The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (44 page)

That fathers all the deities, the great Oceanus.

But Jove we dare not come more near than he commandeth us.

Now you command me as you did when Jove’s great-minded son,

Alcides (having sack’d the town of stubborn Ilion),

Took sail from thence; when by your charge I pour’d about Jove’s mind

A pleasing slumber, calming him till thou draw’st up the wind,

In all his cruelties, to sea, that set his son ashore

In Cous, far from all his friends; which (waking) vex’d so sore

The supreme godhead, that he cast the gods about the sky,

And me (above them all) he sought: whom he had utterly

Hurl’d from the sparkling firmament, if all-gods-taming Night

(Whom, flying, I besought for aid) had suffer’d his despite,

And not preserv’d me; but his wrath with my offence dispens’d,

For fear t’ offend her, and so ceas’d, though never so incens’d:

And now another such escape you wish I should prepare.’

She answer’d, ‘What hath thy deep rest to do with his deep care?

As though Jove’s love to Ilion in all degrees were such

As ’twas to Hercules his son, and so would storm as much

For their displeasure, as for his! Away, I will remove

Thy fear, with giving thee the dame that thou didst ever love,

One of the fair young Graces born, divine Pasithaë.’

This started Somnus into joy, who answer’d, ‘Swear to me,

By those inviolable springs that feed the Stygian lake,

With one hand touch the nourishing earth, and in the other take

The marble sea, that all the gods of the infernal state

Which circle Saturn, may to us be witnesses, and rate

What thou hast vow’d: that with all truth, thou wilt bestow on me

The dame (I grant) I ever lov’d, divine Pasithaë.’

She swore, as he enjoin’d, in all, and strengthened all his joys,

By naming all th’ infernal gods, surnam’d the Titanois.

The oath thus taken, both took way, and made their quick repair

To Ida from the town and isle, all hid in liquid air.

At Lecton first they left the sea, and there the land they trod:

The fountful nurse of savages, with all her woods, did nod

Beneath their feet: there Somnus stay’d, lest Jove’s bright eye should see,

And yet (that he might see to Jove) he climb’d the goodliest tree

That all th’ Idalian mountain bred, and crown’d her progeny:

A fir it was, that shot past air, and kiss’d the burning sky.

There sate he hid in his dark arms, and in the shape withal

Of that continual prating bird, whom all the deities call

Chalcis, but men Cymmindis name. Saturnia tripp’d apace

Up to the top of Gargarus, and show’d her heav’nly face

To Jupiter; who saw, and lov’d, and with as hot a fire

(Being curious in her tempting view) as when with first desire

(The pleasure of it being stol’n) they mix’d in love and bed.

And (gazing on her still) he said: ‘Saturnia, what hath bred

This haste in thee from our high court, and whither tends thy gait,

That void of horse and chariot fit for thy sovereign state,

Thou lackiest here?’ Her studied fraud replied: ‘My journey now

Leaves state and labours to do good. And where in right I owe

All kindness to the sire of gods and our good mother queen

That nurst and kept me curiously, in court (since both have been

Long time at discord), my desire is to atone their hearts;

And therefore go I now to see those earth’s extremest parts,

For whose far-seat I spar’d my horse the scaling of this hill,

And left them at the foot of it: for they must taste their fill

Of travail with me, that must draw my coach through earth and seas;

Whose far-intended reach, respect and care not to displease

Thy graces, made me not attempt without thy gracious leave.’

The cloud-compelling god her guile in this sort did receive:

‘Juno, thou shalt have after leave, but ere so far thou stray,

Convert we our kind thoughts to love, that now doth every way

Circle with victory my pow’rs: nor yet with any dame

(Woman, or goddess) did his fires my bosom so inflame

As now with thee: not when it lov’d the parts so generous

Ixion’s wife had, that brought forth the wise Pyrithous;

Nor when the lovely Danaë, Acrisius’ daughter, stirr’d

My amorous pow’rs, that Perseus bore, to all men else preferr’d;

Nor when the dame that Phoenix got surpris’d me with her sight,

Who the divine-soul’d Rhadamanth and Minos brought to light;

Nor Semele, that bore to me the joy of mortal men,

The sprightly Bacchus; nor the dame that Thebes renowned then,

Alcmena, that bore Hercules; Latona, so renown’d;

Queen Ceres, with the golden hair, nor thy fair eyes did wound

My entrails to such depth as now, with thirst of amorous ease.’

