THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ILIADS
THE ARGUMENT
Achilles mourns, told of Patroclus’ end;
When Thetis doth from forth the sea ascend
And comfort him, advising to abstain
From any fight till her request could gain
Fit arms of Vulcan. Juno yet commands
To show himself. And at the dike he stands
In sight of th’ enemy, who with his sight
Flies; and a number perish in the flight.
Patroclus’ person (safe brought from the wars)
His soldiers wash. Vulcan the arms prepares.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Sigma continues the alarms,
And fashions the renownéd arms.
They fought still like the rage of fire. And now Antilochus
Came to Æacides, whose mind was much solicitous
For that which, as he fear’d, was fall’n. He found him near the fleet
With upright sail-yards, utt’ring this to his heroic conceit:
“Ah me! Why see the Greeks themselves thus beaten from the field,
And routed headlong to their fleet? O let not heaven yield
Effect to what my sad soul fears, that, as I was foretold,
The strongest Myrmidon next me, when I should still behold
The sun’s fair light, must part with it. Past doubt Menœtius’ son
Is he on whom that fate is wrought. O wretch, to leave undone
What I commanded; that, the fleet once freed of hostile fire,
Not meeting Hector, instantly he should his pow’rs retire.”
As thus his troubled mind discours’d, Antilochus appear’d,
And told with tears the sad news thus: “My lord, that must be heard
Which would to heav’n I might not tell! Menœtius’ son lies dead,
And for his naked corse (his arms already forfeited,
And worn by Hector) the debate is now most vehement.”
This said, grief darken’d all his pow’rs. With both his hands he rent
The black mould from the forcéd earth, and pour’d it on his head,
Smear’d all his lovely face; his weeds, divinely fashionéd,
All fil’d and mangled; and himself he threw upon the shore,
Lay, as laid out for funeral, then tumbled round, and tore
His gracious curls. His ecstasy he did so far extend,
That all the ladies won by him and his now slaughter’d friend,
Afflicted strangely for his plight, came shrieking from the tents,
And fell about him, beat their breasts, their tender lineaments
Dissolv’d with sorrow. And with them wept Nestor’s warlike son,
Fell by him, holding his fair hands, in fear he would have done
His person violence; his heart, extremely straiten’d, burn’d,
Beat, swell’d, and sigh’d as it would burst. So terribly he mourn’d,
That Thetis, sitting in the deeps of her old father’s seas,
Heard, and lamented. To her plaints the bright Nereides
Flock’d all, how many those dark gulfs soever comprehend.
There Glauce, and Cymodoce, and Spio, did attend,
Nessea, and Cymothoe, and calm Amphithoe,
Thalia, Thoa, Panope, and swift Dynamene,
Actæa, and Limnoria, and Halia the fair
Fam’d for the beauty of her eyes, Amathia for her hair,
Iæra, Proto, Clymene, and curl’d Dexamene,
Pherusa, Doris, and with these the smooth Amphinome,
Chaste Galatea so renown’d, and Callianira, came,
With Doto and Orythia, to cheer the mournful dame.
Apseudes likewise visited, and Callianassa gave
Her kind attendance, and with her Agave grac’d the cave,
Nemertes, Mæra, followéd, Melita, Ianesse,
With Ianira, and the rest of those Nereides
That in the deep seas make abode; all which together beat
Their dewy bosoms; and to all, thus Thetis did repeat
Her cause of mourning: “Sisters, hear, how much the sorrows weigh,
Whose cries now call’d ye. Hapless I brought forth unhappily
The best of all the sons of men; who, like a well-set plant
In best soils, grew and flourishéd; and when his spirit did want
Employment for his youth and strength, I sent him with a fleet
To fight at Ilion; from whence his fate-confinéd feet
Pass all my deity to retire. The court of his high birth,
The glorious court of Peleüs, must entertain his worth
Never hereafter. All the life he hath to live with me
Must waste in sorrows. And this son I now am bent to see,
Being now afflicted with some grief not usually grave,
Whose knowledge and recure I seek.” This said, she left her cave,
Which all left with her; swimming forth, the green waves, as they sworn,
Cleft with their bosoms, curl’d, and gave quick way to Troy. Being come,
They all ascended, two and two, and trod the honour’d shore,
Till where the fleet of Myrmidons, drawn up in heaps, it bore.
There stay’d they at Achilles’ ship; and there did Thetis lay
Her fair hand on her son’s curl’d head, sigh’d, wept, and bade him say
What grief drew from his eyes those tears? “Conceal it not,” said she,
“Till this hour thy uplifted hands have all things granted thee.
The Greeks, all thrust up at their sterns, have pour’d out tears enow,
And in them seen how much they miss remission of thy vow.”
