by Homer
To his sad brother, that was by, Cebriones: whose ear
Receiving Hector’s charge, he straight the weighty reins did bear;
And Hector from his shining coach, with horrid voice, leap’d on,
To wreak his friend on Teucer’s hand, and up he took a stone,
With which he at the archer ran; who from his quiver drew
A sharp-pil’d shaft, and nock’d it sure: but in great Hector flew
With such fell speed, that in his draught he his right shoulder strook,
Where ’twixt his neck and breast the joint his native closure took:
The wound was wondrous full of death, his string in sunder flees;
His numbed hand fell strengthless down, and he upon his knees.
Ajax neglected not to aid his brother thus depress’d,
But came and sav’d him with his shield; and two more friends, address’d
To be his aid, took him to fleet: Mecistius, Echius’ son,
And gay Alastor. Teucer sigh’d, for all his service done.
Then did Olympius with fresh strength the Trojan powers revive,
Who to their trenches once again the troubled Greeks did drive.
Hector brought terror with his strength, and ever fought before.
As when some highly stomach’d hound, that hunts a sylvan boar
Or kingly lion, loves the haunch, and pincheth oft behind,
Bold of his feet, and still observes the game to turn inclin’d,
Not utterly dissolv’d in flight: so Hector did pursue,
And whosoever was the last he ever did subdue.
They fled, but when they had their dike and palisadoes pass’d
(A number of them put to sword), at ships they stay’d at last.
Then mutual exhortations flew, then – all with hands and eyes
Advanc’d to all the gods – their plagues wrung from them open cries.
Hector with his four rich-man’d horse, assaulting always rode;
The eyes of Gorgon burnt in him, and war’s vermilion god.
The goddess that all goddesses for snowy arms out-shin’d,
Thus spake to Pallas, to the Greeks with gracious ruth inclin’d:
‘O Pallas, what a grief is this? Is all our succour past
To these our perishing Grecian friends – at least, withheld at last –
Ev’n now, when one man’s violence must make them perish all,
In satisfaction of a fate so full of funeral?
Hector Priamides now raves, no more to be endur’d,
That hath already on the Greeks so many harms inur’d.’
The azure goddess answer’d her: ‘This man had surely found
His fortitude and life dissolv’d, even on his father’s ground,
By Grecian valour, if my sire, infested with ill moods,
Did not so dote on these of Troy, too jealous of their bloods:
And ever an unjust repulse stands to my willing pow’rs,
Little rememb’ring what I did in all the desperate hours
Of his affected Hercules: I ever rescu’d him,
In labours of Euristheus, untouch’d in life or limb,
When he (heav’n knows) with drowned eyes look’d up for help to heav’n;
Which ever, at command of Jove, was by my suppliance giv’n.
But had my wisdom reach’d so far, to know of this event,
When to the solid-ported depths of hell his son was sent,
To hale out hateful Pluto’s dog from darksome Erebus,
He had not scap’d the streams of Styx, so deep and dangerous.
Yet Jove hates me, and shows his love in doing Thetis’ will,
That kiss’d his knees, and strok’d his chin, pray’d, and importun’d still,
That he would honour with his aid her city-razing son,
Displeas’d Achilles: and for him our friends are thus undone.
But time shall come again, when he, to do his friends some aid,
Will call me his Glaucopides, his sweet and blue-ey’d maid.
Then harness thou thy horse for me, that his bright palace gates
I soon may enter, arming me, to order these debates.
And I will try if Priam’s son will still maintain his cheer,
When in the crimson paths of war I dreadfully appear;
For some proud Trojans shall be sure to nourish dogs and fowls,
And pave the shore with fat and flesh, depriv’d of lives and souls.’
Juno prepar’d her horse, whose manes ribands of gold enlac’d:
Pallas her parti-colour’d robe on her bright shoulders cast,
Divinely wrought with her own hands, in th’ entry of her sire;
Then put she on her ample breast her under-arming tire,
And on it her celestial arms; the chariot straight she takes,
With her huge heavy violent lance, with which she slaughter makes
Of armies, fatal to her wrath. Saturnia whipp’d her horse,
And heaven gates, guarded by the Hours, op’d by their proper force:
Through which they flew. Whom when Jove saw (set near th’ Idalian springs),
Highly displeas’d, he Iris call’d, that hath the golden wings,
And said: ‘Fly, Iris, turn them back, let them not come at me:
Our meetings – severally dispos’d – will nothing gracious be.
Beneath their o’erthrown chariot I’ll shiver their proud steeds,
Hurl down themselves, their waggon break, and for their stubborn deeds
In ten whole years they shall not heal the wounds I will impress
With horrid thunder, that my maid may know when to address
Arms ’gainst her father. For my wife, she doth not so offend;
’Tis but her use to interrupt whatever I intend.
