The Iliad by Homer (ebooks children's books free TXT) 📕

Such was his pray’r; but Juno on her throne Trembled with rage, till great Olympus quak’d, And thus to Neptune, mighty God, she spoke: “O thou of boundless might, Earth-shaking God, See’st thou unmov’d the ruin of the Greeks?

Yet they in AEgae and in Helice,

With grateful off’rings rich thine altars crown; Then give we them the vict’ry; if we all Who favour Greece, together should combine To put to flight the Trojans, and restrain All-seeing Jove, he might be left alone, On Ida’s summit to digest his wrath.”

To whom, in anger, Neptune thus replied: “O Juno, rash of speech, what words are these!

I dare not counsel that we all should join ‘Gainst Saturn’s son; so much the stronger he.”

Such converse held they; all the space meanwhile Within the trench, between the tow’r and ships, Was closely throng’d with steeds and buckler’d men; By noble Hector, brave as Mars, and led By Jove to vict’ry, coop’d in narrow space; Who now had burnt with fire the Grecian ships, But Juno bade Atrides haste to rouse

Their fainting courage; through the camp he pass’d; On his broad hand a purple robe he bore, And stood upon Ulysses’ lofty ship,

The midmost, whence to shout to either side, Or to the tents of Ajax Telamon,

Or of Achilles, who at each extreme,

Confiding in their strength, had moor’d their ships.

Thence to the Greeks he shouted, loud and clear: “Shame on ye, Greeks, base cowards, brave alone In outward semblance! where are now the vaunts Which once (so highly of ourselves we deem’d) Ye made, vain-glorious braggarts as ye were, In Lemnos’ isle, when, feasting on the flesh Of straight-horn’d oxen, and your flowing cups Crowning with ruddy wine, not one of you, But for a hundred Trojans in the field, Or for two hundred, deem’d himself a match: Now quail ye all before a single man,

Hector, who soon will wrap our ships in fire.

O Father Jove! what sov’reign e’er hast thou So far deluded, of such glory robb’d?

Yet ne’er, on this disastrous voyage bent, Have I unheeded pass’d thine altar by; The choicest off’rings burning still on each, In hopes to raze the well-built walls of Troy.

Yet to this pray’r at least thine ear incline; Grant that this coast in safety we may leave, Nor be by Trojans utterly subdued.”

He said; and Jove, with pity, saw his tears; And, with a sign, his people’s safety vouch’d.

He sent an eagle, noblest bird that flies, Who in his talons bore a wild deer’s fawn: The fawn he dropp’d beside the holy shrine, Where to the Lord of divination, Jove, The Greeks were wont their solemn rites to pay.

The sign from Heav’n they knew; with courage fresh Assail’d the Trojans, and the fight renew’d.

Then none of all the many Greeks might boast That he, before Tydides, drove his car Across the ditch, and mingled in the fight.

His was the hand that first a crested chief, The son of Phradmon, Agelaus, struck.

He turn’d his car for flight; but as he turn’d, The lance of Diomed, behind his neck,

Between the shoulders, through his chest was driv’n; Headlong he fell, and loud his armour rang.

Next to Tydides, Agamemnon came,

And Menelaus, Atreus’ godlike sons;

Th’ Ajaces both, in dauntless courage cloth’d; Idomeneus, with whom Meriones,

His faithful comrade, terrible as Mars; Eurypylus, Euaemon’s noble son;

The ninth was Teucer, who, with bended bow, Behind the shield of Ajax Telamon

Took shelter; Ajax o’er him held his shield; Thence look’d he round, and aim’d amid the crowd; And as he saw each Trojan, wounded, fall, Struck by his shafts, to Ajax close he press’d, As to its mother’s shelt’ring arms a child, Conceal’d and safe beneath the ample targe.

Say then, who first of all the Trojans fell By Teucer’s arrows slain? Orsilochus,

And Ophelestes, Daetor, Ormenus,

And godlike Lycophontes, Chromius,

And Amopaon, Polyaemon’s son,

And valiant Melanippus: all of these,

Each after other, Teucer laid in dust.

Him Agamemnon, with his well-strung bow Thinning the Trojan ranks, with joy beheld, And, standing at his side, address’d him thus: “Teucer, good comrade, son of Telamon, Shoot ever thus, if thou wouldst be the light And glory of the Greeks, and of thy sire, Who nursed thine infancy, and in his house Maintain’d, though bastard; him, though distant far, To highest fame let thine achievements raise.

This too I say, and will make good my word: If by the grace of aegis-bearing Jove, And Pallas, Ilium’s well-built walls we raze, A gift of honour, second but to mine,

I in thy hands will place; a tripod bright, Or, with their car and harness, two brave steeds, Or a fair woman who thy bed may share.”

To whom in answer valiant Teucer thus: “Most mighty son of Atreus, why excite Who lacks not zeal? To th’ utmost of my pow’r Since first we drove the Trojans back, I watch, Unceasing, every chance to ply my shafts.

Eight barbed arrows have I shot e’en now, And in a warrior each has found its mark; That savage hound alone defeats my aim.”

At Hector, as he spoke, another shaft

He shot, ambitious of so great a prize: He miss’d his aim; but Priam’s noble son Gorgythion, through the breast his arrow struck, Whom from AEsyme brought, a wedded bride Of heavenly beauty, Castianeira bore.

Down sank his head, as in a garden sinks A ripen’d poppy charg’d with vernal rains; So sank his head beneath his helmet’s weight.

At Hector yet another arrow shot

Teucer, ambitious of so great a prize; Yet this too miss’d, by Phoebus turn’d aside; But Archeptolemus, the charioteer

Of Hector, onward hurrying, through the breast It struck, beside the nipple; from the car He fell; aside the startled horses swerv’d; And as he fell the vital spirit fled.

