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Iliad of Homer, Rendered into English Blank Verse

The Trojans, when they saw Ulysses’ blood, with clam’rous shouts advanc’d Promiscuous; he, retiring, shouted loud To call his comrades; loud as head of man Could bear, he shouted thrice; and thrice his shout The warlike Menelaus heard, and thus To Ajax, standing by his side, he spoke: “Ajax, thou Heav’n-born son of Telamon, Great chief of men, methinks I hear the voice Of stout Ulysses, as though left alone, And in the stubborn fight cut off from aid, By Trojans overmaster’d. Haste we then, For so ’twere best, to give him present aid. Brave though he be, yet left alone, I fear Great cause we Greeks may have to mourn his loss.” He spoke, and led the way; the godlike chief Follow’d his steps: Ulysses, dear to Jove, Surrounded by the Trojan host they found, As hungry jackals on the mountain side Around a stag, that from an archer’s hand Hath taken hurt, yet while his blood was warm And limbs yet serv’d, has baffled his pursuit; But when the fatal shaft has drain’d his strength, Thirsting for blood, beneath the forest shade, The jackals seize their victim; then if chance A hungry lion pass, the jackals shrink In terror back, while he devours the prey; So round Ulysses, sage in council, press’d The Trojans, many and brave, yet nobly he Averted, spear in hand, the fatal hour; Till, with his tow’r-like shield before him borne, Appear’d great Ajax, and beside him stood. Hither and thither then the Trojans fled; While with supporting arm from out the crowd The warlike Menelaus led him forth, Till his attendant with his car drew near. Then Ajax, on the Trojans springing, slew Doryclus, royal Priam’s bastard son; Next Pyrasus he smote, and Pandocus, Lysander, and Pylartes; as a stream, Swoll’n by the rains of Heav’n, that from the hills Pours down its wintry torrent on the plain; And many a blighted oak, and many a pine It bears, with piles of drift-wood, to the sea So swept illustrious Ajax o’er the plain, O’erthrowing men and horses; though unknown To Hector; he, upon Scamander’s banks Was warring on the field’s extremest left, Where round great Nestor and the warlike King Idomeneus, while men were falling fast, Rose, irrepressible, the battle cry. Hector, ’mid these, was working wondrous deeds, With spear and car, routing th’ opposed youth; Yet had the Greeks ev’n so their ground maintain’d, But godlike Paris, fair-hair’d Helen’s Lord, Through the right shoulder, with a three-barb’d shaft, As in the front he fought, Machaon quell’d: For him the warrior Greeks were sore afraid Lest he, as back the line of battle roll’d, Might to the foe be left; to Nestor then Idomeneus address’d his speech, and said: “O Nestor, son of Neleus, pride of Greece, Haste thee to mount thy car, and with thee take Machaon; tow’rd the vessels urge with speed The flying steeds; worth many a life is his, The skilful leech, who knows, with practis’d hand, T’ extract the shaft, and healing drugs apply.” He said: Gerenian Nestor at the word Mounted his car, Machaon at his side, The skilful leech, sage Æsculapius’ son: He touch’d his horses; tow’rd the Grecian ships, As was his purpose, nothing loth, they flew. To Hector then Cebriones, who saw Confus’d the Trojans’ right, drew near, and said: “Hector, we here, on th’ outskirts of the field, O’erpow’r the Greeks; on th’ other side, our friends In strange confusion mingled, horse and man, Are driv’n; among them Ajax spreads dismay, The son of Telamon; I know him well, And the broad shield that o’er his shoulders hangs; Thither direct we then our car, where most In mutual slaughter horse and foot engage, And loudest swells, uncheck’d, the battle cry.” He said, and with the pliant lash he touch’d The sleek-skinn’d horses; springing at the sound, Between the Greeks and Trojans, light they bore The flying car, o’er bodies of the slain And broken bucklers trampling; all beneath Was plash’d with blood the axle, and the rails Around the car, as from the horses’ feet, And from the felloes of the wheels, were thrown The bloody gouts; yet on he sped, to join The strife of men, and break th’ opposing ranks. His coming spread confusion ’mid the Greeks, His spear awhile withheld; then through the rest, With sword, and spear, and pond’rous stones he rush’d, But shunn’d the might of Ajax Telamon. But Jove, high thron’d, the soul of Ajax fill’d With fear; aghast he stood; his sev’nfold shield He threw behind his back, and, trembling, gaz’d Upon the crowd; then, like some beast of prey, Foot slowly following foot, reluctant turn’d. As when the rustic youths and dogs have driv’n A tawny lion from the cattle fold, Watching all night, and baulk’d him of his prey; Rav’ning for flesh, he still th’ attempt renews, But still in vain: for many a jav’lin, hurl’d By vig’rous