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

press’d The powerful cestus to her snowy breast.

 

Then Venus to the courts of Jove withdrew; Whilst from Olympus pleased Saturnia flew.

O’er high Pieria thence her course she bore, O’er fair Emathia’s ever-pleasing shore, O’er Hemus’ hills with snows eternal crown’d; Nor once her flying foot approach’d the ground.

Then taking wing from Athos’ lofty steep, She speeds to Lemnos o’er the rolling deep, And seeks the cave of Death’s half-brother, Sleep. [194]

 

“Sweet pleasing Sleep! (Saturnia thus began) Who spread’st thy empire o’er each god and man; If e’er obsequious to thy Juno’s will,

O power of slumbers! hear, and favour still.

Shed thy soft dews on Jove’s immortal eyes, While sunk in love’s entrancing joys he lies.

A splendid footstool, and a throne, that shine With gold unfading, Somnus, shall be thine; The work of Vulcan; to indulge thy ease, When wine and feasts thy golden humours please.”

 

“Imperial dame (the balmy power replies), Great Saturn’s heir, and empress of the skies!

O’er other gods I spread my easy chain; The sire of all, old Ocean, owns my reign.

And his hush’d waves lie silent on the main.

But how, unbidden, shall I dare to steep Jove’s awful temples in the dew of sleep?

Long since, too venturous, at thy bold command, On those eternal lids I laid my hand;

What time, deserting Ilion’s wasted plain, His conquering son, Alcides, plough’d the main.

When lo! the deeps arise, the tempests roar, And drive the hero to the Coan shore:

Great Jove, awaking, shook the blest abodes With rising wrath, and tumbled gods on gods; Me chief he sought, and from the realms on high Had hurl’d indignant to the nether sky, But gentle Night, to whom I fled for aid, (The friend of earth and heaven,) her wings display’d; Impower’d the wrath of gods and men to tame, Even Jove revered the venerable dame.”

 

“Vain are thy fears (the queen of heaven replies, And, speaking, rolls her large majestic eyes); Think’st thou that Troy has Jove’s high favour won, Like great Alcides, his all-conquering son?

Hear, and obey the mistress of the skies, Nor for the deed expect a vulgar prize; For know, thy loved-one shall be ever thine, The youngest Grace, Pasithae the divine.” [195]

 

“Swear then (he said) by those tremendous floods That roar through hell, and bind the invoking gods: Let the great parent earth one hand sustain, And stretch the other o’er the sacred main: Call the black Titans, that with Chronos dwell, To hear and witness from the depths of hell; That she, my loved-one, shall be ever mine, The youngest Grace, Pasithae the divine.”

 

The queen assents, and from the infernal bowers Invokes the sable subtartarean powers,

And those who rule the inviolable floods, Whom mortals name the dread Titanian gods.

 

{Illustration: SLEEP ESCAPING FROM THE WRATH OF JUPITER.}

 

Then swift as wind, o’er Lemnos’ smoky isle They wing their way, and Imbrus’ sea-beat soil; Through air, unseen, involved in darkness glide, And light on Lectos, on the point of Ide: (Mother of savages, whose echoing hills Are heard resounding with a hundred rills:) Fair Ida trembles underneath the god;

Hush’d are her mountains, and her forests nod.

There on a fir, whose spiry branches rise To join its summit to the neighbouring skies; Dark in embowering shade, conceal’d from sight, Sat Sleep, in likeness of the bird of night.

(Chalcis his name by those of heavenly birth, But call’d Cymindis by the race of earth.) To Ida’s top successful Juno flies;

Great Jove surveys her with desiring eyes: The god, whose lightning sets the heavens on fire, Through all his bosom feels the fierce desire; Fierce as when first by stealth he seized her charms, Mix’d with her soul, and melted in her arms: Fix’d on her eyes he fed his eager look, Then press’d her hand, and thus with transport spoke: “Why comes my goddess from the ethereal sky, And not her steeds and flaming chariot nigh?”

 

Then she—“I haste to those remote abodes Where the great parents of the deathless gods, The reverend Ocean and gray Tethys, reign, On the last limits of the land and main.

I visit these, to whose indulgent cares I owe the nursing of my tender years:

For strife, I hear, has made that union cease Which held so long that ancient pair in peace.

The steeds, prepared my chariot to convey O’er earth and seas, and through the aerial way, Wait under Ide: of thy superior power

To ask consent, I leave the Olympian bower; Nor seek, unknown to thee, the sacred cells Deep under seas, where hoary Ocean dwells.”

 

“For that (said Jove) suffice another day!

But eager love denies the least delay.

Let softer cares the present hour employ, And be these moments sacred all to joy.

Ne’er did my soul so strong a passion prove, Or for an earthly, or a heavenly love:

Not when I press’d Ixion’s matchless dame, Whence rose Pirithous like the gods in fame: Not when fair Danae felt the shower of gold Stream into life, whence Perseus brave and bold.

Not thus I burn’d for either Theban dame: (Bacchus from this, from that Alcides came:) Nor Phoenix’ daughter, beautiful and young, Whence godlike Rhadamanth and Minos sprung. [196]

Not thus I burn’d for fair Latona’s face, Nor comelier Ceres’ more majestic grace.

Not thus even for thyself I felt desire, As now my veins receive the pleasing fire.”

 

He spoke; the goddess with the charming eyes Glows with celestial red, and thus replies: “Is this a scene for love? On Ida’s height, Exposed to mortal and immortal sight!

Our joys profaned by each familiar eye; The sport of heaven, and fable of the sky: How shall I e’er review the blest abodes, Or mix among the senate of the gods?

