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

spear the centre of the shield; But dark-hair’d Neptune grudg’d the hero’s life, And stay’d the brazen point; half in the shield, Like a fire-harden’d stake, remained infix’d, The other half lay broken, on the ground.

Back to his comrades’ shelt’ring ranks he sprang, In hope of safety; but Meriones,

Quick-following, plung’d his weapon through his groin, Where sharpest agony to wretched men

Attends on death; there planted he his spear: Around the shaft he writh’d, and gasping groan’d, Like to a mountain bull, which, bound with cords, The herdsmen drag along, with struggles vain, Resisting; so the wounded warrior groan’d: But not for long: for fierce Meriones, Approaching, from his body tore the spear, And the dark shades of death his eyes o’erspread.

Then Helenus, a weighty Thracian sword Wielding aloft, across the temples smote Deipyrus, and all his helmet crash’d;

Which, as it roll’d beneath their feet, some Greek Seiz’d ‘mid the press; his eyes were clos’d in death.

The valiant Menelaus, Atreus’ son,

With grief beheld; and royal Helenus

With threat’ning mien approaching, pois’d on high His glitt’ring spear, while he the bowstring drew.

Then simultaneous flew from either side The gleaming spear, and arrow from the string.

The shaft of Priam’s son below the breast The hollow cuirass struck, and bounded off; As bound the dark-skinn’d beans, or clatt’ring peas, From the broad fan upon the threshing-floor, By the brisk breeze impell’d, and winnower’s force; From noble Menelaus’ cuirass so

The stinging arrow bounding, glanc’d afar.

But valiant Menelaus, Atreus’ son,

Transfix’d the hand that held the polish’d bow: The brazen point pass’d through, and to the bow The hand was pinn’d; back to his comrades’ ranks He sprang, in hope of safety, hanging down The wounded limb, that trail’d the ashen spear.

Agenor from the wound the spear withdrew, And with a twisted sling of woollen cloth, By an attendant brought, bound up the hand.

To noble Menelaus stood oppos’d

Peisander, to the confines dark of death Led by his evil fate, by thee to fall, Great son of Atreus, in the deadly strife.

When near they drew, Atrides miss’d his aim, With erring spear divergent; next his shield Peisander struck, but drove not through the spear; For the broad shield resisted, and the shaft Was snapp’d in sunder: Menelaus saw

Rejoicing, and with hope of triumph flush’d; Unsheathing then his silver-studded sword Rush’d on Peisander; he beneath his shield Drew forth a pond’rous brazen battle-axe, With handle long, of polish’d olive-wood: And both at once in deadly combat join’d.

Then, just below the plume, Peisander struck The crested helmet’s peak; but Atreus’ son Met him advancing, and across the brow Smote him, above the nose; loud crash’d the bone, And in the dust the gory eyeballs dropp’d Before him; doubled with the pain, he fell: The victor, planting on his chest his foot, Stripp’d off his arms, and thus exulting cried: “Thus shall ye all, insatiate of the fight, Proud Trojans, from before our ships depart; Nor lack your share of insult and of wrong, Such as on me, vile hounds, ye cast erewhile, Nor fear’d th’ avenger of the slighted laws Of hospitality, high thund’ring Jove,

Who soon your lofty city shall o’erthrow.

Kindly receiv’d, my virgin-wedded wife, With store of goods, ye basely bore away; And now ye rage, infuriate, to destroy With fire our ocean-going ships, and slay Our Grecian heroes; but the time shall come When ye too fain would from the war escape.

O Father Jove, ‘tis said that thou excell’st, In wisdom, Gods and men; all human things From thee proceed; and can it be, that thou With favour seest these men of violence, These Trojans, with presumptuous courage fill’d, Whose rage for the battle knows nor stint nor bound?

Men are with all things sated; sleep and love; Sweet sounds of music, and the joyous dance.

Of these may some more gladly take their fill; But Trojans still for war, instiate, thirst.”

