Complete Works of Homer

by Homer

  The lion on th' unguarded centre springs,

  Seizes on one, and scatters all the rest;

  So Hector, led by Jove, in wild alarm

  Scatter'd the Grecians all; but one alone,

  Brave Periphetes, of Mycenae, slew;

  The son of Copreus, whom Eurystheus sent

  His envoy to the might of Hercules;

  Far nobler than the father was the son;

  In speed of foot, in warlike might, in mind,

  In all, among Mycenians foremost he;

  Who now on Hector fresh renown conferr'd;

  For, backward as he stepp'd, against the rim

  Of the broad shield which for defence he bore,

  Down reaching to his feet, he tripp'd, and thus

  Entangled, backward fell; and as he fell,

  Around his temples clatter'd loud his helm.

  Hector beheld, and o'er him stood in haste,

  And with his spear transfix'd his breast, and slew

  Before his comrades' eyes; yet dar'd not one,

  Though grieving for their comrade's loss, advance

  To rescue; such of Hector was their awe.

  They fronted now the ships; the leading prows

  Which first were drawn on shore, still barr'd their way;

  Yet on they stream'd; and from the foremost ships,

  Now hardly press'd, the Greeks perforce retir'd;

  But closely mass'd before the tents they stood,

  Not scatter'd o'er the camp; by shame restrain'd,

  And fear; and loudly each exhorted each.

  Gerenian Nestor chief, the prop of Greece,

  Thus by their fathers singly each adjur'd:

  "Quit ye like men, dear friends; and think it shame

  To forfeit now the praise of other men;

  Let each man now his children and his wife,

  His fortunes and his parents, bear in mind;

  And not the living only, but the dead;

  For them, the absent, I, your suppliant, pray,

  That firm ye stand, and scorn disgraceful flight."

  His words fresh courage rous'd in ev'ry breast;

  And from their eyeballs Pallas purg'd away

  The film of darkness; and on ev'ry side,

  Both tow'rd the ships and tow'rd the level fight,

  Clear light diffus'd; there Hector they discern'd,

  And all his comrades, those who stood aloof,

  And those who near the ships maintain'd the war.

  Then was not Ajax' mighty soul content

  To stand where stood the other sons of Greece;

  Along the vessels' lofty decks he mov'd

  With haughty stride; a pond'rous boarding-pike,

  Well polish'd, and with rivets well secur'd,

  Of two and twenty cubits' length, he bore,

  As one well-skill'd in feats of horsemanship,

  Who from a troop of horses on the plain

  Has parted four, and down the crowded road,

  While men and women all in wonder gaze,

  Drives tow'rd the city; and with force untir'd

  From one to other springs, as on they fly;

  O'er many a vessel's deck so Ajax pass'd

  With lofty stride, and voice that reach'd to Heav'n,

  As loudly shouting on the Greeks he call'd

  To save their ships and tents: nor Hector stay'd

  Amid the closely buckler'd Trojan ranks;

  But, as upon a flock of birds, that feed

  Beside a river's bank, or geese, or cranes,

  Or long-neck'd swans, a fiery eagle swoops;

  So on the dark-prow'd ship with furious rush

  Swept Hector down; him Jove with mighty hand

  Sustain'd, and with him forward urg'd the crowd.

  Fierce round the ships again the battle rag'd;

  Well might ye deem no previous toil had worn

  Their strength, who in that dread encounter met;

  With edge so keen, and stubborn will they fought.

  But varying far their hopes and fears: the Greeks

  Of safety and escape from death despair'd;

  While high the hopes in ev'ry Trojan's breast,

  To burn the ships, and slay the warlike Greeks;

  So minded each, oppos'd in arms they stood.

  On a swift-sailing vessel's stern, that bore

  Protesilaus to the coast of Troy,

  But to his native country bore not thence,

  Hector had laid his hand; around that ship

  Trojans and Greeks in mutual slaughter join'd.

  The arrow's or the jav'lin's distant flight

  They waited not, but, fir'd with equal rage,

  Fought hand to hand, with axe and hatchet keen,

  And mighty swords, and double-pointed spears.

