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

Ulysses now the snowy steeds detains,

And leads them, fasten’d by the silver reins; These, with his bow unbent, he lash’d along; (The scourge forgot, on Rhesus’ chariot hung;) Then gave his friend the signal to retire; But him, new dangers, new achievements fire; Doubtful he stood, or with his reeking blade To send more heroes to the infernal shade, Drag off the car where Rhesus’ armour lay, Or heave with manly force, and lift away.

While unresolved the son of Tydeus stands, Pallas appears, and thus her chief commands: “Enough, my son; from further slaughter cease, Regard thy safety, and depart in peace; Haste to the ships, the gotten spoils enjoy, Nor tempt too far the hostile gods of Troy.”

The voice divine confess’d the martial maid; In haste he mounted, and her word obey’d; The coursers fly before Ulysses’ bow,

Swift as the wind, and white as winter-snow.

Not unobserved they pass’d: the god of light Had watch’d his Troy, and mark’d Minerva’s flight, Saw Tydeus’ son with heavenly succour bless’d, And vengeful anger fill’d his sacred breast.

Swift to the Trojan camp descends the power, And wakes Hippocoon in the morning-hour; (On Rhesus’ side accustom’d to attend,

A faithful kinsman, and instructive friend;) He rose, and saw the field deform’d with blood, An empty space where late the coursers stood, The yet-warm Thracians panting on the coast; For each he wept, but for his Rhesus most: Now while on Rhesus’ name he calls in vain, The gathering tumult spreads o’er all the plain; On heaps the Trojans rush, with wild affright, And wondering view the slaughters of the night.

Meanwhile the chiefs, arriving at the shade Where late the spoils of Hector’s spy were laid, Ulysses stopp’d; to him Tydides bore

The trophy, dropping yet with Dolon’s gore: Then mounts again; again their nimbler feet The coursers ply, and thunder towards the fleet.

{Illustration: DIOMED AND ULYSSES RETURNING WITH THE SPOILS OF RHESUS.}

Old Nestor first perceived the approaching sound, Bespeaking thus the Grecian peers around: “Methinks the noise of trampling steeds I hear, Thickening this way, and gathering on my ear; Perhaps some horses of the Trojan breed (So may, ye gods! my pious hopes succeed) The great Tydides and Ulysses bear,

Return’d triumphant with this prize of war.

Yet much I fear (ah, may that fear be vain!) The chiefs outnumber’d by the Trojan train; Perhaps, even now pursued, they seek the shore; Or, oh! perhaps those heroes are no more.”

Scarce had he spoke, when, lo! the chiefs appear, And spring to earth; the Greeks dismiss their fear: With words of friendship and extended hands They greet the kings; and Nestor first demands: “Say thou, whose praises all our host proclaim, Thou living glory of the Grecian name!

Say whence these coursers? by what chance bestow’d, The spoil of foes, or present of a god?

Not those fair steeds, so radiant and so gay, That draw the burning chariot of the day.

Old as I am, to age I scorn to yield,

And daily mingle in the martial field;

But sure till now no coursers struck my sight Like these, conspicuous through the ranks of fight.

Some god, I deem, conferred the glorious prize, Bless’d as ye are, and favourites of the skies; The care of him who bids the thunder roar, And her, whose fury bathes the world with gore.”

“Father! not so, (sage Ithacus rejoin’d,) The gifts of heaven are of a nobler kind.

Of Thracian lineage are the steeds ye view, Whose hostile king the brave Tydides slew; Sleeping he died, with all his guards around, And twelve beside lay gasping on the ground.

These other spoils from conquer’d Dolon came, A wretch, whose swiftness was his only fame; By Hector sent our forces to explore,

He now lies headless on the sandy shore.”

Then o’er the trench the bounding coursers flew; The joyful Greeks with loud acclaim pursue.

Straight to Tydides’ high pavilion borne, The matchless steeds his ample stalls adorn: The neighing coursers their new fellows greet, And the full racks are heap’d with generous wheat.

But Dolon’s armour, to his ships convey’d, High on the painted stern Ulysses laid, A trophy destin’d to the blue-eyed maid.

Now from nocturnal sweat and sanguine stain They cleanse their bodies in the neighb’ring main: Then in the polished bath, refresh’d from toil, Their joints they supple with dissolving oil, In due repast indulge the genial hour,

And first to Pallas the libations pour: They sit, rejoicing in her aid divine,

And the crown’d goblet foams with floods of wine.

BOOK XI.

ARGUMENT

THE THIRD BATTLE, AND THE ACTS OF AGAMEMNON.

Agamemnon, having armed himself, leads the Grecians to battle; Hector prepares the Trojans to receive them, while Jupiter, Juno, and Minerva give the signals of war. Agamemnon bears all before him and Hector is commanded by Jupiter (who sends Iris for that purpose) to decline the engagement, till the king shall be wounded and retire from the field.

He then makes a great slaughter of the enemy. Ulysses and Diomed put a stop to him for a time but the latter, being wounded by Paris, is obliged to desert his companion, who is encompassed by the Trojans, wounded, and in the utmost danger, till Menelaus and Ajax rescue him.

Hector comes against Ajax, but that hero alone opposes multitudes, and rallies the Greeks. In the meantime Machaon, in the other wing of the army, is pierced with an arrow by Paris, and carried from the fight in Nestor’s chariot. Achilles (who overlooked the action from his ship) sent Patroclus to inquire which of the Greeks was wounded in that manner; Nestor entertains him in his tent with an account of the accidents of the day, and a long recital of some former wars which he remembered, tending to put Patroclus upon persuading Achilles to fight for his countrymen, or at least to permit him to do it, clad in Achilles’ armour. Patroclus, on his return, meets Eurypylus also wounded, and assists him in that distress.

