by Homer
Of deep-designing Saturn, and thy wife;
Thine, who o'er all th' Immortals reign'st supreme.
But yield we each to other, I to thee,
And thou to me; the other Gods will all
By us be rul'd. On Pallas then enjoin
That to the battle-field of Greece and Troy
She haste, and so contrive that Trojans first
May break the treaty, and the Greeks assail."
She said: the Sire of Gods and men complied,
And thus with winged words to Pallas spoke:
"Go to the battle-field of Greece and Troy
In haste, and so contrive that Trojans first
May break the treaty, and the Greeks assail."
His words fresh impulse gave to Pallas' zeal,
And from Olympus' heights in haste she sped;
Like to a meteor, that, of grave portent
To warring armies or sea-faring men,
The son of deep-designing Saturn sends,
Bright-flashing, scatt'ring fiery sparks around,
The blue-ey'd Goddess darted down to earth,
And lighted in the midst; amazement held
The Trojan warriors and the well-greav'd Greeks;
And one to other look'd and said, "What means
This sign? Must fearful battle rage again,
Or may we hope for gentle peace from Jove,
Who to mankind dispenses peace and war?"
Such was the converse Greeks and Trojans held.
Pallas meanwhile, amid the Trojan host,
Clad in the likeness of Antenor's son,
Laodocus, a spearman stout and brave,
Search'd here and there, if haply she might find
The godlike Pandarus; Lycaon's son
She found, of noble birth and stalwart form,
Standing, encircled by his sturdy band
Of bucklered followers from AEsepus' stream,
She stood beside him, and address'd him thus:
"Wilt thou by me be ruled, Lycaon's son?
For durst thou but at Menelaus shoot
Thy winged arrow, great would be thy fame,
And great thy favour with the men of Troy,
And most of all with Paris; at his hand
Thou shalt receive rich guerdon, when he hears
That warlike Menelaus, by thy shaft
Subdued, is laid upon the fun'ral pyre.
Bend then thy bow at Atreus' glorious son,
Vowing to Phoebus, Lycia's guardian God,
The Archer-King, to pay of firstling lambs
An ample hecatomb, when home return'd
In safety to Zeleia's sacred town."
Thus she; and, fool, he listen'd to her words.
Straight he uncas'd his polish'd bow, his spoil
Won from a mountain ibex, which himself,
In ambush lurking, through the breast had shot,
True to his aim, as from behind a crag
He came in sight; prone on the rock he fell;
With horns of sixteen palms his head was crown'd;
These deftly wrought a skilful workman's hand,
And polish'd smooth, and tipp'd the ends with gold.
He bent, and resting on the ground his bow,
Strung it anew; his faithful comrades held
Their shields before him, lest the sons of Greece
Should make their onset ere his shaft could reach
The warlike Menelaus, Atreus' son.
His quiver then withdrawing from its case,
With care a shaft he chose, ne'er shot before,
Well-feather'd, messenger of pangs and death;
The stinging arrow fitted to the string,
And vow'd to Phoebus, Lycia's guardian God,
The Archer-King, to pay of firstling lambs
An ample hecatomb, when home return'd
In safety to Zeleia's sacred town.
At once the sinew and the notch he drew;
The sinew to his breast, and to the bow
The iron head; then, when the mighty bow
Was to a circle strain'd, sharp rang the horn,
And loud the sinew twang'd, as tow'rd the crowd
With deadly speed the eager arrow sprang.
Nor, Menelaus, was thy safety then
Uncar'd for of the Gods; Jove's daughter first,
Pallas, before thee stood, and turn'd aside
The pointed arrow; turn'd it so aside
As when a mother from her infant's cheek,
Wrapt in sweet slumbers, brushes off a fly;
Its course she so directed that it struck
Just where the golden clasps the belt restrain'd,
And where the breastplate, doubled, check'd its force.
On the close-fitting belt the arrow struck;
Right through the belt of curious workmanship
It drove, and through the breastplate richly wrought,
And through the coat of mail he wore beneath,
His inmost guard and best defence to check
The hostile weapons' force; yet onward still
The arrow drove, and graz'd the hero's flesh.
Forth issued from the wound the crimson blood.
As when some Carian or Maeonian maid,
With crimson dye the ivory stains, designed
To be the cheek-piece of a warrior's steed,
By many a valiant horseman coveted,
As in the house it lies, a monarch's boast,
The horse adorning, and the horseman's pride:
So, Menelaus, then thy graceful thighs,
And knees, and ancles, with thy blood were dy'd.
Great Agamemnon shudder'd as he saw
The crimson drops out-welling from the wound;
Shudder'd the warlike Menelaus' self;
But when not buried in his flesh he saw
The barb and sinew, back his spirit came.
Then deeply groaning, Agamemnon spoke,
As Menelaus by the hand he held,
And with him groan'd his comrades: "Brother dear,
I wrought thy death when late, on compact sworn,
I sent thee forth alone for Greece to fight;
Wounded by Trojans, who their plighted faith
Have trodden under foot; but not in vain
Are solemn cov'nants and the blood of lambs,
The treaty wine outpoured, and hand-plight given,
Wherein men place their trust; if not at once,
Yet soon or late will Jove assert their claim;
And heavy penalties the perjured pay
With their own blood, their children's, and their wives'.
