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

Her husband’s brother and her own she saw, Saw, and rejoic’d; next, seated on the crest Of spring-abounding Ida, Jove she saw, Sight hateful in her eyes! then ponder’d deep The stag-ey’d Queen, how best she might beguile The wakeful mind of aegis-bearing Jove; And, musing, this appear’d the readiest mode: Herself with art adorning, to repair

To Ida; there, with fondest blandishment And female charm, her husband to enfold In love’s embrace; and gentle, careless sleep Around his eyelids and his senses pour.

Her chamber straight she sought, by Vulcan built, Her son; by whom were to the door-posts hung Close-fitting doors, with secret keys secur’d, That, save herself, no God might enter in.

There enter’d she, and clos’d the shining doors; And with ambrosia first her lovely skin She purified, with fragrant oil anointing, Ambrosial, breathing forth such odours sweet, That, wav’d above the brazen floor of Jove, All earth and Heav’n were with the fragrance fill’d; O’er her fair skin this precious oil she spread; Comb’d out her flowing locks, and with her hand Wreath’d the thick masses of the glossy hair, Immortal, bright, that crown’d th’ imperial head.

A robe ambrosial then, by Pallas wrought, She donn’d, in many a curious pattern trac’d, With golden brooch beneath her breast confin’d.

Her zone, from which a hundred tassels hung, She girt about her; and, in three bright drops, Her glitt’ring gems suspended from her ears; And all around her grace and beauty shone.

Then o’er her head th’ imperial Goddess threw A beauteous veil, new-wrought, as sunlight white; And on her well-turn’d feet her sandals bound.

Her dress completed, from her chamber forth She issued, and from th’ other Gods apart She call’d to Venus, and address’d her thus: “Say, wilt thou grant, dear child, the boon I ask?

Or wilt thou say me nay, in wrath that I Espouse the Greek, as thou the Trojan cause?”

 

To whom the laughter-loving Venus thus: “Daughter of Saturn, Juno, mighty Queen, Tell me thy wish; to grant it if my pow’r May aught avail, thy pleasure shall be done.”

 

To whom great Juno thus, with artful speech: “Give me the loveliness, and pow’r to charm, Whereby thou reign’st o’er Gods and men supreme.

For to the bounteous Earth’s extremest bounds I go, to visit old Oceanus,

The sire of Gods, and Tethys, who of yore From Rhaea took me, when all-seeing Jove Hurl’d Saturn down below the earth and seas, And nurs’d me in their home with tend’rest care; I go to visit them, and reconcile

A lengthen’d feud; for since some cause of wrath Has come between them, they from rites of love And from the marriage-bed have long abstain’d: Could I unite them by persuasive words, And to their former intercourse restore, Their love and rev’rence were for ever mine.”

 

Whom answer’d thus the laughter-loving Queen: “I ought not, and I cannot, say thee nay, Who liest encircled by the arms of Jove.”

 

Thus Venus spoke; and from her bosom loos’d Her broider’d cestus, wrought with ev’ry charm To win the heart; there Love, there young Desire, There fond Discourse, and there Persuasion dwelt, Which oft enthralls the mind of wisest men.

This in her hand she plac’d, as thus she spoke: “Take thou from me, and in thy bosom hide, This broider’d cestus; and, whate’er thy wish, Thou shalt not here ungratified return.”

 

Thus Venus; smil’d the stag-ey’d Queen of Heav’n, And, smiling, in her bosom hid the gift.

Then Venus to her father’s house return’d; But Juno down from high Olympus sped;

O’er sweet Emathia, and Pieria’s range, O’er snowy mountains of horse-breeding Thrace, Their topmost heights, she soar’d, nor touch’d the earth.

From Athos then she cross’d the swelling sea, Until to Lemnos, godlike Thoas’ seat,

She came; there met she Sleep, twin-born with Death, Whom, as his hand she clasp’d, she thus address’d: “Sleep, universal King of Gods and men, If ever thou hast listen’d to my voice, Grant me the boon which now I ask, and win My ceaseless favour in all time to come.

