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

But this I tell thee, and will make it good, If e’er I find thee play the fool, as now, Then may these shoulders cease this head to bear, And may my son Telemachus no more

Own me his father, if I strip not off

Thy mantle and thy garments, aye, expose Thy nakedness, and flog thee to the ships Howling, and scourg’d with ignominious stripes.”

Thus as he spoke, upon Thersites’ neck And back came down his heavy staff; the wretch Shrank from the blow, and scalding tears let fall.

Where struck the golden-studded staff, appear’d A bloody weal: Thersites quail’d, and down, Quiv’ring with pain, he sat, and wip’d away.

With horrible grimace, the trickling tears.

The Greeks, despite their anger, laugh’d aloud, And one to other said, “Good faith, of all The many works Ulysses well hath done, Wise in the council, foremost in the fight, He ne’er hath done a better, than when now He makes this scurril babbler hold his peace.

Methinks his headstrong spirit will not soon Lead him again to vilify the Kings.”

Thus spoke the gen’ral voice: but, staff in hand, Ulysses rose; Minerva by his side,

In likeness of a herald, bade the crowd Keep silence, that the Greeks, from first to last, Might hear his words, and ponder his advice.

He thus with prudent phrase his speech began: “Great son of Atreus, on thy name, O King, Throughout the world will foul reproach be cast, If Greeks forget their promise, nor make good The vow they took to thee, when hitherward We sailed from Argos’ grassy plains, to raze, Ere our return, the well-built walls of Troy.

But now, like helpless widows, or like babes, They mourn their cruel fate, and pine for home.

‘Tis hard indeed defeated to return;

The seaman murmurs, if from wife and home, Ev’n for one month, his well-found bark be stay’d, Toss’d by the wint’ry blasts and stormy sea; But us the ninth revolving year beholds Still ling’ring here: I cannot therefore blame Our valiant Greeks, if by the ships I hear Their murmurs; yet ‘twere surely worst of all Long to remain, and bootless to return.

Bear up, my friends, remain awhile, and see If Calchas truly prophesy, or no.

For this ye all have seen, and can yourselves Bear witness, all who yet are spar’d by fate, Not long ago, when ships of Greece were met At Aulis, charg’d with evil freight for Troy, And we, around a fountain, to the Gods Our altars rear’d, with faultless hecatombs, Near a fair plane-tree, where bright water flow’d, Behold a wonder! by Olympian Jove

Sent forth to light, a snake, with burnish’d scales, Of aspect fearful, issuing from beneath The altars, glided to the plane-tree straight.

There, on the topmost bough, beneath the leaves Cow’ring, a sparrow’s callow nestlings lay; Eight fledglings, and the parent bird the ninth.

All the eight nestlings, utt’ring piercing cries, The snake devour’d; and as the mother flew, Lamenting o’er her offspring, round and round, Uncoiling, caught her, shrieking, by the wing.

Then, when the sparrow’s nestlings and herself The snake had swallowed, by the God, who first Sent him to light, a miracle was wrought: For Jove, the deep-designing Saturn’s son, Turn’d him to stone; we stood, and wond’ring gaz’d.

But when this prodigy befell our rites, Calchas, inspir’d of Heaven, took up his speech: ‘Ye long-haired sons of Greece, why stand ye thus In mute amaze? to us Olympian Jove,

To whom be endless praise, vouchsafes this sign, Late sent, of late fulfilment: as ye saw The snake devour the sparrow and her young, Eight nestlings, and the parent bird the ninth: So, for so many years, are we condemn’d To wage a fruitless war; but in the tenth The wide-built city shall at last be ours.’

Thus he foretold, and now the time is come.

Here then, ye well-greav’d Greeks, let all remain, Till Priam’s wealthy city be our own.”

He said, and loudly cheer’d the Greeks—and loud From all the hollow ships came back the cheers—

In admiration of Ulysses’ speech.

Gerenian Nestor next took up the word: “Like children, Grecian warriors, ye debate; Like babes to whom unknown are feats of arms.

Where then are now our solemn covenants, Our plighted oaths? Go, cast we to the fire Our councils held, our warriors’ plans matur’d, Our absolute pledges, and our hand-plight giv’n, In which our trust was placed; since thus in vain In words we wrangle, and how long soe’er We here remain, solution none we find.

Atrides, thou, as is thy wont, maintain Unchang’d thy counsel; for the stubborn fight Array the Greeks; and let perdition seize Those few, those two or three among the host, Who hold their separate counsel—(not on them Depends the issue!)—rather than return To Argos, ere we prove if Jove indeed

Will falsify his promis’d word, or no.

For well I ween, that on the day when first We Grecians hitherward our course address’d, To Troy the messengers of blood and death, Th’ o’erruling son of Saturn, on our right His lightning flashing, with auspicious sign Assur’d us of his favour; let not then The thoughts of home be breath’d, ere Trojan wives Given to our warriors, retribution pay For wrongs by us, in Helen’s cause, sustain’d.

But whoso longs, if such an one there be, To make his homeward voyage, let him take His well-rigg’d bark, and go; before the rest To meet the doom of death! But thou, O King!

Be well advis’d thyself, and others lead By wholesome counsel; for the words I speak Are not to be despis’d; by tribes and clans, O Agamemnon! range thy troops, that so Tribe may to tribe give aid, and clan to clan.

If thus thou do, and Greeks thy words obey, Then shalt thou see, of chiefs and troops alike, The good and bad; for on their own behoof They all shall fight; and if thou fail, shalt know Whether thy failure be of Heav’n’s decree, Or man’s default and ignorance of war.”

