The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (13 page)

Thy heart with wrath, and hope of wreak; till which come, thou shalt need

A little patience: Jupiter went yesterday to feast

Amongst the blameless Aethiops, in th’ Ocean’s deepen’d breast,

All gods attending him: the twelfth, high heaven again he sees,

And then his brass-pav’d court I’ll scale, cling to his pow’rful knees,

And doubt not but to win thy wish.’ Thus, made she her remove,

And left wrath tyring on her son, for his enforced love.

Ulysses, with the hecatomb, arriv’d at Chrysa’s shore:

And when amidst the hav’n’s deep mouth they came to use the oar,

They straight struck sail: then roll’d them up, and on the hatches threw.

The top-mast to the kelsine then with halyards down they drew;

They brought the ship to port with oars; then forked anchor cast;

And ’gainst the violence of storm, for drifting made her fast.

All come ashore, they all expos’d the holy hecatomb

To angry Phoebus; and with it, Chryseis welcom’d home:

Whom to her sire, wise Ithacus, that did at th’ altar stand,

For honour, led; and, speaking thus, resign’d her to his hand:

‘Chryses, the mighty king of men, great Agamemnon, sends

Thy lov’d seed by my hands to thine; and to thy god commends

A hecatomb, which my charge is to sacrifice, and seek

Our much-sigh mix’d-woe, his recure, invok’d by every Greek.

Thus he resign’d her, and her sire receiv’d her highly joy’d.

About the well-built altar then they orderly employ’d

The sacred offering: wash’d their hands, took salt cakes, and the priest,

With hands held up to heaven, thus pray’d: ‘O thou that all things seest,

Fautour of Chrysa, whose fair hand doth guardfully dispose

Celestial Cilia, governing in all pow’r Tenedos –

O hear thy priest! And as thy hand, in free grace to my prayers

Shot fervent plague-shafts through the Greeks, now hearten their affairs

With health renew’d; and quite remove th’ infection from their blood.’

He pray’d; and to his pray’rs again the god propitious stood.

All, after pray’r, cast on salt cakes; drew back, kill’d, flay’d the beeves,

Cut out and dubb’d with fat their thighs, fair dress’d with doubled leaves;

And on them all the sweetbreads prick’d. The priest, with small sere wood

Did sacrifice, pour’d on red wine; by whom the young men stood,

And turn’d, in five ranks, spits; on which (the legs enough) they eat

The inwards; then in giggots cut the other fit for meat,

And put to fire; which roasted well they drew: the labour done,

They serv’d the feast in that fed all to satisfaction.

Desire of meat and wine thus quench’d, the youths crown’d cups of wine,

Drunk off, and fill’d again to all. That day was held divine,

And spent in paeans to the Sun, who heard with pleased ear;

When whose bright chariot stoop’d to sea, and twilight hid the clear,

All soundly on their cables slept, even till the night was worn:

And when the lady of the light, the rosy-finger’d Morn,

Rose from the hills, all fresh arose, and to the camp retir’d.

Apollo with a fore-right wind their swelling bark inspir’d:

The top-mast hoisted, milk-white sails on his round breast they put;

The mizens strooted with the gale, the ship her course did cut

So swiftly, that the parted waves against her ribs did roar;

Which coming to the camp, they drew aloft the sandy shore:

Where, laid on stocks, each soldier kept his quarter as before.

But Peleus’ son, swift-foot Achilles, at his swift ships sate

Burning in wrath, nor ever came to councils of estate

That make men honour’d; never trod the fierce embattled field;

But kept close, and his lov’d heart pin’d: what fight and cries could yield,

Thirsting at all parts to the host. And now since first he told

His wrongs to Thetis, twelve fair morns their ensigns did unfold,

And then the ever-living gods mounted Olympus, Jove

First in ascension. Thetis then remember’d well to move

Achilles motion: rose from the sea, and by the morn’s first light,

The great heaven and Olympus climb’d; where in supremest height

Of all that many-headed hill, she saw the far-seen son

Of Saturn, set from all the rest, in his free seat alone:

