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Iliad of Homer, Rendered into English Blank Verse

<h3>ARGUMENT.</h3> 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 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, 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; toward the end it removes to Troy. <h2>BOOK II.</h2> All night in sleep repos’d the other Gods, And helmed warriors; but the eyes of Jove Sweet slumber held not, pondering in his mind How to avenge Achilles’ cause, and pour Destructive slaughter on the Grecian host. Thus as he mus’d, the wisest course appear’d By a deluding vision to mislead The son of Atreus; and with winged words Thus to a phantom form he gave command: “Hie thee, deluding Vision, to the camp And ships of Greece, to Agamemnon’s tent; There, changing nought, as I command thee, speak. Bid that he arm in haste the long-hair’d Greeks To combat; for the wide-built streets of Troy He now may capture; since th’ immortal Gods Watch over her no longer; all are gain’d By Juno’s pray’rs; and woes impend o’er Troy.” He said: the Vision heard, and straight obey’d: Swiftly he sped, and reached the Grecian ships, And sought the son of Atreus; him he found Within his tent, wrapped in ambrosial sleep; Above his head he stood, like Neleus’ son, Nestor, whom Agamemnon rev’renc’d most Of all the Elders; in his likeness cloth’d Thus spoke the heav’nly Vision; “Sleep’st thou, son Of Atreus, valiant warrior, horseman bold? To sleep all night but ill becomes a chief, Charg’d with the public weal, and cares of state. Hear now the words I bear; to thee I come A messenger from Jove, who from on high Looks down on thee with eyes of pitying love. He bids thee arm in haste the long-hair’d Greeks To combat; since the wide-built streets of Troy Thou now mayst capture; for th’ immortal Gods Watch over her no longer; all are gain’d By Juno’s pray’rs; and woes impend o’er Troy. Bear this in mind; and when from sleep arous’d Let not my words from thy remembrance fade.” This said, he vanish’d; and the monarch left, Inspir’d with thoughts which ne’er should come to pass. For in that day he vainly hop’d to take The town of Priam; ignorant what Jove Design’d in secret, or what woes, what groans, What lengthen’d labours in the stubborn fight, Were yet for Trojans and for Greeks in store. He woke from sleep; but o’er his senses spread Dwelt still the heavenly voice; he sat upright; He donn’d his vest of texture fine, new-wrought, Then o’er it threw his ample robe, and bound His sandals fair around his well-turn’d feet; And o’er his shoulders flung his sword, adorn’d With silver studs; and bearing in his hand His royal staff, ancestral, to the ships Where lay the brass-clad warriors, bent his way. Aurora now was rising up the steep Of great Olympus, to th’ immortal Gods Pure light diffusing; when Atrides bade The clear-voic’d heralds to th’ Assembly call The gen’ral host; they gave the word, and straight From ev’ry quarter throng’d the eager crowd. But first, of all the Elders, by the side Of Nestor’s ship, the aged Pylian chief, A secret conclave Agamemnon call’d; And, prudent, thus the chosen few address’d: “Hear me, my friends! In the still hours of night I saw a heav’nly Vision in my sleep: Most like it seemed in stature, form, and face To rev’rend Nestor; at my head it stood, And with these words address’d me—‘Sleep’st thou, son Of Atreus, valiant warrior, horseman bold? To sleep all night but ill becomes a chief, Charg’d with the public weal, and cares of state. Hear now the words I bear: to thee I come A messenger from Jove, who from on high Looks down on thee with eyes of pitying love. He bids thee arm in haste the long-hair’d Greeks To combat: since the wide-built streets of Troy Thou now may’st capture; for th’ immortal Gods Watch over her no longer: all are gain’d By Juno’s pray’rs, and woes impend o’er Troy. Bear thou my words in mind.’ Thus as he spoke He vanish’d; and sweet sleep forsook mine eyes. Seek we then straight to arm the sons of Greece: But first, as is our wont, myself will prove The spirit of the army; and suggest Their homeward voyage; ye, throughout the camp Restore their courage, and restrain from flight.” Thus having said, he sat; and next arose Nestor, the chief of Pylos’ sandy shore. Who thus with prudent speech replied, and said: “O friends, the chiefs and councillors of Greece, If any other had this Vision seen, We should have deem’d it false, and laugh’d to scorn The idle tale; but now it hath appear’d, Of all our army, to the foremost man: Seek we then straight to arm the sons of Greece.” He said, and from the council led the way. Uprose the sceptred monarchs, and obey’d Their leader’s call, and round them throng’d the crowd. As swarms of bees, that pour in ceaseless stream From out the crevice of some hollow rock, Now clust’ring, and anon ’mid vernal flow’rs, Some here, some there, in busy numbers fly; So to th’ Assembly from their tents and ships The countless tribes came thronging; in their midst, By Jove enkindled, Rumour urged them on. Great was the din; and as the mighty mass Sat down, the solid earth beneath them groan’d; Nine heralds rais’d their voices loud, to quell The storm of tongues, and bade the noisy crowd Be still, and listen to the Heav’n-born Kings. At length they all were seated, and awhile Their clamours sank to silence; then uprose The monarch Agamemnon, in his hand His royal staff, the work of Vulcan’s art; Which Vulcan to the son of Saturn gave; To Hermes he, the heav’nly messenger; Hermes to Pelops, matchless charioteer; Pelops to Atreus; Atreus at his death Bequeath’d it to Thyestes, wealthy Lord Of num’rous herds; to Agamemnon last Thyestes left it; token of his sway O’er all the Argive coast, and neighbouring isles. On this the monarch leant, as thus he spoke: “Friends, Grecian Heroes, Ministers of Mars! Grievous, and all unlook’d for, is the blow Which Jove hath dealt me; by his promise led I hop’d to raze the strong-built walls of Troy, And home return in safety; but it seems He falsifies his word, and bids me now Return to Argos, frustrate of my hope, Dishonour’d, and with grievous loss of men. Such now appears th’ o’er-ruling sov’reign will Of Saturn’s son; who oft hath sunk the heads Of many a lofty city in the dust, And yet will sink; for mighty is his hand. ’Tis shame indeed that future days should hear How such a force as ours, so great, so brave, Hath thus been baffled, fighting, as we do, ’Gainst numbers far inferior to our own, And see no end of all our warlike toil. For should we choose, on terms of plighted truce, Trojans and Greeks, to number our array; Of Trojans, all that dwell within the town, And we, by tens disposed, to every ten, To crown our cups, one Trojan should assign, Full many a ten no cupbearer would find: So far the sons of Greece outnumber all That dwell within the town; but to their aid Bold warriors come from all the cities round, Who greatly harass me, and render vain My hope to storm the strong-built walls of Troy. Already now nine weary years have pass’d; The timbers of our ships are all decay’d, The cordage rotted; in our homes the while Our wives and helpless children sit, in vain Expecting our return; and still the work, For which we hither came, remains undone. Hear then my counsel; let us all agree Home to direct our course, since here in vain We strive to take the well-built walls of Troy.” Thus as he spoke, the crowd, that had not heard The secret council, by his words was mov’d; So sway’d and heav’d the multitude, as when O’er the vast billows of th’ Icarian sea Eurus and Notus from the clouds of Heav’n Pour forth their fury; or as some deep field Of wavy corn, when sweeping o’er the plain The ruffling west wind sways the bending ears; So was th’ Assembly stirr’d; and tow’rd the ships With clam’rous joy they rush’d; beneath, their feet Rose clouds of dust, while one to other call’d To seize the ships and drag them to the main. They clear’d the channels, and with shouts of “home” That rose to Heav’n, they knock’d the shores away. Then had the Greeks in shameful flight withdrawn, Had Juno not to Pallas thus appeal’d: “Oh Heav’n! brave child of aegis-bearing Jove, Shall thus the Greeks, in ignominious flight, O’er the wide sea