The cunning dame seem’d much incens’d, and said, ‘What words are these,

Unsufferable Saturn’s son? What! Here! In Ida’s height!

Desir’st thou this? How fits it us? Or what if in the sight

Of any god thy will were pleas’d, that he the rest might bring

To witness thy incontinence? ’Twere a dishonour’d thing.

I would not show my face in heav’n, and rise from such a bed.

But if love be so dear to thee, thou hast a chamber stead,

Which Vulcan purposely contriv’d with all fit secrecy:

There sleep at pleasure.’ He replied: ‘I fear not if the eye

Of either god or man observe, so thick a cloud of gold

I’ll cast about us, that the sun (who furthest can behold)

Shall never find us.’ This resolv’d, into his kind embrace

He took his wife: beneath them both fair Tellus strew’d the place

With fresh-sprung herbs, so soft and thick, that up aloft it bore

Their heav’nly bodies: with his leaves did dewy lotus store

Th’ Elysian mountain; saffron flow’rs and hyacinths help’d make

The sacred bed, and there they slept: when suddenly there brake

A golden vapour out of air, whence shining dews did fall,

In which they wrapt them close, and slept till Jove was tam’d withal.

Mean space flew Somnus to the ships, found Neptune out, and said:

‘Now cheerfully assist the Greeks, and give them glorious head –

At least a little, while Jove sleeps; of whom through every limb

I pour’d dark sleep, Saturnia’s love hath so illuded him.’

This news made Neptune more secure in giving Grecians heart,

And through the first fights thus he stirr’d the men of most desert:

‘Yet, Grecians, shall we put our ships and conquest in the hands

Of Priam’s Hector, by our sloth? He thinks so, and commands,

With pride according; all because Achilles keeps away.

Alas, as we were nought but him! We little need to stay

On his assistance, if we would our own strengths call to field,

And mutually maintain repulse. Come on then, all men yield

To what I order; we that bear best arms in all our host,

Whose heads sustain the brightest helms, whose hands are bristled most

With longest lances, let us on. But stay, I’ll lead you all;

Nor think I, but great Hector’s spirits will suffer some appall,

Though they be never so inspir’d: the ablest of us then,

That on our shoulders worst shields bear, exchange with worser men

That fight with better.’ This propos’d, all heard it, and obey’d:

The kings (ev’n those that suffer’d wounds, Ulysses, Diomed

And Agamemnon) helpt’d t’instruct the complete army thus:

To good, gave good arms, worse to worse; yet none were mutinous.

Thus, arm’d with order, forth they flew; the great Earth-shaker led,

A long sword in his sinewy hand, which when he brandished,

It lighten’d still: there was no law for him and it; poor men

Must quake before them. These thus mann’d, illustrious Hector then

His host brought up. The blue-hair’d god and he stretch’d through the prease

A grievous fight, when to the ships and tents of Greece the seas

Brake loose, and rag’d. But when they join’d, the dreadful clamour rose

To such a height, as not the sea, when up the North-spirit blows

Her raging billows, bellows so against the beaten shore;

Nor such a rustling keeps a fire, driven with violent blore,

Through woods that grow against a hill; nor so the fervent strokes

Of almost-bursting winds resound against a grove of oaks,

As did the clamour of these hosts, when both the battles clos’d.

Of all which noble Hector first at Ajax’ breast dispos’d

His javelin, since so right on him the great-soul’d soldier bore;

Nor miss’d it, but the bawdricks both that his broad bosom wore,

To hang his shield and sword, it struck; both which his flesh preserv’d.

