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

>Of all my dangers, all my glorious pains, A life of labours, lo! what fruit remains?

As the bold bird her helpless young attends, From danger guards them, and from want defends; In search of prey she wings the spacious air, And with the untasted food supplies her care: For thankless Greece such hardships have I braved, Her wives, her infants, by my labours saved; Long sleepless nights in heavy arms I stood, And sweat laborious days in dust and blood.

I sack’d twelve ample cities on the main, [167]

And twelve lay smoking on the Trojan plain: Then at Atrides’ haughty feet were laid The wealth I gathered, and the spoils I made.

Your mighty monarch these in peace possess’d; Some few my soldiers had, himself the rest.

Some present, too, to every prince was paid; And every prince enjoys the gift he made: I only must refund, of all his train;

See what pre-eminence our merits gain!

My spoil alone his greedy soul delights: My spouse alone must bless his lustful nights: The woman, let him (as he may) enjoy;

But what’s the quarrel, then, of Greece to Troy?

What to these shores the assembled nations draws, What calls for vengeance but a woman’s cause?

Are fair endowments and a beauteous face Beloved by none but those of Atreus’ race?

The wife whom choice and passion doth approve, Sure every wise and worthy man will love.

Nor did my fair one less distinction claim; Slave as she was, my soul adored the dame.

Wrong’d in my love, all proffers I disdain; Deceived for once, I trust not kings again.

Ye have my answer—what remains to do,

Your king, Ulysses, may consult with you.

What needs he the defence this arm can make?

Has he not walls no human force can shake?

Has he not fenced his guarded navy round With piles, with ramparts, and a trench profound?

And will not these (the wonders he has done) Repel the rage of Priam’s single son?

There was a time (‘twas when for Greece I fought) When Hector’s prowess no such wonders wrought; He kept the verge of Troy, nor dared to wait Achilles’ fury at the Scaean gate;

He tried it once, and scarce was saved by fate.

But now those ancient enmities are o’er; To-morrow we the favouring gods implore; Then shall you see our parting vessels crown’d, And hear with oars the Hellespont resound.

The third day hence shall Pthia greet our sails, [168]

If mighty Neptune send propitious gales; Pthia to her Achilles shall restore

The wealth he left for this detested shore: Thither the spoils of this long war shall pass, The ruddy gold, the steel, and shining brass: My beauteous captives thither I’ll convey, And all that rests of my unravish’d prey.

One only valued gift your tyrant gave,

And that resumed—the fair Lyrnessian slave.

Then tell him: loud, that all the Greeks may hear, And learn to scorn the wretch they basely fear; (For arm’d in impudence, mankind he braves, And meditates new cheats on all his slaves; Though shameless as he is, to face these eyes Is what he dares not: if he dares he dies;) Tell him, all terms, all commerce I decline, Nor share his council, nor his battle join; For once deceiv’d, was his; but twice were mine, No—let the stupid prince, whom Jove deprives Of sense and justice, run where frenzy drives; His gifts are hateful: kings of such a kind Stand but as slaves before a noble mind, Not though he proffer’d all himself possess’d, And all his rapine could from others wrest: Not all the golden tides of wealth that crown The many-peopled Orchomenian town; [169]

Not all proud Thebes’ unrivall’d walls contain, The world’s great empress on the Egyptian plain (That spreads her conquests o’er a thousand states, And pours her heroes through a hundred gates, Two hundred horsemen and two hundred cars From each wide portal issuing to the wars); [170]

Though bribes were heap’d on bribes, in number more Than dust in fields, or sands along the shore; Should all these offers for my friendship call, ‘Tis he that offers, and I scorn them all.

Atrides’ daughter never shall be led

(An ill-match’d consort) to Achilles’ bed; Like golden Venus though she charm’d the heart, And vied with Pallas in the works of art; Some greater Greek let those high nuptials grace, I hate alliance with a tyrant’s race.

If heaven restore me to my realms with life, The reverend Peleus shall elect my wife; Thessalian nymphs there are of form divine, And kings that sue to mix their blood with mine.

Bless’d in kind love, my years shall glide away, Content with just hereditary sway;

There, deaf for ever to the martial strife, Enjoy the dear prerogative of life.

Life is not to be bought with heaps of gold.

Not all Apollo’s Pythian treasures hold, Or Troy once held, in peace and pride of sway, Can bribe the poor possession of a day!

Lost herds and treasures we by arms regain, And steeds unrivall’d on the dusty plain: But from our lips the vital spirit fled, Returns no more to wake the silent dead.

My fates long since by Thetis were disclosed, And each alternate, life or fame, proposed; Here, if I stay, before the Trojan town, Short is my date, but deathless my renown: If I return, I quit immortal praise

For years on years, and long-extended days.

Convinced, though late, I find my fond mistake, And warn the Greeks the wiser choice to make; To quit these shores, their native seats enjoy, Nor hope the fall of heaven-defended Troy.

Jove’s arm display’d asserts her from the skies!

Her hearts are strengthen’d, and her glories rise.

Go then to Greece, report our fix’d design; Bid all your counsels, all your armies join, Let all your forces, all your arts conspire, To save the ships, the troops, the chiefs, from fire.

One stratagem has fail’d, and others will: Ye find, Achilles is unconquer’d still.

