Back Aa

Iliad of Homer, Rendered into English Blank Verse

<h3>ARGUMENT.</h3> THE SIXTH BATTLE; THE ACTS AND DEATH OF PATROCLUS. Patroclus (in pursuance of the request of Nestor in the eleventh book) entreats Achilles to suffer him to go to the assistance of the Greeks with Achilles’ troops and armour. He agrees to it, but at the same time charges him to content himself with rescuing the fleet, without farther pursuit of the enemy. The armour, horses, soldiers, and officers of Achilles are described. Achilles offers a libation for the success of his friend, after which Patroclus leads the Myrmidons to battle. The Trojans, at the sight of Patroclus in Achilles’ armour, taking him for that hero, are cast into the utmost consternation: he beats them off from the vessels, Hector himself flies, Sarpedon is killed, though Jupiter was averse to his fate. Several other particulars of the battle are described; in the heat of which, Patroclus, neglecting the orders of Achilles, pursues the foe to the walls of Troy; where Apollo repulses and disarms him, Euphorbus wounds him, and Hector kills him: which concludes the book. <h2>BOOK XVI.</h2> Thus round the well-mann’d ship they wag’d the war: Meanwhile by Peleus’ son Patroclus stood, Weeping hot tears; as some dark-water’d fount Pours o’er a craggy rock its gloomy stream; Achilles, swift of foot, with pity saw, And to his friend these winged words address’d: “Why weeps Patroclus, like an infant girl, That prays her mother, by whose side she runs, To take her up; and, clinging to her gown, Impedes her way, and still with tearful eyes Looks in her face, until she take her up? Ev’n as that girl, Patroclus, such art thou, Shedding soft tears: hast thou some tidings brought Touching the gen’ral weal, or me alone? Or have some evil news from Phthia come, Known but to thee? Menoetius, Actor’s son, Yet surely lives; and ’mid his Myrmidons Lives aged Peleus, son of Æacus: Their deaths indeed might well demand our tears: Or weep’st thou for the Greeks, who round their ships By death their former insolence repay? Speak out, that I may know thy cause of grief.” To whom, with bitter groans, Patroclus thus: “O son of Peleus, noblest of the Greeks, Achilles, be not wroth! such weight of woe The Grecian camp oppresses; in their ships They who were late their bravest and their best, Sore wounded all by spear or arrow 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; For these, the large resources of their art The leeches ply, and on their wounds attend; While thou, Achilles, still remain’st unmov’d. Oh, be it never mine to nurse such hate As thou retain’st, inflexibly severe! Who e’er may hope in future days by thee To profit, if thou now forbear to save The Greeks from shame and loss? Unfeeling man! Sure Peleus, horseman brave, was ne’er thy sire, Nor Thetis bore thee; from the cold grey sea And craggy rocks thou hadst thy birth; so hard And stubborn is thy soul. But if the fear Of evil prophesied thyself restrain, Or message by thy Goddess-mother brought From Jove, yet send me forth with all thy force Of Myrmidons, to be the saving light Of Greece; and let me to the battle bear Thy glitt’ring arms, if so the men of Troy, Scar’d by thy 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, we may drive with ease To their own city, from our ships and tents, The Trojans, worn and battle-wearied men.” Thus pray’d he, all unwisely; for the pray’r He utter’d, to himself was fraught with death; To whom, much griev’d, Achilles, swift of foot: “Heav’n-born Patroclus, oh, what words are these! Of prophecy I reck not, though I know; Nor message hath my mother brought from Jove; But it afflicts my soul; when one I see That basely robs his equal of his prize, His lawful prize, by highest valour won; Such grief is mine, such wrong have I sustain’d. Her, whom the sons of Greece on me bestow’d, Prize of my spear, the well-wall’d city storm’d, The mighty Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, Hath borne by force away, as from the hands Of some dishonour’d, houseless vagabond. But let the past be past; I