The Iliad E-Book

Homer

• Herausgeber: Ktoczyta.pl
• Kategorie: Poesie und Drama
• Sprache: Englisch
• Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019

Beschreibung

One of the greatest stories ever told, „"The Iliad"” has survived for thousands of years because of its insightful portrayal of man and its epic story of war, duty, honor, and revenge. The poem itself centers on the figure of Achilles the Greek warrior, his quarrel with King Agamemnon the Greek leader, the death of Achilles’ friend Patroclus, and Achilles’ ultimate defeat of the Trojan warrior Hector. In the course of relating this core story, the main events of the whole war are covered. Revenge and meddling gods weave through this epic of a seemingly endless war. Seven Greek cities claim the honor of being the birthplace of Homer, the poet to whom the composition of „"The Iliad"” and „"The Odyssey"” are attributed. „"The Iliad"” is one of the foremost achievements in Western literature, but the identity – or even the existence – of Homer himself is a complete mystery, with no reliable biographical information having survived.

Leseprobe

Contents

BOOK I

BOOK II

BOOK III

BOOK IV

BOOK V

BOOK VI

BOOK VII

BOOK VIII

BOOK IX

BOOK X

BOOK XI

BOOK XII

BOOK XIII

BOOK XIV

BOOK XV

BOOK XVI

BOOK XVII

BOOK XVIII

BOOK XIX

BOOK XX

BOOK XXI

BOOK XXII

BOOK XXIII

BOOK XXIV

BOOK I

ARGUMENT.40

THE CONTENTION OF ACHILLES AND AGAMEMNON.

In the war of Troy, the Greeks having sacked some of the neighbouring towns, and taken from thence two beautiful captives, Chryseis and Briseis, allotted the first to Agamemnon, and the last to Achilles. Chryses, the father of Chryseis, and priest of Apollo, comes to the Grecian camp to ransom her; with which the action of the poem opens, in the tenth year of the siege. The priest being refused, and insolently dismissed by Agamemnon, entreats for vengeance from his god; who inflicts a pestilence on the Greeks. Achilles calls a council, and encourages Chalcas to declare the cause of it; who attributes it to the refusal of Chryseis. The king, being obliged to send back his captive, enters into a furious contest with Achilles, which Nestor pacifies; however, as he had the absolute command of the army, he seizes on Briseis in revenge. Achilles in discontent withdraws himself and his forces from the rest of the Greeks; and complaining to Thetis, she supplicates Jupiter to render them sensible of the wrong done to her son, by giving victory to the Trojans. Jupiter, granting her suit, incenses Juno: between whom the debate runs high, till they are reconciled by the address of Vulcan.

The time of two-and-twenty days is taken up in this book: nine during the plague, one in the council and quarrel of the princes, and twelve for Jupiter’s stay with the Æthiopians, at whose return Thetis prefers her petition. The scene lies in the Grecian camp, then changes to Chrysa, and lastly to Olympus.

Achilles’ wrath, to Greece the direful spring

Of woes unnumber’d, heavenly goddess, sing!

That wrath which hurl’d to Pluto’s gloomy reign

The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain;

Whose limbs unburied on the naked shore,

Since great Achilles and Atrides strove,

Sprung the fierce strife, from what offended power

And heap’d the camp with mountains of the dead;

For Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain

His captive daughter from the victor’s chain.

Suppliant the venerable father stands;

Apollo’s awful ensigns grace his hands

By these he begs; and lowly bending down,

Extends the sceptre and the laurel crown

He sued to all, but chief implored for grace

Ye kings and warriors! may your vows be crown’d,

And Troy’s proud walls lie level with the ground.

May Jove restore you when your toils are o’er

Safe to the pleasures of your native shore.

But, oh! relieve a wretched parent’s pain,

And give Chryseis to these arms again;

If mercy fail, yet let my presents move,

The Greeks in shouts their joint assent declare,

The priest to reverence, and release the fair.

Not so Atrides; he, with kingly pride,

Hence on thy life, and fly these hostile plains,

Nor ask, presumptuous, what the king detains

Hence, with thy laurel crown, and golden rod,

Nor trust too far those ensigns of thy god.

Mine is thy daughter, priest, and shall remain;

And prayers, and tears, and bribes, shall plead in vain;

Till time shall rifle every youthful grace,

And age dismiss her from my cold embrace,

In daily labours of the loom employ’d,

Or doom’d to deck the bed she once enjoy’d

Hence then; to Argos shall the maid retire,

Far from her native soil and weeping sire.”

HOMER INVOKING THE MUSE.

The trembling priest along the shore return’d,

And in the anguish of a father mourn’d.

Disconsolate, not daring to complain,

Silent he wander’d by the sounding main;

Till, safe at distance, to his god he prays,

Thou source of light! whom Tenedos adores,

And whose bright presence gilds thy Chrysa’s shores.

Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain;

God of the silver bow! thy shafts employ,

Thus Chryses pray’d.–the favouring power attends,

And from Olympus’ lofty tops descends.

Fierce as he moved, his silver shafts resound.

Breathing revenge, a sudden night he spread,

And gloomy darkness roll’d about his head.

The fleet in view, he twang’d his deadly bow,

And hissing fly the feather’d fates below.

And last, the vengeful arrows fix’d in man.

For nine long nights, through all the dusky air,

The pyres, thick-flaming, shot a dismal glare.

But ere the tenth revolving day was run,

Inspired by Juno, Thetis’ godlike son

Convened to council all the Grecian train;

The assembly seated, rising o’er the rest,

Why leave we not the fatal Trojan shore,

And measure back the seas we cross’d before?

The plague destroying whom the sword would spare,

'Tis time to save the few remains of war.

But let some prophet, or some sacred sage,

Explore the cause of great Apollo’s rage;

Or learn the wasteful vengeance to remove

If broken vows this heavy curse have laid,

Let altars smoke, and hecatombs be paid.

So Heaven, atoned, shall dying Greece restore,

He said, and sat: when Chalcas thus replied;

Chalcas the wise, the Grecian priest and guide,

That sacred seer, whose comprehensive view,

The past, the present, and the future knew:

Uprising slow, the venerable sage

Beloved of Jove, Achilles! would’st thou know

Why angry Phoebus bends his fatal bow?

First give thy faith, and plight a prince’s word

Of sure protection, by thy power and sword:

For I must speak what wisdom would conceal,

And truths, invidious to the great, reveal,

Bold is the task, when subjects, grown too wise,

Instruct a monarch where his error lies;

For though we deem the short-lived fury past,

'Tis sure the mighty will revenge at last.”

To whom Pelides:–”From thy inmost soul

Speak what thou know’st, and speak without control.

E’en by that god I swear who rules the day,

To whom thy hands the vows of Greece convey.

And whose bless’d oracles thy lips declare;

Long as Achilles breathes this vital air,

No daring Greek, of all the numerous band,

Against his priest shall lift an impious hand;

Not e’en the chief by whom our hosts are led,

Encouraged thus, the blameless man replies:

Nor vows unpaid, nor slighted sacrifice,

But he, our chief, provoked the raging pest,

Apollo’s vengeance for his injured priest.

