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

But he who, first with food and wine refresh’d, All day maintains the combat with the foe, His spirit retains unbroken, and his limbs Unwearied, till both armies quit the field.

Disperse then now the crowd, and bid prepare The morning meal; meantime to public view Let Agamemnon, King of men, display

His costly gifts; that all the Greeks may see, And that thy heart within thee melt with joy: And there in full assembly let him swear A solemn oath, that he hath ne’er approach’d The fair Briseis’ bed, nor held with her Such intercourse as man with woman holds.

Be thou propitious, and accept his oath.

Then at a sumptuous banquet in his tent Let him receive thee; that thine honour due May nothing lack; and so, Atrides, thou Shalt stand in sight of all men clear of blame; For none can wonder that insulting speech Should rouse the anger of a sceptred King.”

To whom thus Agamemnon, King of men:

“Son of Laertes, I accept thy speech

With cordial welcome: all that thou hast said Is well and wisely spoken; for the oath, I am prepar’d, with willing mind, to swear; Nor in the sight of Heav’n will be forsworn.

Let then Achilles here awhile remain,

Though eager for the fray; ye too remain, Until the presents from my tent be brought, And we our solemn compact ratify.

Then this command upon thyself I lay:

That thou the noblest youths of all the Greeks Select, and bid them from my vessel bear The gifts, which, to Achilles yesternight We promis’d, and withal the women bring; And let Talthybius through the host seek out A boar, for sacrifice to Jove and Sol.”

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

These matters to some future time were best Deferr’d, some hour of respite from the fight, Of rage less fiercely burning in my breast; But slaughter’d now they lie, whom Priam’s son, Hector, hath slain, by Jove to vict’ry led.

Ye bid us take our food; if I might rule, I would to battle lead the sons of Greece, Unfed, and fasting; and at set of sun, Our shame aveng’d, an ample feast prepare; Till then, nor food nor drink shall pass my lips, My comrade slain; who pierc’d with mortal wounds, Turn’d tow’rd the doorway, lies within my tent, His mourning friends around; while there he lies, No thought have I for these or aught beside, Save carnage, blood, and groans of dying men.”

To whom Ulysses, sage in council, thus: “O son of Peleus, noblest of the Greeks, How far, Achilles, thou surpassest me

In deeds of arms, I know: but thou must yield To me in counsel, for my years are more, And my experience greater far than thine: Then to my words incline a patient ear.

Men soonest weary of battle, where the sword The bloodiest harvest reaps; the lightest crop Of slaughter is where Jove inclines the scale, Dispenser, at his will, of human wars.

The Greeks by fasting cannot mourn their dead; For day by day successive numbers fall; Where were the respite then from ceaseless fast?

Behoves us bury out of sight our dead, Steeling our hearts, and weeping but a day; And we, the rest, whom cruel war has spar’d, Should first with food and wine recruit out strength; Then, girding on our arms, the livelong day Maintain the war, unwearied; then let none Require a farther summons to the field; (And woe to him who loit’ring by the ships That summons hears;) but with united force Against the Trojans wake the furious war.”

He said, and call’d on noble Nestor’s sons, On Meges, Phyleus’ son, Meriones,

Thoas, and Lycomedes, Creon’s son,

And Melanippus; they together sought

The mighty monarch Agamemnon’s tent.

Soon as the word was giv’n, the work was done; Sev’n tripods brought they out, the promis’d gifts; Twelve horses, twenty caldrons glitt’ring bright; Sev’n women too, well skill’d in household cares, With whom, the eighth, the fair Briseis came.

Ulysses led the way, and with him brought Ten talents full of gold; th’ attendant youths The other presents bore, and in the midst Display’d before th’ assembly: then uprose The monarch Agamemnon; by his side,

With voice of godlike pow’r, Talthybius stood, Holding the victim: then Atrides drew

The dagger, ever hanging at his side,

Close by the scabbard of his mighty sword, And from the victim’s head the bristles shore.

With hands uplifted then to Jove he pray’d; While all around the Greeks in silence stood, List’ning, decorous, to the monarch’s words, As looking up to Heav’n he made his pray’r: “Be witness, Jove, thou highest, first of Gods, And Sun, and Earth, and ye who vengeance wreak Beneath the earth on souls of men forsworn, Furies! that never, or to love unchaste Soliciting, or otherwise, my hand

Hath fair Briseis touch’d; but in my tent Still pure and undefil’d hath she remain’d: And if in this I be forsworn, may Heav’n With all the plagues afflict me, due to those Who sin by perjur’d oaths against the Gods.”

Thus as he spoke, across the victim’s throat He drew the pitiless blade; Talthybius then To hoary Ocean’s depths the carcase threw, Food for the fishes; then Achilles rose, And thus before th’ assembled Greeks he spoke: “O Father Jove, how dost thou lead astray Our human judgments! ne’er had Atreus’ son My bosom fill’d with wrath, nor from my arms, To his own loss, against my will had torn The girl I lov’d, but that the will of Jove To death predestin’d many a valiant Greek.

Now to the meal; anon renew the war.”

This said, th’ assembly he dismiss’d in haste, The crowd dispersing to their sev’ral ships; Upon the gifts the warlike Myrmidons

Bestow’d their care, and bore them to the ships; Of Peleus’ godlike son; within the tent They laid them down, and there the women plac’d, While to the drove the followers led the steeds.

