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

No city is nigh, whose well-appointed tow’rs, Mann’d by a friendly race, may give us aid; But here, upon the well-arm’d Trojans’ soil, And only resting on the sea, we lie

Far from our country; not in faint retreat, But in our own good arms, our safety lies.”

He said; and with his sharp-edg’d spear his words He follow’d up; if any Trojan dar’d,

By Hector’s call inspir’d, with fiery brand To assail the ships, him with his ponderous spear Would Ajax meet; and thus before the ships Twelve warriors, hand to hand, his prowess felt.

ARGUMENT.

THE SIXTH BATTLE; THE ACTS AND DEATH OF PATROCLUS.

Patroclus (in pursuance of the request of Nestor in the eleventh book) entreats Achilles to suffer him to go to the assistance of the Greeks with Achilles’ troops and armour. He agrees to it, but at the same time charges him to content himself with rescuing the fleet, without farther pursuit of the enemy. The armour, horses, soldiers, and officers of Achilles are described. Achilles offers a libation for the success of his friend, after which Patroclus leads the Myrmidons to battle. The Trojans, at the sight of Patroclus in Achilles’ armour, taking him for that hero, are cast into the utmost consternation: he beats them off from the vessels, Hector himself flies, Sarpedon is killed, though Jupiter was averse to his fate. Several other particulars of the battle are described; in the heat of which, Patroclus, neglecting the orders of Achilles, pursues the foe to the walls of Troy; where Apollo repulses and disarms him, Euphorbus wounds him, and Hector kills him: which concludes the book.

BOOK XVI.

Thus round the well-mann’d ship they wag’d the war: Meanwhile by Peleus’ son Patroclus stood, Weeping hot tears; as some dark-water’d fount Pours o’er a craggy rock its gloomy stream; Achilles, swift of foot, with pity saw, And to his friend these winged words address’d: “Why weeps Patroclus, like an infant girl, That prays her mother, by whose side she runs, To take her up; and, clinging to her gown, Impedes her way, and still with tearful eyes Looks in her face, until she take her up?

Ev’n as that girl, Patroclus, such art thou, Shedding soft tears: hast thou some tidings brought Touching the gen’ral weal, or me alone?

Or have some evil news from Phthia come, Known but to thee? Menoetius, Actor’s son, Yet surely lives; and ‘mid his Myrmidons Lives aged Peleus, son of AEacus:

Their deaths indeed might well demand our tears: Or weep’st thou for the Greeks, who round their ships By death their former insolence repay?

Speak out, that I may know thy cause of grief.”

To whom, with bitter groans, Patroclus thus: “O son of Peleus, noblest of the Greeks, Achilles, be not wroth! such weight of woe The Grecian camp oppresses; in their ships They who were late their bravest and their best, Sore wounded all by spear or arrow lie; The valiant son of Tydeus, Diomed,

Pierc’d by a shaft, Ulysses by a spear, And Agamemnon’s self; Eurypylus

By a sharp arrow through the thigh transfix’d; For these, the large resources of their art The leeches ply, and on their wounds attend; While thou, Achilles, still remain’st unmov’d.

Oh, be it never mine to nurse such hate As thou retain’st, inflexibly severe!

Who e’er may hope in future days by thee To profit, if thou now forbear to save The Greeks from shame and loss? Unfeeling man!

Sure Peleus, horseman brave, was ne’er thy sire, Nor Thetis bore thee; from the cold grey sea And craggy rocks thou hadst thy birth; so hard And stubborn is thy soul. But if the fear Of evil prophesied thyself restrain,

Or message by thy Goddess-mother brought From Jove, yet send me forth with all thy force Of Myrmidons, to be the saving light

Of Greece; and let me to the battle bear Thy glitt’ring arms, if so the men of Troy, Scar’d by thy likeness, may forsake the field, And breathing-time afford the sons of Greece, Toil-worn; for little pause has yet been theirs.

Fresh and unwearied, we may drive with ease To their own city, from our ships and tents, The Trojans, worn and battle-wearied men.”

Thus pray’d he, all unwisely; for the pray’r He utter’d, to himself was fraught with death; To whom, much griev’d, Achilles, swift of foot: “Heav’n-born Patroclus, oh, what words are these!

Of prophecy I reck not, though I know; Nor message hath my mother brought from Jove; But it afflicts my soul; when one I see That basely robs his equal of his prize, His lawful prize, by highest valour won; Such grief is mine, such wrong have I sustain’d.

Her, whom the sons of Greece on me bestow’d, Prize of my spear, the well-wall’d city storm’d, The mighty Agamemnon, Atreus’ son,

Hath borne by force away, as from the hands Of some dishonour’d, houseless vagabond.

But let the past be past; I never meant My wrath should have no end; yet had not thought My anger to abate, till my own ships

Should hear the war-cry, and the battle bear, But go, and in my well-known armour clad, Lead forth the valiant Myrmidons to war, Since the dark cloud of Trojans circles round The ships in force; and on the shingly beach, Pent up in narrow limits, lie the Greeks; And all the city hath pour’d its numbers forth In hope undoubting; for they see no more My helm among them flashing; else in flight Their dead would choke the streams, if but to me Great Agamemnon bore a kindly mind:

But round the camp the battle now is wag’d.

No more the hands of valiant Diomed,

The Greeks protecting, hurl his fiery spear; Nor hear I now, from his detested lips, The shout of Agamemnon; all around

Is heard the warrior-slayer Hector’s voice, Cheering his Trojans; with triumphant cries They, from the vanquish’d Greeks, hold all the plain.