Nor will the god’s awaken’d fury cease,

But plagues shall spread, and funeral fires increase,

Till the great king, without a ransom paid,

Perhaps, with added sacrifice and prayer,

The prophet spoke: when with a gloomy frown

The monarch started from his shining throne;

Black choler fill’d his breast that boil’d with ire,

And from his eye-balls flash’d the living fire:

Augur accursed! denouncing mischief still,

Prophet of plagues, for ever boding ill!

Still must that tongue some wounding message bring,

And still thy priestly pride provoke thy king?

For this are Phoebus’ oracles explored,

To teach the Greeks to murmur at their lord?

For this with falsehood is my honour stain’d,

Is heaven offended, and a priest profaned;

Because my prize, my beauteous maid, I hold,

And heavenly charms prefer to proffer’d gold?

A maid, unmatch’d in manners as in face,

Skill’d in each art, and crown’d with every grace;

Not half so dear were Clytaemnestra’s charms,

When first her blooming beauties bless’d my arms.

Yet, if the gods demand her, let her sail;

Our cares are only for the public weal:

Let me be deem’d the hateful cause of all,

And suffer, rather than my people fall.

The prize, the beauteous prize, I will resign,

So dearly valued, and so justly mine.

But since for common good I yield the fair,

My private loss let grateful Greece repair;

Nor unrewarded let your prince complain,

That he alone has fought and bled in vain.”

Insatiate king (Achilles thus replies),

Fond of the power, but fonder of the prize!

Would’st thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield,

The spoils of cities razed and warriors slain,

We share with justice, as with toil we gain;

But to resume whate’er thy avarice craves

(That trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves.

Yet if our chief for plunder only fight,

The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite,

Whene’er, by Jove’s decree, our conquering powers

Then thus the king: “Shall I my prize resign

With tame content, and thou possess’d of thine?

Great as thou art, and like a god in fight,

Think not to rob me of a soldier’s right.

At thy demand shall I restore the maid?

First let the just equivalent be paid;

Such as a king might ask; and let it be

A treasure worthy her, and worthy me.

Or grant me this, or with a monarch’s claim

This hand shall seize some other captive dame.

Ulysses’ spoils, or even thy own, be mine.

The man who suffers, loudly may complain;

And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain.

But this when time requires.–It now remains

We launch a bark to plough the watery plains,

And waft the sacrifice to Chrysa’s shores,

With chosen pilots, and with labouring oars.

Soon shall the fair the sable ship ascend,

And some deputed prince the charge attend:

This Creta’s king, or Ajax shall fulfil,

Or wise Ulysses see perform’d our will;

Or, if our royal pleasure shall ordain,

Achilles’ self conduct her o’er the main;

Let fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage,

The god propitiate, and the pest assuage.”

MARS.

At this, Pelides, frowning stern, replied:

O tyrant, arm’d with insolence and pride!

Inglorious slave to interest, ever join’d

With fraud, unworthy of a royal mind!

What generous Greek, obedient to thy word,

Shall form an ambush, or shall lift the sword?

What cause have I to war at thy decree?

The distant Trojans never injured me;

To Phthia’s realms no hostile troops they led:

Safe in her vales my warlike coursers fed;

Far hence removed, the hoarse-resounding main,

And walls of rocks, secure my native reign,

Whose fruitful soil luxuriant harvests grace,

Rich in her fruits, and in her martial race.

Hither we sail’d, a voluntary throng,

To avenge a private, not a public wrong:

What else to Troy the assembled nations draws,

But thine, ungrateful, and thy brother’s cause?

Is this the pay our blood and toils deserve;

Disgraced and injured by the man we serve?

And darest thou threat to snatch my prize away,

Due to the deeds of many a dreadful day?

A prize as small, O tyrant! match’d with thine,

As thy own actions if compared to mine.

Thine in each conquest is the wealthy prey,

Though mine the sweat and danger of the day.

Some trivial present to my ships I bear:

Or barren praises pay the wounds of war.

But know, proud monarch, I’m thy slave no more;

My fleet shall waft me to Thessalia’s shore:

Left by Achilles on the Trojan plain,

To this the king: “Fly, mighty warrior! fly;

Thy aid we need not, and thy threats defy.

There want not chiefs in such a cause to fight,

And Jove himself shall guard a monarch’s right.

Of all the kings (the god’s distinguish’d care)

To power superior none such hatred bear:

Strife and debate thy restless soul employ,

And wars and horrors are thy savage joy,

If thou hast strength, ’twas Heaven that strength bestow’d;

For know, vain man! thy valour is from God.

Haste, launch thy vessels, fly with speed away;

Rule thy own realms with arbitrary sway;

I heed thee not, but prize at equal rate

Thy short-lived friendship, and thy groundless hate.

'Tis mine to threaten, prince, and thine to fear.

Know, if the god the beauteous dame demand,

My bark shall waft her to her native land;

But then prepare, imperious prince! prepare,

Fierce as thou art, to yield thy captive fair:

Even in thy tent I’ll seize the blooming prize,

Thy loved Briseis with the radiant eyes.

Hence shalt thou prove my might, and curse the hour

Thou stood’st a rival of imperial power;

And hence, to all our hosts it shall be known,

Achilles heard, with grief and rage oppress’d,

His heart swell’d high, and labour’d in his breast;

Distracting thoughts by turns his bosom ruled;

Now fired by wrath, and now by reason cool’d:

That prompts his hand to draw the deadly sword,

Force through the Greeks, and pierce their haughty lord;

This whispers soft his vengeance to control,

And calm the rising tempest of his soul.

Just as in anguish of suspense he stay’d,

Minerva swift descended from above,

Sent by the sister and the wife of Jove

(For both the princes claim’d her equal care);

Behind she stood, and by the golden hair

Achilles seized; to him alone confess’d;

A sable cloud conceal’d her from the rest.

He sees, and sudden to the goddess cries,

Known by the flames that sparkle from her eyes:

MINERVA REPRESSING THE FURY OF ACHILLES.

Descends Minerva, in her guardian care,

A heavenly witness of the wrongs I bear

From Atreus’ son?–Then let those eyes that view

Forbear (the progeny of Jove replies)

To calm thy fury I forsake the skies:

Let great Achilles, to the gods resign’d,

To reason yield the empire o’er his mind.

By awful Juno this command is given;

The king and you are both the care of heaven.

The force of keen reproaches let him feel;

But sheathe, obedient, thy revenging steel.

For I pronounce (and trust a heavenly power)

Thy injured honour has its fated hour,

When the proud monarch shall thy arms implores

And bribe thy friendship with a boundless store.

Then let revenge no longer bear the sway;

To her Pelides:–”With regardful ear,

'Tis just, O goddess! I thy dictates hear.

Hard as it is, my vengeance I suppress:

Those who revere the gods the gods will bless.”

He said, observant of the blue-eyed maid;

Then in the sheath return’d the shining blade.

The goddess swift to high Olympus flies,

Nor yet the rage his boiling breast forsook,

Which thus redoubling on Atrides broke:

O monster! mix’d of insolence and fear,

Thou dog in forehead, but in heart a deer!

