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

nor by the fault Of thy conductor shouldst thou meet with harm.”

 

Thus spoke the Guardian-God, and on the car Mounting in haste, he took the whip and reins, And with fresh vigour mules and horses fill’d.

When to the ship-tow’rs and the trench they came, The guard had late been busied with their meal; And with deep sleep the heav’nly Guide o’erspread The eyes of all; then open’d wide the gates, And push’d aside the bolts, and led within Both Priam, and the treasure-laden wain.

But when they reach’d Achilles’ lofty tent, (Which for their King the Myrmidons had built Of fir-trees fell’d, and overlaid the roof With rushes mown from off the neighb’ring mead; And all around a spacious court enclos’d With cross-set palisades; a single bar Of fir the gateway guarded, which to shut Three men, of all the others, scarce suffic’d, And three to open; but Achilles’ hand

Unaided shut with ease the massive bar) Then for the old man Hermes op’d the gate, And brought within the court the gifts design’d For Peleus’ godlike son; then from the car Sprang to the ground, and thus to Priam spoke: “Old man, a God hath hither been thy guide; Hermes I am, and sent to thee from Jove, Father of all, to bring thee safely here.

I now return, nor to Achilles’ eyes

Will I appear; beseems it not a God

To greet a mortal in the sight of all.

But go thou in, and clasp Achilles’ knees, And supplicate him for his father’s sake, His fair-hair’d mother’s, and his child’s, that so Thy words may stir an answer in his heart.”

 

Thus saying, Hermes to Olympus’ heights Return’d; and Priam from his chariot sprang, And left Idaeus there, in charge to keep The horses and the mules, while he himself Enter’d the dwelling straight, where wont to sit Achilles, lov’d of Heav’n. The chief he found Within, his followers seated all apart; Two only in his presence minister’d,

The brave Automedon, and Alcimus,

A warrior bold; scarce ended the repast Of food and wine; the table still was set.

Great Priam enter’d, unperceiv’d of all; And standing by Achilles, with his arms Embrac’d his knees, and kiss’d those fearful hands, Blood-stain’d, which many of his sons had slain.

As when a man, by cruel fate pursued,

In his own land hath shed another’s blood, And flying, seeks beneath some wealthy house A foreign refuge; wond’ring, all behold: On godlike Priam so with wonder gaz’d

Achilles; wonder seiz’d th’ attendants all, And one to other looked; then Priam thus To Peleus’ son his suppliant speech address’d: “Think, great Achilles, rival of the Gods, Upon thy father, e’en as I myself

Upon the threshold of unjoyous age:

And haply he, from them that dwell around May suffer wrong, with no protector near To give him aid; yet he, rejoicing, knows That thou still liv’st; and day by day may hope To see his son returning safe from Troy; While I, all hapless, that have many sons, The best and bravest through the breadth of Troy, Begotten, deem that none are left me now.

Fifty there were, when came the sons of Greece; Nineteen the offspring of a single womb; The rest, the women of my household bore.

Of these have many by relentless Mars

Been laid in dust; but he, my only one, The city’s and his brethren’s sole defence, He, bravely fighting in his country’s cause, Hector, but lately by thy hand hath fall’n: On his behalf I venture to approach

The Grecian ships; for his release to thee To make my pray’r, and priceless ransom pay.

Then thou, Achilles, reverence the Gods; And, for thy father’s sake, look pitying down On me, more needing pity; since I bear Such grief as never man on earth hath borne.

Who stoop to kiss the hand that slew my son.”

 

Thus as he spoke, within Achilles’ breast Fond mem’ry of his father rose; he touch’d The old man’s hand, and gently put him by; Then wept they both, by various mem’ries stirr’d: One, prostrate at Achilles’ feet, bewail’d His warrior son; Achilles for his sire, And for Patroclus wept, his comrade dear; And through the house their weeping loud was heard.

But when Achilles had indulg’d his grief, And eas’d the yearning of his heart and limbs, Uprising, with his hand the aged sire, Pitying his hoary head and hoary beard, He rais’d, and thus with gentle words address’d: “Alas, what sorrows, poor old man, are thine!

How couldst thou venture to the Grecian ships Alone, and to the presence of the man

Whose hand hath slain so many of thy sons, Many and brave? an iron heart is thine!

But sit thou on this seat; and in our hearts, Though filled with grief, let us that grief suppress; For woful lamentation nought avails.

Such, is the thread the Gods for mortals spin, To live in woe, while they from cares are free.

Two coffers lie beside the door of Jove, With gifts for man: one good, the other ill; To whom from each the Lord of lightning gives, Him sometimes evil, sometimes good befalls; To whom the ill alone, him foul disgrace And grinding mis’ry o’er the earth pursue: By God and man alike despis’d he roams.

Thus from his birth the Gods to Peleus gave Excellent gifts; with wealth and substance bless’d Above his fellows; o’er the Myrmidons

He rul’d with sov’reign sway; and Heav’n bestow’d On him, a mortal, an immortal bride.

Yet this of ill was mingled in his lot, That in his house no rising race he saw Of future Kings; one only son he had,

One doom’d to early death; nor is it mine To tend my father’s age; but far from home Thee and thy sons in Troy I vex with war.

Much have we heard too of thy former wealth; Above what Lesbos northward, Macar’s seat, Contains, and Upper Phrygia, and the shores Of boundless Hellespont, ‘tis said that thou In wealth and number of thy sons wast bless’d.