Iris, with this, left Ida’s hills, and up t’ Olympus flew,
Met near heav’n-gates the goddesses, and thus their haste withdrew:
‘What course intend you? Why are you wrapp’d with your fancies’ storm?
Jove likes not ye should aid the Greeks, but threats – and will perform –
To crush in pieces your swift horse, beneath their glorious yokes,
Hurl down yourselves, your chariot break; and those empoison’d strokes
His wounding thunder shall imprint in your celestial parts,
In ten full springs ye shall not cure, that she that tames proud hearts
(Thyself, Minerva) may be taught to know for what, and when,
Thou dost against thy father fight; for sometimes childeren
May with discretion plant themselves against their fathers’ wills –
But not where humours only rule, in works beyond their skills.
For Juno, she offends him not, nor vexeth him so much;
For ’tis her use to cross his will, her impudence is such:
The habit of offence in this she only doth contract,
And so grieves or incenseth less, though ne’er the less her fact.
But thou most griev’st him, dogged dame, whom he rebukes in time,
Lest silence should pervert thy will, and pride too highly climb
In thy bold bosom; desperate girl, if seriously thou dare
Lift thy unwieldy lance ’gainst Jove, as thy pretences are.’
She left them, and Saturnia said: ‘Ah me! Thou seed of Jove,
By my advice we will no more unfit contention move
With Jupiter, for mortal men; of whom, let this man die
And that man live, whoever he pursues with destiny.
And let him (p
lotting all events) dispose of either host,
As he thinks fittest for them both, and may become us most.’
Thus turn’d she back, and to the Hours her rich-man’d horse resign’d,
Who them t’ immortal mangers bound; the chariot they inclin’d
Beneath the crystal walls of heaven; and they in golden thrones
Consorted, other deities, replete with passions.
Jove, in his bright-wheel’d chariot, his fiery horse now beats
Up to Olympus, and aspir’d the gods’ eternal seats.
Great Neptune loos’d his horse, his car upon the altar plac’d,
And heavenly-linen coverings did round about it cast.
The far-seer us’d his throne of gold: the vast Olympus shook
Beneath his feet; his wife and maid apart their places took,
Nor any word afforded him. He knew their thoughts, and said:
‘Why do you thus torment yourselves? You need not sit dismay’d
With the long labours you have us’d, in your victorious fight,
Destroying Trojans, ’gainst whose lives you heap such high despite.
Ye should have held your glorious course; for be assur’d, as far
As all my pow’rs, by all means urg’d, could have sustain’d the war,
Not all the host of deities should have retir’d my hand
From vow’d inflictions on the Greeks – much less you two withstand.
But you, before you saw the fight, much less the slaughter there,
Had all your goodly lineaments possess’d with shaking fear,
And never had your chariot borne their charge to heav’n again,
But thunder should have smit you both, had you one Trojan slain.’
Both goddesses let fall their chins upon their ivory breasts,
Set next to Jove, contriving still afflicted Troy’s unrests:
Pallas for anger could not speak; Saturnia, contrary,
Could not for anger hold her peace, but made this bold reply:
‘Not-to-be-suff’red Jupiter! What need’st thou still enforce
Thy matchless power? We know it well. But we must yield remorse
To them that yield us sacrifice: nor need’st thou thus deride
Our kind obedience, nor our griefs, but bear our powers applied
To just protection of the Greeks, that anger tomb not all
In Troy’s foul gulf of perjury, and let them stand should fall.’
‘Grieve not,’ said Jove, ‘at all done yet: for if thy fair eyes please,
This next red morning they shall see the great Saturnides
Bring more destruction to the Greeks; and Hector shall not cease
Till he have roused from the fleet swift-foot Aeacides,
In that day when before their ships, for his Patroclus slain,
The Greeks in great distress shall fight, for so the Fates ordain.
I weigh not thy displeased spleen, though to th’ extremest bounds
Of earth and seas it carry thee, where endless night confounds
Japet, and my dejected sire, who sit so far beneath,
They never see the flying sun, nor hear the winds that breathe,
Near to profoundest Tartarus: nor thither if thou went,
Would I take pity of thy moods, since none more impudent.’
To this she nothing did reply. And now Sol’s glorious light
Fell to the sea, and to the land drew up the drowsy night.
The Trojans griev’d at Phoebus’ fall, which all the Greeks desir’d:
And sable night (so often wish’d) to earth’s firm throne aspir’d.
