The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (60 page)

He could not quit him, till at last his sword was fain to free

His fetter’d knees, that made a vent for his white liver’s blood,

That caus’d such pitiful affects, of which it pour’d a flood

About his bosom, which it fill’d, even till it drown’d his eyes,

And all sense fail’d him. Forth then flew this prince of tragedies,

Who next stoop’d Mulius, ev’n to death, with his insatiate spear:

One ear it enter’d, and made good his pass to th’ other ear.

Echeclus then (Agenor’s son), he struck betwixt the brows,

Whose blood set fire upon his sword, that cool’d it till the throes

Of his then labouring brain let out his soul to fixed fate,

And gave cold entry to black death. Deucalion then had state

In these men’s beings: where the nerves about the elbow knit,

Down to his hand his spear’s steel pierc’d, and brought such pain to it

As led death jointly, whom he saw before his fainting eyes,

And in his neck felt, with a stroke laid on so, that off flies

His head: one of the twice twelve bones that all the backbone make

Let out his marrow, when the head he helm and all did take,

And hurl’d amongst the Ilians; the body stretch’d on earth.

Rhigmus of fruitful Thrace next fell; he was the famous birth

Of Pireus: his belly’s midst the lance took, whose stern force

Quite tumbled him from chariot. In turning back the horse,

Their guider Areithous receiv’d another lance

That threw him to his lord. No end was put to the mischance

Achilles enter’d: but as fire, fall’n in a flash from heav’n,

Inflames the high woods of dry hills, and with a storm is driv’n

Through all the sylvan deeps, and raves, till down goes everywhere

The smother’d hill: so every way Achilles and his spear

Consum’d the champain; the black earth flow’d with the veins he tore.

And look how oxen (yok’d and driv’n about the circular floor

Of some fair barn) tread suddenly the thick sheaves, thin of corn,

And all the corn consum’d with chaff: so mix’d and overborne,

Beneath Achilles’ one-hoo
f
’
d horse, shields, spears and men lay trod,

His axle-tree and chariot wheels all spatter’d with the blood

Hurl’d from the steeds’ hoofs and the strakes. Thus to be magnified,

His most inaccessible hands in human blood he dyed.

The end of the twentieth book

Book 21

The Argument

In two parts Troy’s host parted; Thetis’ son

One to Scamander, one to Ilion

Pursues. Twelve lords he takes alive, to end

In sacrifice, for vengeance to his friend.

Asteropaeus dies by his fierce hand,

And Priam’s son, Lycaon. Over land

The flood breaks: where, Achilles being engag’d,

Vulcan preserves him, and with spirit enrag’d,

Sets all the champain and the flood on fire;

Contention then doth all the gods inspire.

Apollo in Agenor’s shape doth stay

Achilles’ fury; and by giving way,

Makes him pursue, till the deceit gives leave,

That Troy in safety might her friends receive.

Another Argument

Phi
, at the flood’s shore, doth express

The labours of Aeacides.

Book 21

And now they reach’d the goodly swelling channel of the flood,

Gulf-eating Xanthus, whom Jove mix’d with his immortal brood:

And there Achilles cleft the host of Ilion: one side fell

On Xanthus, th’ other on the town: and that did he impel

The same way that the last day’s rage put all the Greeks in rout,

When Hector’s fury reign’d; these now Achilles pour’d about

The scatter’d field. To stay the flight, Saturnia cast before

Their hasty feet a standing fog, and then flight’s violence bore

The other half full on the flood. The silver-gulfed deep

Receiv’d them with a mighty cry: the billows vast and steep

Roar’d at their armours, which the shores did round about resound:

This way and that they swum, and shriek’d, as in the gulfs they drown’d.

And as in fir’d fields locusts rise, as the unwearied blaze

Plies still their rising, till in swarms all rush as in amaze

(For ’scape) into some neighbour flood: so th’ Achillean stroke

Here drave the foe; the gulfy flood with men and horse did choke.

Then on the shore the worthy hid, and left his horrid lance

Amids the tamrisks; then sprite-like did with his sword advance

Up to the river; ill affairs took up his furious brain

For Troy’s engagements: every way he doubled slain on slain.

A most unmanly noise was made, with those he put to sword,

Of groans and outcries; the flood blush’d to be so much engor’d

With such base souls. And as small fish the swift-finn’d dolphin fly,

Filling the deep pits in the ports, on whose close strength they lie,

And there he swallows them in shoals: so here, to rocks and holes,

About the flood, the Trojans fled; and there most lost their souls,

Even till he tir’d his slaught’rous arm. Twelve fair young princes then

He chose of all to take alive, to have them freshly slain

On that most solemn day of wreak, resolv’d on for his friend.

These led he trembling forth the flood, as fearful of their end

As any hind calves: all their hands he pinioned behind

With their own girdles, worn upon their rich weeds, and resign’d

Their persons to his Myrmidons to bear to fleet; and he

Plung’d in the stream again to take more work of tragedy.

