The Iliad by Homer (book club recommendations txt) 📕

his hands
A boar. The son of Atreus drew a knife,
Which hung by the great scabbard of his sword,
And, cutting off the forelock of the boar,
Prayed with uplifted hands to Jupiter:
Meantime the Greeks in silence kept their seats,
And, as became them, listened to the king,
Who looked into the sky above, and said:⁠—

“Now first bear witness, Jove, of all the gods
Greatest and best, and also Earth and Sun,
And Furies dwelling under Earth, who take
Vengeance on men forsworn, that never I
Have laid, for purpose of unchaste desire,
Or other cause, my hand upon the maid
Briseis. She hath dwelt inviolate
Within my tents. If yet in aught I say
Lurk perjury, then may the blessed gods
Heap on my head the many miseries
With which they punish those who falsely swear!”

He spake, and drew the unrelenting blade
Across the animal’s throat. Talthybius took
And swung the carcass round, and cast it forth
Into the gray sea’s depths, to be the food
Of fishes. Then again Achilles rose
Among the warlike sons of Greece, and said:⁠—

“Great sorrows thou dost send, O Father Jove!
Upon mankind; for never would the son
Of Atreus have provoked the wrath that burned
Within my bosom, never would have thought
To bear away the maiden from my tent
In spite of me, had it not been the will
Of Jupiter that many a Greek should die.
But banquet now, and then prepare for war.”

So spake Achilles, and at once dissolved
The assembly, each repairing to his ship
Save the large-hearted Myrmidons, who still
Were busy with the gifts, and carried them
Toward their great general’s galley. These they laid
Carefully in the tents, and seated there
The women, while the attentive followers drave
The coursers to the stables. When the maid
Briseis, beautiful as Venus, saw
Patroclus lying gashed with wounds, she sprang
And threw herself upon the dead, and tore
Her bosom, her fair cheeks and delicate neck;
And thus the graceful maiden, weeping, said:⁠—

“Patroclus, dear to my unhappy heart!
I left thee in full life, when from this tent
They led me; I return and find thee dead,
O chieftain of the people! Thus it is
That sorrow upon sorrow is my lot.
Him to whose arms my father, in my youth,
And gracious mother gave me as a bride,
I saw before our city pierced and slain,
And the three brothers whom my mother bore
Slain also⁠—brothers whom I dearly loved.
Yet thou, when swift Achilles struck to earth
My hapless husband, and laid waste the town
Of godlike Mynes, wouldst not suffer me
To weep despairingly; for thou didst give
Thy word to make me yet the wedded wife
Of great Achilles, bear me in the fleet
To Phthia, and prepare the wedding feast
Among the Myrmidons. O ever kind!
I mourn thy death, and cannot be consoled.”

Weeping she spake; the women wept with her
Seemingly for the dead, but each, in truth,
For her own griefs. Meanwhile the elders came
Around Achilles, praying him to join
The banquet, but the chief, with sighs, refused.

“Dear comrades, if ye love me, do not thus
Press me to sit and feast. A mighty woe
Weighs down my spirit; it is my resolve
To wait and bear until the setting sun.”

So saying, he dismissed the other kings.
The sons of Atreus, and the high-born chief
Ulysses, Nestor, and Idomeneus,
And Phoenix, aged knight, alone remained,
And anxiously they sought to comfort him
In his great grief; but comfort would he none
Ere entering the red jaws of war. He drew
Deep sighs, and, thinking on Patroclus, spake:

“The time has been when thou too, hapless one,
Dearest of all my comrades, wouldst have spread
With diligent speed before me in my tent
A genial banquet, while the Greeks prepared
For desperate battle with the knights of Troy.
Thou liest now a mangled corse, and I,
Through grief for thee, refrain from food and drink,
Though they are near. No worse calamity
Could light on me, not even should I hear
News of my father’s death, who haply now
Tenderly mourns with tears his absent son
In Phthia, while upon a foreign coast
I wage for hated Helen’s sake the war
Against the Trojans; or were I to hear
Tidings that my beloved son had died,
The noble Neoptolemus, who now,
If living, is in Scyros, growing up
To manhood. Once the hope was in my heart
That I alone should perish here at Troy,
Far from the Argive pastures full of steeds,
And thou return to Phthia and bring home
My son from Scyros in thy ship, and show
The youth my wealth, my servants, and my halls,
High-roofed and spacious. For my mind misgives
That Peleus either lives not, or endures
A painful age, and hardly lives, yet waits
To hear the sorrowful news that I am slain.”

So spake he weeping, and the elders sighed
To see his tears, as each recalled to mind
Those whom he left at home, while Saturn’s son
Beheld their grief with pity, and bespake
His daughter Pallas thus with wingèd words:⁠—

“My child, wilt thou desert that valiant man?
And shall Achilles be no mote thy care?
Lo, by his ships, before their lofty prows,
He sits, lamenting his beloved friend.
The rest are at the banquet; he remains
Apart from them, and fasting. Hasten thou;
With nectar and ambrosial sweets refresh
His frame, that hunger overtake him not.”

As thus he spake he sent the goddess forth
Eager to do her errand. Plunging down,
In form a shrill-voiced harpy with broad wings,
She cleft the air. The Greeks throughout the camp
Were putting on their armor. She infused
Into the hero’s frame ambrosial sweets
And nectar, that his limbs might not grow faint
With hunger. Then the goddess sought again
The stable mansion of Almighty Jove,
While all the Greeks came pouring from the fleet.

As when the flakes of snow fall thick from heaven,
Driven by the north wind sweeping on the clouds
Before it, so from out the galleys came
Helms crowding upon helms that glittered fair,
Strong hauberks, bossy shields, and ashen spears.
The gleam of armor brightened heaven and earth,
And mighty was the sound of trampling feet.
Amidst them all the great Achilles stood,
Putting his armor on; he gnashed his teeth;
His eyes shot fire; a grief too sharp to bear
Was in his heart, as, filled with rage against
The men of Troy, he cased his limbs in mail,
The gift of Vulcan, from whose diligent hand
It came. And first about his legs he clasped
The beautiful greaves, with silver fastenings,
Fitted the corselet to his bosom next,
And from his shoulders hung the brazen sword
With silver studs, and then