; Cut off, and exiled from the ethereal race.”

 

Juno and Pallas grieving hear the doom, But feast their souls on Ilion’s woes to come.

Though secret anger swell’d Minerva’s breast, The prudent goddess yet her wrath repress’d; But Juno, impotent of rage, replies:

“What hast thou said, O tyrant of the skies!

Strength and omnipotence invest thy throne; ‘Tis thine to punish; ours to grieve alone.

For Greece we grieve, abandon’d by her fate To drink the dregs of thy unmeasured hate.

From fields forbidden we submiss refrain, With arms unaiding see our Argives slain; Yet grant our counsels still their breasts may move, Lest all should perish in the rage of Jove.”

 

The goddess thus; and thus the god replies, Who swells the clouds, and blackens all the skies: “The morning sun, awaked by loud alarms, Shall see the almighty Thunderer in arms.

What heaps of Argives then shall load the plain, Those radiant eyes shall view, and view in vain.

Nor shall great Hector cease the rage of fight, The navy flaming, and thy Greeks in flight, Even till the day when certain fates ordain That stern Achilles (his Patroclus slain) Shall rise in vengeance, and lay waste the plain.

For such is fate, nor canst thou turn its course With all thy rage, with all thy rebel force.

Fly, if thy wilt, to earth’s remotest bound, Where on her utmost verge the seas resound; Where cursed Iapetus and Saturn dwell,

Fast by the brink, within the streams of hell; No sun e’er gilds the gloomy horrors there; No cheerful gales refresh the lazy air: There arm once more the bold Titanian band; And arm in vain; for what I will, shall stand.”

 

Now deep in ocean sunk the lamp of light, And drew behind the cloudy veil of night: The conquering Trojans mourn his beams decay’d; The Greeks rejoicing bless the friendly shade.

 

The victors keep the field; and Hector calls A martial council near the navy walls;

These to Scamander’s bank apart he led, Where thinly scatter’d lay the heaps of dead.

The assembled chiefs, descending on the ground, Attend his order, and their prince surround.

A massy spear he bore of mighty strength, Of full ten cubits was the lance’s length; The point was brass, refulgent to behold, Fix’d to the wood with circling rings of gold: The noble Hector on his lance reclined, And, bending forward, thus reveal’d his mind: “Ye valiant Trojans, with attention hear!

Ye Dardan bands, and generous aids, give ear!

This day, we hoped, would wrap in conquering flame Greece with her ships, and crown our toils with fame.

But darkness now, to save the cowards, falls, And guards them trembling in their wooden walls.

Obey the night, and use her peaceful hours Our steeds to forage, and refresh our powers.

Straight from the town be sheep and oxen sought, And strengthening bread and generous wine be brought Wide o’er the field, high blazing to the sky, Let numerous fires the absent sun supply, The flaming piles with plenteous fuel raise, Till the bright morn her purple beam displays; Lest, in the silence and the shades of night, Greece on her sable ships attempt her flight.

Not unmolested let the wretches gain

Their lofty