  Many a fair-hilted blade, with iron bound,

  Dropp'd from the hands, or from the sever'd arms,

  Of warrior chiefs; the dark earth ran with blood:

  Yet loos'd not Hector of the stern his hold,

  But grasp'd the poop, and on the Trojans call'd;

  "Bring fire, and all together loud and clear

  Your war-cry raise; this day will Jove repay

  Our labours all, with capture of those ships,

  Which hither came, against the will of Heav'n,

  And which on us unnumber'd ills have brought,

  By our own Elders' fault, who me, desiring

  Ev'n at their vessels' sterns to urge the war,

  Withheld, and to the town the troops confin'd.

  But Jove all-seeing, if he then o'errul'd

  Our better mind, himself is now our aid."

  Thus he: they onward press'd with added zeal;

  Nor Ajax yet endur'd, by hostile spears

  Now sorely gall'd; yet but a little space,

  Back to the helmsman's sev'n-foot board he mov'd,

  Expecting death; and left the lofty deck,

  Where long he stood on guard; but still his spear

  The Trojans kept aloof, whoe'er essay'd

  Amid the ships to launch th' unwearied flames;

  And, loudly shouting, to the Greeks he call'd:

  "Friends, Grecian heroes, ministers of Mars,

  Quit ye like men! dear friends, remember now

  Your wonted valour! think ye in your rear

  To find supporting forces, or some fort

  Whose walls may give you refuge from your foe?

  No city is nigh, whose well-appointed tow'rs,

  Mann'd by a friendly race, may give us aid;

  But here, upon the well-arm'd Trojans' soil,

  And only resting on the sea, we lie

  Far from our country; not in faint retreat,

  But in our own good arms, our safety lies."

  He said; and with his sharp-edg'd spear his words

  He follow'd up; if any Trojan dar'd,

  By Hector's call inspir'd, with fiery brand

  To assail the ships, him with his ponderous spear

  Would Ajax meet; and thus before the ships

  Twelve warriors, hand to hand, his prowess felt.

  ARGUMENT.

  THE SIXTH BATTLE; THE ACTS AND DEATH OF PATROCLUS.

  Patroclus (in pursuance of the request of Nestor in the eleventh book) entreats Achilles to suffer him to go to the assistance of the Greeks with Achilles' troops and armour. He agrees to it, but at the same time charges him to content himself with rescuing the fleet, without farther pursuit of the enemy. The armour, horses, soldiers, and officers of Achilles are described. Achilles offers a libation for the success of his friend, after which Patroclus leads the Myrmidons to battle. The Trojans, at the sight of Patroclus in Achilles' armour, taking him for that hero, are cast into the utmost consternation: he beats them off from the vessels, Hector himself flies, Sarpedon is killed, though Jupiter was averse to his fate. Several other particulars of the battle are described; in the heat of which, Patroclus, neglecting the ord
ers of Achilles, pursues the foe to the walls of Troy; where Apollo repulses and disarms him, Euphorbus wounds him, and Hector kills him: which concludes the book.

  BOOK XVI.

  Thus round the well-mann'd ship they wag'd the war:

  Meanwhile by Peleus' son Patroclus stood,

  Weeping hot tears; as some dark-water'd fount

  Pours o'er a craggy rock its gloomy stream;

  Achilles, swift of foot, with pity saw,

  And to his friend these winged words address'd:

  "Why weeps Patroclus, like an infant girl,

  That prays her mother, by whose side she runs,

  To take her up; and, clinging to her gown,

  Impedes her way, and still with tearful eyes

  Looks in her face, until she take her up?

  Ev'n as that girl, Patroclus, such art thou,

  Shedding soft tears: hast thou some tidings brought

  Touching the gen'ral weal, or me alone?

  Or have some evil news from Phthia come,

  Known but to thee? Menoetius, Actor's son,

  Yet surely lives; and 'mid his Myrmidons

  Lives aged Peleus, son of AEacus:

  Their deaths indeed might well demand our tears:

  Or weep'st thou for the Greeks, who round their ships

  By death their former insolence repay?