 

Thus Menelaus; and the blood-stained arms Stripp’d from the corpse, and to his comrades gave; Then join’d again the foremost in the fray.

There to th’ encounter forth Harpalion sprang, Son of the King Pylaemenes, who came,

His father following, to the war of Troy, But back return’d not to his native land.

He standing near, full in the centre struck Atrides’ shield, but drove not through the spear; Back to his comrades’ shelt’ring ranks he sprang In hopes of safety, glancing all around, His body to defend; but as he turn’d,

In his right flank a brazen-pointed shaft, Shot by Meriones, was buried deep:

Beneath the bone it pass’d, and pierc’d him through.

At once he fell; and gasping out his life, Amid his comrades, writhing on the ground Like a crush’d worm he lay; and from the wound The dark blood pouring, drench’d the thirsty soil.

 

The valiant troops of Paphlagonia clos’d Around him; on his car they plac’d the slain.

And deeply sorrowing, to the city bore; His father, weeping, walk’d beside the car, [4]

Nor vengeance for his slaughter’d son obtain’d.

Paris with grief and anger saw him fall: For he in former days his guest had been In Paphlagonia; then, with anger fill’d, A brass-tipp’d arrow from his bow he sent.

 

A certain man there was, Euchenor nam’d, Who dwelt in Corinth; rich, of blameless life, The son of Polyeidus, skilful seer:

His fate well knowing, he embark’d; for oft The good old man had told him that his doom Was, or at home by sharp disease to die, Or with the Greeks by Trojan hands to fall.

Embarking, he escap’d alike the fine

By Greeks impos’d, and pangs of sharp disease.

Him Paris smote between the ear and jaw; Swift fled his spirit, and darkness clos’d his eyes.

Thus rag’d, like blazing fire, the furious fight.

 

But nought as yet had Hector heard, nor knew How sorely, leftward of the ships, were press’d The Trojans by the Greeks; and now appear’d Their triumph, sure; such succour Neptune gave, Their courage rousing, and imparting strength.

But there he kept, where first the serried ranks Of Greeks he broke, and storm’d the wall and gates; There beach’d beside the hoary sea, the ships Of Ajax and Protesilaus lay;

There had the wall been lowest built; and there Were gather’d in defence the chiefest all, Horses and men: the stout Boeotians there, Join’d to th’ Ionians with their flowing robes, Loerians, and Phthians, and Epeians proud, Could scarce protect their ships; nor could repel Th’ impetuous fire of godlike Hector’s charge.

There too the choicest troops of Athens fought; Their chief, Menestheus, Peteus’ son; with whom Were Pheidas, Stichius, Bias in command; Th’ Epeians Meges, Phyleus’ son, obey’d, And Dracius and Amphion; Medon next,

With brave Podarces led the Phthian host: Medon, the great Oileus’ bastard son,

Brother of Ajax; he in Phylace,

Far from his native land, was driv’n to dwell, Since one to Eriopis near akin,

His sire Oileus’ wife, his hand had slain.

Podarces from Iphiclus claim’d his birth, The son of Phylacus; these two in arms The valiant Phthians leading to the fight, Join’d the Boeotian troops to guard the ships.

But from the side of Ajax Telamon

Stirr’d not a whit Oileus’ active son; But as on fallow-land with one accord, Two dark-red oxen drag the well-wrought plough, Streaming with sweat that gathers round their horns; They by the polish’d yoke together held, The stiff soil cleaving, down the furrow strain; So closely, side by side, those two advanc’d.

But comrades, many and brave, on Telamon Attended, who, whene’er with toil and sweat His limbs grew faint, upheld his weighty shield; While in the fray, Oileus’ noble son

No Locrians follow’d; theirs were not the hearts To brook th’ endurance of the standing fight; Nor had they brass-bound helms, with horsehair plume, Nor ample shields they bore, nor ashen spear; But came to Troy, in bows and twisted slings Of woollen cloth confiding; and from these Their bolts quick-show’ring, broke the Trojan ranks.