He said, “’Tis true, Olympius hath done me all that grace,
But what joy have I of it all, when thus thrusts in the place
Loss of my whole self in my friend? Whom, when his foe had slain,
He spoil’d of those profanéd arms, that Peleus did obtain
From heav’n’s high Pow’rs, solemnizing thy sacred nuptial bands,
As th’ only present of them all, and fitted well their hands,
Being lovely, radiant, marvellous. O would to heav’n thy throne,
With these fair Deities of the sea, thou still hadst sat upon,
And Peleus had a mortal wife; since by his means is done
So much wrong to thy grievéd mind, my death being set so soon,
And never suff’ring my return to grace of Peleus’ court!
Nor do I wish it; nor to live in any man’s resort,
But only that the crying blood, for vengeance of my friend
Mangled by Hector, may be still’d; his foe’s death paying his end.”
She, weeping, said: “That hour is near, and thy death’s hour then nigh;
Which, in thy wish serv’d of thy foe, succeedeth instantly.”
“And instantly it shall succeed,” he answer’d “since my fate
Allow’d not to my will a pow’r to rescue, ere the date
Of his late slaughter, my true friend. Far from his friends he died,
Whose wrong therein my eyes had light and right to see denied.
Yet now I neither light myself, nor have so spent my light,
That either this friend or the rest (in numbers infinite
Slaughter’d by Hector) I can help, nor grace with wish’d repair
To our dear country, but breathe here unprofitable air,
And only live a load to earth with all my strength, though none
Of all the Grecians equal it. In counsel many a one
Is my superior; what I have, no grace gets; what I want
Disgraceth all. How then too soon can hastiest death supplant
My fate-curst life? Her instrument to my indignity
Being that black fiend Contention; whom would to God might die
To Gods and men; and Anger too, that kindles tyranny
In men most wise, being much more swee
t than liquid honey is
To men of pow’r to satiate their watchful enmities;
And like a pliant fume it spreads through all their breasts; as late
It stole stern passage thorough mine, which he did instigate
That is our Gen’ral. But the fact so long past, the effect
Must vanish with it, though both griev’d; nor must we still respect
Our soothéd humours. Need now takes the rule of either’s mind.
And when the loser of my friend his death in me shall find,
Let death take all. Send him, ye Gods, I’ll give him my embrace.
Not Hercules himself shunn’d death, though dearest in the grace
Of Jupiter; ev’n him Fate stoop’d, and Juno’s cruelty.
And if such fate expect my life, where death strikes I will lie.
Meantime I wish a good renown that these deep breasted dames
Of Ilion and Dardania may, for the extinguish’d flames
Of their friends’ lives, with both their hands wipe miserable tears
From their so-curiously-kept cheeks, and be the officers
To execute my sighs on Troy, when (seeing my long retreat
But gather’d strength, and gives my charge an answerable heat)
They well may know ’twas I lay still, and that my being away
Presented all their happiness. But any further stay
(Which your much love perhaps may wish) assay not to persuade;
All vows are kept, all pray’rs heard; now, free way for fight is made.”
The silver-footed Dame replied: “It fits thee well, my son,
To keep destruction from thy friends; but those fair arms are won
And worn by Hector, that should keep thyself in keeping them,
Though their fruition be but short, a long death being near him,
Whose cruel glory they are yet. By all means then forbear
To tread the massacres of war, till I again appear
From Mulciber with fit new arms; which, when thy eye shall see
The sun next rise, shall enter here with his first beams and me.”
Thus to her Sisters of the Sea she turn’d, and bade them ope
The doors and deeps of Nereüs; she in Olympus’ top
Must visit Vulcan for new arms to serve her wreakful son,
And bade inform her father so, with all things further done.
This said, they underwent the sea, herself flew up to heav’n.
In mean space, to the Hellespont and ships the Greeks were driv’n
In shameful rout; nor could they yet, from rage of Priam’s son,
Secure the dead of new assaults, both horse and men made on
With such impression. Thrice the feet the hands of Hector seiz’d,
And thrice th’ Ajaces thump’d him off. With whose repulse displeas’d,
He wreak’d his wrath upon the troops, then to the corse again
Made horrid turnings, crying out of his repulséd men,
And would not quit him quite for death. A lion almost sterv’d
Is not by upland herdsman driv’n, from urging to be serv’d,
With more contention, than his strength by those two of a name;
And had perhaps his much-prais’d will, if th’ airy-footed Dame,
Swift Iris, had not stoop’d in haste, ambassadress from heav’n
To Peleus’ son, to bid him arm; her message being giv’n
By Juno, kept from all the Gods; she thus excited him:
“Rise, thou most terrible of men, and save the precious limb
Of thy belov’d; in whose behalf, the conflict now runs high
Before the fleet, the either host fells other mutually,
These to retain, those to obtain. Amongst whom most of all
Is Hector prompt, he’s apt to drag thy friend home, he your pall
Will make his shoulders; his head forc’d, he’ll be most famous; rise,
No more lie idle, set the foe a much more costly prize
Of thy friend’s value than let dogs make him a monument,
Where thy name will be grav’n.” He ask’d, “What Deity hath sent
Thy presence hither?” She replied: “Saturnia, she alone,
Not high Jove knowing, nor one God that doth inhabit on
Snowy Olympus.” He again: “How shall I set upon
The work of slaughter, when mine arms are worn by Priam’s son?
