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

A boy, amid them, from a clear-ton’d harp Drew lovely music; well his liquid voice The strings accompanied; they all with dance And song harmonious join’d, and joyous shouts, As the gay bevy lightly tripp’d along.

Of straight-horn’d cattle too a herd was grav’n; Of gold and tin the heifers all were wrought: They to the pasture, from the cattle-yard, With gentle lowings, by a babbling stream, Where quiv’ring reed-beds rustled, slowly mov’d.

Four golden shepherds walk’d beside the herd, By nine swift dogs attended; then amid The foremost heifers sprang two lions fierce Upon the lordly bull: he, bellowing loud, Was dragg’d along, by dogs and youths pursued.

The tough bull’s-hide they tore, and gorging lapp’d Th’ intestines and dark blood; with vain attempt The herdsmen following closely, to the attack Cheer’d their swift dogs; these shunn’d the lions’ jaws, And close around them baying, held aloof.

And there the skilful artist’s hand had trac’d A pastaro broad, with fleecy flocks o’erspread, In a fair glade, with fold, and tents, and pens.

There, too, the skilful artist’s hand had wrought With curious workmanship, a mazy dance, Like that which Daedalus in Cnossus erst At fair-hair’d Ariadne’s bidding fram’d.

There, laying each on other’s wrists their hand, Bright youths and many-suitor’d maidens danc’d: In fair white linen these; in tunics those, Well woven, shining soft with fragrant oils; These with fair coronets were crown’d, while those With golden swords from silver belts were girt.

Now whirl’d they round with nimble practis’d feet, Easy, as when a potter, seated, turns

A wheel, new fashion’d by his skilful hand, And spins it round, to prove if true it run; Now featly mov’d in well-beseeming ranks.

A num’rous crowd, around, the lovely dance Survey’d, delighted; while an honour’d Bard Sang, as he struck the lyre, and to the strain Two tumblers, in the midst, were whirling round.

About the margin of the massive shield Was wrought the mighty strength of th’ ocean stream.

The shield completed, vast and strong, he forg’d A breastplate, dazzling bright as flame of fire; And next, a weighty helmet for his head, Fair, richly wrought, with crest of gold above; Then last, well-fitting greaves of pliant tin.

The skill’d artificer his works complete Before Achilles’ Goddess-mother laid:

She, like a falcon, from the snow-clad heights Of huge Olympus, darted swiftly down,

Charg’d with the glitt’ring arms by Vulcan wrought.

ARGUMENT

THE RECONCILIATION OF ACHILLES AND AGAMEMNON.

Thetis brings to her son the armour made by Vulcan. She preserves the body of his friend from corruption, and commands him to assemble the army, to declare his resentment at an end. Agamemnon and Achilles are solemnly reconciled: the speeches, presents, and ceremonies on that occasion. Achilles is with great difficulty persuaded to refrain from the battle till the troops have refreshed themselves, by the advice of Ulysses. The presents are conveyed to the tent of Achilles: where Briseis laments over the body of Patroclus. The hero obstinately refuses all repast, and gives himself up to lamentations for his friend. Minerva descends to strengthen him, by the order of Jupiter. He arms for the fight; his appearance described. He addresses himself to his horses, and reproaches them with the death of Patroclus. One of them is miraculously endued with voice, and inspired to prophesy his fate; but the hero, not astonished by that prodigy, rushes with fury to the combat.

The thirtieth day. The scene is on the seashore.

BOOK XIX.

Now morn in saffron robe, from th’ ocean stream Ascending, light diffus’d o’er Gods and men; As Thetis, to the ships returning, bore The gift of Vulcan; there her son she found, Who o’er Patroclus hung in bitter grief; Around him mourn’d his comrades; in the midst She stood, and clasp’d his hand, as thus she spoke: “Leave we, my son, though deep our grief, the dead; Here let him lie, since Heav’n hath doom’d his fall; But thou these arms receive, by Vulcan sent, Fairer than e’er on mortal breast were borne.”

The arms before Achilles, as she spoke, The Goddess laid; loud rang the wondrous work.

With awe the Myrmidons beheld; nor dar’d Affront the sight: but as Achilles gaz’d, More fiery burn’d his wrath; beneath his brows His eyes like lightning flash’d; with fierce delight He seiz’d the glorious gift: and when his soul Had feasted on the miracle of art,

To Thetis thus his winged words address’d: “Mother, the God hath giv’n me arms indeed, Worthy a God, and such as mortal man

Could never forge; I go to arm me straight; Yet fear I for Menoetius’ noble son,

Lest in his spear-inflicted wounds the flies May gender worms, and desecrate the dead, And, life extinct, corruption reach his flesh.”

Whom answer’d thus the silver-footed Queen: “Let not such fears, my son, disturb thy mind: I will myself the swarms of flies disperse, That on the flesh of slaughter’d warriors prey: And should he here remain a year complete, Still should his flesh be firm and fresh as now: But thou to council call the chiefs of Greece; Against the monarch Agamemnon there,

The leader of the host, abjure thy wrath; Then arm thee quickly, and put on thy might.”

Her words with dauntless courage fill’d his breast.

She in Patroclus’ nostrils, to preserve His flesh, red nectar and ambrosia pour’d.

Along the ocean beach Achilles pass’d, And loudly shouting, call’d on all the chiefs; Then all who heretofore remain’d on board, The steersmen, who the vessels’ rudders hold, The very stewards that serv’d the daily bread, All to th’ assembly throng’d, when reappear’d Achilles, from the fight so long withdrawn.

