The Iliad by Homer (the alpha prince and his bride full story free .txt) 📕

Encouraged thus, the blameless man replies: “Nor vows unpaid, nor slighted sacrifice, But he, our chief, provoked the raging pest, Apollo’s vengeance for his injured priest.

Nor will the god’s awaken’d fury cease, But plagues shall spread, and funeral fires increase, Till the great king, without a ransom paid, To her own Chrysa send the black-eyed maid. [14]

Perhaps, with added sacrifice and prayer, The priest may pardon, and the god may spare.”

The prophet spoke: when with a gloomy frown The monarch started from his shining throne; Black choler fill’d his breast that boil’d with ire, And from his eyeballs flash’d the living fire: “Augur accursed! denouncing mischief still, Prophet of plagues, for ever boding ill!

Still must that tongue some wounding message bring, And still thy priestly pride provoke thy king?

For this are Phoebus’ oracles explored, To teach the Greeks to murmur at their lord?

For this with falsehood is my honour stain’d, Is heaven offended, and a priest profaned; Because my prize, my beauteous maid, I hold, And heavenly charms prefer to proffer’d gold?

A maid, unmatch’d in manners as in face, Skill’d in each art, and crown’d with every grace; Not half so dear were Clytaemnestra’s charms, When first her blooming beauties bless’d my arms.

Yet, if the gods demand her, let her sail; Our cares are only for the public weal: Let me be deem’d the hateful cause of all, And suffer, rather than my people fall.

The prize, the beauteous prize, I will resign, So dearly valued, and so justly mine.

But since for common good I yield the fair, My private loss let grateful Greece repair; Nor unrewarded let your prince complain, That he alone has fought and bled in vain.”

“Insatiate king (Achilles thus replies), Fond of the power, but fonder of the prize!

Would’st thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield, The due reward of many a well-fought field?

The spoils of cities razed and warriors slain, We share with justice, as with toil we gain; But to resume whate’er thy avarice craves (That trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves.

Yet if our chief for plunder only fight, The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite, Whene’er, by Jove’s decree, our conquering powers Shall humble to the dust her lofty towers.”

Then thus the king: “Shall I my prize resign With tame content, and thou possess’d of thine?

Great as thou art, and like a god in fight, Think not to rob me of a soldier’s right.

At thy demand shall I restore the maid?

First let the just equivalent be paid;

Such as a king might ask; and let it be A treasure worthy her, and worthy me.

Or grant me this, or with a monarch’s claim This hand shall seize some other captive dame.

The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign; [15]

Ulysses’ spoils, or even thy own, be mine.

The man who suffers, loudly may complain; And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain.

But this when time requires.—It now remains We launch a bark to plough the watery plains, And waft the sacrifice to Chrysa’s shores, With chosen pilots, and with labouring oars.

Soon shall the fair the sable ship ascend, And some deputed prince the charge attend: This Creta’s king, or Ajax shall fulfil, Or wise Ulysses see perform’d our will; Or, if our royal pleasure shall ordain, Achilles’ self conduct her o’er the main; Let fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage, The god propitiate, and the pest assuage.”

{Illustration: MARS.}

At this, Pelides, frowning stern, replied: “O tyrant, arm’d with insolence and pride!

Inglorious slave to interest, ever join’d With fraud, unworthy of a royal mind!

What generous Greek, obedient to thy word, Shall form an ambush, or shall lift the sword?

What cause have I to war at thy decree?

The distant Trojans never injured me;

To Phthia’s realms no hostile troops they led: Safe in her vales my warlike coursers fed; Far hence removed, the hoarse-resounding main, And walls of rocks, secure my native reign, Whose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace, Rich in her fruits, and in her martial race.

Hither we sail’d, a voluntary throng,

To avenge a private, not a public wrong: What else to Troy the assembled nations draws, But thine, ungrateful, and thy brother’s cause?

Is this the pay our blood and toils deserve; Disgraced and injured by the man we serve?

And darest thou threat to snatch my prize away, Due to the deeds of many a dreadful day?

A prize as small, O tyrant! match’d with thine, As thy own actions if compared to mine.

Thine in each conquest is the wealthy prey, Though mine the sweat and danger of the day.

Some trivial present to my ships I bear: Or barren praises pay the wounds of war.

But know, proud monarch, I’m thy slave no more; My fleet shall waft me to Thessalia’s shore: Left by Achilles on the Trojan plain,

What spoils, what conquests, shall Atrides gain?”

To this the king: “Fly, mighty warrior! fly; Thy aid we need not, and thy threats defy.

There want not chiefs in such a cause to fight, And Jove himself shall guard a monarch’s right.

Of all the kings (the god’s distinguish’d care) To power superior none such hatred bear: Strife and debate thy restless soul employ, And wars and horrors are thy savage joy, If thou hast strength, ‘twas Heaven that strength bestow’d; For know, vain man! thy valour is from God.

Haste, launch thy vessels, fly with speed away; Rule thy own realms with arbitrary sway; I heed thee not, but prize at equal rate Thy short-lived friendship, and thy groundless hate.

Go, threat thy earth-born Myrmidons:—but here [16]

‘Tis mine to threaten, prince, and thine to fear.