He met, then issuing the flood, with all intent of flight,

Lycaon (Dardan Priam’s son), whom lately in the night

He had surpris’d as in a wood of Priam’s he had cut

The green arms of a wild fig-tree, to make him spokes to put

In naves of his new chariot. An ill then, all unthought,

Stole on him in Achilles’ shape, who took him thence, and brought

To well-built Lemnos, selling him to famous Jason’s son,

From whom a guest then in his house (Imbrius Eëtion)

Redeem’d at high rate, and sent home t’ Arisba, whence he fled,

And saw again his father’s court; eleven days banqueted

Amongst his friends; the twelfth god thrust his hapless head again

In t’ hands of stern Aeacides, who now must send him slain

To Pluto’s court, and ’gainst his will. Him when Achilles knew,

Naked of helmet, shield, sword, lance, all which for ease he threw

To earth, being overcome with sweat, and labour wearying

His flying knees, he storm’d, and said: ‘O heav’n, a wondrous thing

Invades mine eyes: those Ilians that heretofore I slew

Rise from the dark dead quick again; this man Fate makes eschew

Her own steel fingers: he was sold in Lemnos, and the deep

Of all seas ’twixt this Troy and that (that many a man doth keep

From his lov’d country) bars not him; come then, he now shall taste

The head of Pelias, and try if steel will down as fast

As other fortunes, or kind earth can any surer seize

On his sly person, whose strong arms have held down Hercules.

His thoughts thus mov’d while he stood firm, to see if he he spied

Would offer flight (which first he thought), but when he had descried

He was descried, and flight was vain, fearful, he made more nigh,

With purpose to embrace his knees, and now long’d much to fly

His black fate, and abhorred death, by coming in. His foe

Observ’d all this, and up he rais’d his lance as he would throw;

And then Lycaon close ran in, fell on his breast, and took

Achilles’ knees, whose lance (on earth now staid) did overlook

His still turn’d back, with thirst to glut his sharp point with the blood

That lay so ready. But that thirst Lycaon’s thirst withstood

To save his blood; Achilles’ knee in his one hand he knit,

His other held the long lance hard, and would not part with it,

But thus besought: ‘I kiss thy knees, divine Aeacides!

Respect me, and my fortunes rue; I now present th’ access

Of a poor suppliant for thy ruth, and I am one that is

Worthy thy ruth, O Jove’s belov’d. First hour my miseries

Fell into any hand, ’twas thine: I tasted all my bread

By thy gift since, O since that hour that thy surprisal led

From forth the fair wood my sad feet, far from my lov’d allies,

To famous Lemnos, where I found a hundred oxen’s prize

To make my ransom, for which now I thrice the worth will raise.

This day makes twelve since I arriv’d in Ilion, many days

Being spent before in sufferance; and now a cruel fate

Thrusts me again into thy hands. I should haunt Jove with hate,

That with such set malignity gives thee my life again.

There were but two of us for whom Laothoë suffer’d pain –

Laothoë, old Alte’s seed – Alte, whose palace stood

In height of upper Pedasus, near Satnius’ silver flood,

And rul’d the war-like Lelegi. Whose seed (as many more),

King Priam married, and begot the god-like Polydor,

And me accurs’d: thou slaughter’dst him, and now thy hand on me

Will prove as mortal. I did think, when here I met with thee,

I could not ’scape thee; yet give ear, and add thy mind to it:

I told my birth to intimate, though one sire did beget,

Yet one womb brought not into light Hector (that slew thy friend)

And me. O do not kill me then, but let the wretched end

Of Polydor excuse my life. For half our being bred

Brothers to Hector, he (hal
f
) paid, no more is forfeited.’

Thus su’d he humbly; but he heard with this austere reply:

‘Fool, urge not ruth nor price to me, till that solemnity

Resolv’d on for Patroclus’ death pay all his rites to fate:

Till his death I did grace to Troy, and many lives did rate

At price of ransom: but none now of all the brood of Troy

(Whoever Jove throws to my hands) shall any breath enjoy

That death can beat out, specially that touch at Priam’s race.

Die, die, my friend. What tears are these? What sad looks spoil thy face?

Patroclus died, that far pass’d thee: nay, seest thou not beside,

Myself, ev’n I, a fair young man, and rarely magnified,

And (to my father, being a king) a mother have, that sits

In rank with goddesses; and yet, when thou hast spent thy spirits,

Death, and as violent a fate, must overtake ev’n me,

By twilight, morn-light, day, high noon, whenever destiny

Sets on her man to hurl a lance, or knit out of his string

An arrow that must reach my life.’ This said, a-languishing

Lycaon’s heart bent like his knees, yet left him strength t’ advance

Both hands for mercy as he kneel’d. His foe yet leaves his lance,

And forth his sword flies, which he hid in furrow of a wound

Driv’n through the jointure of his neck; flat fell he on the ground,

Stretch’d with death’s pangs, and all the earth imbru’d with timeless blood.

Then grip’t Aeacides his heel, and to the lofty flood

Flung (swinging) his unpitied corse, to see it swim and toss

Upon the rough waves, and said: ‘Go, feed fat the fish with loss

Of thy left blood; they clean will suck thy green wounds, and this saves

Thy mother tears upon thy bed. Deep Xanthus on his waves

Shall hoist thee bravely to a tomb, that in her burly breast

The sea shall open, where great fish may keep thy funeral feast

With thy white fat, and on the waves dance at thy wedding fate,

Clad in black horror, keeping close inaccessible state.