How will my Goddess-mother grieve, that bade I should not arm
Till she brought arms from Mulciber! But should I do such harm
To her and duty, who is he, but Ajax, that can vaunt
The fitting my breast with his arms; and he is conversant
Amongst the first in use of his, and rampires of the foe
Slain near Patroclus builds to him?” “All this,” said she, “we know,
And wish thou only wouldst but show thy person to the eyes
Of these hot Ilians, that, afraid of further enterprise,
The Greeks may gain some little breath.” She woo’d, and he was won;
And straight Minerva honour’d him, who Jove’s shield clapp’d upon
His mighty shoulders, and his head girt with a cloud of gold
That cast beams round about his brows. And as when arms enfold
A city in an isle, from thence a fume at first appears,
Being in the day, but, when the even her cloudy forehead rears,
Thick show the fires, and up they cast their splendour, that men nigh,
Seeing their distress, perhaps may set ships out to their supply;
So (to show such aid) from his head a light rose, scaling heav’n,
And forth the wall he stept and stood, nor brake the precept giv’n
By his great mother, mix’d in fight, but sent abroad his voice;
Which Pallas far-off echoéd, who did betwixt them hoise
Shrill tumult to a topless height. And as a voice is heard
With emulous affectión, when any town is spher’d
With siege of such a foe as kills men’s minds, and for the town
Makes sound his trumpet; so the voice from Thetis’ issue thrown
Won emulously th’ ears of all. His brazen voice once heard,
The minds of all were startled so they yielded; and so fear’d
The fair-man’d horses, that they flew back, and their chariots turn’d,
Presaging in their augurous hearts the labours that they mourn’d
A little after; and their guides a repercussive dread
Took from the horrid radiance of his refulgent head,
Which Pallas set on fire with grace. Thrice great Achilles spake,
And thrice (in heat of all the charge) the Trojans started back.
Twelve men, of greatest strength in Troy, left with their lives exhal’d
Their chariots and their darts, to death with his three summons call’d.
And then the Grecians spritefully drew from the darts the corse,
And hears’d it, bearing it to fleet; his friends with all remorse
Marching about it. His great friend dissolving then in tears
To see his truly-lov’d return’d, so hors’d upon an hearse,
Whom with such horse and chariot he set out safe and whole,
Now wounded with unpitying steel, now sent without a soul,
Never again to be restor’d, never receiv’d but so,
He follow’d mourning bitterly. The sun (yet far to go)
Juno commanded to go down; who, in his pow’r’s despite,
Sunk to the ocean, over earth dispersing sudden night.
And then the Greeks and Trojans both gave up their horse and darts.
The Trojans all to council call’d, ere they refresh’d their hearts
With any supper, nor would sit; they grew so stiff with fear
To see, so long from heavy fight, Æacides appear.
Polydamus began to speak, who only could disce
rn
Things future by things past, and was vow’d friend to Hector, born
In one night both. He thus advis’d: “Consider well, my friends,
In this so great and sudden change, that now itself extends,
What change is best for us t’ oppose. To this stands my command:
Make now the town our strength, not here abide light’s rosy hand,
Our wall being far off, and our foe, much greater, still as near.
Till this foe came, I well was pleas’d to keep our watches here,
My fit hope of the fleet’s surprise inclin’d me so; but now
’Tis stronglier guarded, and, their strength increas’d, we must allow
Our own proportionate amends. I doubt exceedingly
That this indiff’rency of fight ‘twixt us and th’ enemy,
And these bounds we prefix to them, will nothing so confine
Th’ uncurb’d mind of Æacides. The height of his design
Aims at our city and our wives; and all bars in his way
(Being back’d with less than walls) his pow’r will scorn to make his stay,
And over-run, as over-seen and not his object. Then
Let Troy be freely our retreat; lest, being enforc’d, our men
‘Twixt this and that be taken up by vultures, who by night
May safe come off, it being a time untimely for his might
To spend at random; that being sure. If next light show us here
To his assaults, each man will wish, that Troy his refuge were,
And then feel what he hears not now. I would to heav’n mine ear
Were free ev’n now of those complaints, that you must after hear
If ye remove not! If ye yield, though wearied with a fight
So late and long, we shall have strength in council and the night.
And (where we here have no more force, than need will force us to,
And which must rise out of our nerves) high ports, tow’rs, walls will do
What wants in us; and in the morn, all arm’d upon our tow’rs,
We all will stand out to our foe. ‘Twill trouble all his pow’rs,
To come from fleet and give us charge, when his high-crested horse
His rage shall satiate with the toil of this and that way’s course,
Vain entry seeking underneath our well-defended walls,
And he be glad to turn to fleet, about his funerals.
For of his entry here at home, what mind will serve his thirst,
Or ever feed him with sack’d Troy? The dogs shall eat him first.”
At this speech Hector bent his brows, and said: “This makes not great
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 91