never meant My wrath should have no end; yet had not thought My anger to abate, till my own ships Should hear the war-cry, and the battle bear, But go, and in my well-known armour clad, Lead forth the valiant Myrmidons to war, Since the dark cloud of Trojans circles round The ships in force; and on the shingly beach, Pent up in narrow limits, lie the Greeks; And all the city hath pour’d its numbers forth In hope undoubting; for they see no more My helm among them flashing; else in flight Their dead would choke the streams, if but to me Great Agamemnon bore a kindly mind: But round the camp the battle now is wag’d. No more the hands of valiant Diomed, The Greeks protecting, hurl his fiery spear; Nor hear I now, from his detested lips, The shout of Agamemnon; all around Is heard the warrior-slayer Hector’s voice, Cheering his Trojans; with triumphant cries They, from the vanquish’d Greeks, hold all the plain. Nathless do thou, Patroclus, in defence Fall boldly on, lest they with blazing fire Our ships destroy, and hinder our retreat. But hear, and ponder well the end of all I have to say, and so for me obtain Honour and glory in the eyes of Greece; And that the beauteous maiden to my arms They may restore, with costly gifts to boot. The ships reliev’d, return forthwith; and though The Thund’rer, Juno’s Lord, should crown thine arms With triumph, be not rash, apart from me, In combat with the warlike sons of Troy; (So should my name in less repute be held;) Nor, in the keen excitement of the fight And slaughter of the Trojans, lead thy troops On tow’rd the city, lest thou find thyself By some one of th’ immortal Gods oppos’d; For the far-darting Phoebus loves them well; But when in safety thou hast plac’d the ships, Delay not to return, and leave the rest To battle on the plain: for would to Jove, To Pallas and Apollo, that not one, Or Greek or Trojan, might escape from death, Save only thou and I; that so we two Alone might raze the sacred tow’rs of Troy.” Such converse held they; while by hostile spears Hard press’d, no longer Ajax might endure; At once by Jove’s high will and Trojan foes O’ermaster’d; loud beneath repeated blows Clatter’d around his brow the glitt’ring helm, As on the well-wrought crest the weapons fell; And his left arm grew faint, that long had borne The burthen of his shield; yet nought avail’d The press of spears to drive him from his post; Lab’ring he drew his breath, his ev’ry limb With sweat was reeking; breathing space was none; Blow follow’d blow; and ills were heap’d on ill. Say now, ye Nine, who on Olympus dwell, How first the fire assail’d the Grecian ships. Hector approach’d, and on the ashen spear Of Ajax, close behind the head, let fall His mighty sword; right through he clove the wood; And in his hand the son of Telamon The headless shaft held bootless; far away, Loud ringing, fell to earth the brazen point. Ajax, dismayed, perceived the hand of Heaven, And knew that Jove the Thunderer had decreed To thwart his hopes, and victory give to Troy. Slow he retir’d; and to the vessel they The blazing torch applied; high rose the flame Unquenchable, and wrapp’d the poop in fire. The son of Peleus saw, and with his palm Smote on his thigh, and to Patroclus call’d: “Up, nobly born Patroclus, car-borne chief! Up, for I see above the ships ascend The hostile fires; and lest they seize the ships, And hinder our retreat, do thou in haste Thine armour don, while I arouse the troops.” He said: his dazzling arms Patroclus donn’d: First on his legs the well-wrought greaves he fix’d, Fasten’d with silver clasps; his ample chest The breastplate of Achilles, swift of foot, Star-spangled, richly wrought, defended well; Around his shoulders slung, his sword he bore, Brass-bladed, silver-studded; next his shield Weighty and strong; and on his firm-set head A helm he wore, well-wrought, with horsehair plume That nodded, fearful, o’er his brow; his hand Grasp’d two stout spears, familiar to his hold. One spear Achilles had, long, pond’rous, tough; But this he touch’d not; none of all the Greeks, None, save Achilles’ self, that