Go then—digest my message as ye may—

But here this night let reverend Phoenix stay: His tedious toils and hoary hairs demand A peaceful death in Pthia’s friendly land.

But whether he remain or sail with me,

His age be sacred, and his will be free.”

 

{Illustration: GREEK GALLEY.}

 

The son of Peleus ceased: the chiefs around In silence wrapt, in consternation drown’d, Attend the stern reply. Then Phoenix rose; (Down his white beard a stream of sorrow flows;) And while the fate of suffering Greece he mourn’d, With accent weak these tender words return’d.

 

{Illustration: PROSERPINE.}

 

“Divine Achilles! wilt thou then retire, And leave our hosts in blood, our fleets on fire?

If wrath so dreadful fill thy ruthless mind, How shall thy friend, thy Phoenix, stay behind?

The royal Peleus, when from Pthia’s coast He sent thee early to the Achaian host; Thy youth as then in sage debates unskill’d, And new to perils of the direful field: He bade me teach thee all the ways of war, To shine in councils, and in camps to dare.

Never, ah, never let me leave thy side!

No time shall part us, and no fate divide, Not though the god, that breathed my life, restore The bloom I boasted, and the port I bore, When Greece of old beheld my youthful flames (Delightful Greece, the land of lovely dames), My father faithless to my mother’s arms, Old as he was, adored a stranger’s charms.

I tried what youth could do (at her desire) To win the damsel, and prevent my sire.

My sire with curses loads my hated head, And cries, ‘Ye furies! barren be his bed.’

Infernal Jove, the vengeful fiends below, And ruthless Proserpine, confirm’d his vow.

Despair and grief distract my labouring mind!

Gods! what a crime my impious heart design’d!

I thought (but some kind god that thought suppress’d) To plunge the poniard in my father’s breast; Then meditate my flight: my friends in vain With prayers entreat me, and with force detain.

On fat of rams, black bulls, and brawny swine, They daily feast, with draughts of fragrant wine; Strong guards they placed, and watch’d nine nights entire; The roofs and porches flamed with constant fire.

The tenth, I forced the gates, unseen of all: And, favour’d by the night, o’erleap’d the wall, My travels thence through spacious Greece extend; In Phthia’s court at last my labours end.

Your sire received me, as his son caress’d, With gifts enrich’d, and with possessions bless’d.

The strong Dolopians thenceforth own’d my reign, And all the coast that runs along the main.

By love to thee his bounties I repaid,

And early wisdom to thy soul convey’d:

Great as thou art, my lessons made thee brave: A child I took thee, but a hero gave.

Thy infant breast a like affection show’d; Still in my arms (an ever-pleasing load) Or at my knee, by Phoenix wouldst thou stand; No food was grateful but from Phoenix’ hand. [171]

I pass my watchings o’er thy helpless years, The tender labours, the compliant cares, The gods (I thought) reversed their hard decree, And Phoenix felt a father’s joys in thee: Thy growing virtues justified my cares, And promised comfort to my silver hairs.

Now be thy rage, thy fatal rage, resign’d; A cruel heart ill suits a manly mind:

The gods (the only great, and only wise) Are moved by offerings, vows, and sacrifice; Offending man their high compassion wins, And daily prayers atone for daily sins.

Prayers are Jove’s daughters, of celestial race, Lame are their feet, and wrinkled is their face; With humble mien, and with dejected eyes, Constant they follow, where injustice flies.

Injustice swift, erect, and unconfined, Sweeps the wide earth, and tramples o’er mankind, While Prayers, to heal her wrongs, move slow behind.

Who hears these daughters of almighty Jove, For him they mediate to the throne above When man rejects the humble suit they make, The sire revenges for the daughters’ sake; From Jove commission’d, fierce injustice then Descends to punish unrelenting men.

O let not headlong passion bear the sway These reconciling goddesses obey

Due honours to the seed of Jove belong, Due honours calm the fierce, and bend the strong.

Were these not paid thee by the terms we bring, Were rage still harbour’d in the haughty king; Nor Greece nor all her fortunes should engage Thy friend to plead against so just a rage.

But since what honour asks the general sends, And sends by those whom most thy heart commends; The best and noblest of the Grecian train; Permit not these to sue, and sue in vain!

Let me (my son) an ancient fact unfold, A great example drawn from times of old; Hear what our fathers were, and what their praise, Who conquer’d their revenge in former days.

 

“Where Calydon on rocky mountains stands [172]

Once fought the AEtolian and Curetian bands; To guard it those; to conquer, these advance; And mutual deaths were dealt with mutual chance.

The silver Cynthia bade contention rise, In vengeance of neglected sacrifice;

On OEneus fields she sent a monstrous boar, That levell’d harvests, and whole forests tore: This beast (when many a chief his tusks had slain) Great Meleager stretch’d along the plain, Then, for his spoils, a new debate arose, The neighbour nations thence commencing foes.

Strong as they were, the bold Curetes fail’d, While Meleager’s thundering arm prevail’d: Till rage at length inflamed his lofty breast (For rage invades the wisest and the best).

 

“Cursed by Althaea, to his wrath he yields, And in his wife’s embrace forgets the fields.

(She from Marpessa sprung, divinely fair, And matchless Idas, more than man in war: The god of day adored the mother’s charms; Against the god the father bent his arms: The afflicted pair, their sorrows to proclaim, From Cleopatra changed their daughter’s name, And