When wert thou known in ambush’d fights to dare,

Or nobly face the horrid front of war?

'Tis ours, the chance of fighting fields to try;

Thine to look on, and bid the valiant die:

So much ’tis safer through the camp to go,

And rob a subject, than despoil a foe.

Scourge of thy people, violent and base!

Sent in Jove’s anger on a slavish race;

Who, lost to sense of generous freedom past,

Are tamed to wrongs;–or this had been thy last.

Now by this sacred sceptre hear me swear,

Which never more shall leaves or blossoms bear,

Which sever’d from the trunk (as I from thee)

On the bare mountains left its parent tree;

This sceptre, form’d by temper’d steel to prove

An ensign of the delegates of Jove,

From whom the power of laws and justice springs

(Tremendous oath! inviolate to kings);

By this I swear:–when bleeding Greece again

Shall call Achilles, she shall call in vain.

When, flush’d with slaughter, Hector comes to spread

The purpled shore with mountains of the dead,

Then shall thou mourn the affront thy madness gave,

Forced to deplore when impotent to save:

Then rage in bitterness of soul to know

He spoke; and furious hurl’d against the ground

His sceptre starr’d with golden studs around:

Then sternly silent sat. With like disdain

To calm their passion with the words of age,

Slow from his seat arose the Pylian sage,

Experienced Nestor, in persuasion skill’d;

Two generations now had pass’d away,

Wise by his rules, and happy by his sway;

Two ages o’er his native realm he reign’d,

And now the example of the third remain’d.

All view’d with awe the venerable man;

What shame, what woe is this to Greece! what joy

To Troy’s proud monarch, and the friends of Troy!

That adverse gods commit to stern debate

The best, the bravest, of the Grecian state.

Young as ye are, this youthful heat restrain,

Nor think your Nestor’s years and wisdom vain.

A godlike race of heroes once I knew,

Such as no more these aged eyes shall view!

Lives there a chief to match Pirithous’ fame,

Dryas the bold, or Ceneus’ deathless name;

Theseus, endued with more than mortal might,

Or Polyphemus, like the gods in fight?

With these of old, to toils of battle bred,

In early youth my hardy days I led;

Fired with the thirst which virtuous envy breeds,

And smit with love of honourable deeds,

Strongest of men, they pierced the mountain boar,

Ranged the wild deserts red with monsters’ gore,

And from their hills the shaggy Centaurs tore:

Yet these with soft persuasive arts I sway’d;

When Nestor spoke, they listen’d and obey’d.

If in my youth, even these esteem’d me wise;

Do you, young warriors, hear my age advise.

Atrides, seize not on the beauteous slave;

That prize the Greeks by common suffrage gave:

Nor thou, Achilles, treat our prince with pride;

Let kings be just, and sovereign power preside.

Thee, the first honours of the war adorn,

Like gods in strength, and of a goddess born;

Him, awful majesty exalts above

The powers of earth, and sceptred sons of Jove.

Let both unite with well-consenting mind,

So shall authority with strength be join’d.

Leave me, O king! to calm Achilles’ rage;

Rule thou thyself, as more advanced in age.

Forbid it, gods! Achilles should be lost,

This said, he ceased. The king of men replies:

Thy years are awful, and thy words are wise.

But that imperious, that unconquer’d soul,

No laws can limit, no respect control.

Before his pride must his superiors fall;

His word the law, and he the lord of all?

Him must our hosts, our chiefs, ourself obey?

What king can bear a rival in his sway?

Grant that the gods his matchless force have given;

Has foul reproach a privilege from heaven?”

Here on the monarch’s speech Achilles broke,

And furious, thus, and interrupting spoke:

Tyrant, I well deserved thy galling chain,

To live thy slave, and still to serve in vain,

Should I submit to each unjust decree:–

Command thy vassals, but command not me.

Seize on Briseis, whom the Grecians doom’d

My prize of war, yet tamely see resumed;

And seize secure; no more Achilles draws

His conquering sword in any woman’s cause.

The gods command me to forgive the past:

But let this first invasion be the last:

For know, thy blood, when next thou darest invade,

At this they ceased: the stern debate expired:

Achilles with Patroclus took his way

Where near his tents his hollow vessels lay.

Meantime Atrides launch’d with numerous oars

A well-rigg’d ship for Chrysa’s sacred shores:

High on the deck was fair Chryseis placed,

And sage Ulysses with the conduct graced:

Safe in her sides the hecatomb they stow’d,

The host to expiate next the king prepares,

With pure lustrations, and with solemn prayers.

Are cleansed; and cast the ablutions in the main.

Along the shore whole hecatombs were laid,

And bulls and goats to Phoebus’ altars paid;

The sable fumes in curling spires arise,

The army thus in sacred rites engaged,

Atrides still with deep resentment raged.

To wait his will two sacred heralds stood,

Talthybius and Eurybates the good.

Haste to the fierce Achilles’ tent (he cries),

Thence bear Briseis as our royal prize:

Submit he must; or if they will not part,

The unwilling heralds act their lord’s commands;

Pensive they walk along the barren sands:

Arrived, the hero in his tent they find,

With gloomy aspect on his arm reclined.

At awful distance long they silent stand,

Loth to advance, and speak their hard command;

Decent confusion! This the godlike man

With leave and honour enter our abodes,

I know your message; by constraint you came;

Not you, but your imperious lord I blame.

Patroclus, haste, the fair Briseis bring;

Conduct my captive to the haughty king.

But witness, heralds, and proclaim my vow,

Witness to gods above, and men below!

But first, and loudest, to your prince declare

(That lawless tyrant whose commands you bear),

Unmoved as death Achilles shall remain,

Though prostrate Greece shall bleed at every vein:

The raging chief in frantic passion lost,

Blind to himself, and useless to his host,

Unskill’d to judge the future by the past,

In blood and slaughter shall repent at last.”

THE DEPARTURE OF BRISEIS FROM THE TENT OF ACHILLES.

Patroclus now the unwilling beauty brought;

She, in soft sorrows, and in pensive thought,

Pass’d silent, as the heralds held her hand,

And of look’d back, slow-moving o’er the strand.

Not so his loss the fierce Achilles bore;

But sad, retiring to the sounding shore,

O’er the wild margin of the deep he hung,

There bathed in tears of anger and disdain,

O parent goddess! since in early bloom

Thy son must fall, by too severe a doom;

Sure to so short a race of glory born,

Great Jove in justice should this span adorn:

Honour and fame at least the thunderer owed;

And ill he pays the promise of a god,

If yon proud monarch thus thy son defies,

Far from the deep recesses of the main,

Where aged Ocean holds his watery reign,

The goddess-mother heard. The waves divide;

And like a mist she rose above the tide;

Beheld him mourning on the naked shores,

And thus the sorrows of his soul explores.

Why grieves my son? Thy anguish let me share;

He deeply sighing said: “To tell my woe

Is but to mention what too well you know.

(Aetion’s realm), our conquering army came,

With treasure loaded and triumphant spoils,

Whose just division crown’d the soldier’s toils;

But bright Chryseis, heavenly prize! was led,

By vote selected, to the general’s bed.