spear could poise; The far-fam’d Pelian ash, which to his sire, On Pelion’s summit fell’d, to be the bane Of mightiest chiefs, the Centaur Chiron gave. Then to Automedon he gave command To yoke the horses: him he honour’d most, Next to Achilles’ self; the trustiest he In battle to await his chief’s behest. The flying steeds he harness’d to the car, Xanthus and Balius, fleeter than the winds; Whom, grazing in the marsh by ocean’s stream, Podarge, swift of foot, to Zephyr bore: And by their side the matchless Pedasus, Whom from the capture of Eetion’s town Achilles bore away; a mortal horse, But with immortal coursers meet to vie. Meantime Achilles, through their several tents, Summon’d to arms the warlike Myrmidons. They all, like rav’ning wolves, of courage high, That on the mountain side have hunted down An antler’d stag, and batten’d on his flesh: Their chaps all dyed with blood, in troops they go, With their lean tongues from some black-water’d fount To lap the surface of the dark cool wave, Their jaws with blood yet reeking, unsubdued Their courage, and their bellies gorg’d with flesh; So round Pelides’ valiant follower throng’d The chiefs and rulers of the Myrmidons. Achilles in the midst to charioteers And buckler’d warriors issued his commands. Fifty swift ships Achilles, dear to Jove, Led to the coast of Troy; and rang’d in each Fifty brave comrades mann’d the rowers’ seats. O’er these five chiefs, on whom he most relied, He plac’d, himself the Sov’reign Lord of all. One band Menestheus led, with glancing mail, Son of Sperchius, Heav’n-descended stream; Him Peleus’ daughter, Polydora fair, A mortal in a God’s embrace compress’d, To stout Sperchius bore; but, by repute, To Boras, Perieres’ son, who her In public, and with ample dow’r, espous’d. The brave Eudorus led the second band, Whom Phylas’ daughter, Polymele fair, To Hermes bore; the maid he saw, and lov’d, Amid the virgins, mingling in the dance Of golden-shafted Dian, Huntress-Queen; He to her chamber access found, and gain’d By stealth her bed; a valiant son she bore, Eudorus, swift of foot, in battle strong. But when her infant, by Lucina’s aid, Was brought to light, and saw the face of day, Her to his home, with ample dow’r enrich’d, Echecles, son of Actor, bore away; While him the aged Phylas kept, and nurs’d With tender care, and cherish’d—as his own. The brave Peisander, son of Maemalus, The third commanded; of the Myrmidons, Next to Pelides’ friend, the noblest spear. The fourth, the aged warrior Phoenix led; The fifth, Alcimedon, Laerces’ son: These in their order due Achilles first Array’d, and next with stirring words address’d: “Ye Myrmidons, forget not now the vaunts Which, while my wrath endur’d, ye largely pour’d Upon the Trojans; me ye freely blam’d; ‘Ill-omen’d son of Peleus, sure in wrath Thou wast conceiv’d, implacable, who here In idleness enforc’d thy comrades keep’st! ’Twere better far our homeward way to take, If such pernicious rancour fill thy soul!’ Thus ye reproach’d me oft! Lo! now ye have The great occasion which your souls desir’d! Then on, and with brave hearts the Trojans meet!” His words fresh courage rous’d in ev’ry breast, And more compact, beneath their monarch’s eye, Their ranks were form’d; as when the builder lays The closely-fitting stones, to form the wall Of some great house, and brave the winds of Heav’n; So close were fitted helm and bossy shield; Buckler on buckler press’d, and helm on helm, And man on man; the horsehair plumes above, That nodded, fearful, from the warriors’ brows, Each other touch’d; so closely mass’d they stood. Before them all stood prominent in arms Two chiefs, Patroclus and Automedon, Both with one thought possess’d, to lead the fight In the fore-front of all the Myrmidons. Achilles then within his tent withdrew, And of a gorgeous coffer rais’d the lid, Well-wrought, by silver-footed Thetis plac’d On board his ship, and fill’d with rich attire, With store of wind-proof cloaks, and carpets soft. There lay a goblet, richly chas’d, whence none, But he alone, might drink the ruddy wine, Nor might libations