  Speak out, that I may know thy cause of grief."

  To whom, with bitter groans, Patroclus thus:

  "O son of Peleus, noblest of the Greeks,

  Achilles, be not wroth! such weight of woe

  The Grecian camp oppresses; in their ships

  They who were late their bravest and their best,

  Sore wounded all by spear or arrow lie;

  The valiant son of Tydeus, Diomed,

  Pierc'd by a shaft, Ulysses by a spear,

  And Agamemnon's self; Eurypylus

  By a sharp arrow through the thigh transfix'd;

  For these, the large resources of their art

  The leeches ply, and on their wounds attend;

  While thou, Achilles, still remain'st unmov'd.

  Oh, be it never mine to nurse such hate

  As thou retain'st, inflexibly severe!

  Who e'er may hope in future days by thee

  To profit, if thou now forbear to save

  The Greeks from shame and loss? Unfeeling man!

  Sure Peleus, horseman brave, was ne'er thy sire,

  Nor Thetis bore thee; from the cold grey sea

  And craggy rocks thou hadst thy birth; so hard

  And stubborn is thy soul. But if the fear

  Of evil prophesied thyself restrain,

  Or message by thy Goddess-mother brought

  From Jove, yet send me forth with all thy force

  Of Myrmidons, to be the saving light

  Of Greece; and let me to the battle bear

  Thy glitt'ring arms, if so the men of Troy,

  Scar'd by thy likeness, may forsake the field,

  And breathing-time afford the sons of Greece,

  Toil-worn; for little pause has yet been theirs.

  Fresh and unwearied, we may drive with ease

  To their own city, from our ships and tents,

  The Trojans, worn and battle-wearied men."

  Thus pray'd he, all unwisely; for the pray'r

  He utter'd, to himself was fraught with death;

  To whom, much griev'd, Achilles, swift of foot:

  "Heav'n-born Patroclus, oh, what words are these!

  Of prophecy I reck not, though I know;

  Nor message hath my mother brought from Jove;

  But it afflicts my soul; when one I see

  That basely robs his equal of his prize,

  His lawful prize, by highest valour won;

  Such grief is mine, such wrong have I sustain'd.

  Her, whom the sons of Greece on me bestow'd,

  Prize of my spear, the well-wall'd city storm'd,

  The mighty Agamemnon, Atreus' son,

  Hath borne by force away, as from the hands

  Of some dishonour'd, houseless vagabond.

  But let the past be past; I never meant

  My wrath should have no end; yet had not thought

  My anger to abate, till my own ships

  Should hear the war-cry, and the battle bear,

  But go, and in my well-known armour clad,

  Lead forth the valiant Myrmidons to war,

  Since the dark cloud of Trojans circles round

  The ships in force; and on the shingly beach,

  Pent up in narrow limits, lie the Greeks;

  And all the city hath pour'd its numbers forth

  In hope undoubting; for they see no more

  My helm among them flashing; else in flight

  Their dead would choke the streams, if but to me

  Great Agamemnon bore a kindly mind:

  But round the camp the battle now is wag'd.

  No more the hands of valiant Diomed,

  The Greeks protecting, hurl his fiery spear;

  Nor hear I now, from his detested lips,

  The shout of Agamemnon; all around

  Is heard the warrior-slayer Hector's voice,

  Cheering his Trojans; with triumphant cries

  They, from the vanquish'd Greeks, hold all the plain.

  Nathless do thou, Patroclus, in defence

  Fall boldly on, lest they with blazing fire

  Our ships destroy, and hinder our retreat.

  But hear, and ponder well the end of all

  I have to say, and so for me obtain

  Honour and glory in the eyes of Greece;

  And that the beauteous maiden to my arms

  They may restore, with costly gifts to boot.