Briseis, fair as golden Venus, saw

Patroclus lying, pierc’d with mortal wounds, Within the tent; and with a bitter cry, She flung her down upon the corpse, and tore Her breast, her delicate neck, and beauteous cheeks; And, weeping, thus the lovely woman wail’d: “Patroclus, dearly lov’d of this sad heart!

When last I left this tent, I left thee full Of healthy life; returning now, I find Only thy lifeless corpse, thou Prince of men!

So sorrow still, on sorrow heap’d, I bear.

The husband of my youth, to whom my sire And honour’d mother gave me, I beheld

Slain with the sword before the city walls: Three brothers, whom with me one mother bore, My dearly lov’d ones, all were doom’d to death: Nor wouldst thou, when Achilles swift of foot My husband slew, and royal Mynes’ town In ruin laid, allow my tears to flow;

But thou wouldst make me (such was still thy speech) The wedded wife of Peleus’ godlike son: Thou wouldst to Phthia bear me in thy ship, And there, thyself, amid the Myrmidons, Wouldst give my marriage feast; then, unconsol’d, I weep thy death, my ever-gentle friend!”

Weeping, she spoke; the women join’d her wail: Patroclus’ death the pretext for their tears, But each in secret wept her private griefs.

Around Achilles throng’d the elder men, Urging to eat; but he, with groans, refus’d: “I pray you, would you show your love, dear friends, Ask me not now with food or drink to appease Hunger or thirst; a load of bitter grief Weighs heavy on my soul; till set of sun Fasting will I remain, and still endure.”

The other monarchs at his word withdrew: The two Atridae, and Ulysses sage,

And Nestor and Idomeneus remain’d,

And aged Phoenix, to divert his grief; But comfort none, save in the bloody jaws Of battle would he take; by mem’ry stirr’d, He heav’d a deep-drawn sigh, as thus he spoke: “How oft hast thou, ill-fated, dearest friend, Here in this tent with eager zeal prepar’d The tempting meal, whene’er the sons of Greece In haste would arm them for the bloody fray!

Now liest thou there, while I, for love of thee, From food and drink, before me plac’d, refrain: For ne’er shall I again such sorrow know, Not though I heard of aged Peleus’ death, Who now in Phthia mourns, with tender tears, His absent son; he on a foreign shore

Is warring in that hateful Helen’s cause: No, nor of his, who now in Scyros’ isle Is growing up, if yet indeed he live,

Young Neoptolemus, my godlike son.

My hope had been indeed, that here in Troy, Far from the plains of Argos, I alone

Was doom’d to die; and that to Phthia thou, Return’d in safety, mightst my son convey From Scyros home, and show him all my wealth, My spoils, my slaves, my lofty, spacious house.

For Peleus or to death, methinks, e’en now Hath yielded, or not far from death remov’d, Lives on in sorrow, bow’d by gloomy age, Expecting day by day the messenger

Who bears the mournful tidings of my death.”

Weeping, Achilles spoke; and with him wept The Elders; each to fond remembrance mov’d Of all that in his home himself had left.

The son of Saturn, pitying, saw their grief, And Pallas thus with winged words address’d: “My child, dost thou a hero’s cause forsake, Or does Achilles claim no more thy care, Who sits in sorrow by the high-prow’d ships, Mourning his comrade slain? the others all Partake the meal, while he from food abstains: Then haste thee, and, with hunger lest he faint, Drop nectar and ambrosia on his breast.”

His words fresh impulse gave to Pallas’ zeal: Down, like the long-wing’d falcon, shrill of voice, Thro’ the clear sky she swoop’d: and while the Greeks Arm’d for the fight, Achilles she approach’d, And nectar and ambrosia on his breast

Distill’d, lest hunger should his strength subdue; Back to her mighty Father’s ample house Returning, as from out the ships they pour’d.

Thick as the snow-flakes that from Heav’n descend, Before the sky-born Boreas’ chilling blast; So thick, outpouring from the ships, the stream Of helmets polish’d bright, and bossy shields, And breastplates firmly brac’d, and ashen spears: Their brightness flash’d to Heav’n; and laugh’d the Earth Beneath the brazen glare; loud rang the tramp Of armed men: Achilles in the midst,

The godlike chief, in dazzling arms array’d.

His teeth were gnashing audibly; his eye Blaz’d with, the light of fire; but in his heart Was grief unbearable; with furious wrath He burn’d against the Trojans, as he donn’d The heav’nly gifts, the work of Vulcan’s hand.

First on his legs the well-wrought greaves he fix’d, Fasten’d with silver clasps; his breastplate next Around his chest; and o’er his shoulders flung His silver-studded sword, with blade of brass; Then took his vast and weighty shield, whence gleam’d A light refulgent as the full-orb’d moon; Or as to seamen o’er the wave is borne The watchfire’s light, which, high among the hills, Some shepherd kindles in his lonely fold: As they, reluctant, by the stormy winds, Far from their friends are o’er the waters driv’n; So from Achilles’ shield, bright, richly wrought, The light was thrown. The weighty helm he rais’d, And plac’d it on his head; the plumed helm Shone like a star; and wav’d the hairs of gold.

Thick-set by Vulcan in the gleaming crest.

Then all the arms Achilles prov’d, to know If well they fitted to his graceful limbs: Like wings, they seem’d to lift him from the ground.

Last, from its case he drew his father’s spear, Long, pond’rous, tough; not one of all the Greeks, None, save Achilles’ self, could poise