their homeward course pursue, And as a trophy to the sons of Troy The Argive Helen leave, on whose account, Far from their home, so many valiant Greeks Have cast their lives away? Go quickly thou Amid the brass-clad Greeks, and man by man Address with words persuasive, nor permit To launch their well-trimm’d vessels on the deep.” She said, nor did Minerva not obey, But swift descending from Olympus’ heights With rapid flight she reach’d the Grecian ships. Laertes’ son, in council sage as Jove There found she standing; he no hand had laid On his dark vessel, for with bitter grief His heart was filled; the blue-ey’d Maid approach’d, And thus address’d him: “Great Laertes’ son, Ulysses, sage in council, can it be That you, the men of Greece, embarking thus On your swift ships, in ignominious flight, O’er the wide sea will take your homeward way, And as a trophy to the sons of Troy The Argive Helen leave, on whose account Far from their homes so many valiant Greeks Have cast their lives away? Go quickly thou Among the multitude, and man by man Address with words persuasive, nor permit To launch their well-trimm’d vessels on the deep.” She said; the heav’nly voice Ulysses knew; Straight, springing to the course, he cast aside, And to Eurybates of Ithaca, His herald and attendant, threw his robe; Then to Atrides hasten’d, and by him Arm’d with his royal staff ancestral, pass’d With rapid step amid the ships of Greece. Each King or leader whom he found he thus With cheering words encourag’d and restrain’d: “O gallant friend, ’tis not for thee to yield, Like meaner men, to panic; but thyself Sit quiet, and the common herd restrain. Thou know’st not yet Atrides’ secret mind: He tries us now, and may reprove us soon. His words in council reach’d not all our ears: See that he work us not some ill; for fierce His anger; and the Lord of counsel, Jove, From whom proceeds all honour, loves him well.” But of the common herd whome’er he found Clam’ring, he check’d with staff and threat’ning words: “Good friend, keep still, and hear what others say, Thy betters far: for thou art good for nought, Of small account in council or in fight. All are not sovereigns here: ill fares the state Where many masters rule; let one be Lord, One King supreme; to whom wise Saturn’s son In token of his sov’reign power hath giv’n The sceptre’s sway and ministry of law.” Such were his words, as through the ranks he pass’d: They from the vessels and the tents again Throng’d to th’ Assembly, with such rush of sound, As when the many-dashing ocean’s wave Breaks on the shore, and foams the frothing sea. The others all were settled in their seats: Only Thersites, with unmeasur’d words, Of which he had good store, to rate the chiefs, Not over-seemly, but wherewith he thought To move the crowd to laughter, brawl’d aloud. The ugliest man was he who came to Troy: With squinting eyes, and one distorted foot, His shoulders round, and buried in his breast His narrow head, with scanty growth of hair. Against Achilles and Ulysses most His hate was turn’d; on them his venom pour’d; Anon, at Agamemnon’s self he launch’d His loud-tongued ribaldry; ’gainst him he knew Incensed the public mind; and bawling loud,[1] With scurril words, he thus address’d the King: “What more, thou son of Atreus, would’st thou have? Thy tents are full of brass; and in those tents Many fair women, whom, from all the spoil, We Greeks, whene’er some wealthy town we take, Choose first of all, and set apart for thee. Or dost thou thirst for gold, which here perchance Some Trojan brings, the ransom of his son Captur’d by me, or by some other Greek? Or some new girl, to gratify thy lust, Kept for thyself apart? a leader, thou Shouldst not to evil lead the sons of Greece. Ye slaves! ye coward souls! Women of Greece! I will not call you men! why go we not Home with our ships, and leave this mighty chief To gloat upon his treasures, and find out Whether in truth he need our aid, or no; Who on Achilles, his superior far, Foul scorn hath cast, and robb’d him of his prize, Which for himself he keeps? Achilles, sure, Is not intemperate, but mild of mood; Else, Atreus’ son, this insult were thy last.” On Agamemnon, leader of the host, With words like these Thersites pour’d his hate; But straight Ulysses at his side appear’d, And spoke, with scornful glance, in stern rebuke: “Thou babbling fool, Thersites, prompt of speech, Restrain thy tongue, nor singly thus presume The Kings to slander; thou, the meanest far Of all that with the Atridae came to Troy. Ill it beseems, that such an one as thou Should lift thy voice against the Kings, and rail With scurril ribaldry, and prate of home. How these affairs may end, we know not yet; Nor how, or well or ill, we may return. Cease then against Atrides, King of men, To pour thy spite, for that the valiant Greeks To him, despite thy railing, as of right An ample portion of the spoils assign. But this I tell thee, and will make it good, If e’er I find thee play the fool, as now, Then may these shoulders cease this head to bear, And may my son Telemachus no more Own me his father, if I strip not off Thy mantle and thy garments, aye, expose Thy nakedness, and flog thee to the ships Howling, and scourg’d with ignominious stripes.” Thus as he spoke, upon Thersites’ neck And back came down his heavy staff; the wretch Shrank from the blow, and scalding tears let fall. Where struck the golden-studded staff, appear’d A bloody weal: Thersites quail’d, and down, Quiv’ring with pain, he sat, and wip’d away. With horrible grimace, the trickling tears. The Greeks, despite their anger, laugh’d aloud, And one to other said, “Good faith, of all The many works Ulysses well hath done, Wise in the council, foremost in the fight, He ne’er hath done a better, than when now He makes this scurril babbler hold his peace. Methinks his headstrong spirit will not soon Lead him again to vilify the Kings.” Thus spoke the gen’ral voice: but, staff in hand, Ulysses rose; Minerva by his side, In likeness of a herald, bade the crowd Keep silence, that the Greeks, from first to last, Might hear his words, and ponder his advice. He thus with prudent phrase his speech began: “Great son of Atreus, on thy name, O King, Throughout the world will foul reproach be cast, If Greeks forget their promise, nor make good The vow they took to thee, when hitherward We sailed from Argos’ grassy plains, to raze, Ere our return, the well-built walls of Troy. But now, like helpless widows, or like babes, They mourn their cruel fate, and pine for home. ’Tis hard indeed defeated to return; The seaman murmurs, if from wife and home, Ev’n for one month, his well-found bark be stay’d, Toss’d by the wint’ry blasts and stormy sea; But us the ninth revolving year beholds Still ling’ring here: I cannot therefore blame Our valiant Greeks, if by the ships I hear Their murmurs; yet ’twere surely worst of all Long to remain, and bootless to return. Bear up, my friends, remain awhile, and see If Calchas truly prophesy, or no. For this ye all have seen, and can yourselves Bear witness, all who yet are spar’d by fate, Not long ago, when ships of Greece were met At Aulis, charg’d with evil freight for Troy, And we, around a fountain, to the Gods Our altars rear’d, with faultless hecatombs, Near a fair plane-tree, where bright water flow’d, Behold a wonder! by Olympian Jove Sent forth to light, a snake, with burnish’d scales, Of aspect fearful, issuing from beneath The altars, glided to the plane-tree straight. There, on the topmost bough, beneath the leaves Cow’ring, a sparrow’s callow nestlings lay; Eight fledglings, and the parent bird the ninth. All the eight nestlings, utt’ring piercing cries, The snake devour’d; and as the mother flew, Lamenting o’er her offspring, round and round, Uncoiling, caught her, shrieking, by the wing. Then, when the sparrow’s nestlings and herself The snake had swallowed, by the God, who first Sent him to light, a miracle was wrought: For Jove, the deep-designing Saturn’s son, Turn’d him to stone; we stood, and wond’ring gaz’d. But when this prodigy befell our rites, Calchas, inspir’d of Heaven, took up his speech: ‘Ye long-haired sons of Greece, why stand ye thus In mute amaze? to us Olympian Jove, To whom be endless praise, vouchsafes this sign, Late sent, of late fulfilment: as ye saw The snake devour the sparrow and her young, Eight nestlings, and the parent bird the ninth: So, for so many years, are we condemn’d To wage a fruitless war; but in the tenth The wide-built city shall at last be ours.’ Thus he foretold, and now the time is come. Here then, ye well-greav’d Greeks, let all remain, Till Priam’s wealthy city be our own.” He said, and loudly cheer’d the Greeks—and loud From all the hollow ships came back the cheers— In admiration of Ulysses’ speech. Gerenian Nestor next took up the word: “Like children, Grecian warriors, ye debate; Like babes to whom unknown are feats of arms. Where then are now our solemn covenants, Our plighted oaths? Go, cast we to the fire Our councils held, our warriors’ plans matur’d, Our absolute pledges, and our hand-plight giv’n, In which our trust was placed; since thus in vain In words we wrangle, and how long soe’er We here remain, solution none we find. Atrides, thou, as is thy wont, maintain Unchang’d thy counsel; for the stubborn fight Array the Greeks; and let perdition seize Those few, those two or three among the host, Who hold their separate counsel—(not on them Depends the issue!)—rather than return To Argos, ere we prove if Jove indeed Will falsify his promis’d word, or no. For well I ween, that on the day when first We Grecians hitherward our course address’d, To Troy the messengers of blood and death, Th’ o’er-ruling son of Saturn, on our right His lightning flashing, with auspicious sign Assur’d us of his favour; let not then The thoughts of home be breath’d, ere Trojan wives Given to our warriors, retribution pay For wrongs by us, in Helen’s cause, sustain’d. But whoso longs, if such an one there be, To make his homeward voyage, let him take His well-rigg’d bark, and go; before the rest To meet the doom of death! But thou, O King! Be well advis’d thyself, and others lead By wholesome counsel; for the words I speak Are not to be despis’d; by tribes and clans, O Agamemnon! range thy troops, that so Tribe may to tribe give aid, and clan to clan. If thus thou do, and Greeks thy words obey, Then shalt thou see, of chiefs and troops alike, The good and bad; for on their own behoof They all shall fight; and if thou fail, shalt know Whether thy failure be of Heav’n’s decree, Or man’s default and ignorance of war.” To whom the monarch Agamemnon thus: “Father, in council, of the sons of Greece, None can compare with thee; and would to Jove To Pallas, and Apollo, at my side I had but ten such counsellors as thee! Then soon should royal Priam’s city fall, Tak’n and destroy’d by our victorious hands. But now on me hath aegis-bearing Jove, The son of Saturn, fruitless toil impos’d, And hurtful quarrels; for in wordy war About a girl, Achilles and myself Engag’d; and I, alas! the strife began: Could we be friends again, delay were none, How short soe’er, of Ilium’s final doom. But now to breakfast, ere we wage the fight. Each sharpen well his spear, his shield prepare, Each to his fiery steeds their forage give, Each look his chariot o’er, that through the day We may unwearied stem the tide of war; For respite none, how short soe’er, shall be Till night shall bid the storm of battle cease. With sweat shall reek upon each warrior’s breast The leathern belt beneath the cov’ring shield; And hands shall ache that wield the pond’rous spear: With sweat shall reek the fiery steeds that draw Each warrior’s car; but whomsoe’er I find Loit’ring beside the beaked ships, for him ’Twere hard to’scape the vultures and the dogs.” He said; and from th’ applauding ranks of Greece Rose a loud sound, as when the ocean wave, Driv’n by the south wind on some lofty beach, Dashes against a prominent crag, expos’d To blasts from every storm that roars around. Uprising then, and through the camp dispers’d They took their sev’ral ways, and by their tents The fires they lighted, and the meal prepar’d; And each to some one of the Immortal Gods His off’ring made, that in the coming fight He might escape the bitter doom of death. But to the o’erruling son of Saturn, Jove, A sturdy