arms, confronts him to his face, And blazing faggots, that his courage daunt; Till, with the dawn, reluctant he retreat: So from before the Trojans Ajax turn’d, Reluctant, fearing for the ships of Greece. As near a field of corn, a stubborn ass, Upon whose sides had many a club been broke, O’erpow’rs his boyish guides, and ent’ring in, On the rich forage grazes; while the boys Their cudgels ply, but vain their puny strength, Yet drive him out, when fully fed, with ease: Ev’n so great Ajax, son of Telamon, The valiant Trojans and their fam’d Allies, Still thrusting at his shield, before them drove: Yet would he sometimes, rallying, hold in check The Trojan host; then turn again to flight, Yet barring still the passage to the ships. Midway between the Trojans and the Greeks He stood defiant; many jav’lins, hurl’d By vig’rous arms, were in their flight receiv’d On his broad shield; and many, ere they reach’d Their living mark, fell midway on the plain, Fix’d in the ground, in vain athirst for blood. Him thus, hard press’d by thick-thrown spears, beheld Eurypylus, Euaemon’s noble son. He hasten’d up, and aim’d his glitt’ring spear; And Apisaon, Phausias’ noble son, Below the midriff through the liver struck, And straight relax’d in sudden death his limbs. Forth sprang Eurypylus to seize the spoils: But godlike Paris saw, and as he stoop’d From Apisaon’s corpse to strip his arms, Against Eurypylus he bent his bow, And his right thigh transfix’d; the injur’d limb Disabling, in the wound the arrow broke. He ’mid his friends, escaping death, withdrew, And to the Greeks with piercing shout he call’d: “O friends, the chiefs and councillors of Greece, Turn yet again, and from the doom of death Great Ajax save, hard press’d by hostile spears: Scarce can I hope he may escape with life The desp’rate fight; yet bravely stand, and aid The mighty Ajax, son of Telamon.” Thus spoke the wounded hero: round him they With sloping shields and spears uplifted stood: Ajax to meet them came; and when he reach’d The friendly ranks, again he turn’d to bay. So rag’d, like blazing fire, the furious fight. Meanwhile the mares of Neleus, drench’d with sweat, Bore Nestor and Machaon from the field; Achilles saw, and mark’d them where he stood Upon his lofty vessel’s prow, and watch’d The grievous toil, the lamentable rout. Then on his friend Patroclus from the ship He call’d aloud; he heard his voice, and forth, As Mars majestic, from the tent he came: (That day commenc’d his evil destiny) And thus Menoetius’ noble son began: “Why call’st thou me? what wouldst thou, Peleus’ son?” To whom Achilles, swift of foot, replied: “Son of Menoetius, dearest to my soul, Soon, must the suppliant Greeks before me kneel, So insupportable is now their need. But haste thee now, Patroclus, dear to Jove: Enquire of Nestor, from the battle field Whom brings he wounded: looking from behind Most like he seem’d to Æsculapius’ son, Machaon; but his face I could not see, So swiftly past the eager horses flew.” He said: obedient to his friend’s command, Quick to the tents and ships Patroclus ran. They, when they reach’d the tent of Neleus’ son, Descended to the ground; Eurymedon The old man’s mares unharness’d from the car, While on the beach they fac’d the cooling breeze, Which from their garments dried the sweat; then turn’d, And in the tent on easy seats repos’d. For them the fair-hair’d Hecamede mix’d A cordial potion; her from Tenedos, When by Achilles ta’en, the old man brought; Daughter of great Arsinous, whom the Greeks On him, their sagest councillor, bestow’d. Before them first a table fair she spread, Well polish’d, and with feet of solid bronze; On this a brazen canister she plac’d, And onions, as a relish to the wine, And pale clear honey, and pure barley meal: By these a splendid goblet, which from home Th’ old man had brought, with golden studs adorn’d: Four were its handles, and round each two doves Appear’d to feed; at either end, a cup. Scarce might another move it from the board, When full; but aged Nestor rais’d with ease. In this, their goddess-like attendant first A gen’rous measure mix’d of Pramnian wine: Then with a brazen grater shredded o’er The goatsmilk cheese, and whitest barley meal, And of the draught compounded bade them drink. They drank, and then, reliev’d the parching thirst, With mutual converse entertain’d the hour. Before the gate divine Patroclus stood: The old man saw, and from his seat arose, And took him by the hand, and led him in, And bade him sit; but he, refusing, said: “No seat for me, thou venerable sire! I must not stay; for he both awe and fear Commands, who hither sent me to enquire What wounded man thou hast; I need not ask, I know Machaon well, his people’s guard. My errand done, I must my message bear Back to Achilles; and thou know’st thyself, Thou venerable sire, how stern