thence to other Gods Be made, save only Jove: this brought he forth, And first with sulphur purified, and next Wash’d with pure water; then his hands he wash’d, And drew the ruddy wine; then standing forth Made in the centre of the court his pray’r, And as he pour’d the wine, look’d up to Heav’n, Not unbeheld of Jove, the lightning’s Lord: “Great King, Dodona’s Lord, Pelasgian Jove, Who dwell’st on high, and rul’st with sov’reign sway Dodona’s wintry heights; where dwell around Thy Sellian priests, men of unwashen feet, That on the bare ground sleep; thou once before Hast heard my pray’r, and me with honour crown’d, And on the Greeks inflicted all thy plagues; Hear yet again, and this my boon accord. I ’mid the throng of ships myself remain; But with a num’rous force of Myrmidons I send my comrade in my stead to fight: On him, all-seeing Jove, thy favour pour; Strengthen his heart, that Hector’s self may learn If, e’en alone, my follower knows to fight, Or only then resistless pow’r displays, When I myself the toil of battle share. And from our vessels when the foe is driv’n, Grant that with all his arms and comrades true He may in safety to the ships return.” Thus pray’d he; Jove, the Lord of counsel, heard, And half his pray’r he granted, half denied: For from the ships the battle to repel He granted; but denied his safe return. His pray’rs and off’rings ended, to the tent Achilles turn’d again, and in the chest Replac’d the cup; then issuing forth, he stood Before the tent; for much he long’d to see The Greeks and Trojans join in battle strife. They who in arms round brave Patroclus stood Their line of battle form’d, with courage high To dash upon the Trojans; and as wasps That have their nest beside the public road, Which boys delight to vex and irritate In wanton play, but to the gen’ral harm; Them if some passing trav’ller unawares Disturb, with angry courage forth they rush In one continuous swarm, to guard their nest: E’en with such courage pour’d the Myrmidons Forth from the ships; then uproar wild arose, And loud Patroclus on his comrades call’d: “Ye valiant Myrmidons, who boast yourselves Achilles’ comrades, quit ye now like men; Your ancient valour prove; to Peleus’ son, Of all the Greeks the noblest, so shall we, His faithful followers, highest honour give; And Agamemnon’s haughty self shall mourn The slight on Grecia’s bravest warrior cast.” His words fresh courage rous’d in ev’ry breast. Thick on the Trojan host their masses fell; While loud the fleet re-echoed to the sound Of Grecian cheers; but when the Trojans saw, Blazing in arms, Menoetius’ godlike son, Himself, and follower; quail’d the spirits of all; Their firm-set ranks were shaken; for they deem’d Achilles had beside the ships exchang’d His wrath for friendship; and each sev’ral man Look’d round, to find his own escape from death. Then first Patroclus aim’d his glitt’ring spear Amid the crowd, where thickest round the ships Of brave Protesilaus, raged the war; And struck Pyraechmes, who from Amydon, From the wide-flowing stream of Axius, led The horsehair-crested Paeons; him he struck Through the right shoulder; backwards in the dust Groaning, he fell; around him quail’d with fear His Paeons all, such terror in their ranks Patroclus threw, their bravest leader slain, The foremost in the fight; the crowd he drove Far from the ships, and quench’d the blazing fire. There lay the half-burnt ship; with shouts confus’d The Trojans fled; and from amid the ships Forth pour’d the Greeks; and loud the clamour rose. As when around a lofty mountain’s top The lightning’s Lord dispels a mass of cloud, And ev’ry crag, and ev’ry jutting peak Is plainly seen, and ev’ry forest glade; And the deep vault of Heav’n is open’d wide; So when the Greeks had clear’d the ships of fire, They breath’d awhile; yet ceas’d not so the strife; For not in headlong panic from the ships The Trojans by the valiant Greeks were driv’n, But, though perforce retiring, still made head. Then of the chiefs, as wider spread the fight, Each singled each; Menoetius’ noble son First threw his pointed