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

stone He struck; beneath the pond’rous helmet’s weight The skull was split in twain; prostrate he fell, By life-consuming death encompass’d round.

Forthwith Amphoterus, and Erymas,

Epaltes, Echius, and Tlepolemus,

Son of Damastor, Pyris, Ipheus brave,

Euippus, Polymelus, Argeas’ son,

In quick succession to the ground he brought.

Sarpedon his ungirdled forces saw

Promiscuous fall before Menoetius’ son, And to the Lycians call’d in loud reproof: “Shame, Lycians! whither fly ye? why this haste?

I will myself this chief confront, and learn Who this may be of bearing proud and high, Who on the Trojans grievous harm hath wrought, And many a warrior’s limbs relax’d in death.”

 

He said, and from his car, accoutred, sprang; Patroclus saw, and he too leap’d to earth.

As on a lofty rock, with angry screams, Hook-beak’d, with talons curv’d, two vultures fight; So with loud shouts these two to battle rush’d.

The son of Saturn pitying saw, and thus To Juno spoke, his sister and his wife: “Woe, woe! that fate decrees my best-belov’d, Sarpedon, by Patroclus’ hand to fall;

E’en now conflicting thoughts my soul divide, To bear him from the fatal strife unhurt, And set him down on Lycia’s fertile plains, Or leave him by Patroclus’ hand to fall.”

 

Whom, answer’d thus the stag-ey’d Queen of Heav’n: “What words, dread son of Saturn, dost thou speak?

Wouldst thou a mortal man from death withdraw Long since by fate decreed? Do what thou wilt; Yet cannot we, the rest, applaud thine act.

This too I say, and turn it in thy mind: If to his home Sarpedon thou restore

Alive, bethink thee, will not other Gods Their sons too from the stubborn fight withdraw?

For in the field around the walls of Troy Are many sons of Gods, in all of whom

This act of thine will angry feelings rouse.

But if thou love him, and thy soul deplore His coming doom, yet in the stubborn fight Leave him beneath Patroclus’ hand to fall: Then, when his spirit hath fled, the charge assign To Death and gentle Sleep, that in their arms They bear him safe to Lycia’s wide-spread plains: There shall his brethren and his friends perform His fun’ral rites, and mound and column raise, The fitting tribute to the mighty dead.”

 

Thus she; the Sire of Gods and men complied: But to the ground some drops of blood let fall, In honour of his son, whom fate decreed, Far from his country, on the fertile plains Of Troy to perish by Patroclus’ hand.

As near the champions drew, Patroclus first His weapon hurl’d, and Thrasymedes brave, The faithful follower of Sarpedon, struck Below the waist, and slack’d his limbs in death.

Thrown in his turn, Sarpedon’s glitt’ring spear Flew wide; and Pedasus, the gallant horse, Through the right shoulder wounded; with a scream He fell, and in the dust breath’d forth his life, As, shrieking loud, his noble spirit fled.

This way and that his two companions swerv’d; Creak’d the strong yoke, and tangled were the reins, As in the dust the prostrate courser lay.

Automedon the means of safety saw;

And drawing from beside his brawny thigh His keen-edg’d sword, with no uncertain blow Cut loose the fallen horse; again set straight, The two, extended, stretch’d the tightened rein.

Again in mortal strife the warriors clos’d: Once more Sarpedon hurl’d his glitt’ring spear In vain; above Patroclus’ shoulder flew The point, innocuous; from his hand in turn The spear not vainly thrown, Sarpedon struck Where lies the diaphragm, below the heart.

He fell; as falls an oak, or poplar tall, Or lofty pine, which on the mountain top For some proud ship the woodman’s axe hath hewn: So he, with death-cry sharp, before his car Extended lay, and clutch’d the blood-stain’d soil.