When Jove thou seest in my embraces lock’d, Do thou his piercing eyes in slumber seal.

Rich guerdon shall be thine; a gorgeous throne, Immortal, golden; which my skilful son, Vulcan, shall deftly frame; beneath, a stool Whereon at feasts thy feet may softly rest.”

 

Whom answer’d thus the gentle God of Sleep: “Daughter of Saturn, Juno, mighty Queen, On any other of th’ immortal Gods

I can with ease exert my slumb’rous pow’r; Even to the stream of old Oceanus,

Prime origin of all; but Saturn’s son, Imperial Jove, I dare not so approach, Nor sink in sleep, save by his own desire.

Already once, obeying thy command,

A fearful warning I receiv’d, that day When from the capture and the sack of Troy That mighty warrior, son of Jove, set sail; For, circumfus’d around, with sweet constraint I bound the sense of aegis-bearing Jove, While thou, with ill-design, rousing the force Of winds tempestuous o’er the stormy sea, Didst cast him forth on Coos’ thriving isle, Far from his friends; then Jove, awaking, pour’d His wrath, promiscuous, on th’ assembled Gods; Me chief his anger sought; and from on high Had hurl’d me, plung’d beneath th’ unfathom’d sea, But Night, the vanquisher of Gods and men, Her fugitive received me; he his wrath Repress’d, unwilling to invade the claims Of holy Night; and now thou fain wouldst urge That I another reckless deed essay.”

 

Whom answer’d thus the stag-ey’d Queen of Heav’n: “Why, Sleep, with thoughts like these perplex thy mind Think’st thou that Jove as ardently desires To aid the men of Troy, as fiercely burn’d His anger on his valiant son’s behalf?

Grant my request; and of the Graces one, The youngest and the fairest, have to wife, Pasithea, whom thy love hath long pursued.”

 

Thus promis’d Juno; Sleep, rejoicing, heard, And answer’d thus: “Swear then the awful oath.

Inviolable, by the stream of Styx,

Thy one hand laid upon the fruitful earth, The other resting on the sparkling sea; That all the Gods who in the nether realms With Saturn dwell, may of our solemn bond Be witnesses, that of the Graces one,

The youngest, fairest, I shall have to wife, Pasithea, whom my love hath long pursued.”

 

He said: nor did the white-arm’d Queen refuse; She took the oath requir’d; and call’d by name On all the Titans, sub-Tartarean Gods: Then, sworn and ratified the oath, they pass’d From Lemnos, and from Imbros, veil’d in cloud, Skimming their airy way; on Lectum first, In spring-abounding Ida, nurse of beasts, The sea they left, and journey’d o’er the land, While wav’d beneath their feet the lofty woods.

There Sleep, ere yet he met the eye of Jove, Remain’d; and, mounted on a lofty pine, The tallest growth of Ida, that on high Flung through the desert air its boughs to Heav’n, Amid the pine’s close branches lay ensconc’d; Like to a mountain bird of shrillest note, Whom Gods the Chalcis, men the night-hawk call.

Juno meanwhile to Ida’s summit sped,

To Gargarus; the Cloud-compeller saw;

He saw, and sudden passion fir’d his soul, As when, their parents’ eyes eluding, first They tasted of the secret joys of love.

He rose to meet her, and address’d her thus: “From high Olympus, Juno, whither bound, And how, to Ida hast thou come in haste?

For horses here or chariot hast thou none.”

 

To whom thus Juno with deceitful speech Replied: “To fertile earth’s extremest bounds I go, to visit old Oceanus,

The sire of Gods, and Tethys, who of yore Receiv’d, and nurtur’d me with tend’rest care.

I go to visit them, and reconcile

A lengthen’d feud; for since some cause of wrath Has come between them, they from rites of love And from the marriage-bed have long abstain’d.