This book opens with the eight and-twentieth day of the poem, and the same day, with its various actions and adventures is extended through the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth, fifteenth, sixteenth, seventeenth, and part of the eighteenth books. The scene lies in the field near the monument of Ilus.

The saffron morn, with early blushes spread, [179]

Now rose refulgent from Tithonus’ bed;

With new-born day to gladden mortal sight, And gild the courts of heaven with sacred light: When baleful Eris, sent by Jove’s command, The torch of discord blazing in her hand, Through the red skies her bloody sign extends, And, wrapt in tempests, o’er the fleet descends.

High on Ulysses’ bark her horrid stand

She took, and thunder’d through the seas and land.

Even Ajax and Achilles heard the sound, Whose ships, remote, the guarded navy bound, Thence the black fury through the Grecian throng With horror sounds the loud Orthian song: The navy shakes, and at the dire alarms Each bosom boils, each warrior starts to arms.

No more they sigh, inglorious to return, But breathe revenge, and for the combat burn.

{Illustration: THE DESCENT OF DISCORD.}

The king of men his hardy host inspires With loud command, with great example fires!

Himself first rose, himself before the rest His mighty limbs in radiant armour dress’d, And first he cased his manly legs around In shining greaves with silver buckles bound; The beaming cuirass next adorn’d his breast, The same which once king Cinyras possess’d: (The fame of Greece and her assembled host Had reach’d that monarch on the Cyprian coast; ‘Twas then, the friendship of the chief to gain, This glorious gift he sent, nor sent in vain:) Ten rows of azure steel the work infold, Twice ten of tin, and twelve of ductile gold; Three glittering dragons to the gorget rise, Whose imitated scales against the skies Reflected various light, and arching bow’d, Like colour’d rainbows o’er a showery cloud (Jove’s wondrous bow, of three celestial dies, Placed as a sign to man amidst the skies).

A radiant baldric, o’er his shoulder tied, Sustain’d the sword that glitter’d at his side: Gold was the hilt, a silver sheath encased The shining blade, and golden hangers graced.

His buckler’s mighty orb was next display’d, That round the warrior cast a dreadful shade; Ten zones of brass its ample brim surround, And twice ten bosses the bright convex crown’d: Tremendous Gorgon frown’d upon its field, And circling terrors fill’d the expressive shield: Within its concave hung a silver thong, On which a mimic serpent creeps along,

His azure length in easy waves extends, Till in three heads the embroider’d monster ends.

Last o’er his brows his fourfold helm he placed, With nodding horse-hair formidably graced; And in his hands two steely javelins wields, That blaze to heaven, and lighten all the fields.

That instant Juno, and the martial maid, In happy thunders promised Greece their aid; High o’er the chief they clash’d their arms in air, And, leaning from the clouds, expect the war.

Close to the limits of the trench and mound, The fiery coursers to their chariots bound The squires restrain’d: the foot, with those who wield The lighter arms, rush forward to the field.

To second these, in close array combined, The squadrons spread their sable wings behind.

Now shouts and tumults wake the tardy sun, As with the light the warriors’ toils begun.

Even Jove, whose thunder spoke his wrath, distill’d Red drops of blood o’er all the fatal field; [180]

The woes of men unwilling to survey,

And all the slaughters that must stain the day.

Near Ilus’ tomb, in order ranged around, The Trojan lines possess’d the rising ground: There wise Polydamas and Hector stood;

AEneas, honour’d as a guardian god;

Bold Polybus, Agenor the divine;

The brother-warriors of Antenor’s line: With youthful Acamas, whose beauteous face And fair proportion match’d the ethereal race.

Great Hector, cover’d with his spacious shield, Plies all the troops, and orders all the field.

As the red star now shows his sanguine fires Through the dark clouds, and now in night retires, Thus through the ranks appear’d the godlike man, Plunged in the rear, or blazing in the van; While streamy sparkles, restless as he flies, Flash from his arms, as lightning from the skies.

As sweating reapers in some wealthy field, Ranged in two bands, their crooked weapons wield, Bear down the furrows, till their labours meet; Thick fall the heapy harvests at their feet: So Greece and Troy the field of war divide, And falling ranks are strow’d on every side.

None stoop’d a thought to base inglorious flight; [181]

But horse to horse, and man to man they fight, Not rabid wolves more fierce contest their prey; Each wounds, each bleeds, but none resign the day.

Discord with joy the scene of death descries, And drinks large slaughter at her sanguine eyes: Discord alone, of all the immortal train, Swells the red horrors of this direful plain: The gods in peace their golden mansions fill, Ranged in bright order on the Olympian hill: But general murmurs told their griefs above, And each accused the partial will of Jove.

Meanwhile apart, superior, and alone,

The eternal Monarch, on his awful throne, Wrapt in the blaze of boundless glory sate; And fix’d, fulfill’d the just decrees of fate.

On earth he turn’d his all-considering eyes, And mark’d the spot where Ilion’s towers arise; The sea with ships, the fields with armies spread, The victor’s rage, the dying, and the dead.

Thus while the morning-beams, increasing bright, O’er heaven’s pure azure spread the glowing light, Commutual death the fate of war confounds, Each adverse battle gored with equal