his mood: Nay sometimes blames he, where no blame is due.” To whom Gerenian Nestor thus replied: “Whence comes Achilles’ pity for the Greeks By Trojan weapons wounded? knows he not What depth of suff’ring through the camp prevails? How in the ships, by arrow or by spear Sore wounded, all our best and bravest lie? The valiant son of Tydeus, Diomed, Pierc’d by a shaft; Ulysses by a spear, And Agamemnon’s self; Eurypylus By a sharp arrow through the thigh transfix’d; And here another, whom but now I bring, Shot by a bow, from off the battle field: Achilles, valiant as he is, the while For Grecian woes nor care nor pity feels. Waits he, until our ships beside the sea, In our despite, are burnt by hostile fires, And we be singly slain? not mine is now The strength I boasted once of active limbs. O that such youth and vigour yet were mine, As when about a cattle-lifting raid We fought th’ Eleans; there Itymoneus I slew, the son of brave Hyperochus, Who dwelt in Elis; and my booty drove. He sought to guard the herd; but from my hand A jav’lin struck him in the foremost ranks: He fell, and terror seiz’d the rustic crowd. Abundant store of plunder from the plain We drove: of horned cattle fifty herds; As many flocks of sheep, as many droves Of swine, as many wide-spread herds of goats, And thrice so many golden-chesnut mares, The foals of many running with their dams. To Pylos, Neleus’ city, these we drove By night; and much it gladden’d Neleus’ heart, That I, though new to war, such prize had won. When morn appear’d, the clear-voic’d heralds call’d For all to whom from Elis debts were due; Collected thus, the Pylians’ leading men Division made: for Elis ow’d us much; Such wrongs we few in Pylos had sustain’d. The might of Hercules in former years Had storm’d our town, and all our bravest slain. Twelve gallant sons had Neleus; I of these Alone was left; the others all were gone. Whence over-proud, th’ Epeians treated us With insult, and high-handed violence. A herd of oxen now, and num’rous flock Of sheep, th’ old man selected for himself, Three hundred, with their shepherds; for to him Large compensation was from Elis due. Train’d to the course, four horses, with their cars, He for the Tripod at th’ Elean games Had sent to run; these Augeas, King of men, Detain’d, and bade the drivers home return, Bootless, and grieving for their horses’ loss. Th’ old man his words resenting, and his acts, Large spoils retain’d; the rest among the crowd He shar’d, that none might lose his portion due. These we dispos’d of soon, and to the Gods Due off’rings made; but when the third day rose, Back in all haste, in numbers, horse and foot, Our foes return’d; with, them the Molion twins, Yet boys, untutor’d in the arts of war. Far off, by Alpheus’ banks, th’ extremest verge Of sandy Pylos, is a lofty mound, The city of Thryum; which around, intent To raze its walls, their army was encamp’d. The plain already they had overspread; When Pallas from Olympus’ heights came down In haste, and bade us all prepare for war. On no unwilling ears her message fell, But eager all for fight; but me, to arm Neleus forbade, and e’en my horses hid, Deeming me yet unripe for deeds of war. Yet so, albeit on foot, by Pallas’ grace A name I gain’d above our noblest horse. There is a river, Minyis by name, Hard by Arene, flowing to the sea, Where we, the Pylian horse, expecting morn, Encamp’d, by troops of footmen quickly join’d. Thence in all haste advancing, all in arms, We reach’d, by midday, Alpheus’ sacred stream. There, to o’erruling Jove our off’rings made, To Alpheus and to Neptune each a bull, To Pallas, blue-ey’d Maid, a heifer fair, In order’d ranks we took our ev’ning meal, And each in arms upon the river’s brink Lay down to rest; for close beside us lay Th’ Epeians, on the town’s destruction bent. Then saw they mighty deeds of war display’d; For we, as sunlight overspread the earth, To Jove and Pallas praying, battle gave. But when the Pylians and th’ Epeians met, I first a warrior slew, and seiz’d his car, Bold spearman, Mulius; Augeas’ son-in-law, His eldest daughter’s husband, Agamede, The yellow-hair’d, who all the virtues knew Of each medicinal herb the wide world grows. Him, with my brass-tipp’d spear, as on he came, I slew; he fell; I, rushing to his car, Stood ’mid the foremost ranks; th’ Epeians brave Fled diverse, when they saw their champion fall, Chief of their horsemen, foremost in the fight. With the dark whirlwind’s force, I onward rush’d, And fifty cars I took; two men in each Fell to my spear, and bit the bloody dust. Then Actor’s sons, the Molions, had I slain, Had not th’ Earth-shaking God, their mighty sire, Veil’d in thick cloud, withdrawn them from the field; Then Jove great glory to the Pylians gave. For o’er the wide-spread plain we held pursuit, Slaying, and gath’ring up the