While those, in front, in glitt’ring arms oppos’d The men of Troy, by noble Hector led:

These, in the rear, unseen, their arrows shot.

Nor stood the Trojans; for amid their ranks The galling arrows dire confusion spread.

Then had the Trojans from the ships and tents Back to the breezy heights of Troy been driv’n In flight disastrous; but Polydamas

Drew near to Hector, and address’d him thus: “Hector, I know thee, how unapt thou art To hearken to advice; because the Gods Have giv’n thee to excel in warlike might, Thou deemest thyself, in counsel too, supreme; Yet every gift thou canst not so combine: To one the Gods have granted warlike might, To one the dance, to one the lyre and song; While in another’s breast all-seeing Jove Hath plac’d the spirit of wisdom, and a mind Discerning, for the common good of all: By him are states preserv’d; and he himself Best knows the value of the precious gift.

Then hear what seems to me the wisest course.

On ev’ry side the circling ring of war Is blazing all around thee; and, thou seest, Our valiant Trojans, since the wall they scal’d, Or stand aloof, or scatter’d ‘mid the ships Outnumber’d, with superior forces strive.

Then thou, retiring, hither call the chiefs; Here take we counsel fully, if to fall Upon their well-mann’d ships, should Heaven vouchsafe The needful strength, or, scatheless yet, withdraw; For much I fear they soon will pay us back Their debt of yesterday; since in their ranks One yet remains insatiate of the fight, And he, methinks, not long will stand aloof.”

 

Thus he: the prudent counsel Hector pleas’d; Down from his chariot with his arms he leap’d, And to Polydamas his speech address’d: “Polydamas, detain thou here the chiefs; Thither will I, and meet the front of war, And, giv’n my orders, quickly here return.”

 

He said; and, like a snow-clad mountain high, Uprose; and loudly shouting, in hot haste Flew through the Trojan and Confed’rate host.

At sound of Hector’s voice, round Panthous’ son, Polydamas, were gather’d all the chiefs.

But ‘mid the foremost combatants he sought If haply he might find Deiphobus,

And royal Helenus, and Adamas,

And gallant Asius, son of Hyrtacus.

These found he not unscath’d by wounds or death; For some beside the ships of Greece had paid, By Grecian hands, the forfeit of their lives, While others wounded lay within the wall.

But, to the leftward of the bloody fray, The godlike Paris, fair-hair’d Helen’s Lord, Cheering his comrades to the fight, he found, And with reproachful words address’d him thus: “Thou wretched Paris, fair in outward form, Thou slave of woman, manhood’s counterfeit, Where is Deiphobus, and where the might Of royal Helenus? where Adamas,

The son of Asius? where too Asius, son Of Hyrtacus? and where Othryoneus?

Now from its summit totters to the fall Our lofty Ilium; now thy doom is sure.”

 

To whom the godlike Paris thus replied: “Hector, since blameless I incur thy blame, Ne’er have I less withdrawn me from the fight, And me not wholly vile my mother bore; For since thou gav’st command to attack the ships, We here against the Greeks unflinching war Have wag’d; our comrades, whom thou seek’st, are slain: Only Deiphobus hath left the field,

And Helenus; both wounded by the spear, Both through the hand; but Jove their life hath spar’d.

But thou, where’er thy courage bids, lead on: We shall be prompt to follow; to our pow’r Thou shalt in us no lack of valour find; Beyond his pow’r the bravest cannot fight.”

 

Wrought on his brother’s mind the hero’s words: Together both they bent their steps, where rag’d The fiercest conflict; there Cebriones, Phalces, Orthaeus, brave Polydamas,

Palmys, and godlike Polyphetes’ might, And Morys, and Ascanius fought; these two Hippotion’s sons; from rich Ascania’s plains