Nathless do thou, Patroclus, in defence Fall boldly on, lest they with blazing fire Our ships destroy, and hinder our retreat.

But hear, and ponder well the end of all I have to say, and so for me obtain

Honour and glory in the eyes of Greece; And that the beauteous maiden to my arms They may restore, with costly gifts to boot.

The ships reliev’d, return forthwith; and though The Thund’rer, Juno’s Lord, should crown thine arms With triumph, be not rash, apart from me, In combat with the warlike sons of Troy; (So should my name in less repute be held;) Nor, in the keen excitement of the fight And slaughter of the Trojans, lead thy troops On tow’rd the city, lest thou find thyself By some one of th’ immortal Gods oppos’d; For the far-darting Phoebus loves them well; But when in safety thou hast plac’d the ships, Delay not to return, and leave the rest To battle on the plain: for would to Jove, To Pallas and Apollo, that not one,

Or Greek or Trojan, might escape from death, Save only thou and I; that so we two

Alone might raze the sacred tow’rs of Troy.”

Such converse held they; while by hostile spears Hard press’d, no longer Ajax might endure; At once by Jove’s high will and Trojan foes O’ermaster’d; loud beneath repeated blows Clatter’d around his brow the glitt’ring helm, As on the well-wrought crest the weapons fell; And his left arm grew faint, that long had borne The burthen of his shield; yet nought avail’d The press of spears to drive him from his post; Lab’ring he drew his breath, his ev’ry limb With sweat was reeking; breathing space was none; Blow follow’d blow; and ills were heap’d on ill.

Say now, ye Nine, who on Olympus dwell, How first the fire assail’d the Grecian ships.

Hector approach’d, and on the ashen spear Of Ajax, close behind the head, let fall His mighty sword; right through he clove the wood; And in his hand the son of Telamon

The headless shaft held bootless; far away, Loud ringing, fell to earth the brazen point.

Ajax, dismayed, perceived the hand of Heaven, And knew that Jove the Thunderer had decreed To thwart his hopes, and victory give to Troy.

Slow he retir’d; and to the vessel they The blazing torch applied; high rose the flame Unquenchable, and wrapp’d the poop in fire.

The son of Peleus saw, and with his palm Smote on his thigh, and to Patroclus call’d: “Up, nobly born Patroclus, car-borne chief!

Up, for I see above the ships ascend

The hostile fires; and lest they seize the ships, And hinder our retreat, do thou in haste Thine armour don, while I arouse the troops.”

He said: his dazzling arms Patroclus donn’d: First on his legs the well-wrought greaves he fix’d, Fasten’d with silver clasps; his ample chest The breastplate of Achilles, swift of foot, Star-spangled, richly wrought, defended well; Around his shoulders slung, his sword he bore, Brass-bladed, silver-studded; next his shield Weighty and strong; and on his firm-set head A helm he wore, well-wrought, with horsehair plume That nodded, fearful, o’er his brow; his hand Grasp’d two stout spears, familiar to his hold.

One spear Achilles had, long, pond’rous, tough; But this he touch’d not; none of all the Greeks, None, save Achilles’ self, that spear could poise; The far-fam’d Pelian ash, which to his sire, On Pelion’s summit fell’d, to be the bane Of mightiest chiefs, the Centaur Chiron gave.

Then to Automedon he gave command

To yoke the horses: him he honour’d most, Next to Achilles’ self; the trustiest he In battle to await his chief’s behest.

The flying steeds he harness’d to the car, Xanthus and Balius, fleeter than the winds; Whom, grazing in the marsh by ocean’s stream, Podarge, swift of foot, to Zephyr bore: And by their side the matchless Pedasus, Whom from the capture of Eetion’s town Achilles bore away; a mortal horse,

But with immortal coursers meet to vie.

Meantime Achilles, through their several tents, Summon’d to arms the warlike Myrmidons.

They all, like rav’ning wolves, of courage high, That on the mountain side have hunted down An antler’d stag, and batten’d on his flesh: Their chaps all dyed with blood, in troops they go, With their lean tongues from some black-water’d fount To lap the surface of the dark cool wave, Their jaws with blood yet reeking, unsubdued Their courage, and their bellies gorg’d with flesh; So round Pelides’ valiant follower throng’d The chiefs and rulers of the Myrmidons.

Achilles in the midst to charioteers

And buckler’d warriors issued his commands.

Fifty swift ships Achilles, dear to Jove, Led to the coast of Troy; and rang’d in each Fifty brave comrades mann’d the rowers’ seats.

O’er these five chiefs, on whom he most relied, He plac’d, himself the Sov’reign Lord of all.

One band Menestheus led, with glancing mail, Son of Sperchius, Heav’n-descended stream; Him Peleus’ daughter, Polydora fair,

A mortal in a God’s embrace compress’d, To stout Sperchius bore; but, by repute, To Boras, Perieres’ son, who her

In public, and with ample dow’r, espous’d.

The brave Eudorus led the second band, Whom Phylas’ daughter, Polymele fair,

To Hermes bore; the maid he saw, and lov’d, Amid the virgins, mingling in the dance Of golden-shafted Dian, Huntress-Queen; He to her chamber access found, and gain’d By stealth her bed; a valiant son she bore, Eudorus, swift of foot, in battle strong.

But when her infant, by Lucina’s aid,

Was brought to light, and saw the face of day, Her to his home,