The priest of Phoebus sought by gifts to gain

His beauteous daughter from the victor’s chain;

The fleet he reach’d, and, lowly bending down,

Held forth the sceptre and the laurel crown,

Intreating all; but chief implored for grace

The brother-kings of Atreus’ royal race:

The generous Greeks their joint consent declare,

The priest to reverence, and release the fair;

Not so Atrides: he, with wonted pride,

The sire insulted, and his gifts denied:

The insulted sire (his god’s peculiar care)

To Phoebus pray’d, and Phoebus heard the prayer:

A dreadful plague ensues: the avenging darts

Incessant fly, and pierce the Grecian hearts.

A prophet then, inspired by heaven, arose,

And points the crime, and thence derives the woes:

Myself the first the assembled chiefs incline

To avert the vengeance of the power divine;

Then rising in his wrath, the monarch storm’d;

Incensed he threaten’d, and his threats perform’d:

The fair Chryseis to her sire was sent,

With offer’d gifts to make the god relent;

But now he seized Briseis’ heavenly charms,

And of my valour’s prize defrauds my arms,

And service, faith, and justice, plead in vain.

But, goddess! thou thy suppliant son attend.

To high Olympus’ shining court ascend,

Urge all the ties to former service owed,

And sue for vengeance to the thundering god.

Oft hast thou triumph’d in the glorious boast,

That thou stood’st forth of all the ethereal host,

When bold rebellion shook the realms above,

The undaunted guard of cloud-compelling Jove:

When the bright partner of his awful reign,

The warlike maid, and monarch of the main,

The traitor-gods, by mad ambition driven,

Durst threat with chains the omnipotence of Heaven.

Then, call’d by thee, the monster Titan came

(Whom gods Briareus, men Ægeon name),

Through wondering skies enormous stalk’d along;

Not he that shakes the solid earth so strong:

With giant-pride at Jove’s high throne he stands,

And brandish’d round him all his hundred hands:

The affrighted gods confess’d their awful lord,

This, goddess, this to his remembrance call,

Embrace his knees, at his tribunal fall;

Conjure him far to drive the Grecian train,

To hurl them headlong to their fleet and main,

To heap the shores with copious death, and bring

The Greeks to know the curse of such a king.

Let Agamemnon lift his haughty head

O’er all his wide dominion of the dead,

And mourn in blood that e’er he durst disgrace

The boldest warrior of the Grecian race.”

THETIS CALLING BRIAREUS TO THE ASSISTANCE OF JUPITER.

Unhappy son! (fair Thetis thus replies,

While tears celestial trickle from her eyes)

Why have I borne thee with a mother’s throes,

So short a space the light of heaven to view!

So short a space! and fill’d with sorrow too!

O might a parent’s careful wish prevail,

Far, far from Ilion should thy vessels sail,

And thou, from camps remote, the danger shun

Which now, alas! too nearly threats my son.

Yet (what I can) to move thy suit I’ll go

To great Olympus crown’d with fleecy snow.

Meantime, secure within thy ships, from far

Behold the field, not mingle in the war.

The sire of gods and all the ethereal train,

On the warm limits of the farthest main,

Now mix with mortals, nor disdain to grace

Twelve days the powers indulge the genial rite,

Returning with the twelfth revolving light.

Then will I mount the brazen dome, and move

The goddess spoke: the rolling waves unclose;

Then down the steep she plunged from whence she rose,

And left him sorrowing on the lonely coast,

In Chrysa’s port now sage Ulysses rode;

Beneath the deck the destined victims stow’d:

The sails they furl’d, they lash the mast aside,

And dropp’d their anchors, and the pinnace tied.

Next on the shore their hecatomb they land;

Chryseis last descending on the strand.

Her, thus returning from the furrow’d main,

Ulysses led to Phoebus’ sacred fane;

Where at his solemn altar, as the maid

Hail, reverend priest! to Phoebus’ awful dome

A suppliant I from great Atrides come:

Unransom’d, here receive the spotless fair;

Accept the hecatomb the Greeks prepare;

And may thy god who scatters darts around,

At this, the sire embraced the maid again,

So sadly lost, so lately sought in vain.

Then near the altar of the darting king,

Disposed in rank their hecatomb they bring;

With water purify their hands, and take

The sacred offering of the salted cake;

While thus with arms devoutly raised in air,

God of the silver bow, thy ear incline,

Whose power incircles Cilla the divine;

Whose sacred eye thy Tenedos surveys,

And gilds fair Chrysa with distinguish’d rays!

If, fired to vengeance at thy priest’s request,

Thy direful darts inflict the raging pest:

Once more attend! avert the wasteful woe,

So Chryses pray’d. Apollo heard his prayer:

And now the Greeks their hecatomb prepare;

Between their horns the salted barley threw,

The limbs they sever from the inclosing hide;

The thighs, selected to the gods, divide:

On these, in double cauls involved with art,

The choicest morsels lay from every part.

The priest himself before his altar stands,

And burns the offering with his holy hands.

Pours the black wine, and sees the flames aspire;

The youth with instruments surround the fire:

The thighs thus sacrificed, and entrails dress’d,

The assistants part, transfix, and roast the rest:

Then spread the tables, the repast prepare;

Each takes his seat, and each receives his share.

When now the rage of hunger was repress’d,

With pure libations they conclude the feast;

The youths with wine the copious goblets crown’d,

With hymns divine the joyous banquet ends,

The paeans lengthen’d till the sun descends:

The Greeks, restored, the grateful notes prolong;

'Twas night; the chiefs beside their vessel lie,

Till rosy morn had purpled o’er the sky:

Then launch, and hoist the mast: indulgent gales,

Supplied by Phoebus, fill the swelling sails;

The milk-white canvas bellying as they blow,

The parted ocean foams and roars below:

Above the bounding billows swift they flew,

Till now the Grecian camp appear’d in view.

Far on the beach they haul their bark to land,

(The crooked keel divides the yellow sand,)

Then part, where stretch’d along the winding bay,

But raging still, amidst his navy sat

The stern Achilles, stedfast in his hate;

Nor mix’d in combat, nor in council join’d;

But wasting cares lay heavy on his mind:

In his black thoughts revenge and slaughter roll,

Twelve days were past, and now the dawning light

The gods had summon’d to the Olympian height:

Jove, first ascending from the watery bowers,

Leads the long order of ethereal powers.

When, like the morning-mist in early day,

Rose from the flood the daughter of the sea:

And to the seats divine her flight address’d.

There, far apart, and high above the rest,

The thunderer sat; where old Olympus shrouds

His hundred heads in heaven, and props the clouds.

Suppliant the goddess stood: one hand she placed

Beneath his beard, and one his knees embraced.

If e’er, O father of the gods! (she said)

My words could please thee, or my actions aid,

Some marks of honour on my son bestow,

And pay in glory what in life you owe.

Fame is at least by heavenly promise due

To life so short, and now dishonour’d too.

Avenge this wrong, O ever just and wise!

Let Greece be humbled, and the Trojans rise;

Till the proud king and all the Achaian race

Shall heap with honours him they now disgrace.”