scatter’d arms, Nor till corn-clad Buprasium, and the rock Olenian, and Alesium, term’d the Mound, Stay’d we our steeds; there Pallas bade us turn. There the last man I slew, and left; the Greeks Back from Buprasium drove their flying cars To Pylos, magnifying all the name, ’Mid men, of Nestor, as ’mid Gods, of Jove. Such once was I ’mid men, while yet I was; Now to himself alone Achilles keeps His valour; yet hereafter, when the Greeks Have perish’d all, remorse shall touch his soul. Dear friend, remember now th’ injunctions giv’n By old Menoetius, when from Phthian land He sent thee forth to Agamemnon’s aid: I, and Laertes’ godlike son, within, Heard all his counsel; to the well-built house Of Peleus we on embassy had come, Throughout Achaia’s fertile lands to raise The means of war; Menoetius there we found, Achilles, and thyself within the house; While in the court-yard aged Peleus slew, And to the Lord of thunder offer’d up A fatten’d steer; and from a golden bowl O’er the burnt-off’ring pour’d the ruddy wine. We two, while ye were busied with the flesh, Stood at the gate; surpris’d, Achilles rose, And took us by the hand, and bade us sit, Dispensing all the hospitable rites. With food and wine recruited, I began My speech, and urg’d ye both to join the war: Nor were ye loth to go; much sage advice Your elders gave; old Peleus bade his son To aim at highest honours, and surpass His comrades all; Menoetius, Actor’s son, To thee this counsel gave: ‘My son,’ he said, ‘Achilles is by birth above thee far; Thou art in years the elder; he in strength Surpasses thee; do thou with prudent words And timely speech address him, and advise And guide him; he will, to his good, obey.’ “Such were the old man’s words; but thou hast let His counsel slip thy mem’ry; yet ev’n now Speak to Achilles thus, and stir his soul, If haply he will hear thee; and who knows But by the grace of Heav’n thou mayst prevail? For great is oft a friend’s persuasive pow’r. But if the fear of evil prophesied, Or message by his Goddess-mother brought From Jove, restrain him, let him send thee forth With all his force of warlike Myrmidons, That thou mayst be the saving light of Greece. Then let him bid thee to the battle bear His glitt’ring arms; if so the men of Troy, Scar’d by his likeness, may forsake the field, And breathing-time afford the sons of Greece, Toil-worn; for little pause has yet been theirs. Fresh and unwearied, ye with ease may drive To their own city, from our ships and tents, The Trojans, worn and battle-wearied men.” Thus he; Patroclus’ spirit within him burn’d, And tow’rd Achilles’ tent in haste he sped. But, running, as Ulysses’ ship he pass’d, Where was the Council and the Justice-seat, And where were built the altars of the Gods, There met him, halting from the battle-field, Shot through the thigh, Euaemon’s Heav’n-born son, Eurypylus; his head and shoulders dank With clammy sweat, while from his grievous wound Stream’d the dark blood; yet firm was still his soul. Menoetius’ noble son with pity saw, And deeply sorrowing thus address’d the chief: “Woe for the chiefs and councillors of Greece! And must ye, far from friends and native home, Glut with your flesh the rav’ning dogs of Troy? Yet tell me this, Heav’n-born Eurypylus; Still do the Greeks ’gainst Hector’s giant force Make head? or fall they, vanquish’d by his spear?” To whom with prudent speech, Eurypylus: “No source, Heav’n-born Patroclus, have the Greeks, Of aid, but all must perish by their ships: For in the ships lie all our bravest late, By spear or arrow struck, by Trojan hands; And fiercer, hour by hour, their onset grows. But save me now, and lead me to the ships; There cut the arrow out, and from the wound With tepid water cleanse the clotted blood: Then soothing drugs apply, of healing pow’r, Which from Achilles, thou, ’tis said, hast learn’d, From Chiron, justest of the Centaurs, he. For Podalirius and Machaon both, Our leeches, one lies wounded in the tents, Himself requiring sore the leech’s aid; The other on the plain still dares the fight.” To whom again Menoetius’ noble son: “How may this be? say, brave Eurypylus, What must I do? a messenger am I, Sent by Gerenian Nestor, prop of Greece, With tidings to Achilles; yet ev’n so I will not leave thee in this weary plight.” He said, and passing his supporting hand Beneath his breast, the wounded warrior led Within the tent; th’ attendant saw, and spread The ox-hide couch; then as he lay reclin’d, Patroclus, with his dagger, from the thigh Cut out the biting shaft; and from the wound With tepid water cleans’d the clotted blood; Then, pounded in his hands, a root applied Astringent, anodyne, which all his pain Allay’d; the wound was dried, and stanch’d the blood. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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