Before whom (on her own knees fall’n) the knees of Jupiter

Her left hand held, her right his chin; and thus she did prefer

Her son’s petition: ‘Father Jove! If ever I have stood

Aidful to thee in word or work, with this implored good

Requite my aid, renown my son, since in so short a race

(Past others) thou confin’st his life: an insolent disgrace

Is done him by the king of men; he forc’d from him a prize

Won with his sword. But thou, O Jove, that art most strong, most wise,

Honour my son for my sake; add strength to the Trojans side

By his side’s weakness, in his want; and see Troy amplified

In conquest, so much, and so long, till Greece may give again

The glory reft him; and the more illustrate the free reign

Of his wrong’d honour.’ Jove at this sate silent, not a word

In long space pass’d him. Thetis still hung on his knee, implor’d

The second time his help, and said: ‘Grant, or deny my suit,

Be free in what thou doest; I know thou canst not sit thus mute

For fear of any; speak, deny, that so I may be sure,

Of all heaven’s goddesses, ’tis I that only must endure

Dishonour by thee.’ Jupiter, the great cloud-gatherer, griev’d

With thought of what a world of griefs this suit ask’d, being achiev’d,

Swell’d, sigh’d, and answer’d: ‘Works of death thou urgest; O at this

Juno will storm, and all my powers inflame with contumelies.

Ever she wrangles, charging me in ear of all the gods

That I am partial still; that I add the displeasing odds

Of my aid to the Ilians. Begone then, lest she see:

Leave thy request to my care: yet, that trust may hearten thee

With thy desire’s grant, and my power to give it act approve

How vain her strife is, to thy prayer my eminent head shall move;

Which is the great sign of my will with all th’ immortal states;

Irrevocable; never fails; never without the rates

Of all powers else: when my head bows, all heads bow with it still

As their first mover, and gives power to any work I will.’

He said; and his black eyebrows bent; above his deathless head

Th’ ambrosian curls flow’d; great heaven shook, and both were severed,

Their counsels broken. To the depth of Neptune’s kingdom, div’d

Thetis from heaven’s height: Jove arose, and all the gods receiv’d

(All rising from their thrones) their sire, attending to his court:

None sate when he arose; none delay’d the furnishing his port

Till he came near: all met with him, and brought him to his throne.

Nor sate great Juno ignorant, when she beheld alone

Old Nereus’ silver-footed seed with Jove, that she had brought

Counsels to heaven; and straight her tongue had teeth in it, that wrought

This sharp invective: ‘Who was that (thou craftiest counsellor

Of all the gods), that so apart some secret did implore?

Ever apart from me, thou lov’st to counsel and decree

Things of more close trust, than thou think’st are fit t’impart to me:

Whatever thou determin’st, I must ever be denied

The knowledge of it by thy will.’ To her speech thus replied

The father both of men and gods: ‘Have never hope to know

My whole intentions, though my wife: it fits not, nor would show

Well to thine own thoughts: but what fits thy woman’s ear to hear,

Woman, nor man, nor god shall know before it grace thine ear:

Yet what apart from men and gods I please to know, forbear

T’examine, or inquire of that.’ She with the cow’s fair eyes,

Respected Juno, this return’d: ‘Austere king of the skies,

What hast thou utter’d! When did I before this time inquire,

Or sift thy counsels? Passing close you are still; your desire

Is serv’d with such care, that I fear you can scarce vouch the deed

That makes it public; being seduc’d by this old sea-god’s seed,

That could so early use her knees, embracing thine. I doubt

The late act of thy bowed head, was for the working out

Of some boon she ask’d; that her son, thy partial hand would please

With plaguing others.’ ‘Wretch!’ said he, ‘thy subtle jealousies

Are still exploring: my designs can never ’scape thine eye,

Which yet thou never canst prevent. Thy curiosity

Makes thee less car’d for at my hands, and horrible the end

Shall make thy humour. If it be what thy suspects intend,

What then? ’Tis my free will it should: to which let way be given

With silence; curb your tongue in time, lest all the gods in heaven

Too few be and too weak to help thy punish’d insolence,

When my inaccessible hands shall fall on thee.’ The sense

Of this high threat’ning made her fear, and silent she sate down,

Humbling her great heart. All the gods in court of Jove did frown

At this offence giv’n: amongst whom heav’n’s famous artizan,

Ephaistus, in his mother’s care this comely speech began

‘Believe it, these words will breed wounds beyond our powers to bear,

If thus for mortals ye fall out. Ye make a tumult here

That spoils our banquet. Evermore worst matters put down best.

But, mother, though yourself be wise, yet let your son request

His wisdom’s audience. Give good terms to our lov’d father Jove,

For fear he take offence again, and our kind banquet prove

A wrathful battle. If he will, the heavenly light’ner can

Take you and toss you from your throne; his power Olympian

Is so surpassing. Soften then with gentle speech his spleen,

And drink to him; I know his heart will quickly down again.’