THETIS ENTREATING JUPITER TO HONOUR ACHILLES.

Thus Thetis spoke; but Jove in silence held

The sacred counsels of his breast conceal’d.

Not so repulsed, the goddess closer press’d,

Still grasp’d his knees, and urged the dear request.

O sire of gods and men! thy suppliant hear;

Refuse, or grant; for what has Jove to fear?

Or oh! declare, of all the powers above,

She said; and, sighing, thus the god replies,

What hast thou ask’d? ah, why should Jove engage

In foreign contests and domestic rage,

The gods’ complaints, and Juno’s fierce alarms,

While I, too partial, aid the Trojan arms?

Go, lest the haughty partner of my sway

With jealous eyes thy close access survey;

But part in peace, secure thy prayer is sped:

Witness the sacred honours of our head,

The nod that ratifies the will divine,

The faithful, fix’d, irrevocable sign;

This seals thy suit, and this fulfils thy vows–”

Shakes his ambrosial curls, and gives the nod,

The stamp of fate and sanction of the god:

High heaven with trembling the dread signal took,

Swift to the seas profound the goddess flies,

Jove to his starry mansions in the skies.

The shining synod of the immortals wait

The coming god, and from their thrones of state

Arising silent, wrapp’d in holy fear,

Before the majesty of heaven appear.

Trembling they stand, while Jove assumes the throne,

All, but the god’s imperious queen alone:

Late had she view’d the silver-footed dame,

And all her passions kindled into flame.

Say, artful manager of heaven (she cries),

Who now partakes the secrets of the skies?

Thy Juno knows not the decrees of fate,

In vain the partner of imperial state.

What favourite goddess then those cares divides,

To this the thunderer: “Seek not thou to find

The sacred counsels of almighty mind:

Involved in darkness likes the great decree,

Nor can the depths of fate be pierced by thee.

What fits thy knowledge, thou the first shalt know;

The first of gods above, and men below;

But thou, nor they, shall search the thoughts that roll

Full on the sire the goddess of the skies

Roll’d the large orbs of her majestic eyes,

And thus return’d:–”Austere Saturnius, say,

From whence this wrath, or who controls thy sway?

Thy boundless will, for me, remains in force,

And all thy counsels take the destined course.

But ’tis for Greece I fear: for late was seen,

In close consult, the silver-footed queen.

Jove to his Thetis nothing could deny,

Nor was the signal vain that shook the sky.

What fatal favour has the goddess won,

To grace her fierce, inexorable son?

Perhaps in Grecian blood to drench the plain,

Then thus the god: “O restless fate of pride,

That strives to learn what heaven resolves to hide;

Vain is the search, presumptuous and abhorr’d,

Anxious to thee, and odious to thy lord.

Let this suffice: the immutable decree

No force can shake: what is, that ought to be.

Goddess, submit; nor dare our will withstand,

But dread the power of this avenging hand:

The united strength of all the gods above

In vain resists the omnipotence of Jove.”

VULCAN.

The thunderer spoke, nor durst the queen reply;

A reverent horror silenced all the sky.

The feast disturb’d, with sorrow Vulcan saw

His mother menaced, and the gods in awe;

Peace at his heart, and pleasure his design,

Thus interposed the architect divine:

The wretched quarrels of the mortal state

Are far unworthy, gods! of your debate:

Let men their days in senseless strife employ,

We, in eternal peace and constant joy.

Thou, goddess-mother, with our sire comply,

Nor break the sacred union of the sky:

Lest, roused to rage, he shake the bless’d abodes,

Launch the red lightning, and dethrone the gods.

If you submit, the thunderer stands appeased;

Thus Vulcan spoke: and rising with a bound,

Which held to Juno in a cheerful way,

Goddess (he cried), be patient and obey.

Dear as you are, if Jove his arm extend,

I can but grieve, unable to defend

What god so daring in your aid to move,

Or lift his hand against the force of Jove?

Once in your cause I felt his matchless might,

Toss’d all the day in rapid circles round,

Nor till the sun descended touch’d the ground.

Breathless I fell, in giddy motion lost;

He said, and to her hands the goblet heaved,

Which, with a smile, the white-arm’d queen received

Then, to the rest he fill’d; and in his turn,

Each to his lips applied the nectar’d urn,

Vulcan with awkward grace his office plies,

Thus the blest gods the genial day prolong,

Apollo tuned the lyre; the Muses round

With voice alternate aid the silver sound.

Meantime the radiant sun to mortal sight

Descending swift, roll’d down the rapid light:

Then to their starry domes the gods depart,

The shining monuments of Vulcan’s art:

Jove on his couch reclined his awful head,

And Juno slumber’d on the golden bed.

BOOK II

ARGUMENT.

THE TRIAL OF THE ARMY, AND CATALOGUE OF THE FORCES.

Jupiter, in pursuance of the request of Thetis, sends a deceitful vision to Agamemnon, persuading him to lead the army to battle, in order to make the Greeks sensible of their want of Achilles. The general, who is deluded with the hopes of taking Troy without his assistance, but fears the army was discouraged by his absence, and the late plague, as well as by the length of time, contrives to make trial of their disposition by a stratagem. He first communicates his design to the princes in council, that he would propose a return to the soldiers, and that they should put a stop to them if the proposal was embraced. Then he assembles the whole host, and upon moving for a return to Greece, they unanimously agree to it, and run to prepare the ships. They are detained by the management of Ulysses, who chastises the insolence of Thersites. The assembly is recalled, several speeches made on the occasion, and at length the advice of Nestor followed, which was to make a general muster of the troops, and to divide them into their several nations, before they proceeded to battle. This gives occasion to the poet to enumerate all the forces of the Greeks and Trojans, and in a large catalogue.

The time employed in this book consists not entirely of one day. The scene lies in the Grecian camp, and upon the sea-shore; towards the end it removes to Troy.

Now pleasing sleep had seal’d each mortal eye,

Stretch’d in the tents the Grecian leaders lie:

The immortals slumber’d on their thrones above;

To honour Thetis’ son he bends his care,

And plunge the Greeks in all the woes of war:

Then bids an empty phantom rise to sight,

To Agamemnon’s ample tent repair.

Bid him in arms draw forth the embattled train,

Lead all his Grecians to the dusty plain.

Declare, e’en now ’tis given him to destroy

The lofty towers of wide-extended Troy.

For now no more the gods with fate contend,

At Juno’s suit the heavenly factions end.

Destruction hangs o’er yon devoted wall,

Swift as the word the vain illusion fled,

Descends, and hovers o’er Atrides’ head;

Clothed in the figure of the Pylian sage,

Renown’d for wisdom, and revered for age:

Around his temples spreads his golden wing,

And thus the flattering dream deceives the king.

JUPITER SENDING THE EVIL DREAM TO AGAMEMNON.

Canst thou, with all a monarch’s cares oppress’d,

Ill fits a chief who mighty nations guides,

Directs in council, and in war presides,

To whom its safety a whole people owes,

Monarch, awake! ’tis Jove’s command I bear;

Thou, and thy glory, claim his heavenly care.

In just array draw forth the embattled train,

Lead all thy Grecians to the dusty plain;

E’en now, O king! ’tis given thee to destroy

The lofty towers of wide-extended Troy.

