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

With that he gives command to Fear and Flight To join his rapid coursers for the fight: Then grim in arms, with hasty vengeance flies; Arms that reflect a radiance through the skies.

And now had Jove, by bold rebellion driven, Discharged his wrath on half the host of heaven; But Pallas, springing through the bright abode, Starts from her azure throne to calm the god.

Struck for the immortal race with timely fear, From frantic Mars she snatch’d the shield and spear; Then the huge helmet lifting from his head, Thus to the impetuous homicide she said: “By what wild passion, furious! art thou toss’d?

Striv’st thou with Jove? thou art already lost.

Shall not the Thunderer’s dread command restrain, And was imperial Juno heard in vain?

Back to the skies wouldst thou with shame be driven, And in thy guilt involve the host of heaven?

Ilion and Greece no more should Jove engage, The skies would yield an ampler scene of rage; Guilty and guiltless find an equal fate And one vast ruin whelm the Olympian state.

Cease then thy offspring’s death unjust to call; Heroes as great have died, and yet shall fall.

Why should heaven’s law with foolish man comply Exempted from the race ordain’d to die?”

This menace fix’d the warrior to his throne; Sullen he sat, and curb’d the rising groan.

Then Juno call’d (Jove’s orders to obey) The winged Iris, and the god of day.

“Go wait the Thunderer’s will (Saturnia cried) On yon tall summit of the fountful Ide: There in the father’s awful presence stand, Receive, and execute his dread command.”

She said, and sat; the god that gilds the day, And various Iris, wing their airy way.

Swift as the wind, to Ida’s hills they came, (Fair nurse of fountains, and of savage game) There sat the eternal; he whose nod controls The trembling world, and shakes the steady poles.

Veil’d in a mist of fragrance him they found, With clouds of gold and purple circled round.

Well-pleased the Thunderer saw their earnest care, And prompt obedience to the queen of air; Then (while a smile serenes his awful brow) Commands the goddess of the showery bow: “Iris! descend, and what we here ordain, Report to yon mad tyrant of the main.

Bid him from fight to his own deeps repair, Or breathe from slaughter in the fields of air.

If he refuse, then let him timely weigh Our elder birthright, and superior sway.

How shall his rashness stand the dire alarms, If heaven’s omnipotence descend in arms?

Strives he with me, by whom his power was given, And is there equal to the lord of heaven?”

The all-mighty spoke; the goddess wing’d her flight To sacred Ilion from the Idaean height.

Swift as the rattling hail, or fleecy snows, Drive through the skies, when Boreas fiercely blows; So from the clouds descending Iris falls, And to blue Neptune thus the goddess calls: “Attend the mandate of the sire above!

In me behold the messenger of Jove:

He bids thee from forbidden wars repair To thine own deeps, or to the fields of air.

This if refused, he bids thee timely weigh His elder birthright, and superior sway.

How shall thy rashness stand the dire alarms If heaven’s omnipotence descend in arms?

Striv’st thou with him by whom all power is given?

And art thou equal to the lord of heaven?”

“What means the haughty sovereign of the skies?

(The king of ocean thus, incensed, replies;) Rule as he will his portion’d realms on high; No vassal god, nor of his train, am I.

Three brother deities from Saturn came, And ancient Rhea, earth’s immortal dame: Assign’d by lot, our triple rule we know; Infernal Pluto sways the shades below;

O’er the wide clouds, and o’er the starry plain, Ethereal Jove extends his high domain;

My court beneath the hoary waves I keep, And hush the roarings of the sacred deep; Olympus, and this earth, in common lie: What claim has here the tyrant of the sky?

Far in the distant clouds let him control, And awe the younger brothers of the pole; There to his children his commands be given, The trembling, servile, second race of heaven.”

“And must I then (said she), O sire of floods!

Bear this fierce answer to the king of gods?

Correct it yet, and change thy rash intent; A noble mind disdains not to repent.

To elder brothers guardian fiends are given, To scourge the wretch insulting them and heaven.”

“Great is the profit (thus the god rejoin’d) When ministers are blest with prudent mind: Warn’d by thy words, to powerful Jove I yield, And quit, though angry, the contended field: Not but his threats with justice I disclaim, The same our honours, and our birth the same.

If yet, forgetful of his promise given

To Hermes, Pallas, and the queen of heaven, To favour Ilion, that perfidious place, He breaks his faith with half the ethereal race; Give him to know, unless the Grecian train Lay yon proud structures level with the plain, Howe’er the offence by other gods be pass’d, The wrath of Neptune shall for ever last.”

Thus speaking, furious from the field he strode, And plunged into the bosom of the flood.

The lord of thunders, from his lofty height Beheld, and thus bespoke the source of light: “Behold! the god whose liquid arms are hurl’d Around the globe, whose earthquakes rock the world, Desists at length his rebel-war to wage, Seeks his own seas, and trembles at our rage; Else had my wrath, heaven’s thrones all shaking round, Burn’d to the bottom of his seas profound; And all the gods that round old Saturn dwell Had heard the thunders to the deeps of hell.

Well was the crime, and well the vengeance spared; Even power immense had found such battle hard.