This said, arising from his throne, in his lov’d mother’s hand

He put the double-handled cup, and said: ‘Come, do not stand

On these cross humours; suffer, bear, though your great bosom grieve,

And lest blows force you, all my aid not able to relieve

Your hard condition, though these eyes behold it, and this heart

Sorrow to think it; ’tis a task too dangerous to take part

Against Olympius. I myself the proof of this still feel:

When other gods would fain have help’d, he took me by the heel,

And hurl’d me out of heaven: all day I was in falling down;

At length in Lemnos I struck earth: the likewise falling sun

And I, together set: my life almost set too: yet there

The Sintii cheer’d and took me up.’ This did to laughter cheer

White-wristed Juno, who now took the cup of him, and smil’d.

The sweet peace-making draught went round, and lame Ephaistus fil’d

Nectar to all the other gods. A laughter never left,

Shook all the blessed deities, to see the lame so deft

At that cup service. All that day even till the sun went down,

They banqueted; and had such cheer as did their wishes crown.

Nor had they music less divine: Apollo there did touch

His most sweet harp; to which with voice, the Muses pleas’d as much.

But when the sun’s fair light was set – each godhead to his house

Address’d for sleep, where every one with art most curious,

By heaven’s great both-foot-halting god a several roof had built –

Even he to sleep went by whose hand heaven is with lightning gilt,

High Jove, where he had us’d to rest, when sweet sleep seiz’d his eyes;

By him the golden-thron’d queen slept, the queen of deities.

The end of the first book

Book 2

The Argument

Jove calls a vision up from Somnus’ den,

To bid Atrides muster up his men.

The King – to Greeks dissembling his desire –

Persuades them to their country to retire.

By Pallas’ will, Ulysses stays their flight,

And wise old Nestor heartens them to fight.

They take their meat: which done, to arms they go

And march in good array against the foe.

So those of Troy: when Iris from the sky,

Of Saturn’s son performs the embassy.

Another Argument

Beta
the dream and synod cites;

And catalogues the naval knights.

Book 2

The other gods
,
and knights at arms, all night slept; only Jove

Sweet slumber seiz’d not: he discours’d how best he might approve

His vow made for Achilles’ grace; and make the Grecians find

His miss in much death. All ways cast, this counsel serv’d his mind

With most allowance: to dispatch a harmful dream to greet

The king of men; and gave this charge: ‘Go to the Achive fleet,

Pernicious dream, and being arriv’d in Agamemnon’s tent,

Deliver truly all this charge: command him to convent

His whole host arm’d before these towers; for now Troy’s broad-way’d town

He shall take in: the heaven-hous’d gods are now indifferent grown;

Juno’s request hath won them: Troy now under imminent ills

At all parts labours.’ This charge heard the vision straight fulfils;

The ships reach’d, and Atrides’ tent in which he found him laid;

Divine sleep pour’d about his powers. He stood above his head

Like Nestor (grac’d of old men most), and this did intimate:

‘Sleeps the wise Atreus’ tame-horse son? A counsellor of state

Must not the whole night spend in sleep: to whom the people are

For guard committed, and whose life stands bound to so much care.

Now hear me then (Jove’s messenger), who though far off from thee,

Is near thee yet in love and care; and gives command by me,

To arm thy whole host. Thy strong hand the broad-way’d town of Troy

Shall now take in: no more the gods dissentiously employ

Their high-hous’d powers: Juno’s suit hath won them all to her;

And ill fates overhang these towers, address’d by Jupiter.

Fix in thy mind this; nor forget to give it action, when

Sweet sleep shall leave thee.’ Thus, he fled; and left the king of men

Repeating in discourse his dream; and dreaming still, awake,

Of power, not ready yet for act. O fool! He thought to take

In that next day old Priam’s town, not knowing what affairs

Jove had in purpose; who prepar’d, by strong light, sighs and cares

For Greeks and Trojans. The dream gone, his voice still murmured

About the king’s ears: who sate up, put on him in his bed

His silken inner weed, fair, new, and then in haste arose;

Cast on his ample mantle, tied to his soft feet fair shoes;

His silver-hilted sword he hung about his shoulders, took

His father’s sceptre never stain’d; which then abroad he shook,

And went to fleet. And now great heaven goddess Aurora scal’d,

To Jove and all gods bringing light, when Agamemnon call’d

His heralds, charging them aloud to call to instant court

The thick-hair’d Greeks. The heralds call’d, the Greeks made quick resort.

The council chiefly he compos’d of old great minded men,

At Nestor’s ships, the Pylian king: all there assembled, then

Thus Atreus’ son began the court: ‘Hear, friends: a dream divine

Amidst the calm night in my sleep did through my shut eyes shine,

Within my fantasy: his form did passing naturally

Resemble Nestor: such attire, a stature just as high,

He stood above my head, and words thus fashion’d did relate:

“Sleeps the wise Atreus’-tame-horse son? A counsellor of state

Must not the whole night spend in sleep: to whom the people are

For guard committed, and whose life stands bound to so much care.