For now no more the gods with fate contend,

At Juno’s suit the heavenly factions end.

Destruction hangs o’er yon devoted wall,

And nodding Ilion waits the impending fall.

Awake, but waking this advice approve,

The phantom said; then vanish’d from his sight,

Resolves to air, and mixes with the night.

A thousand schemes the monarch’s mind employ;

Elate in thought he sacks untaken Troy:

Vain as he was, and to the future blind,

Nor saw what Jove and secret fate design’d,

What mighty toils to either host remain,

What scenes of grief, and numbers of the slain!

Eager he rises, and in fancy hears

The voice celestial murmuring in his ears.

First on his limbs a slender vest he drew,

Around him next the regal mantle threw,

The embroider’d sandals on his feet were tied;

The starry falchion glitter’d at his side;

And last, his arm the massy sceptre loads,

Now rosy Morn ascends the court of Jove,

Lifts up her light, and opens day above.

The king despatch’d his heralds with commands

To range the camp and summon all the bands:

The gathering hosts the monarch’s word obey;

While to the fleet Atrides bends his way.

In his black ship the Pylian prince he found;

There calls a senate of the peers around:

The assembly placed, the king of men express’d

Friends and confederates! with attentive ear

Receive my words, and credit what you hear.

Late as I slumber’d in the shades of night,

A dream divine appear’d before my sight;

Whose visionary form like Nestor came,

The heavenly phantom hover’d o’er my head,

'And, dost thou sleep, O Atreus’ son? (he said)

Ill fits a chief who mighty nations guides,

Directs in council, and in war presides;

To whom its safety a whole people owes,

To waste long nights in indolent repose.

Monarch, awake! ’tis Jove’s command I bear,

Thou and thy glory claim his heavenly care.

In just array draw forth the embattled train,

And lead the Grecians to the dusty plain;

E’en now, O king! ’tis given thee to destroy

The lofty towers of wide-extended Troy.

For now no more the gods with fate contend,

At Juno’s suit the heavenly factions end.

Destruction hangs o’er yon devoted wall,

This hear observant, and the gods obey!’

The vision spoke, and pass’d in air away.

Now, valiant chiefs! since heaven itself alarms,

Unite, and rouse the sons of Greece to arms.

But first, with caution, try what yet they dare,

Worn with nine years of unsuccessful war.

To move the troops to measure back the main,

He spoke, and sat: when Nestor, rising said,

(Nestor, whom Pylos’ sandy realms obey’d,)

Princes of Greece, your faithful ears incline,

Nor doubt the vision of the powers divine;

Sent by great Jove to him who rules the host,

Forbid it, heaven! this warning should be lost!

Then let us haste, obey the god’s alarms,

Thus spoke the sage: the kings without delay

Dissolve the council, and their chief obey:

The sceptred rulers lead; the following host,

Pour’d forth by thousands, darkens all the coast.

As from some rocky cleft the shepherd sees

Clustering in heaps on heaps the driving bees,

Rolling and blackening, swarms succeeding swarms,

With deeper murmurs and more hoarse alarms;

Dusky they spread, a close embodied crowd,

So, from the tents and ships, a lengthen’d train

Spreads all the beach, and wide o’ershades the plain:

Along the region runs a deafening sound;

Beneath their footsteps groans the trembling ground.

Fame flies before the messenger of Jove,

And shining soars, and claps her wings above.

The monarch’s will, suspend the listening crowd.

Soon as the throngs in order ranged appear,

And fainter murmurs died upon the ear,

The king of kings his awful figure raised:

High in his hand the golden sceptre blazed;

The golden sceptre, of celestial flame,

By Vulcan form’d, from Jove to Hermes came.

To Pelops he the immortal gift resign’d;

The immortal gift great Pelops left behind,

In Atreus’ hand, which not with Atreus ends,

To rich Thyestes next the prize descends;

And now the mark of Agamemnon’s reign,

On this bright sceptre now the king reclined,

And artful thus pronounced the speech design’d:

Ye sons of Mars, partake your leader’s care,

Heroes of Greece, and brothers of the war!

Of partial Jove with justice I complain,

And heavenly oracles believed in vain

A safe return was promised to our toils,

Renown’d, triumphant, and enrich’d with spoils.

Now shameful flight alone can save the host,

Our blood, our treasure, and our glory lost.

So Jove decrees, resistless lord of all!

At whose command whole empires rise or fall:

He shakes the feeble props of human trust,

And towns and armies humbles to the dust

What shame to Greece a fruitful war to wage,

Oh, lasting shame in every future age!

Once great in arms, the common scorn we grow,

Repulsed and baffled by a feeble foe.

So small their number, that if wars were ceased,

And Greece triumphant held a general feast,

All rank’d by tens, whole decades when they dine

But other forces have our hopes o’erthrown,

And Troy prevails by armies not her own.

Now nine long years of mighty Jove are run,

Since first the labours of this war begun:

Our cordage torn, decay’d our vessels lie,

And scarce insure the wretched power to fly.

Haste, then, for ever leave the Trojan wall!

Our weeping wives, our tender children call:

Love, duty, safety, summon us away,

'Tis nature’s voice, and nature we obey,

Our shatter’d barks may yet transport us o’er,

Safe and inglorious, to our native shore.

Fly, Grecians, fly, your sails and oars employ,

His deep design unknown, the hosts approve

Atrides’ speech. The mighty numbers move.

So roll the billows to the Icarian shore,

From east and south when winds begin to roar,

Burst their dark mansions in the clouds, and sweep

The whitening surface of the ruffled deep.

Before the blast the lofty harvests bend:

Thus o’er the field the moving host appears,

With nodding plumes and groves of waving spears.

The gathering murmur spreads, their trampling feet

Beat the loose sands, and thicken to the fleet;

With long-resounding cries they urge the train

To fit the ships, and launch into the main.

They toil, they sweat, thick clouds of dust arise,

The doubling clamours echo to the skies.

E’en then the Greeks had left the hostile plain,

And fate decreed the fall of Troy in vain;

But Jove’s imperial queen their flight survey’d,

Shall then the Grecians fly! O dire disgrace!

And leave unpunish’d this perfidious race?

Shall Troy, shall Priam, and the adulterous spouse,

In peace enjoy the fruits of broken vows?

And bravest chiefs, in Helen’s quarrel slain,

Lie unrevenged on yon detested plain?

No: let my Greeks, unmoved by vain alarms,

Once more refulgent shine in brazen arms.

Haste, goddess, haste! the flying host detain,

Pallas obeys, and from Olympus’ height

Swift to the ships precipitates her flight.

Ulysses, first in public cares, she found,

For prudent counsel like the gods renown’d:

Oppress’d with generous grief the hero stood,

Nor drew his sable vessels to the flood.

And is it thus, divine Laertes’ son,

Thus fly the Greeks (the martial maid begun),

Thus to their country bear their own disgrace,

And fame eternal leave to Priam’s race?

Shall beauteous Helen still remain unfreed,

Still unrevenged, a thousand heroes bleed!