Go thou, my son! the trembling Greeks alarm, Shake my broad aegis on thy active arm, Be godlike Hector thy peculiar care,

Swell his bold heart, and urge his strength to war: Let Ilion conquer, till the Achaian train Fly to their ships and Hellespont again: Then Greece shall breathe from toils.” The godhead said; His will divine the son of Jove obey’d.

Not half so swift the sailing falcon flies, That drives a turtle through the liquid skies, As Phoebus, shooting from the Idaean brow, Glides down the mountain to the plain below.

There Hector seated by the stream he sees, His sense returning with the coming breeze; Again his pulses beat, his spirits rise; Again his loved companions meet his eyes; Jove thinking of his pains, they pass’d away, To whom the god who gives the golden day: “Why sits great Hector from the field so far?

What grief, what wound, withholds thee from the war?”

The fainting hero, as the vision bright Stood shining o’er him, half unseal’d his sight: “What blest immortal, with commanding breath, Thus wakens Hector from the sleep of death?

Has fame not told, how, while my trusty sword Bathed Greece in slaughter, and her battle gored, The mighty Ajax with a deadly blow

Had almost sunk me to the shades below?

Even yet, methinks, the gliding ghosts I spy, And hell’s black horrors swim before my eye.”

To him Apollo: “Be no more dismay’d;

See, and be strong! the Thunderer sends thee aid.

Behold! thy Phoebus shall his arms employ, Phoebus, propitious still to thee and Troy.

Inspire thy warriors then with manly force, And to the ships impel thy rapid horse: Even I will make thy fiery coursers way, And drive the Grecians headlong to the sea.”

Thus to bold Hector spoke the son of Jove, And breathed immortal ardour from above.

As when the pamper’d steed, with reins unbound, Breaks from his stall, and pours along the ground; With ample strokes he rushes to the flood, To bathe his sides, and cool his fiery blood; His head, now freed, he tosses to the skies; His mane dishevell’d o’er his shoulders flies: He snuffs the females in the well-known plain, And springs, exulting, to his fields again: Urged by the voice divine, thus Hector flew, Full of the god; and all his hosts pursue.

As when the force of men and dogs combined Invade the mountain goat, or branching hind; Far from the hunter’s rage secure they lie Close in the rock, (not fated yet to die) When lo! a lion shoots across the way!

They fly: at once the chasers and the prey.

So Greece, that late in conquering troops pursued, And mark’d their progress through the ranks in blood, Soon as they see the furious chief appear, Forget to vanquish, and consent to fear.

Thoas with grief observed his dreadful course, Thoas, the bravest of the AEtolian force; Skill’d to direct the javelin’s distant flight, And bold to combat in the standing fight, Not more in councils famed for solid sense, Than winning words and heavenly eloquence.

“Gods! what portent (he cried) these eyes invades?

Lo! Hector rises from the Stygian shades!

We saw him, late, by thundering Ajax kill’d: What god restores him to the frighted field; And not content that half of Greece lie slain, Pours new destruction on her sons again?

He comes not, Jove! without thy powerful will; Lo! still he lives, pursues, and conquers still!

Yet hear my counsel, and his worst withstand: The Greeks’ main body to the fleet command; But let the few whom brisker spirits warm, Stand the first onset, and provoke the storm.

Thus point your arms; and when such foes appear, Fierce as he is, let Hector learn to fear.”

The warrior spoke; the listening Greeks obey, Thickening their ranks, and form a deep array.

Each Ajax, Teucer, Merion gave command, The valiant leader of the Cretan band;

And Mars-like Meges: these the chiefs excite, Approach the foe, and meet the coming fight.

Behind, unnumber’d multitudes attend,

To flank the navy, and the shores defend.

Full on the front the pressing Trojans bear, And Hector first came towering to the war.

Phoebus himself the rushing battle led; A veil of clouds involved his radiant head: High held before him, Jove’s enormous shield Portentous shone, and shaded all the field; Vulcan to Jove the immortal gift consign’d, To scatter hosts and terrify mankind,

The Greeks expect the shock, the clamours rise From different parts, and mingle in the skies.

Dire was the hiss of darts, by heroes flung, And arrows leaping from the bowstring sung; These drink the life of generous warriors slain: Those guiltless fall, and thirst for blood in vain.

As long as Phoebus bore unmoved the shield, Sat doubtful conquest hovering o’er the field; But when aloft he shakes it in the skies, Shouts in their ears, and lightens in their eyes, Deep horror seizes every Grecian breast, Their force is humbled, and their fear confess’d.

So flies a herd of oxen, scatter’d wide, No swain to guard them, and no day to guide, When two fell lions from the mountain come, And spread the carnage through the shady gloom.

Impending Phoebus pours around them fear, And Troy and Hector thunder in the rear.

Heaps fall on heaps: the slaughter Hector leads, First great Arcesilas, then Stichius bleeds; One to the bold Boeotians ever dear,

And one Menestheus’ friend and famed compeer.

Medon and Iasus, AEneas sped;

This sprang from Phelus, and the Athenians led; But hapless Medon from Oileus came;

Him Ajax honour’d with a brother’s name, Though born of lawless love: from home expell’d, A banish’d man, in Phylace he dwell’d,

Press’d by