As when a lion on the herd has sprung, And, ‘mid the heifers seiz’d, the lordly bull Lies bellowing, crush’d between the lion’s jaws; So by Patroclus slain, the Lycian chief, Undaunted still, his faithful comrade call’d: “Good Glaucus, warrior tried, behoves thee now Thy spearmanship to prove, and warlike might.

Welcome the fray; put forth thine utmost speed; Call on the Lycian chiefs, on ev’ry side, To press around, and for Sarpedon fight; Thou too thine arms for my protection wield; For I to thee, through all thy future days, Shall be a ceaseless scandal and reproach, If me, thus slain before the Grecian ships, The Greeks be suffer’d of my arms to spoil: But stand thou fast, and others’ courage raise.”

 

Thus as he spoke, the shades of death o’erspread His eyes and nostrils; then with foot firm-set Upon his chest, Patroclus from the corpse Drew, by main force, the fast-adhering spear; The life forth issuing with the weapon’s point.

Loos’d from the royal car, the snorting steeds, Eager for flight, the Myrmidons detain’d.

Deep-grieving, Glaucus heard his voice: and chafed His spirit within him, that he lacked the power To aid his comrade; with his hand he grasp’d His wounded arm, in torture from the shaft By Teucer shot, to save the Greeks from death, As on he pressed to scale the lofty wall: Then to Apollo thus address’d his pray’r: “Hear me, great King, who, as on Lycia’s plains, Art here in Troy; and hear’st in ev’ry place Their voice who suffer, as I suffer now.

A grievous wound I bear, and sharpest pangs My arm assail, nor may the blood he stanch’d: The pain weighs down my shoulder; and my hand Hath lost its pow’r to fight, or grasp my spear.

Sarpedon, bravest of the brave, is slain, The son of Jove; yet Jove preserv’d him not.

But thou, O King, this grievous wound relieve; Assuage the pain, and give me strength to urge My Lycian comrades to maintain the war, And fight myself to guard the noble dead.”

 

Thus as he pray’d, his pray’r Apollo heard, Assuag’d his pains, and from the grievous wound Stanch’ d the dark blood, and fill’d his soul with strength.

Glaucus within himself perceiv’d, and knew, Rejoicing, that the God had heard his pray’r.

The Lycian leaders first on ev’ry side He urg’d to hasten for their King to fight: Then ‘mid the Trojans went with lofty step, And first to Panthous’ son, Polydamas, To brave Agenor and AEneas next;

Then Hector of the brazen helm himself Approaching, thus with winged words address’d: “Hector, forgett’st thou quite thy brave allies, Who freely in thy cause pour forth their lives, Far from their home and friends? but they from thee No aid receive; Sarpedon lies in death, The leader of the buckler’d Lycian bands, Whose justice and whose pow’r were Lycia’s shield; Him by Patroclus’ hand hath Mars subdued.

But, friends, stand by me now! with just revenge Inspir’d, determine that the Myrmidons Shall not, how griev’d soe’er for all the Greeks Who by our spears beside the ships have fall’n, Our dead dishonour, and his arms obtain.”

 

He said; and through the Trojans thrill’d the sense Of grief intolerable, unrestrain’d;

For he, though stranger-born, was of the State A mighty pillar; and his followers

A num’rous host; and he himself in fight Among the foremost; so, against the Greeks, With fiery zeal they rush’d, by Hector led, Griev’d for Sarpedon’s loss; on th’ other side Patroclus’ manly heart the Greeks arous’d, And to th’ Ajaces first, themselves inflamed With warlike zeal, he thus address’d his speech: “Ye sons of Ajax, now is come the time Your former fame to rival, or surpass: The man hath fall’n, who first o’erleap’d our wall, Sarpedon; now remains, that, having slain, We should his corpse dishonour, and his arms Strip off; and should some comrade dare attempt His rescue, him too with our spears subdue.”

 

He said; and they, with martial ardour fir’d, Rush’d to the conflict. When on either side The reinforc’d battalions were array’d, Trojans and Lycians, Myrmidons and Greeks Around the dead in sternest combat met, With fearful shouts; and loud their armour rang.