Haste, generous Ithacus! prevent the shame,

Recall your armies, and your chiefs reclaim.

Your own resistless eloquence employ,

The voice divine confess’d the warlike maid,

Ulysses heard, nor uninspired obey’d:

Then meeting first Atrides, from his hand

Received the imperial sceptre of command.

Thus graced, attention and respect to gain,

He runs, he flies through all the Grecian train;

Each prince of name, or chief in arms approved,

Warriors like you, with strength and wisdom bless’d,

By brave examples should confirm the rest.

The monarch’s will not yet reveal’d appears;

He tries our courage, but resents our fears.

The unwary Greeks his fury may provoke;

Not thus the king in secret council spoke.

Jove loves our chief, from Jove his honour springs,

But if a clamorous vile plebeian rose,

Him with reproof he check’d or tamed with blows.

Be still, thou slave, and to thy betters yield;

Unknown alike in council and in field!

Ye gods, what dastards would our host command!

Swept to the war, the lumber of a land.

Be silent, wretch, and think not here allow’d

That worst of tyrants, an usurping crowd.

To one sole monarch Jove commits the sway;

With words like these the troops Ulysses ruled,

The loudest silenced, and the fiercest cool’d.

Back to the assembly roll the thronging train,

Desert the ships, and pour upon the plain.

Murmuring they move, as when old ocean roars,

And heaves huge surges to the trembling shores;

The groaning banks are burst with bellowing sound,

The rocks remurmur and the deeps rebound.

At length the tumult sinks, the noises cease,

And a still silence lulls the camp to peace.

Thersites only clamour’d in the throng,

Loquacious, loud, and turbulent of tongue:

Awed by no shame, by no respect controll’d,

In scandal busy, in reproaches bold:

With witty malice studious to defame,

Scorn all his joy, and laughter all his aim:–

But chief he gloried with licentious style

To lash the great, and monarchs to revile.

His figure such as might his soul proclaim;

One eye was blinking, and one leg was lame:

His mountain shoulders half his breast o’erspread,

Thin hairs bestrew’d his long misshapen head.

Spleen to mankind his envious heart possess’d,

And much he hated all, but most the best:

Ulysses or Achilles still his theme;

But royal scandal his delight supreme,

Long had he lived the scorn of every Greek,

Vex’d when he spoke, yet still they heard him speak.

Sharp was his voice; which in the shrillest tone,

Amidst the glories of so bright a reign,

What moves the great Atrides to complain?

'Tis thine whate’er the warrior’s breast inflames,

The golden spoil, and thine the lovely dames.

With all the wealth our wars and blood bestow,

Thy tents are crowded and thy chests o’erflow.

Thus at full ease in heaps of riches roll’d,

What grieves the monarch? Is it thirst of gold?

Say, shall we march with our unconquer’d powers

(The Greeks and I) to Ilion’s hostile towers,

And bring the race of royal bastards here,

For Troy to ransom at a price too dear?

But safer plunder thy own host supplies;

Say, wouldst thou seize some valiant leader’s prize?

Or, if thy heart to generous love be led,

Some captive fair, to bless thy kingly bed?

Whate’er our master craves submit we must,

Plagued with his pride, or punish’d for his lust.

Oh women of Achaia; men no more!

Hence let us fly, and let him waste his store

In loves and pleasures on the Phrygian shore.

We may be wanted on some busy day,

When Hector comes: so great Achilles may:

From him he forced the prize we jointly gave,

From him, the fierce, the fearless, and the brave:

And durst he, as he ought, resent that wrong,

In generous vengeance of the king of kings.

With indignation sparkling in his eyes,

Peace, factious monster, born to vex the state,

With wrangling talents form’d for foul debate:

Curb that impetuous tongue, nor rashly vain,

And singly mad, asperse the sovereign reign.

Have we not known thee, slave! of all our host,

The man who acts the least, upbraids the most?

Think not the Greeks to shameful flight to bring,

Nor let those lips profane the name of king.

For our return we trust the heavenly powers;

Be that their care; to fight like men be ours.

But grant the host with wealth the general load,

Except detraction, what hast thou bestow’d?

Suppose some hero should his spoils resign,

Art thou that hero, could those spoils be thine?

Gods! let me perish on this hateful shore,

And let these eyes behold my son no more;

If, on thy next offence, this hand forbear

To strip those arms thou ill deserv’st to wear,

Expel the council where our princes meet,

He said, and cowering as the dastard bends,

On the round bunch the bloody tumours rise:

The tears spring starting from his haggard eyes;

Trembling he sat, and shrunk in abject fears,

From his vile visage wiped the scalding tears;

Ye gods! what wonders has Ulysses wrought!

What fruits his conduct and his courage yield!

Great in the council, glorious in the field.

Generous he rises in the crown’s defence,

To curb the factious tongue of insolence,

Such just examples on offenders shown,

'Twas thus the general voice the hero praised,

Who, rising, high the imperial sceptre raised:

The blue-eyed Pallas, his celestial friend,

(In form a herald,) bade the crowds attend.

The expecting crowds in still attention hung,

To hear the wisdom of his heavenly tongue.

Then deeply thoughtful, pausing ere he spoke,

Unhappy monarch! whom the Grecian race

With shame deserting, heap with vile disgrace.

Not such at Argos was their generous vow:

Once all their voice, but ah! forgotten now:

Ne’er to return, was then the common cry,

Till Troy’s proud structures should in ashes lie.

Behold them weeping for their native shore;

What could their wives or helpless children more?

What heart but melts to leave the tender train,

And, one short month, endure the wintry main?

Few leagues removed, we wish our peaceful seat,

When the ship tosses, and the tempests beat:

Then well may this long stay provoke their tears,

The tedious length of nine revolving years.

Not for their grief the Grecian host I blame;

But vanquish’d! baffled! oh, eternal shame!

Expect the time to Troy’s destruction given.

And try the faith of Chalcas and of heaven.

And all who live to breathe this Phrygian air.

Beside a fountain’s sacred brink we raised

Our verdant altars, and the victims blazed:

'Twas where the plane-tree spread its shades around,

The altars heaved; and from the crumbling ground

A mighty dragon shot, of dire portent;

From Jove himself the dreadful sign was sent.

Straight to the tree his sanguine spires he roll’d,

And curl’d around in many a winding fold;

The topmost branch a mother-bird possess’d;

Eight callow infants fill’d the mossy nest;

Herself the ninth; the serpent, as he hung,

Stretch’d his black jaws and crush’d the crying young;

While hovering near, with miserable moan,

The drooping mother wail’d her children gone.

The mother last, as round the nest she flew,

Seized by the beating wing, the monster slew;

Nor long survived: to marble turn’d, he stands

A lasting prodigy on Aulis’ sands.

Such was the will of Jove; and hence we dare

Trust in his omen, and support the war.

For while around we gazed with wondering eyes,

And trembling sought the powers with sacrifice,

'Ye Grecian warriors! lay your fears aside.

This wondrous signal Jove himself displays,

Of long, long labours, but eternal praise.

As many birds as by the snake were slain,

So many years the toils of Greece remain;

But wait the tenth, for Ilion’s fall decreed:’

Thus spoke the prophet, thus the Fates succeed.