Two noble chiefs, two ministers of Mars, Ulysses sage, and valiant Diomed,

Appear’d, yet crippled by their grievous wounds, Their halting steps supporting with their spears, And on the foremost seats their places took.

Next follow’d Agamemnon, King of men,

He also wounded; for Antenor’s son,

Coon, had stabb’d him in the stubborn fight.

When all the Greeks were closely throng’d around, Up rose Achilles swift of foot, and said: “Great son of Atreus, what hath been the gain To thee or me, since heart-consuming strife Hath fiercely rag’d between us, for a girl, Who would to Heav’n had died by Dian’s shafts That day when from Lyrnessus’ captur’d town I bore her off? so had not many a Greek Bitten the bloody dust, by hostile hands Subdued, while I in anger stood aloof.

Great was the gain to Troy; but Greeks, methinks, Will long retain the mem’ry of our feud.

Yet pass we that; and though our hearts be sore, Still let us school our angry spirits down.

My wrath I here abjure; it is not meet It burn for ever unappeas’d; do thou

Muster to battle straight the long-hair’d Greeks; That, to the Trojans once again oppos’d, I may make trial if beside the ships

They dare this night remain; but he, I ween, Will gladly rest his limbs, who safe shall fly, My spear escaping, from the battle-field.”

He said: the well-greav’d Greeks rejoic’d to hear His wrath abjur’d by Peleus’ godlike son; And from his seat, not standing in the midst, Thus to th’ assembly Agamemnon spoke:

“Friends, Grecian Heroes, Ministers of Mars, When one stands up to speak, ‘tis meet for all To lend a patient ear, nor interrupt;

For e’en to practis’d speakers hard the task: But, in this vast assembly, who can speak That all may hear? the clearest voice must fail.

To Peleus’ son, Achilles, I my mind

Will frankly open; ye among yourselves Impart the words I speak, that all may know.

Oft hath this matter been by Greeks discuss’d, And I their frequent censure have incurr’d: Yet was not I the cause; but Jove, and Fate, And gloomy Erinnys, who combin’d to throw A strong delusion o’er my mind, that day I robb’d Achilles of his lawful prize.

What could I do? a Goddess all o’er-rul’d, Daughter of Jove, dread Ate, baleful pow’r, Misleading all; with lightest step she moves, Not on the earth, but o’er the heads of men, With blighting touch; and many hath caus’d to err.

E’en Jove, the wisest deem’d of Gods and men, In error she involv’d, when Juno’s art By female stratagem the God deceiv’d,

When in well-girdled Thebes Alcmena lay In travail of the might of Hercules.

In boastful tone amid the Gods he spoke: ‘Hear all ye Gods, and all ye Goddesses, The words I speak, the promptings of my soul.

This day Lucina shall to light bring forth A child, the future Lord of all around, Of mortal men, who trace to me their blood.’

Whom answer’d Juno thus, with deep deceit: ‘Thou dost but feign, nor wilt fulfil thy word: Come now, Olympian, swear a solemn oath That he shall be the Lord of all around, Who on this day shall be of woman born, Of mortal men, who trace to thee their blood.’

She said, and Jove, the snare unseeing, swore A solemn oath; but found his error soon.

Down from Olympus’ height she sped in haste To Argos of Achaia; for the wife

Of Sthenelus, the son of Perseus, there, She knew, was sev’n months pregnant of a son; Whom, though untimely born, she brought to light, Staying meanwhile Alcmena’s labour-pangs, To Saturn’s son herself the tidings brought, And thus address’d him: ‘Jove, the lightning’s Lord, I bring thee news; this day a mighty man, By thee ordain’d to be the Argives’ King, Is born, Eurystheus, son of Sthenelus, The son of Perseus, issue of thy blood; Well worthy he to be the Argives’ King.’

She said: keen sorrow deeply pierc’d his soul; Then Ate by the glossy locks he seiz’d In mighty wrath; and swore a solemn oath, That to Olympus and the starry Heav’n

She never should return, who all misleads.

His arm then whirling, from the starry Heav’n He flung her down, to vex th’ affairs of men.

Yet oft her fraud remember’d he with groans, When by Eurystheus’ hard commands he saw Condemn’d to servile tasks his noble son.

So, oft as Hector of the glancing helm Beside the ships the Greeks to slaughter gave, Back to my mind my former error came.

I err’d, for Jove my judgment took away; But friendly reconcilement now I seek, And tender costly presents; then thyself Uprouse thee, and excite the rest to arms.

While I prepare the gifts, whate’er of late [6]

The sage Ulysses promis’d in thy tent: Or, if thou wilt, though eager for the fray, Remain thou here awhile, till from my ship My followers bring the gifts; that thou mayst see I make my offerings with no niggard hand.”

Whom answer’d thus Achilles swift of foot: “Most mighty Agamemnon, King of men,

The gifts thou deem’st befitting, ‘tis for thee To give, or to withhold; but now at once Prepare we for the battle; ‘tis not meet On trivial pretexts here to waste our time, Or idly loiter; much remains to do:

Again be seen Achilles in the van,

Scatt’ring with brazen spear the Trojan ranks; And ye, forget not man with man to fight.”

To whom in answer sage Ulysses thus:

“Brave as thou art, Achilles, godlike chief, Yet fasting lead not forth the sons of Greece To fight the Trojans; for no little time Will last the struggle, when the serried ranks Are once engag’d in conflict, and the Gods With equal courage either side inspire: But bid them, by the ships, of food and wine (Wherein are strength and courage) first partake; For none throughout the day till set of sun, Fasting from food, may bear the toils of war; His spirit may still be eager for the fray; Yet are his limbs by slow degrees weigh’d