Meanwhile at spring-abounding Ida’s foot My horses wait me, that o’er land and sea Alike my chariot bear; on thine account From high Olympus hither have I come,

Lest it displease thee, if, to thee unknown, I sought the Ocean’s deeply-flowing stream.”

To whom the Cloud-compeller thus replied: “Juno, thy visit yet awhile defer;

And let us now in love’s delights indulge: For never yet did such a flood of love For Goddess or for mortal fill my soul; Not for Ixion’s beauteous wife, who bore Pirithous, sage in council as the Gods; Nor the neat-footed maiden Danae,

Acrisius’ daughter, her who Perseus bore, Th’ observ’d of all; nor noble Phoenix’ child, Who bore me Minos, and the godlike might Of Rhadamanthus; nor for Semele,

Nor for Alcmena fair, of whom was born In Thebes the mighty warrior Hercules, As Bacchus, joy of men, of Semele:

No, nor for Ceres, golden-tressed Queen, Nor for Latona bright, nor for thyself, As now with fond desire for thee I burn.”

 

To whom thus Juno with deceitful speech: “What words, dread son of Saturn, dost thou speak?

If here on Ida, in the face of day,

We celebrate the mystic rites of love.

How if some other of th’ immortal Gods Should find us sleeping, and ‘mid all the Gods Should spread the tale abroad? I could not then Straight to thy house, for very shame, return.

But if indeed such passion fill thy soul, Thou hast thy secret chamber, built for thee By Vulcan, with close-fitting doors secur’d; Thither, if such thy pleasure, go we now.”

 

To whom the Cloud-compeller thus replied: “Juno, nor fear the eye of God or man; For all around us I will throw such veil Of golden cloud, that not the sun himself With sharpest beam of light may pierce it through.”

 

Thus saying, in his arms he clasp’d his wife; The teeming earth beneath them caus’d to spring The tender grass, and lotus dew-besprent, Crocus and hyacinth, a fragrant couch, Profuse and soft, upspringing from the earth.

There lay they, all around them spread a veil Of golden cloud, whence heav’nly dews distill’d.

There on the topmost height of Gargarus, By sleep and love subdued, th’ immortal Sire, Clasp’d in his arms his wife, repos’d in peace.

 

Then Sleep arose, and to the Grecian ships In haste repairing, to th’ Earth-shaking King His tidings bore; and standing at his side Thus to the God his winged words address’d: “Now, Neptune, to the Greeks thy ready aid Afford, that short-liv’d triumph they may gain, While slumber holds the eyes of Jove; for I In sweet unconsciousness have drown’d his sense, Beguil’d by Juno, in whose arms he lies.”

 

He said, and vanish’d ‘mid the tribes of men: But fir’d with keener zeal to aid the Greeks, Neptune sprang forth in front, and call’d aloud: “Again, ye Greeks, shall our remissness yield The victory to Hector, Priam’s son,

To seize our ships, and endless glory gain?

Such is his boast and menace, since in wrath Achilles still beside his ships remains.

Yet him we scarce should miss, if we, the rest, But firmly stood for mutual defence.

Hear then my counsel: let us all agree, Girt with our best and broadest shields, our heads With flashing helmets guarded, in our hands Grasping our longest spears, to dare the fight.

Myself will lead you on; and Priam’s son, Though bold he be, will fear with me to cope.

And if, among our bravest, any bear

Too small a buckler, with some meaner man Let him exchange, and don the larger shield.”

 

He said, and they assenting heard his speech.

The Kings themselves, Ulysses, Diomed, And mighty Agamemnon, Atreus’ son,

Though sorely wounded, yet the troops array’d; Thro’out the ranks they pass’d, and chang’d the arms; The bravest donn’d the best, the worse the worst.

When with their dazzling armour all were girt, Forward they mov’d; th’ Earth-shaker led them on: In his broad hand an awful sword he