Obey, ye Grecians! with submission wait,

Nor let your flight avert the Trojan fate.”

He said: the shores with loud applauses sound,

The hollow ships each deafening shout rebound.

Then Nestor thus–”These vain debates forbear,

Ye talk like children, not like heroes dare.

Where now are all your high resolves at last?

Your leagues concluded, your engagements past?

Vow’d with libations and with victims then,

Now vanish’d like their smoke: the faith of men!

While useless words consume the unactive hours,

No wonder Troy so long resists our powers.

Rise, great Atrides! and with courage sway;

We march to war, if thou direct the way.

But leave the few that dare resist thy laws,

The mean deserters of the Grecian cause,

To grudge the conquests mighty Jove prepares,

And view with envy our successful wars.

On that great day, when first the martial train,

Big with the fate of Ilion, plough’d the main,

Jove, on the right, a prosperous signal sent,

And thunder rolling shook the firmament.

Encouraged hence, maintain the glorious strife,

Till every soldier grasp a Phrygian wife,

Till Helen’s woes at full revenged appear,

And Troy’s proud matrons render tear for tear.

Before that day, if any Greek invite

His country’s troops to base, inglorious flight,

Stand forth that Greek! and hoist his sail to fly,

And die the dastard first, who dreads to die.

Nor what they offer, thou thyself despise.

Among those counsels, let not mine be vain;

In tribes and nations to divide thy train:

His separate troops let every leader call,

Each strengthen each, and all encourage all.

What chief, or soldier, of the numerous band,

Or bravely fights, or ill obeys command,

When thus distinct they war, shall soon be known

And what the cause of Ilion not o’erthrown;

If fate resists, or if our arms are slow,

To him the king: “How much thy years excel

In arts of counsel, and in speaking well!

O would the gods, in love to Greece, decree

But ten such sages as they grant in thee;

Such wisdom soon should Priam’s force destroy,

And soon should fall the haughty towers of Troy!

But Jove forbids, who plunges those he hates

In fierce contention and in vain debates:

Now great Achilles from our aid withdraws,

By me provoked; a captive maid the cause:

If e’er as friends we join, the Trojan wall

Must shake, and heavy will the vengeance fall!

But now, ye warriors, take a short repast;

And, well refresh’d, to bloody conflict haste.

His sharpen’d spear let every Grecian wield,

And every Grecian fix his brazen shield,

Let all excite the fiery steeds of war,

And all for combat fit the rattling car.

This day, this dreadful day, let each contend;

No rest, no respite, till the shades descend;

Till darkness, or till death, shall cover all:

Let the war bleed, and let the mighty fall;

Till bathed in sweat be every manly breast,

With the huge shield each brawny arm depress’d,

Each aching nerve refuse the lance to throw,

And each spent courser at the chariot blow.

Who dares, inglorious, in his ships to stay,

Who dares to tremble on this signal day;

That wretch, too mean to fall by martial power,

The birds shall mangle, and the dogs devour.”

The monarch spoke; and straight a murmur rose,

Loud as the surges when the tempest blows,

That dash’d on broken rocks tumultuous roar,

And foam and thunder on the stony shore.

Straight to the tents the troops dispersing bend,

The fires are kindled, and the smokes ascend;

With hasty feasts they sacrifice, and pray,

To avert the dangers of the doubtful day.

To Jove’s high altars Agamemnon led:

There bade the noblest of the Grecian peers;

And Nestor first, as most advanced in years.

Then wise Ulysses in his rank was placed;

The chiefs surround the destined beast, and take

The sacred offering of the salted cake:

When thus the king prefers his solemn prayer;

O thou! whose thunder rends the clouded air,

Who in the heaven of heavens hast fixed thy throne,

Supreme of gods! unbounded, and alone!

Hear! and before the burning sun descends,

Before the night her gloomy veil extends,

Low in the dust be laid yon hostile spires,

Be Priam’s palace sunk in Grecian fires.

In Hector’s breast be plunged this shining sword,

Thus prayed the chief: his unavailing prayer

Great Jove refused, and toss’d in empty air:

The God averse, while yet the fumes arose,

Prepared new toils, and doubled woes on woes.

Their prayers perform’d the chiefs the rite pursue,

The barley sprinkled, and the victim slew.

The limbs they sever from the inclosing hide,

The thighs, selected to the gods, divide.

On these, in double cauls involved with art,

The choicest morsels lie from every part,

From the cleft wood the crackling flames aspire

While the fat victims feed the sacred fire.

The thighs thus sacrificed, and entrails dress’d

The assistants part, transfix, and roast the rest;

Then spread the tables, the repast prepare,

Each takes his seat, and each receives his share.

Soon as the rage of hunger was suppress’d,

Now bid thy heralds sound the loud alarms,

And call the squadrons sheathed in brazen arms;

Now seize the occasion, now the troops survey,

He said; the monarch issued his commands;

Straight the loud heralds call the gathering bands

The chiefs inclose their king; the hosts divide,

In tribes and nations rank’d on either side.

High in the midst the blue-eyed virgin flies;

From rank to rank she darts her ardent eyes;

The dreadful aegis, Jove’s immortal shield,

Blazed on her arm, and lighten’d all the field:

Round the vast orb a hundred serpents roll’d,

Form’d the bright fringe, and seem’d to burn in gold,

With this each Grecian’s manly breast she warms,

Swells their bold hearts, and strings their nervous arms,

No more they sigh, inglorious, to return,

As on some mountain, through the lofty grove,

The crackling flames ascend, and blaze above;

The fires expanding, as the winds arise,

Shoot their long beams, and kindle half the skies:

So from the polish’d arms, and brazen shields,

A gleamy splendour flash’d along the fields.

Not less their number than the embodied cranes,

Or milk-white swans in Asius’ watery plains.

Stretch their long necks, and clap their rustling wings,

Now tower aloft, and course in airy rounds,

Now light with noise; with noise the field resounds.

Thus numerous and confused, extending wide,

With rushing troops the plains are cover’d o’er,

And thundering footsteps shake the sounding shore.

Along the river’s level meads they stand,

Thick as in spring the flowers adorn the land,

Or leaves the trees; or thick as insects play,

The wandering nation of a summer’s day:

That, drawn by milky steams, at evening hours,

In gather’d swarms surround the rural bowers;

From pail to pail with busy murmur run

The gilded legions, glittering in the sun.

So throng’d, so close, the Grecian squadrons stood

In radiant arms, and thirst for Trojan blood.

Each leader now his scatter’d force conjoins

In close array, and forms the deepening lines.

Not with more ease the skilful shepherd-swain

Collects his flocks from thousands on the plain.

The king of kings, majestically tall,

Towers o’er his armies, and outshines them all;

Like some proud bull, that round the pastures leads

His subject herds, the monarch of the meads,

Great as the gods, the exalted chief was seen,

Jove o’er his eyes celestial glories spread,

Say, virgins, seated round the throne divine,

Since earth’s wide regions, heaven’s umneasur’d height,

And hell’s abyss, hide nothing from your sight,

(We, wretched mortals! lost in doubts below,