Shall I not think, that, with disorder’d charms, All heaven beholds me recent from thy arms?

With skill divine has Vulcan form’d thy bower, Sacred to love and to the genial hour;

If such thy will, to that recess retire, In secret there indulge thy soft desire.”

 

She ceased; and, smiling with superior love, Thus answer’d mild the cloud-compelling Jove: “Nor god nor mortal shall our joys behold, Shaded with clouds, and circumfused in gold; Not even the sun, who darts through heaven his rays, And whose broad eye the extended earth surveys.”

 

Gazing he spoke, and, kindling at the view, His eager arms around the goddess threw.

Glad Earth perceives, and from her bosom pours Unbidden herbs and voluntary flowers:

Thick new-born violets a soft carpet spread, And clustering lotos swell’d the rising bed, And sudden hyacinths the turf bestrow, [197]

And flamy crocus made the mountain glow There golden clouds conceal the heavenly pair, Steep’d in soft joys and circumfused with air; Celestial dews, descending o’er the ground, Perfume the mount, and breathe ambrosia round: At length, with love and sleep’s soft power oppress’d, The panting thunderer nods, and sinks to rest.

 

Now to the navy borne on silent wings,

To Neptune’s ear soft Sleep his message brings; Beside him sudden, unperceived, he stood, And thus with gentle words address’d the god: “Now, Neptune! now, the important hour employ, To check a while the haughty hopes of Troy: While Jove yet rests, while yet my vapours shed The golden vision round his sacred head; For Juno’s love, and Somnus’ pleasing ties, Have closed those awful and eternal eyes.”

Thus having said, the power of slumber flew, On human lids to drop the balmy dew.

Neptune, with zeal increased, renews his care, And towering in the foremost ranks of war, Indignant thus—“Oh once of martial fame!

O Greeks! if yet ye can deserve the name!

This half-recover’d day shall Troy obtain?

Shall Hector thunder at your ships again?

Lo! still he vaunts, and threats the fleet with fires, While stern Achilles in his wrath retires.

One hero’s loss too tamely you deplore, Be still yourselves, and ye shall need no more.

Oh yet, if glory any bosom warms,

Brace on your firmest helms, and stand to arms: His strongest spear each valiant Grecian wield, Each valiant Grecian seize his broadest shield; Let to the weak the lighter arms belong, The ponderous targe be wielded by the strong.

Thus arm’d, not Hector shall our presence stay; Myself, ye Greeks! myself will lead the way.”

 

{Illustration: GREEK SHIELD.}

 

The troops assent; their martial arms they change: The busy chiefs their banded legions range.

The kings, though wounded, and oppress’d with pain, With helpful hands themselves assist the train.

The strong and cumbrous arms the valiant wield, The weaker warrior takes a lighter shield.

Thus sheath’d in shining brass, in bright array The legions march, and Neptune leads the way: His brandish’d falchion flames before their eyes, Like lightning flashing through the frighted skies.

Clad in his might, the earth-shaking power appears; Pale mortals tremble, and confess their fears.

 

Troy’s great defender stands alone unawed, Arms his proud host, and dares oppose a god: And lo! the god, and wondrous man, appear: The sea’s stern ruler there, and Hector here.

The roaring main, at her great master’s call, Rose in huge ranks, and form’d a watery wall Around the ships: seas hanging o’er the shores, Both armies join: earth thunders, ocean roars.

Not half so loud the bellowing deeps resound, When stormy winds disclose the dark profound; Less loud the winds that from the AEolian hall Roar through the woods, and make whole forests fall; Less loud the woods, when flames in torrents pour, Catch the dry mountain, and its shades devour; With such a rage the meeting hosts are driven, And such a clamour shakes the sounding heaven.

The first bold javelin, urged by Hector’s force, Direct at Ajax’ bosom winged its course; But there no pass the crossing belts afford, (One braced his shield, and one sustain’d his sword.) Then back the disappointed Trojan drew, And cursed the lance that unavailing flew: But ‘scaped not Ajax; his tempestuous hand A ponderous stone upheaving from the sand, (Where heaps laid loose beneath the warrior’s feet, Or served to ballast, or to prop the fleet,) Toss’d round and round, the missive marble flings; On the razed shield the fallen ruin rings, Full on his breast and throat with force descends; Nor deaden’d there its giddy fury spends, But whirling on, with many a fiery round, Smokes in the dust, and ploughs into the ground.

As when the bolt, red-hissing from above, Darts on the consecrated plant of Jove, The mountain-oak in flaming ruin lies,

Black from the blow, and smokes of sulphur rise; Stiff with amaze the pale beholders stand, And own the terrors of the almighty hand!

So lies great Hector prostrate on the shore; His slacken’d hand deserts the lance it bore; His following shield the fallen chief o’erspread; Beneath his helmet dropp’d his fainting head; His load of armour, sinking to the ground, Clanks on the field, a dead and hollow sound.

Loud shouts of triumph fill the crowded plain; Greece sees, in hope, Troy’s great defender slain: All spring to seize him; storms of arrows fly, And thicker javelins intercept the sky.

In vain an iron tempest hisses round;

He lies protected, and without a wound. [198]

Polydamas, Agenor the divine,

The pious warrior of Anchises’ line,

And each bold leader of the Lycian band, With covering shields (a friendly circle) stand, His mournful followers, with assistant care, The groaning hero to his chariot bear;

His foaming coursers, swifter than the wind, Speed to the town, and leave the war behind.

 

When now they touch’d the mead’s enamell’d side, Where gentle Xanthus rolls his easy tide, With watery drops the chief they sprinkle round, Placed on the margin of the flowery ground.

Raised on his knees, he now ejects the gore; Now faints anew,