To whom the monarch Agamemnon thus:

“Father, in council, of the sons of Greece, None can compare with thee; and would to Jove To Pallas, and Apollo, at my side

I had but ten such counsellors as thee!

Then soon should royal Priam’s city fall, Tak’n and destroy’d by our victorious hands.

But now on me hath aegis-bearing Jove, The son of Saturn, fruitless toil impos’d, And hurtful quarrels; for in wordy war About a girl, Achilles and myself

Engag’d; and I, alas! the strife began: Could we be friends again, delay were none, How short soe’er, of Ilium’s final doom.

But now to breakfast, ere we wage the fight.

Each sharpen well his spear, his shield prepare, Each to his fiery steeds their forage give, Each look his chariot o’er, that through the day We may unwearied stem the tide of war; For respite none, how short soe’er, shall be Till night shall bid the storm of battle cease.

With sweat shall reek upon each warrior’s breast The leathern belt beneath the cov’ring shield; And hands shall ache that wield the pond’rous spear: With sweat shall reek the fiery steeds that draw Each warrior’s car; but whomsoe’er I find Loit’ring beside the beaked ships, for him ‘Twere hard to’scape the vultures and the dogs.”

He said; and from th’ applauding ranks of Greece Rose a loud sound, as when the ocean wave, Driv’n by the south wind on some lofty beach, Dashes against a prominent crag, expos’d To blasts from every storm that roars around.

Uprising then, and through the camp dispers’d They took their sev’ral ways, and by their tents The fires they lighted, and the meal prepar’d; And each to some one of the Immortal Gods His off’ring made, that in the coming fight He might escape the bitter doom of death.

But to the o’erruling son of Saturn, Jove, A sturdy ox, well-fatten’d, five years old, Atrides slew; and to the banquet call’d The aged chiefs and councillors of Greece; Nestor the first, the King Idomeneus,

The two Ajaces next, and Tydeus’ son,

Ulysses sixth, as Jove in council sage.

But uninvited Menelaus came,

Knowing what cares upon his brother press’d.

Around the ox they stood, and on his head The salt cake sprinkled; then amid them all The monarch Agamemnon pray’d aloud:

“Most great, most glorious Jove! who dwell’st on high, In clouds and darkness veil’d, grant Thou that ere This sun shall set, and night o’erspread the earth, I may the haughty walls of Priam’s house Lay prostrate in the dust; and burn with fire His lofty gates; and strip from Hector’s breast His sword-rent tunic, while around his corpse Many brave comrades, prostrate, bite the dust.”

Thus he; but Saturn’s son his pray’r denied; Receiv’d his off’rings, but his toils increas’d.

Their pray’rs concluded, and the salt cake strewed Upon the victim’s head, they drew him back, And slew, and flay’d; then cutting from the thighs The choicest pieces, and in double layers O’erspreading them with fat, above them plac’d The due meat-off’rings; these they burnt with logs Of leafless timber; and the inward parts, First to be tasted, o’er the fire they held.

The thighs consum’d with fire, the inward parts They tasted first; the rest upon the spits Roasted with care, and from the fire withdrew.

Their labours ended, and the feast prepar’d, They shared the social meal, nor lacked there aught.

The rage of thirst and hunger satisfied, Gerenian Nestor thus his speech began: “Most mighty Agamemnon, King of men,

Great Atreus’ son, no longer let us pause, The work delaying which the pow’rs of Heav’n Have trusted to our hands; do thou forthwith Bid that the heralds proclamation make, And summon through the camp the brass-clad Greeks; While, in a body, through the wide-spread ranks We pass, and stimulate their warlike zeal.”

He said; and Agamemnon, King of men,

Obedient to his counsel, gave command

That to the war the clear-voic’d heralds call The long-hair’d Greeks: they gave the word, and straight From ev’ry quarter throng’d the eager crowd.

The Heav’n-born Kings, encircling Atreus’ son, The troops inspected: Pallas, blue-ey’d Maid, Before the chiefs her glorious aegis bore, By time untouch’d, immortal: all around A hundred tassels hung, rare works of art, All gold, each one a hundred oxen’s price.

With this the Goddess pass’d along the ranks, Exciting all; and fix’d in every breast The firm resolve to wage unwearied war; And dearer to their hearts than thoughts of home Or wish’d return, became the battle-field.

As when a wasting fire, on mountain tops, Hath seized the blazing woods, afar is seen The glaring light; so, as they mov’d, to Heav’n Flash’d the bright glitter of their burnish’d arms.

As when a num’rous flock of birds, or geese, Or cranes, or long-neck’d swans, on Asian mead, Beside Cayster’s stream, now here, now there, Disporting, ply their wings; then settle down With clam’rous noise, that all the mead resounds; So to Scamander’s plain, from tents and ships, Pour’d forth the countless tribes; the firm earth groan’d Beneath the tramp of steeds and armed men.

Upon Scamander’s flow’ry mead they stood, Unnumber’d as the vernal leaves and flow’rs.

Or as the multitudinous swarms of flies, That round the cattle-sheds in spring-tide pour, While the warm milk is frothing in the pail: So numberless upon the plain, array’d

For Troy’s destruction, stood the long-hair’d Greeks.

And as experienced goat-herds, when their flocks Are mingled in the pasture, portion out Their sev’ral charges, so the chiefs array’d Their squadrons for the fight; while in the midst The mighty monarch Agamemnon mov’d:

His eye, and lofty brow, the counterpart Of Jove, the Lord of thunder; in his girth Another Mars, with Neptune’s ample chest.

As ‘mid