So perish Ilians, till we pluck the brows of Ilion

Down to her feet – you flying still, I flying still upon

Thus in the rear, and (as my brows were fork’d with rabid horns)

Toss ye together. This brave flood, that strengthens and adorns

Your city with his silver gulfs, to whom so many bulls

Your zeal hath offer’d, with blind zeal his sacred current gulls

With casting chariots and horse quick to his pray’d-for aid,

Shall nothing profit: perish then, till cruell’st death hath laid

All at the red feet of Revenge for my slain friend, and all

With whom the absence of my hands made yours a festival.’

This speech great Xanthus more enrag’d, and made his spirit contend

For means to shut up the op’t vein against him, and defend

The Trojans in it from his plague. In mean time Peleus’ son

(And now with that long lance he hid) for more blood set upon

Asteropaeus, the descent of Pelagon, and he

Of broad-stream’d Axius and the dame (of first nativity

To all the daughters that renown’d Acesamenus’ seed)

Bright Periboea; whom the flood (arm’d thick with lofty reed)

Compress’d. At her grandchild now went Thetis’ great son, whose foe

Stood arm’d with two darts, being set on by Xanthus, anger’d so

For those youths’ blood shed in his stream by vengeful Thetis’ son,

Without all mercy. Both being near, great Thetides begun

With this high question: ‘Of what race art thou, that dar’st oppose

Thy pow’r to mine thus? Cursed wombs they ever did disclose

That stood my anger.’ He replied: ‘What makes thy furies beat,

Talk, and seek pedigrees? Far hence lies my innative seat,

In rich Paeonia. My race from broad-stream’d Axius runs –

Axius, that gives earth purest drink, of all the wat’ry sons

Of great Oceanus, and got the famous-for-his-spear

Pelagonus, that father’d me. And these Paeonians here,

Arm’d with long lances, here I lead: and here th’ eleventh fair light

Shines on us since we enter’d Troy: come now, brave man, let’s fight.’

Thus spake he, threat’ning; and to him Pelides made reply

With shaken Pelias; but his foe with two at once let fly

(For both his hands were dexterous): one javelin struck the shield

Of Thetis’ son, but struck not through (the gold, god’s gift, repell’d

The eager point); the other lance fell lightly on the part

Of his fair right hand’s cubit; forth the black blood spun, the dart

Glanc’d over, fast’ning on the earth, and there his spleen was spent

That wish’d the body. With which wish Achilles his lance sent,

That quite miss’d, and infix’d itself fast in the steep-up shore.

Even to the midst it enter’d it; himself then fiercely bore

Upon his enemy with his sword. His foe was tugging hard

To get his lance out: thrice he pluck’d, and thrice sure Pelias barr’d

His wish’d evulsion. The fourth pluck he bow’d and meant to break

The ashen plant, but (ere that act) Achilles’ sword did check

His bent pow’r, and brake out his soul. Full in the navel stead

He ripp’d his belly up, and out his entrails fell, and dead

His breathless body: whence his arms Achilles drew, and said:

‘Lie there, and prove it dangerous to lift up adverse head

Against Jove’s sons, although a flood were ancestor to thee:

Thy vaunts urg’d him, but I may vaunt a higher pedigree

(From Jove himsel
f
): king Peleus was son to Aeacus,

Infernal Aeacus to Jove, and I to Peleus.

Thunder-voic’d Jove far passeth floods, that only murmurs raise

With earth and water, as they run with tribute to the seas:

And his seed theirs exceeds as far. A flood, a mighty flood,

Rag’d near thee now, but with no aid Jove must not be withstood.

King Achelous yields to him, and great Oceanus,

Whence all floods, all the sea, all founts, wells, all deeps humorous,

Fetch their beginnings; yet ev’n he fears Jove’s flash, and the crack

His thunder gives, when out of heav’n it tears atwo his rack.’

Thus pluck’d he from the shore his lance, and left the waves to wash

The wave-sprung entrails, about which fausens and other fish

Did shoal, to nibble at the fat which his sweet kidneys hid.

This for himself: now to his men (the well-rode Paeons) did

His rage contend, all which cold fear shook into flight, to see

Their captain slain: at whose maz’d flight (as much enrag’d) flew he,

And then fell all these – Thrasius, Mydon, Astypilus,

Great Ophelestes, Aenius, Mnesus, Thersilochus.

And on these many more had fall’n, unless the angry flood

Had took the figure of a man, and in a whirlpit stood,

Thus speaking to Aeacides: ‘Past all, pow’r feeds thy will

(Thou great grandchild of Aeacus), and past all th’ art in ill.

And gods themselves confederates, and Jove (the best of gods)

All deaths gives thee: all places not. Make my shores periods

To all shore service. In the field, let thy field acts run high,

Not in my waters. My sweet streams choke with mortality

Of men slain by thee. Carcasses so glut me, that I fail

To pour into the sacred sea my waves; yet still assail

Thy cruel forces. Cease, amaze affects me with thy rage,