Know, if the god the beauteous dame demand, My bark shall waft her to her native land; But then prepare, imperious prince! prepare, Fierce as thou art, to yield thy captive fair: Even in thy tent I’ll seize the blooming prize, Thy loved Briseis with the radiant eyes.

Hence shalt thou prove my might, and curse the hour Thou stood’st a rival of imperial power; And hence, to all our hosts it shall be known, That kings are subject to the gods alone.”

Achilles heard, with grief and rage oppress’d, His heart swell’d high, and labour’d in his breast; Distracting thoughts by turns his bosom ruled; Now fired by wrath, and now by reason cool’d: That prompts his hand to draw the deadly sword, Force through the Greeks, and pierce their haughty lord; This whispers soft his vengeance to control, And calm the rising tempest of his soul.

Just as in anguish of suspense he stay’d, While half unsheathed appear’d the glittering blade, [17]

Minerva swift descended from above,

Sent by the sister and the wife of Jove (For both the princes claim’d her equal care); Behind she stood, and by the golden hair Achilles seized; to him alone confess’d; A sable cloud conceal’d her from the rest.

He sees, and sudden to the goddess cries, Known by the flames that sparkle from her eyes: {Illustration: MINERVA REPRESSING THE FURY OF ACHILLES.}

“Descends Minerva, in her guardian care, A heavenly witness of the wrongs I bear From Atreus’ son?—Then let those eyes that view The daring crime, behold the vengeance too.”

“Forbear (the progeny of Jove replies)

To calm thy fury I forsake the skies:

Let great Achilles, to the gods resign’d, To reason yield the empire o’er his mind.

By awful Juno this command is given;

The king and you are both the care of heaven.

The force of keen reproaches let him feel; But sheathe, obedient, thy revenging steel.

For I pronounce (and trust a heavenly power) Thy injured honour has its fated hour,

When the proud monarch shall thy arms implores And bribe thy friendship with a boundless store.

Then let revenge no longer bear the sway; Command thy passions, and the gods obey.”

To her Pelides:—“With regardful ear,

‘Tis just, O goddess! I thy dictates hear.

Hard as it is, my vengeance I suppress: Those who revere the gods the gods will bless.”

He said, observant of the blue-eyed maid; Then in the sheath return’d the shining blade.

The goddess swift to high Olympus flies, And joins the sacred senate of the skies.

Nor yet the rage his boiling breast forsook, Which thus redoubling on Atrides broke: “O monster! mix’d of insolence and fear, Thou dog in forehead, but in heart a deer!

When wert thou known in ambush’d fights to dare, Or nobly face the horrid front of war?

‘Tis ours, the chance of fighting fields to try; Thine to look on, and bid the valiant die: So much ‘tis safer through the camp to go, And rob a subject, than despoil a foe.

Scourge of thy people, violent and base!

Sent in Jove’s anger on a slavish race; Who, lost to sense of generous freedom past, Are tamed to wrongs;—or this had been thy last.

Now by this sacred sceptre hear me swear, Which never more shall leaves or blossoms bear, Which sever’d from the trunk (as I from thee) On the bare mountains left its parent tree; This sceptre, form’d by temper’d steel to prove An ensign of the delegates of Jove,

From whom the power of laws and justice springs (Tremendous oath! inviolate to kings);

By this I swear:—when bleeding Greece again Shall call Achilles, she shall call in vain.

When, flush’d with slaughter, Hector comes to spread The purpled shore with mountains of the dead, Then shall thou mourn the affront thy madness gave, Forced to deplore when impotent to save: Then rage in bitterness of soul to know This act has made the bravest Greek thy foe.”

He spoke; and furious hurl’d against the ground His sceptre starr’d with golden studs around: Then sternly silent sat. With like disdain The raging king return’d his frowns again.

To calm their passion with the words of age, Slow from his seat arose the Pylian sage, Experienced Nestor, in persuasion skill’d; Words, sweet as honey, from his lips distill’d: [18]

Two generations now had pass’d away,

Wise by his rules, and happy by his sway; Two ages o’er his native realm he reign’d, And now the example of the third remain’d.

All view’d with awe the venerable man;

Who thus with mild benevolence began:—

“What shame, what woe is this to Greece! what joy To Troy’s proud monarch, and the friends of Troy!

That adverse gods commit to stern debate The best, the bravest, of the Grecian state.

Young as ye are, this youthful heat restrain, Nor think your Nestor’s years and wisdom vain.

A godlike race of heroes once I knew,

Such as no more these aged eyes shall view!

Lives there a chief to match Pirithous’ fame, Dryas the bold, or Ceneus’ deathless name; Theseus, endued with more than mortal might, Or Polyphemus, like the gods in fight?

With these of old, to toils of battle bred, In early youth my hardy days I led;

Fired with the thirst which virtuous envy breeds, And smit with love of honourable deeds, Strongest of men, they pierced the mountain boar, Ranged the wild deserts red with monsters’ gore, And from their hills the shaggy Centaurs tore: Yet these with soft persuasive arts I sway’d; When Nestor spoke, they listen’d and obey’d.

If in my youth, even these esteem’d me wise; Do you, young warriors, hear my age advise.

Atrides, seize not on the beauteous slave; That prize the Greeks by common