Now hear me then (Jove’s messenger), who though far off from thee,

Is near thee yet in love and care; and gives command by me,

To arm thy whole host. Thy strong hand the broad-way’d town of Troy

Shall now take in: no more the gods dissentiously employ

Their high-hous’d powers: Saturnia’s suit hath won them all to her;

And ill fates over-hang these towers, address’d by Jupiter.

Fix in thy mind this.” This express’d, he took wing, and away;

And sweet sleep left me: let us then by all our means assay

To arm our army; I will first (as far as fits our right)

Try their addictions, and command with full sail’d ships our flight:

Which if they yield to, oppose you.’ He sate, and up arose

Nestor, of sandy Pylos king: who, willing to dispose

Their counsel to the public good, propos’d this to the state:

‘Princes and councillors of Greece, if any should relate

This vision but the king himself, it might be held a tale,

And move the rather our retreat: but since our general

Affirms he saw it, hold it true; and all our best means make

To arm our army.’ This speech us’d, he first the council brake:

The other sceptre-hearing states arose too, and obey’d

The people’s rector. Being abroad, the earth was overlaid

With flockers to them that came forth: as when of frequent bees

Swarms rise out of a hollow rock, repairing the degrees

Of their egression endlessly, with ever rising new

From forth their sweet nest; as their store, still as it faded, grew,

And never would cease sending forth her clusters to the spring,

They still crowd out so, this flock here, that there, belabouring

The loaded flowers: so from the ships and tents the army’s store

Troop’d to these princes, and the court, along th’ unmeasur’d shore:

Amongst whom Jove’s ambassadress, Fame in her virtue shin’d,

Exciting greediness to hear. The rabble thus inclin’d,

Hurried together; uproar seiz’d the high court; earth did groan

Beneath the settling multitude: tumult was there alone.

Thrice three vociferous heralds rose to check the rout, and get

Ear to their Jove-kept governors, and instantly was set

The huge confusion: every man set fast, the clamour ceas’d.

Then stood divine Atrides up, and in his hand compress’d

His sceptre, th’ elaborate work of fiery Mulciber:

Who gave it to Saturnian Jove; Jove to his messenger;

His messenger, Argicides, to Pelops, skill’d in horse;

Pelops to Atreus, chief of men; he dying, gave it course

To Prince Thyestes, rich in herds; Thyestes to the hand

Of Agamemnon render’d it, and with it the command

Of many isles, and Argos all. On this he leaning, said

‘O friends, great sons of Danaus, servants of Mars, Jove laid

A heavy curse on me, to vow, and bind it with the bent

Of his high forehead, that (this Troy of all her people spent)

I should return, yet now to mock our hopes built on his vow,

And charge ingloriously my flight: when such an overthrow

Of brave friends I have authored. But to his mightiest will

We must submit us, that hath raz’d and will be razing still

Men’s footsteps from so many towns: because his power is most,

He will destroy most. But how vile, such and so great an host

Will show to future times, that match’d with lesser numbers far,

We fly, not putting on the crown of our so long-held war:

Of which there yet appears no end. Yet should our foes and we

Strike truce, and number both our powers, Troy taking all that be

Her arm’d inhabitants, and we in tens should all sit down

At our truce banquet, every ten allow’d one of the town

To fill his feast-cup, many tens would their attendant want:

So much I must affirm our power exceeds th’ inhabitant.

But their auxiliary bands, those brandishers of spears,

(From many cities drawn) are they that are our hinderers,

Not suf
f
’ring well-rais’d Troy to fall. Nine years are ended now

Since Jove our conquest vow’d, and now our vessels rotten grow.

Our tackling fails; our wives, young sons, sit in their doors and long

For our arrival: yet the work that should have wreak’d our wrong,

And made us welcome, lies unwrought. Come then, as I bid all

Obey, and fly to our lov’d home: for now, nor ever, shall

Our utmost take in broad-way’d Troy.’ This said, the multitude

Was all for home; and all men else, that what this would conclude

Had not discover’d. All the crowd was shov’d about the shore,

In sway, like rude and raging waves rous’d with the fervent blore

Of th’ east and south winds, when they break from Jove’s clouds, and are borne

On rough backs of th’ Icarian seas: or like a field of corn

High grown, that Zephyr’s vehement gusts bring easily underneath,

And make the stiff up-bristled ears do homage to his breath:

For even so easily, with the breath Atrides us’d, was sway’d

The violent multitude. To fleet with shouts, and disarray’d,

All rush’d; and with a fog of dust their rude feet dimm’d the day;

Each cried to other, ‘Cleanse our ships; come, launch, aboard, away.’