Then, to enhance the horror of the strife Around his son, with darkness Jove o’erspread The stubborn fight: the Trojans first drove back The keen-ey’d Greeks; for first a warrior fell, Not of the meanest ‘mid the Myrmidons, Epegeus, son of valiant Agacles;

Who in Budaeum’s thriving state bore rule Erewhile; but flying for a kinsman slain, To Peleus and the silver-footed Queen

He came a suppliant; with Achilles thence To Ilium sent, to join the war of Troy.

Him, as he stretch’d his hand to seize the dead, Full on the forehead with a massive stone Great Hector smote; within the pond’rous helm The skull was split in twain; prone on the corpse He fell, by life-destroying death subdued.

Griev’d was Patroclus for his comrade slain; Forward he darted, as a swift-wing’d hawk, That swoops amid the starlings and the daws; So swift didst thou, Patroclus, car-borne chief, Upon the Trojans and the Lycians spring, Thy soul with anger for thy comrade fill’d.

A pond’rous stone he hurl’d at Sthenelas, Son of Ithaemenes; the mighty mass

Fell on his neck, and all the muscles crush’d.

Back drew great Hector and the chiefs of Troy; Far as a jav’lin’s flight, in sportive strife, Or in the deadly battle, hurl’d by one His utmost strength exerting; back so far The Trojans drew, so far the Greeks pursued.

Glaucus, the leader of the Lycian spears, First turning, slew the mighty Bathycles, The son of Chalcon; he in Hellas dwelt, In wealth surpassing all the Myrmidons.

Him, as he gain’d upon him in pursuit, Quick turning, Glaucus through the breast transfix’d; Thund’ring he fell; deep grief possess’d the Greeks At loss of one so valiant; fiercely joy’d The Trojans, and around him crowded thick; Nor of their wonted valour were the Greeks Oblivious, but still onward held their course.

Then slew Meriones a crested chief,

The bold Laogonus, Onetor’s son;

Onetor, of Idaean Jove the priest,

And by the people as a God rever’d.

Below the ear he struck him; from his limbs The spirit fled, and darkness veil’d his eyes.

 

Then at Meriones AEneas threw

His brazen spear, in hopes beneath his shield To find a spot unguarded; he beheld,

And downward stooping, shunn’d the brazen death; Behind him far, deep in the soil infix’d, The weapon stood; there Mars its impulse stay’d; So, bootless hurl’d, though by no feeble hand, AEneas’ spear stood quiv’ring in the ground; Then thus in wrath he cried: “Meriones, Had it but struck thee, nimble as thou art, My spear had brought thy dancing to a close.”

 

To whom the spearman skill’d, Meriones: “Brave as thou art, AEneas, ‘tis too much For thee to hope the might of all to quell, Who dare confront thee; thou art mortal too!

And if my aim be true, and should my spear But strike thee fair, all valiant as thou art, And confident, yet me thy fall shall crown With triumph, and thy soul to Hades send.”

 

He said; and him Menoetius’ noble son

Address’d with grave rebuke: “Meriones, Brave warrior, why thus waste the time in words?

Trust me, good friend, ‘tis not by vaunting speech, Unseconded by deeds, that we may hope

To scare away the Trojans from the slain: Hands are for battle, words for council meet; Boots it not now to wrangle, but to fight.”

 

He said, and led the way; him follow’d straight The godlike chief; forthwith, as loudly rings, Amid the mountain forest’s deep recess, The woodman’s axe, and far is heard the sound; So from the wide-spread earth their clamour rose, As brazen arms, and shields, and tough bull’s-hide Encounter’d swords and double-pointed spears.

Nor might the sharpest sight Sarpedon know, From head to foot with wounds and blood and dust Disfigur’d; thickly round the dead they swarm’d.

As when at spring-tide in the cattle-sheds Around the milk-cans swarm the buzzing flies, While