ox, well-fatten’d, five years old, Atrides slew; and to the banquet call’d The aged chiefs and councillors of Greece; Nestor the first, the King Idomeneus, The two Ajaces next, and Tydeus’ son, Ulysses sixth, as Jove in council sage. But uninvited Menelaus came, Knowing what cares upon his brother press’d. Around the ox they stood, and on his head The salt cake sprinkled; then amid them all The monarch Agamemnon pray’d aloud: “Most great, most glorious Jove! who dwell’st on high, In clouds and darkness veil’d, grant Thou that ere This sun shall set, and night o’erspread the earth, I may the haughty walls of Priam’s house Lay prostrate in the dust; and burn with fire His lofty gates; and strip from Hector’s breast His sword-rent tunic, while around his corpse Many brave comrades, prostrate, bite the dust.” Thus he; but Saturn’s son his pray’r denied; Receiv’d his off’rings, but his toils increas’d. Their pray’rs concluded, and the salt cake strewed Upon the victim’s head, they drew him back, And slew, and flay’d; then cutting from the thighs The choicest pieces, and in double layers O’erspreading them with fat, above them plac’d The due meat-off’rings; these they burnt with logs Of leafless timber; and the inward parts, First to be tasted, o’er the fire they held. The thighs consum’d with fire, the inward parts They tasted first; the rest upon the spits Roasted with care, and from the fire withdrew. Their labours ended, and the feast prepar’d, They shared the social meal, nor lacked there aught. The rage of thirst and hunger satisfied, Gerenian Nestor thus his speech began: “Most mighty Agamemnon, King of men, Great Atreus’ son, no longer let us pause, The work delaying which the pow’rs of Heav’n Have trusted to our hands; do thou forthwith Bid that the heralds proclamation make, And summon through the camp the brass-clad Greeks; While, in a body, through the wide-spread ranks We pass, and stimulate their warlike zeal.” He said; and Agamemnon, King of men, Obedient to his counsel, gave command That to the war the clear-voic’d heralds call The long-hair’d Greeks: they gave the word, and straight From ev’ry quarter throng’d the eager crowd. The Heav’n-born Kings, encircling Atreus’ son, The troops inspected: Pallas, blue-ey’d Maid, Before the chiefs her glorious aegis bore, By time untouch’d, immortal: all around A hundred tassels hung, rare works of art, All gold, each one a hundred oxen’s price. With this the Goddess pass’d along the ranks, Exciting all; and fix’d in every breast The firm resolve to wage unwearied war; And dearer to their hearts than thoughts of home Or wish’d return, became the battle-field. As when a wasting fire, on mountain tops, Hath seized the blazing woods, afar is seen The glaring light; so, as they mov’d, to Heav’n Flash’d the bright glitter of their burnish’d arms. As when a num’rous flock of birds, or geese, Or cranes, or long-neck’d swans, on Asian mead, Beside Cayster’s stream, now here, now there, Disporting, ply their wings; then settle down With clam’rous noise, that all the mead resounds; So to Scamander’s plain, from tents and ships, Pour’d forth the countless tribes; the firm earth groan’d Beneath the tramp of steeds and armed men. Upon Scamander’s flow’ry mead they stood, Unnumber’d as the vernal leaves and flow’rs. Or as the multitudinous swarms of flies, That round the cattle-sheds in spring-tide pour, While the warm milk is frothing in the pail: So numberless upon the plain, array’d For Troy’s destruction, stood the long-hair’d Greeks. And as experienced goat-herds, when their flocks Are mingled in the pasture, portion out Their sev’ral charges, so the chiefs array’d Their squadrons for the fight; while in the midst The mighty monarch Agamemnon mov’d: His eye, and lofty brow, the counterpart Of Jove, the Lord of thunder; in his girth Another Mars, with Neptune’s ample chest. As ’mid the thronging heifers in a herd Stands, proudly eminent, the lordly bull; So, by Jove’s will, stood eminent that day, ’Mid many heroes, Atreus’ godlike son. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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