But since on thee this curse the Gods have brought, Still round thy city war and murder rage.

Bear up, nor thus with grief incessant mourn; Vain is thy sorrow for thy gallant son; Thou canst not raise him, and mayst suffer more.”

 

To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire; “Tell me not yet, illustrious chief, to sit, While Hector lies, uncar’d for, in the tent; But let me quickly go, that with mine eyes I may behold my son; and thou accept

The ample treasures which we tender thee: Mayst thou enjoy them, and in safety reach Thy native land, since thou hast spar’d my life, And bidd’st me still behold the light of Heav’n.”

 

To whom Achilles thus with stern regard: “Old man, incense me not; I mean myself To give thee back thy son; for here of late Despatch’d by Jove, my Goddess-mother came, The daughter of the aged Ocean-God:

And thee too, Priam, well I know, some God (I cannot err) hath guided to our ships.

No mortal, though in vent’rous youth, would dare Our camp to enter; nor could hope to pass Unnotic’d by the watch, nor easily

Remove the pond’rous bar that guards our doors.

But stir not up my anger in my grief;

Lest, suppliant though thou be, within my tent I brook thee not, and Jove’s command transgress.”

 

He said; the old man trembled, and obey’d; Then to the doorway, with a lion’s spring, Achilles rush’d; not unaccompanied;

With him Automedon and Aleimus,

His two attendants, of his followers all, Next to the lost Patroclus, best-esteem’d; They from the yoke the mules and horses loos’d; Then led the herald of the old man in, And bade him sit; and from the polish’d wain The costly ransom took of Hector’s head.

Two robes they left, and one well-woven vest, To clothe the corpse, and send with honour home.

Then to the female slaves he gave command To wash the body, and anoint with oil, Apart, that Priam might not see his son; Lest his griev’d heart its passion unrestrain’d Should utter, and Achilles, rous’d to wrath, His suppliant slay, and Jove’s command transgress.

When they had wash’d the body, and with oil Anointed, and around it wrapp’d the robe And vest, Achilles lifted up the dead

With his own hands, and laid him on the couch; Which to the polish’d wain his followers rais’d.

Then groaning, on his friend by name he call’d: “Forgive, Patroclus! be not wroth with me, If in the realm of darkness thou shouldst hear That godlike Hector to his father’s arms, For no mean ransom, I restore; whereof A fitting share for thee I set aside.”

 

This said, Achilles to the tent return’d; On the carv’d couch, from whence he rose, he sat Beside the wall; and thus to Priam spoke: “Old man, thy son, according to thy pray’r, Is giv’n thee back; upon the couch he lies; Thyself shalt see him at the dawn of day.

Meanwhile the ev’ning meal demands our care.

Not fair-hair’d Niobe abstain’d from food When in the house her children lay in death, Six beauteous daughters and six stalwart sons.

The youths, Apollo with his silver bow, The maids, the Archer-Queen, Diana, slew, With anger fill’d that Niobe presum’d

Herself with fair Latona to compare,

Her many children with her rival’s two; So by the two were all the many slain.

Nine days in death they lay; and none was there To pay their fun’ral rites; for Saturn’s son Had given to all the people hearts of stone.

At length th’ immortal Gods entomb’d the dead.

Nor yet did Niobe, when now her grief

Had worn itself in tears, from food refrain.

And now in Sipylus, amid the rocks,

And lonely mountains, where the Goddess nymphs That love to dance by Achelous’ stream, ‘Tis said, were cradled, she, though turn’d to stone, Broods o’er the wrongs inflicted by the Gods.

So we too, godlike sire, the meal may share; And later, thou thy noble son mayst mourn, To Troy restor’d—well worthy he thy tears.”

 

This said, he slaughter’d straight a white-fleec’d sheep; His comrades then the carcase flay’d and dress’d: The meat prepar’d, and fasten’d to the spits; Roasted with care, and from the fire withdrew.

The bread Automedon from baskets fair

Apportion’d out; the meat Achilles shar’d.

They on the viands set before them fell.

The rage of thirst and hunger satisfied, In wonder Priam on Achilles gaz’d,

His form and stature; as a God he seem’d; And he too look’d on Priam, and admir’d His venerable face, and gracious speech.

With mutual pleasure each on other gaz’d, Till godlike Priam first address’d his host: “Dismiss me now, illustrious chief, to rest; And lie we down, in gentle slumbers wrapp’d; For never have mine eyes been clos’d in sleep, Since by thy hand my gallant son was slain: But groaning still, I brood upon my woes, And in my court with dust my head defile.

Now have I tasted bread, now ruddy wine Hath o’er my palate pass’d; but not till now.”

 

Thus he; his comrades and th’ attendant maids Achilles order’d in the corridor

Two mattresses to place, with blankets fair Of purple wool o’erlaid; and on the top Rugs and soft sheets for upper cov’ring spread.

They from the chamber, torch in hand, withdrew, And with obedient haste two beds prepar’d.

Then thus Achilles spoke in jesting tone: “Thou needs must sleep without, my good old friend; Lest any leader of the Greeks should come, As is their custom, to confer with me; Of them whoe’er should find thee here by night Forthwith to Agamemnon would report,

And Hector might not be so soon, restor’d.

But tell me truly this; how many days

For godlike Hector’s fun’ral rites ye need; That for