Hector (disdaining that his lance had thus as good as swerv’d)

Trode to his strength; but going off, great Ajax with a stone

(One of the many props for ships that there lay trampled on)

Struck his broad breast above his shield, just underneath his throat,

And shook him piecemeal. When the stone sprung back again, and smote

Earth, like a whirlwind gathering dust, with whirring fiercely round,

For fervour of his unspent strength, in settling on the ground;

And as when Jove’s bolt by the roots rends from the earth an oak,

His sulphur casting with the blow a strong unsavoury smoke,

And on the fall’n plant none dare look but with amazed eyes

(Jove’s thunder being no laughing gam,,) so bow’d strong Hector’s thighs,

And so with tost-up heels he fell: away his lance he flung,

His round shield follow’d, then his helm, and out his armour rung.

The Greeks then shouted, and ran in, and hop’d to hale him off,

And therefore pour’d on darts in storms, to keep his aid aloof;

But none could hurt the people’s guide, nor stir him from his ground:

Sarpedon, prince of Lycia, and Glaucus, so renown’d,

Divine Agenor, Venus’ son, and wise Polydamas,

Rush’d to his rescue, and the rest: no one neglective was

Of Hector’s safety; all their shields they couch’d about him close,

Rais’d him from earth, and (giving him, in their kind arms, repose)

From off the labour carried him, to his rich chariot,

And bore him mourning towards Troy: but when the flood they got

Of gulfy Xanthus, that was got by deathless Jupiter,

There took they him from chariot, and all besprinkled there

His temples with the stream; he breath’d, look’d up, assay’d to rise,

And on his knees stay’d, spitting blood: again then clos’d his eyes,

And back again his body fell; the main blow had not done

Yet with his spirit. When the Greeks saw worthy Hector gone,

Then thought they of their work, then charg’d with much more cheer the foe,

And then (far first) Oïleades began the overthrow:

He darted Satnius Enops’ son, whom famous Naïs bore

(As she was keeping Enops’ flocks) on Satnius river’s shore,

And struck him in his belly’s rim, who upwards fell, and rais’d

A mighty skirmish with his fall: and then Panthaedes seiz’d

Prothenor Areilicides with his reveng’ful spear,

On his right shoulder, struck it through, and laid him breathless there.

For which he insolently bragg’d, and cried out: ‘Not a dart

From great-soul’d Panthus’ son, I think, shall ever vainlier part,

But some Greek’s bosom it shall take, and make him give his ghost.’

This brag the Grecians stomach’d much, but Telamonius most,

Who stood most near Prothenor’s fall: and out he sent a lance,

Which Panthus’ son, declining, scap’d, yet took it to sad chance

Archilochus, Antenor’s son, whom heav’n did destinate

To that stern end; ’twixt neck and head the javelin wrought his fate,

And ran in at the upper joint of all the back long bone,

Cut both the nerves, and such a load of strength laid Ajax on,

As that small part he seiz’d outweigh’d all th’ under limbs, and strook

His heels up so, that head and face the earth’s possessions took,

When all the low parts sprung in air; and thus did Ajax quit

Panthaedes’ brave: ‘Now, Panthus’ son, let thy prophetic wit

Consider, and disclose a truth, if this man do not weigh

Even with Prothenor. I conceive, no one of you will say,

That either he was base himself, or sprung of any base.

Antenor’s brother, or his son, he should be by his face;

One of his race, past question, his likeness shows he is.’

This spake he, knowing it well enough. The Trojans storm’d at this,

And then slew Acamas (to save his brother yet engag’d)

Boeotius, dragging him to spoil and thus the Greeks enrag’d.

‘O Greeks, ev’n born to bear our darts, yet ever breathing threats,

Not always under tears and toils ye see our fortune sweats,

But sometimes you drop under death: see now your quick among

Our dead, intranc’d with my weak lance, to prove I have ere long

Reveng’d my brother: ’tis the wish of every honest man

His brother slain in Mars’s field may rest wreak’d in his fane.’

This stirr’d fresh envy in the Greeks, but urg’d Peneleus most,

Who hurl’d his lance at Acamas; he ’scap’t, nor yet it lost

The force he gave it, for it found the flock-rich Phorbas’ son,

Ilioneus, whose dear sire (past all in Ilion)

Was lov’d of Hermes, and enrich’d; and to him only bore

His mother this now slaughter’d man. The dart did undergore

His eye-lid, by his eye’s dear roots; and out the apple fell,

The eye pierc’d through: nor could the nerve that stays the neck repel