Hector intending to consult, near to the gulfy flood,
Far from the fleet, led to a place pure and exempt from blood,
The Trojans’ forces: from their horse all lighted, and did hear
Th’ oration Jove-lov’d Hector made; who held a goodly spear,
Eleven full cubits long; the head was brass, and did reflect
A wanton light before him still; it round about was deck’d
With strong hoops of new-burnish’d gold. On this he lean’d, and said:
‘Hear me, my worthy friends of Troy, and you our honour’d aid:
A little since I had conceit we should have made retreat,
By light of the inflamed fleet, with all the Greeks’ escheat;
But darkness hath prevented us, and sav’d, with special grace,
These Achives and their shore-hal’d fleet. Let us then render place
To sacred Night, our suppers dress, and from our chariot free
Our fair-man’d horse, and meat them well: then let there convoy’d be,
From forth the city presently, oxen and well-fed sheep,
Sweet wine, and bread. And fell much wood, that all night we may keep
Plenty of fires, even till the light bring forth the lovely morn;
And let their brightness glaze the skies, that night may not suborn
The Greeks’ escape, if they for flight the sea’s broad back would take:
At least they may not part with ease, but as retreat they make,
Each man may bear a wound with him, to cure when he comes home,
Made with a shaft or sharp’ned spear, and others fear to come,
With charge of lamentable war, ’gainst soldiers bred in Troy.
Then let our heralds through the town their offices employ,
To warn the youth yet short of war, and time-white fathers, past,
That in our god-built tow’rs they see strong courts of guard be plac’d
About the walls; and let our dames, yet flourishing in years,
That, having beauties to keep pure, are most inclin’d to fears –
Since darkness in distressful times more dreadful is than light –
Make lofty fires in every house: and thus, the dangerous night
Held with strong watch, if th’ enemy have ambuscadoes laid
Near to our walls, and therefore seem in flight the more dismay’d,
Intending a surprise, while we are all without the town,
They every way shall be impugn’d to every man’s renown.
Perform all this, brave Trojan friends: what now I have to say
Is all express’d; the cheerful morn shall other things display.
It is my glory (putting trust in Jove and other gods)
That I shall now expulse these dogs, fates sent to our abodes,
Who bring ostents of destiny, and black their threat’ning fleet.
But this night let us hold strong guards: to-morrow we will meet
(With fierce-made war) before their ships; and I’ll make known to all
If strong Tydides from their ships can drive me to their wall,
Or I can pierce him with my sword, and force his bloody spoil.
The wished morn shall show his power, if he can shun his foil,
I running on him with my lance. I think when day ascends,
He shall lie wounded with the first, and by him many friends.
O that I were as sure to live immortal, and sustain
No frailties with increasing years, but evermore remain
Ador’d like Pallas, or the Sun, as all doubts die in me,
That heav’n’s next light shall be the last the Greeks shall ever see.’
This speech all Trojans did applaud; who from their traces loos’d
Their sweating horse, which severally with headstals they repos’d,
And fast’ned by their chariots; when others brought from town
Fat sheep and oxen instantly; bread, wine; and hewed
down
Huge store of wood: the winds transferr’d into the friendly sky
Their supper’s savour, to the which they sat delightfully,
And spent all night in open field; fires round about them shin’d –
As when about the silver moon, when air is free from wind,
And stars shine clear, to whose sweet beams high prospects, and the brows
Of all steep hills and pinnacles, thrust up themselves for shows,
And ev’n the lowly valleys joy to glitter in their sight,
When the unmeasur’d firmament bursts to disclose her light,
And all the signs in heav’n are seen that glad the shepherd’s heart:
So many fires disclos’d their beams, made by the Trojan part,
Before the face of Ilion, and her bright turrets show’d.
A thousand courts of guard kept fires, and every guard allow’d
Fifty stout men, by whom their horse ate oats and hard white corn,
And all did wilfully expect the silver-throned morn:
The end of the eighth book
Book 9
The Argument
To Agamemnon, urging hopeless flight,
Stand Diomed and Nestor opposite:
By Nestor’s counsel, legates are dismiss’d
To Thetis’ son, who still denies t’ assist.
Another Argument
Iota sings the embassy,
And great Achilles’ stern reply.
Book 9
So held the Trojans sleepless guard; the Greeks to flight were giv’n,
The feeble consort of cold fear (strangely infus’d from heav’n).
Grief, not to be endur’d, did wound all Greeks of greatest worth.
And as two lateral-sited winds – the west wind and the north –
Meet at the Thracian sea’s black breast, join in a sudden blore,
Tumble together the dark waves, and pour upon the shore
A mighty deal of froth and weed, with which men manure ground:
So Jove and Troy did drive the Greeks, and all their minds confound.
But Agamemnon most of all was tortur’d at his heart;
Who to the voiceful heralds went, and bad them cite, apart,
Each Grecian leader severally (not openly proclaim);
In which he labour’d with the first, and all together came.
They sadly sate. The king arose, and pour’d out tears as fast