spear, and on the thigh Struck Areilochus, in act to turn; Right through the point was driv’n; the weighty spear Shatter’d the bone, and prone to earth he fell. The warlike Menelaus aim’d his spear Where Thoas’ breast, unguarded by his shield, Was left expos’d; and slack’d his limbs in death. Phyleus’ brave son, as rush’d Amphiclus on, Stood firm, with eye observant; then th’ attack Preventing, through his thigh, high up, where lie The strongest muscles, smote; the weapon’s point Sever’d the tendons; darkness clos’d his eyes. Of Nestor’s sons, Antilochus, the first, Atymnius wounded, driving through his flank He brazen spear; prone on his face he fell. Then, burning to avenge his brother’s death, Stood Maris o’er the corpse, and hand to hand Engaged Antilochus; but ere a blow Was struck, the godlike Thrasymedes drove Through his right shoulder, with unerring aim, His glitt’ring spear; the point his upper arm Tore from the muscles, shatt’ring all the bone: Thund’ring he fell, and darkness clos’d his eyes. So to the shades, by those two brethren’s hands Subdued, Sarpedon’s comrades brave were sent, The sons of Amisodarus, who rear’d The dread Chimaera, bane of mortal men. On Cleobulus, wounded in the press, Ajax Oileus sprang, and captive took, Alive; but sudden on his neck let fall His hilted sword, and quench’d the fire of life. The hot blood dyed the sword; the darkling shades Of death, and rig’rous fate, his eyes o’erspread. Then Peneleus and Lycon, hand to hand, Engag’d in combat; both had miss’d their aim, And bootless hurl’d their weapons; then with swords They met; first Lycon on the crested helm Dealt a fierce blow; but in his hand the blade Up to the hilt was shiver’d; then the sword Of Peneleus his neck, below the ear, Dissever’d; deeply in his throat the blade Was plung’d, and by the skin alone was stay’d; Down droop’d his head, his limbs relax’d in death. Meriones by speed of foot o’ertook, And, as his car he mounted, Acarnas Though the right shoulder pierc’d; down from the car He fell; the shades of death his eyes o’erspread. Full on the mouth of Erymas was thrust The weapon of Idomeneus; right through, The white bones crashing, pass’d the brazen spear Below the brain; his teeth were shatter’d all; With blood, which with convulsive sobs he blew From mouth and nostril, both his eyes were fill’d; And death’s dark cloud encompass’d him around. Thus slew the Grecian leaders each his man. As rav’ning wolves, that lambs or kids assail, Stray’d from their dams, by careless shepherds left Upon the mountain scatter’d; these they see, And tear at once their unresisting prey; So on the Trojans fell the Greeks; in rout Disastrous they, unmann’d by terror, fled. Great Ajax still, unwearied, long’d to hurl His spear at Hector of the brazen helm; But he, well skill’d in war, his shoulders broad Protected by his shield of tough bull’s hide, Watch’d for the whizzing shafts, and jav’lins’ whirr. Full well he knew the tide of battle turn’d, Yet held his ground, his trusty friends to save. As from Olympus, o’er the clear blue sky Pour the dark clouds, when Jove the vault of Heav’n O’erspreads with storm and tempest, from the ships So pour’d with panic cries the flying host, And in disorder’d rout recross’d the trench. Then Hector’s flying coursers bore him safe Far from the struggling masses, whom the ditch Detain’d perforce; there many a royal car With broken pole th’ unharness’d horses left. On, shouting to the Greeks, Patroclus press’d The flying Trojans; they, with panic cries, Dispers’d, the roads encumber’d; high uprose The storms of dust, as from the tents and ships Back to the city stretch’d the flying steeds; And ever where the densest throng appear’d With furious threats Patroclus urg’d his course; His glowing axle trac’d by prostrate men Hurl’d from their cars, and chariots overthrown. Flew o’er the deep-sunk trench th’ immortal steeds, The noble prize the Gods to Peleus gave, Still onward straining; for he long’d to reach, And hurl his spear at Hector; him meanwhile His flying steeds in safety bore away. As in th’ autumnal season, when