  The ships reliev'd, return forthwith; and though

  The Thund'rer, Juno's Lord, should crown thine arms

  With triumph, be not rash, apart from me,

  In combat with the warlike sons of Troy;

  (So should my name in less repute be held;)

  Nor, in the keen excitement of the fight

  And slaughter of the Trojans, lead thy troops

  On tow'rd the city, lest thou find thyself

  By some one of th' immortal Gods oppos'd;

  For the far-darting Phoebus loves them well;

  But when in safety thou hast plac'd the ships,

  Delay not to return, and leave the rest

  To battle on the plain: for would to Jove,

  To Pallas and Apollo, that not one,

  Or Greek or Trojan, might escape from death,

  Save only thou and I; that so we two

  Alone might raze the sacred tow'rs of Troy."

  Such converse held they; while by hostile spears

  Hard press'd, no longer Ajax might endure;

  At once by Jove's high will and Trojan foes

  O'ermaster'd; loud beneath repeated blows

  Clatter'd around his brow the glitt'ring helm,

  As on the well-wrought crest the weapons fell;

  And his left arm grew faint, that long had borne

  The burthen of his shield; yet nought avail'd

  The press of spears to drive him from his post;

  Lab'ring he drew his breath, his ev'ry limb

  With sweat was reeking; breathing space was none;

  Blow follow'd blow; and ills were heap'd on ill.

  Say now, ye Nine, who on Olympus dwell,

  How first the fire assail'd the Grecian ships.

  Hector approach'd, and on the ashen spear

  Of Ajax, close behind the head, let fall

  His mighty sword; right through he clove the wood;

  And in his hand the son of Telamon

  The headless shaft held bootless; far away,

  Loud ringing, fell to earth the brazen point.

  Ajax, dismayed, perceived the hand of Heaven,

  And knew that Jove the Thunderer had decreed

  To thwart his hop
es, and victory give to Troy.

  Slow he retir'd; and to the vessel they

  The blazing torch applied; high rose the flame

  Unquenchable, and wrapp'd the poop in fire.

  The son of Peleus saw, and with his palm

  Smote on his thigh, and to Patroclus call'd:

  "Up, nobly born Patroclus, car-borne chief!

  Up, for I see above the ships ascend

  The hostile fires; and lest they seize the ships,

  And hinder our retreat, do thou in haste

  Thine armour don, while I arouse the troops."

  He said: his dazzling arms Patroclus donn'd:

  First on his legs the well-wrought greaves he fix'd,

  Fasten'd with silver clasps; his ample chest

  The breastplate of Achilles, swift of foot,

  Star-spangled, richly wrought, defended well;

  Around his shoulders slung, his sword he bore,

  Brass-bladed, silver-studded; next his shield

  Weighty and strong; and on his firm-set head

  A helm he wore, well-wrought, with horsehair plume

  That nodded, fearful, o'er his brow; his hand

  Grasp'd two stout spears, familiar to his hold.

  One spear Achilles had, long, pond'rous, tough;

  But this he touch'd not; none of all the Greeks,

  None, save Achilles' self, that spear could poise;

  The far-fam'd Pelian ash, which to his sire,

  On Pelion's summit fell'd, to be the bane

  Of mightiest chiefs, the Centaur Chiron gave.

  Then to Automedon he gave command

  To yoke the horses: him he honour'd most,

  Next to Achilles' self; the trustiest he

  In battle to await his chief's behest.

  The flying steeds he harness'd to the car,

  Xanthus and Balius, fleeter than the winds;

  Whom, grazing in the marsh by ocean's stream,

  Podarge, swift of foot, to Zephyr bore:

  And by their side the matchless Pedasus,

  Whom from the capture of Eetion's town

  Achilles bore away; a mortal horse,

  But with immortal coursers meet to vie.

  Meantime Achilles, through their several tents,

  Summon'd to arms the warlike Myrmidons.

  They all, like rav'ning wolves, of courage high,

  That on the mountain side have hunted down

  An antler'd stag, and batten'd on his flesh:

  Their chaps all dyed with blood, in troops they go,

  With their lean tongues from some black-water'd fount

  To lap the surface of the dark cool wave,

  Their jaws with blood yet reeking, unsubdued

  Their courage, and their bellies gorg'd with flesh;

  So round Pelides' valiant follower throng'd

  The chiefs and rulers of the Myrmidons.