The Iliad Homer (big screen ebook reader txt) 📖

The warriors now drew near. Patroclus slew
The noble Thrasymelus, who had been
Sarpedon’s valiant comrade in the war.
Below the belt he smote him, and he fell
Lifeless. Sarpedon threw his shining lance;
It missed, but struck the courser Pedasus
In the right shoulder. With a groan he fell
In dust, and, moaning, breathed his life away.
Then the two living horses sprang apart,
And the yoke creaked, and the entangled reins
Were useless, fastened to the fallen horse.
Automedon, the mighty spearman, saw
The remedy, and from his brawny thigh
He drew his sword, and cut the outside horse
Loose from his fellows. They again were brought
Together, and obeyed the reins once more;
And the two chiefs renewed the mortal fight.

And now, again, Sarpedon’s shining spear
Was vainly flung; the point, in passing o’er
Patroclus’s left shoulder, gave no wound.
In turn, Patroclus, hurling not in vain
His weapon, smote him where the midriff’s web
Holds the tough heart. He fell as falls an oak
Or poplar or tall pine, which workmen hew
Among the mountains with their sharpened steel
To frame a ship. So he before his steeds
And chariot fell upon the bloody dust,
And grasped it with his hands, and gnashed his teeth.
As when a lion coming on a herd
Seizes, amid the crowd of stamping beeves,
A tawny and high-mettled bull, that dies
Bellowing in fury in the lion’s jaws⁠—
Like him, indignant to be overcome,
The leader of the bucklered Lycian host,
Laid prostrate by Patroclus, called by name
His dear companion, and addressed him thus:⁠—

“Beloved Glaucus, mighty among men!
Now prove thyself a hero, now be bold.
Now, if thou have a warrior’s spirit, think
Of nought but battle. Go from rank to rank,
Exhorting all the Lycian chiefs to fight
Around Sarpedon. Combat thou for me
With thy good spear, for I shall be to thee
A shame and a reproach through all thy days,
If here the Greeks, beside whose ships I fall,
Bear off my armor. Stand thou firm, and stir
Thy people up to combat valiantly.”

While he was speaking, death crept o’er his sight
And stopped his breath. Patroclus set his heel
Against his bosom, and plucked out the spear;
The midriff followed it, and thus he drew
The life and weapon forth at once. Meantime
The Myrmidons held fast the snorting steeds,
That, loosened from the Lycian’s car, were bent
On flight. The grief of Glaucus as he heard
His comrade’s voice was bitter, and his heart
Ached at the thought that he could bring no aid.
He seized his arm and pressed it in his grasp,
For there the wound which Teucer’s arrow left,
When Glaucus stormed the wall and Teucer’s shafts
Defended it, still pained him grievously,
And thus he prayed to Phoebus, archer-god:⁠—

“Give ear, O king! wherever thou abide,
In the opulent realm of Lycia, or in Troy;
For everywhere thou nearest those who cry
To thee in sorrow, and great sorrow now
Is on me. Grievous is the wound I bear;
Sharp are the pains that pierce my hand; the blood
Cannot be stanched; my very arm becomes
A burden; I can wield the spear no more
With a firm grasp, nor combat with the foe.
A mighty chief⁠—Sarpedon, son of Jove⁠—
Has perished, and the father came not nigh
To aid his son. Yet come thou to my aid,
O monarch-god! and heal this painful wound,
And give me strength to rally to the fight
The Lycian warriors, and myself contend
Valiantly for the rescue of the dead.”

So prayed he: Phoebus hearkened, and at once
Assuaged the pain, and stanched the purple blood
In the deep wound, and filled his frame with strength.
The warrior felt the change, rejoiced to know
That with such friendly speed the mighty god
Granted his prayer. And first he went among
The Lycian chiefs, exhorting them to wage
Fierce battle for Sarpedon. Then he sought,
Walking with rapid strides, the Trojan chiefs,
Agenor, nobly born, Polydamas,
The son of Panthoüs, Aeneas next,
And Hector mailed in brass. By him he stood,
And thus accosted him with wingèd words:⁠—

“O Hector, thou art careless of the fate
Of thine allies, who for thy sake, afar
From those they love, and from their native land,
Pour out their lives; thou bringest them no aid.
Sarpedon lies in death, the chief who led
The bucklered Lycians, who with justice swayed
The realm of Lycia, and defended it
With valor. Him hath brazen Mars beneath
The weapon of Patroclus smitten down.
Come then, my friends, repulse we gallantly
These Myrmidons; else will they bear away
His armor and insult his corpse, to avenge
The havoc we have made among the Greeks
Who perished by our weapons at the fleet.”

He spake, and grief immitigable seized
The Trojans; for the slain, though stranger-born,
Had been a pillar of the realm of Troy,
And many were the troops that followed him,
And he was bravest of them all in war.

Then rushed the Trojans fiercely on the Greeks,
With Hector, sorrowing for Sarpedon’s fall,
Leading them on, while the bold-hearted chief,
Patroclus Menoetiades, aroused
The courage of the Greeks. He thus addressed
The warriors Ajax, eager like himself
For combat: “Be it now your welcome task,
O warriors Ajax, to drive back the foe;
He who first sprang across the Grecian wall,
Sarpedon, lies a corpse, and we must now
Dishonor the dead chief, and strip from him
His armor, and strike down with our good spears
Whoever of his comrades shall resist.”

He spake, and all were resolute to beat
The enemy back; and when, on either side,
Trojans and Lycians, Myrmidons and Greeks,
Had put their phalanxes in firm array,
They closed, with dreadful shouts and horrid clash
Of arms, in fight around the dead, while Jove
Drew o’er that deadly fray an awful veil
Of darkness, that the struggle for the corpse
Of his dear son might rage more furiously.
The Trojans first drave back the dark-eyed Greeks,
For one was in the onset smitten down,
Not the least valiant of the Myrmidons⁠—
The son of brave Agacles, nobly born
Epeigeus, who aforetime, when he ruled
The populous Budeium, having slain
A noble kinsman, fled a suppliant
To Peleus and the silver-footed queen,
Thetis, his consort, and by them was sent,
With terrible Achilles, to the coast
Of courser-breeding Ilium and the siege
Of Troy. As now he stooped to seize the dead,
Illustrious Hector smote him with a stone
Upon the forehead, cleaving it in two
In the strong helmet; headlong on the corse
He fell,