So in my inmost soul full well I know
The day shall come when this imperial Troy,
And Priam's race, and Priam's royal self,
Shall in one common ruin be o'erthrown;
And Saturn's son himself, high-throned Jove,
Who dwells in Heav'n, shall in their faces flash
His aegis dark and dread, this treach'rous deed
Avenging; this shall surely come to pass.
But, Menelaus, deep will be my grief,
If thou shouldst perish, meeting thus thy fate.
To thirsty Argos should I then return
By foul disgrace o'erwhelm'd; for, with thy fall,
The Greeks will mind them of their native land;
And as a trophy to the sons of Troy
The Argive Helen leave; thy bones meanwhile
Shall moulder here beneath a foreign soil.
Thy work undone; and with insulting scorn
Some vaunting Trojan, leaping on the tomb
Of noble Menelaus, thus shall say:
'On all his foes may Agamemnon so
His wrath accomplish, who hath hither led
Of Greeks a mighty army, all in vain;
And bootless home with empty ships hath gone,
And valiant Menelaus left behind;'
Thus when men speak, gape, earth, and hi
de my shame."
To whom the fair-hair'd Menelaus thus
With, cheering words: "Fear not thyself, nor cause
The troops to fear: the arrow hath not touch'd
A vital part: the sparkling belt hath first
Turn'd it aside, the doublet next beneath,
And coat of mail, the work of arm'rer's hands."
To whom the monarch Agamemnon thus:
"Dear Menelaus, may thy words be true!
The leech shall tend thy wound, and spread it o'er
With healing ointments to assuage the pain."
He said, and to the sacred herald call'd:
"Haste thee, Talthybius! summon with all speed
The son of AEsculapius, peerless leech,
Machaon; bid him hither haste to see
The warlike Menelaus, chief of Greeks,
Who by an arrow from some practis'd hand,
Trojan or Lycian, hath receiv'd a wound;
A cause of boast to them, to us of grief."
He said, nor did the herald not obey,
But through the brass-clad ranks of Greece he pass'd,
In search of brave Machaon; him he found
Standing, by buckler'd warriors bold begirt,
Who follow'd him from Trica's grassy plains.
He stood beside him, and address'd him thus:
"Up, son of AEsculapius! Atreus' son,
The mighty monarch, summons thee to see
The warlike Menelaus, chief of Greeks,
Who by an arrow from some practis'd hand,
Trojan or Lycian, hath receiv'd a wound;
A cause of boast to them, to us of grief."
Thus he; and not unmov'd Machaon heard:
They thro' the crowd, and thro' the wide-spread host,
Together took their way; but when they came
Where fair-hair'd Menelaus, wounded, stood,
Around him in a ring the best of Greece,
And in the midst the godlike chief himself,
From the close-fitting belt the shaft he drew,
Breaking the pointed barbs; the sparkling belt
He loosen'd, and the doublet underneath,
And coat of mail, the work of arm'rer's hand.
But when the wound appear'd in sight, where struck
The stinging arrow, from the clotted blood
He cleans'd it, and applied with skilful hand
The herbs of healing power, which Chiron erst
In friendly guise upon his sire bestowed.
While round the valiant Menelaus they
Were thus engag'd, advanc'd the Trojan hosts:
They donn'd their arms, and for the fight prepar'd.
In Agamemnon then no trace was seen
Of laggard sloth, no shrinking from the fight,
But full of ardour to the field he rush'd.
He left his horses and brass-mounted car
(The champing horses by Eurymedon,
The son of Ptolemy, Peiraeus' son,
Were held aloof), but with repeated charge
Still to be near at hand, when faint with toil
His limbs should fail him marshalling his host.
Himself on foot the warrior ranks array'd;
With cheering words addressing whom he found
With zeal preparing for the battle-field:
"Relax not, valiant friends, your warlike toil;
For Jove to falsehood ne'er will give his aid;
And they who first, regardless of their oaths,
Have broken truce, shall with their flesh themselves
The vultures feed, while we, their city raz'd,
Their wives and helpless children bear away."
But whom remiss and shrinking from the war
He found, with keen rebuke lie thus assail'd;
"Ye wretched Greeks, your country's foul reproach,
Have ye no sense of shame? Why stand ye thus
Like timid fawns, that in the chase run down,
Stand all bewildered, spiritless and tame?
So stand ye now, nor dare to face the fight.
What! will ye wait the Trojans' near approach,
Where on the beach, beside the hoary deep,
Our goodly ships are drawn, and see if Jove
Will o'er you his protecting hand extend?"