The clamour of the runners home reach’d heaven; and then past fate,

The Greeks had left Troy, had not then the goddess of estate

Thus spoke to Pallas: ‘O foul shame! Thou untam’d seed of Jove,

Shall thus the sea’s broad back be charg’d with these our friends’ remove,

Thus leaving Argive Helen here? Thus Priam grac’d? Thus Troy?

In whose fields, far from their lov’d own, for Helen’s sake, the joy

And life of so much Grecian birth is vanish’d! Take thy way

T’ our brass-arm’d people, speak them fair, let not a man obey

The charge now given, nor launch one ship.’ She said, and Pallas did

As she commanded: from the tops of heaven’s steep hill she slid,

And straight the Greeks’ swift ships she reach’d: Ulysses (like to Jove

In gifts of counsel) she found out; who to that base remove

Stirr’d not a foot, nor touch’d a ship, but griev’d at heart to see

That fault in others. To him close, the blue-eyed deity

Made way, and said: ‘Thou wisest Greek, divine Laertes’ son,

Thus fly ye homewards to your ships? Shall all thus headlong run?

Glory to Priam thus ye leave, glory to all his friends,

If thus ye leave her here, for whom so many violent ends

Have clos’d your Greek eyes, and so far from their so loved home.

Go to these people, use no stay; with fair terms overcome

Their foul endeavour: not a man, a flying sail let hoice.’

Thus spake she, and Ulysses knew ’twas Pallas by her voice:

Ran to the runners; cast from him his mantle, which his man

And herald, grave Eurybates, the Ithacensian

That follow’d him, took up. Himself to Agamemnon went,

His incorrupted sceptre took, his sceptre of descent,

And with it went about the fleet. What prince, or man of name,

He found flight-given, he would restrain with words of gentlest blame:

‘Good sir, it fits not you to fly, or fare as one afraid;

You should not only stay yourself, but see the people stayed.

You know not clearly – though you heard the king’s words – yet his mind:

He only tries men’s spirits now, and whom his trials find

Apt to this course, he will chastise. Nor you, nor I, heard all

He spake in council; nor durst press too near our general,

Lest we incens’d him to our hurt. The anger of a king

Is mighty: he is kept of Jove, and from Jove likewise spring,

His honours; which out of the love of wise Jove, he enjoys.’

Thus he the best sort us’d: the worst, whose spirits brake out in noise,

He cudgell’d with his sceptre, chid, and said: ‘Stay, wretch; be still,

And hear thy betters; thou art base, and both in power and skill

Poor and unworthy, without name in counsel or in war.

We must not all be kings: the rule is most irregular

Where many rule: one lord, one king, propose to thee; and he

To whom wise Saturn’s son hath giv’n both law and empery,

To rule the public, is that king.’ Thus ruling, he restrain’d

The host from flight: and then again the council was maintain’d

With such a concourse, that the shore rang with the tumult made:

As when the far-resounding sea doth in his rage invade

His sandy confines, whose sides groan with his involved wave,

And make his own breast echo sighs. All sate, and audience gave;

Thersites only would speak all. A most disorder’d store

Of words he foolishly pour’d out; of which his mind held more

Than it could manage: any thing with which he could procure

Laughter, he never could contain. He should have yet been sure

To touch no kings: t’ oppose their states becomes not jesters’ parts.

But he the filthiest fellow was of all that had deserts

In Troy’s brave siege: he was squint-ey’d, and lame of either foot;

So crook-back’d, that he had no breast; sharp-headed, where did shoot

(Here and there ’spers’d) thin mossy hair. He most of all envied

Ulysses and Aeacides, whom still his spleen would chide:

Nor could the sacred king himself avoid his saucy vein;

Against whom, since he knew the Greeks did vehement hates sustain,

(Being angry for Achilles wrong) he cried out, railing thus:

‘Atrides, why complain’st thou now? What would’st thou more of us?

Thy tents are full of brass, and dames; the choice of all are thine,

With whom we must present thee first, when any towns resign

To our invasion. Want’st thou then, besides all this, more gold

From Troy’s knights to redeem their sons, whom to be dearly sold,

I or some other Greek must take? Or would’st thou yet again

Force from some other lord his prize, to soothe the lusts that reign

In thy encroaching appetite? It fits no prince to be

A prince of ill, and govern us, or lead our progeny

By rape to ruin. O base Greeks, deserving infamy,

And ills eternal! Greekish girls, not Greeks ye are: come, flee

Home with our ships; leave this man here to perish with his preys,