the earth With weight of rain is saturate; when Jove Pours down his fiercest storms in wrath to men, Who in their courts unrighteous judgments pass, And justice yield to lawless violence, The wrath of Heav’n despising; ev’ry stream Is brimming o’er: the hills in gullies deep Are by the torrents seam’d, which, rushing down From the high mountains to the dark-blue sea, With groans and tumult urge their headlong course, Wasting the works of man; so urg’d their flight, So, as they fled, the Trojan horses groan’d. The foremost ranks cut off, back tow’rd the ships Patroclus drove them, baffling their attempts To gain the city; and in middle space Between the ships, the stream, and lofty wall, Dealt slaughter round him, and of many a chief The bitter penalty of death requir’d. Then Pronous with his glitt’ring spear he struck, Where by the shield his breast was left expos’d, And slack’d his limbs in death; thund’ring he fell. Next Thestor, son of Œnops, he assail’d; He on his polish’d car, down-crouching, sat, His mind by fear disorder’d; from his hands The reins had dropp’d; him, thrusting with the spear, Through the right cheek and through the teeth he smote, Then dragg’d him, by the weapon, o’er the rail. As when an angler on a prominent rock Drags from the sea to shore with hook and line A weighty fish; so him Patroclus dragg’d, Gaping, from off the car; and dash’d him down Upon his face; and life forsook his limbs. Next Eryalus, eager for the fray, On the mid forehead with a mighty stone He struck; beneath the pond’rous helmet’s weight The skull was split in twain; prostrate he fell, By life-consuming death encompass’d round. Forthwith Amphoterus, and Erymas, Epaltes, Echius, and Tlepolemus, Son of Damastor, Pyris, Ipheus brave, Euippus, Polymelus, Argeas’ son, In quick succession to the ground he brought. Sarpedon his ungirdled forces saw Promiscuous fall before Menoetius’ son, And to the Lycians call’d in loud reproof: “Shame, Lycians! whither fly ye? why this haste? I will myself this chief confront, and learn Who this may be of bearing proud and high, Who on the Trojans grievous harm hath wrought, And many a warrior’s limbs relax’d in death.” He said, and from his car, accoutred, sprang; Patroclus saw, and he too leap’d to earth. As on a lofty rock, with angry screams, Hook-beak’d, with talons curv’d, two vultures fight; So with loud shouts these two to battle rush’d. The son of Saturn pitying saw, and thus To Juno spoke, his sister and his wife: “Woe, woe! that fate decrees my best-belov’d, Sarpedon, by Patroclus’ hand to fall; E’en now conflicting thoughts my soul divide, To bear him from the fatal strife unhurt, And set him down on Lycia’s fertile plains, Or leave him by Patroclus’ hand to fall.” Whom, answer’d thus the stag-ey’d Queen of Heav’n: “What words, dread son of Saturn, dost thou speak? Wouldst thou a mortal man from death withdraw Long since by fate decreed? Do what thou wilt; Yet cannot we, the rest, applaud thine act. This too I say, and turn it in thy mind: If to his home Sarpedon thou restore Alive, bethink thee, will not other Gods Their sons too from the stubborn fight withdraw? For in the field around the walls of Troy Are many sons of Gods, in all of whom This act of thine will angry feelings rouse. But if thou love him, and thy soul deplore His coming doom, yet in the stubborn fight Leave him beneath Patroclus’ hand to fall: Then, when his spirit hath fled, the charge assign To Death and gentle Sleep, that in their arms They bear him safe to Lycia’s wide-spread plains: There shall his brethren and his friends perform His fun’ral rites, and mound and column raise, The fitting tribute to the mighty dead.” Thus she; the Sire of Gods and men complied: But to the ground some drops of blood let fall, In honour of his son, whom fate decreed, Far from his country, on the fertile plains Of Troy to perish by Patroclus’ hand. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

1 of 2

2 of 2

Update Required To play the media you will need to either update your browser to a recent version or update your Flash plugin.