As thus the King the serried ranks review'd,
He came where thronging round their skilful chief
Idomeneus, the warlike bands of Crete
Were arming for the fight; Idomeneus,
Of courage stubborn as the forest boar,
The foremost ranks array'd; Meriones
The rearmost squadrons had in charge; with joy
The monarch Agamemnon saw, and thus
With accents bland Idomeneus address'd:
"Idomeneus, above all other Greeks,
In battle and elsewhere, I honour thee;
And in the banquet, where the noblest mix
The ruddy wine for chiefs alone reserved,
Though others drink their share, yet by thy side
Thy cup, like mine, still new replenished stands
To drink at pleasure. Up then to the fight,
And show thyself the warrior that thou art."
To whom the Cretan King, Idomeneus:
"In me, Atrides, thou shalt ever find,
As at the first I promis'd, comrade true;
But go, and stir the other long-haired Greeks
To speedy battle; since the Trojans now
The truce have broken; and defeat and death
Must wait on those who have their oaths forsworn."
He said, and Agamemnon went his way
Rejoicing; through the crowd he pass'd, and came
Where stood th' Ajaces; them, in act to arm,
Amid a cloud of infantry he found;
And as a goat-herd from his watch-tow'r crag
Beholds a cloud advancing o'er the sea,
By Zephyr's breath impell'd; as from afar
He gazes, black as pitch, it sweeps along
O'er the dark ocean's face, and with it brings
A hurricane of rain; he, shudd'ring, sees,
And drives his flock beneath the shelt'ring cave:
So thick and dark, about th' Ajaces stirr'd,
Impatient for the war, the stalwart youths,
Black masses, bristling close with spear and shield.
Well pleas'd, the monarch Agamemnon saw,
And thus address'd them: "Valiant chiefs, to you,
The leaders of the brass-clad Greeks, I give
('Twere needless and unseemly) no commands;
For well ye understand your troops to rouse
To deeds of dauntless courage; would to Jove,
To Pallas and Apollo, that such mind
As is in you, in all the camp were found;
Then soon should Priam's lofty city fall,
Tak'n and destroy'd by our victorious hands."
Thus saying, them he left, and onward mov'd.
Nestor, the smooth-tongu'd Pylian chief, he found
The troops arraying, and to valiant deeds
His friends encouraging; stout Pelagon,
Alastor, Chromius, Haemon, warlike Prince,
And Bias bold, his people's sure defence.
In the front rank, with chariot and with horse,
He plac'd the car-borne warriors; in the rear,
Num'rous and brave, a cloud of infantry,
Compactly mass'd, to stem the tide of war,
Between the two he plac'd th' inferior troops,
That e'en against their will they needs must fight.
The horsemen first he charg'd, and bade them keep
Their horses well in hand, nor wildly rush
Amid the tumult: "See," he said, "that none,
In skill or valour over-confident,
Advance before his comrades, nor alone
Retire; for so your lines were easier forc'd;
; But ranging each beside a hostile car,
Thrust with your spears; for such the better way;
By men so disciplin'd, in elder days
Were lofty walls and fenced towns destroy'd."
Thus he, experienc'd in the wars of old;
Well pleas'd, the monarch Agamemnon saw,
And thus address'd him; "Would to Heav'n, old man,
That, as thy spirit, such too were thy strength
And vigour of thy limbs; but now old age,
The common lot of mortals, weighs thee down;
Would I could see some others in thy place,
And thou couldst still be numbered with the young!"
To whom Gerenian Nestor thus replied:
"Atrides, I too fain would see restor'd
The strength I once possess'd, what time I slew
The godlike Ereuthalion; but the Gods
On man bestow not all their gifts at once;
I then was young, and now am bow'd with age,
Yet with the chariots can I still go forth,
And aid with sage advice: for such the right
And privilege of age; to hurl the spear
Belongs to younger men, who after me
Were born, who boast their vigour unimpair'd."
He said; and Agamemnon went his way,
Rejoicing: to Menestheus next he came,
The son of Peteus, charioteer renown'd;
Him found he, circled by th' Athenian bands,
The raisers of the war-cry; close beside
The sage Ulysses stood, around him rang'd,
Not unrenown'd, the Cephalonian troops:
The sound of battle had not reach'd their ears;
For but of late the Greek and Trojan hosts
Were set in motion; they expecting stood,
Till other Grecian columns should advance,
Assail the Trojans, and renew the war.
Atrides saw, and thus, reproachful, spoke:
"O son of Peteus, Heav'n-descended King!
And thou too, master of all tricky arts,
Why, ling'ring, stand ye thus aloof, and wait
For others coming? ye should be the first
The hot assault of battle to confront;
For ye are first my summons to receive,
Whene'er the honour'd banquet we prepare:
And well ye like to eat the sav'ry meat,
And, at your will, the luscious wine-cups drain:
Now stand ye here, and unconcern'd would see
Ten columns pass before you to the fight."
To whom, with stern regard, Ulysses thus:
"What words have pass'd the barrier of thy lips,
Atrides? how with want of warlike zeal
Canst thou reproach us? when the Greeks again
The furious war shall waken, thou shalt see
(If that thou care to see) amid the ranks
Of Troy, the father of Telemachus
In the fore-front: thy words are empty wind."