Deep, for his comrade slain, was Hector’s grief; Yet him, though griev’d at heart, perforce he left, And to Cebriones, his brother, call’d, Then near at hand, the horses’ reins to take; He heard, and straight obey’d; then Hector leap’d Down from his glitt’ring chariot to the ground, His fearful war-cry shouting; in his hand A pond’rous stone he carried; and, intent To strike him down, at Teucer straight he rush’d.

He from his quiver chose a shaft in haste, And fitted to the cord; but as he drew The sinew, Hector of the glancing helm Hurl’d the huge mass of rock, which Teucer struck Near to the shoulder, where the collar-bone Joins neck and breast, the spot most opportune, And broke the tendon; paralys’d, his arm Dropp’d helpless by his side; upon his knees He fell, and from his hands let fall the bow.

Not careless Ajax saw his brother’s fall, But o’er him spread in haste his cov’ring shield.

Two faithful friends, Mecisteus, Echius’ son, And brave Alastor, from the press withdrew, And bore him, deeply groaning, to the ships.

Then Jove again the Trojan courage fir’d, And backward to the ditch they forc’d the Greeks.

Proud of his prowess, Hector led them on; And as a hound that, fleet of foot, o’ertakes Or boar or lion, object of his chase,

Springs from behind, and fastens on his flank, Yet careful watches, lest he turn to bay: So Hector press’d upon the long-hair’d Greeks, Slaying the hindmost; they in terror fled.

But, pass’d at length the ditch and palisade, With loss of many by the Trojans slain, Before the ships they rallied from their flight, And one to other call’d: and one and all With hands uplifted, pray’d to all the Gods; While Hector, here and there, on ev’ry side His flying coursers wheel’d, with eyes that flash’d Awful as Gorgon’s, or as blood-stain’d Mars.

Juno, the white-arm’d Queen, with pity mov’d, To Pallas thus her winged words address’d: “O Heav’n, brave child of aegis-bearing Jove, Can we, ev’n now, in this their sorest need, Refuse the Greeks our aid, by one subdued, One single man, of pride unbearable,

Hector, the son of Priam, who e’en now, Hath caus’d them endless grief?” To whom again The blue-ey’d Goddess, Pallas, thus replied: “I too would fain behold him robb’d of life, In his own country slain by Grecian hands; But that my sire, by ill advice misled, Rages in wrath, still thwarting all my plans; Forgetting now how oft his son I sav’d, Sore wearied with the toils Eurystheus gave.

Oft would his tears ascend to Heav’n, and oft From Heav’n would Jove despatch me to his aid; But if I then had known what now I know, When to the narrow gates of Pluto’s realm He sent him forth to bring from Erebus Its guardian dog, he never had return’d In safety from the marge of Styx profound.

He holds me now in hatred, and his ear To Thetis lends, who kiss’d his knees, and touch’d His beard, and pray’d him to avenge her son Achilles; yet the time shall come when I Shall be once more his own dear blue-ey’d Maid.

But haste thee now, prepare for us thy car, While to the house of aegis-bearing Jove I go, and don my armour for the fight, To prove if Hector of the glancing helm, The son of Priam, will unmov’d behold

Us two advancing o’er the pass of war; Or if the flesh of Trojans, slain by Greeks, Shall sate the maw of rav’ning dogs and birds.”

She said: the white-arm’d Queen her word obey’d.

Juno, great Goddess, royal Saturn’s child, The horses brought, with golden frontlets crown’d; While Pallas, child of aegis-bearing Jove, Within her father’s threshold dropp’d her veil Of airy texture, work of her own hands; The cuirass donn’d of cloud-compelling Jove, And stood accoutred for the bloody fray.

The fiery car she mounted; in her hand A spear she bore, long, weighty, tough; wherewith The mighty daughter of a mighty sire

Sweeps down the ranks of those her wrath pursues.

Then Juno sharply touch’d the flying steeds; Forthwith spontaneous opening, grated harsh The heavenly portals, guarded by the Hours, Who Heav’n and high Olympus have in charge, To roll aside or close the veil of cloud; Through these th’ excited horses held their way.

From Ida’s heights the son of Saturn saw, And, fill’d with wrath, the heav’nly messenger, The golden-winged Iris, thus bespoke:

“Haste thee, swift Iris; turn them back, and warn That farther they advance not: ‘tis not meet That they and I in war should be oppos’d.

This too I say, and will make good my words: Their flying horses I will lame; themselves Dash from their car, and break their chariot-wheels; And ten revolving years heal not the wound Where strikes my lightning; so shall Pallas learn What ‘tis against her father to contend.

Juno less moves my wonder and my wrath; Whate’er I plan, ‘tis still her wont to thwart.”

Thus he: from Ida to Olympus’ height

The storm-swift Iris on her errand sped.

At many-ridg’d Olympus’ outer gate

She met the Goddesses, and stay’d their course, And thus convey’d the sov’reign will of Jove: “Whither away? what madness fills your breasts?

To give the Greeks your succour, Jove forbids; And thus he threatens, and will make it good: Your flying horses he will lame; yourselves Dash from the car, and break your chariot-wheels; And ten revolving years heal not the wounds His lightning makes: so, Pallas, shalt thou learn What ‘tis against thy father to contend.

Juno less moves his wonder and his wrath; Whate’er he plans, ‘tis still her wont to thwart; But overbold and void of shame art thou, If against Jove thou dare to lift thy spear.”

Thus as she spoke, swift Iris disappear’d.

Then Juno thus to Pallas spoke: “No more, Daughter of aegis-bearing Jove, can we For mortal men his