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Iliad of Homer, Rendered into English Blank Verse

<h3>ARGUMENT.</h3> FUNERAL GAMES IN HONOUR OF PATROCLUS. Achilles and the Myrmidons do honour to the body of Patroclus. After the funeral feast he retires to the sea-shore, where, falling asleep, the ghost of his friend appears to him, and demands the rites of burial: the next morning the soldiers are sent with mules and waggons to fetch wood for the pyre. The funeral procession, and the offering their hair to the dead. Achilles sacrifices several animals, and lastly, twelve Trojan captives, at the pile; then sets fire to it. He pays libations to the winds, which (at the instance of Iris) rise, and raise the flame. When the pile has burned all night, they gather the bones, place them in an urn of gold, and raise the tomb. Achilles institutes the funeral games: the chariot-race, the fight of the caestus, the wrestling, the footrace, the single combat, the discus, the shooting with arrows, the darting the javelin: the various descriptions of which, and the various success of the several antagonists, make the greatest part of the book. In this book ends the thirtieth day: the night following, the ghost of Patroclus appears to Achilles: the one-and-thirtieth day is employed in felling the timber for the pile; the two-and-thirtieth in burning it; and the three-and-thirtieth in the games. The scene is generally on the sea-shore. <h2>BOOK XXIII.</h2> Thus they throughout the city made their moan; But when the Greeks had come where lay their ships By the broad Hellespont, their sev’ral ways They each pursu’d, dispersing; yet not so Achilles let his Myrmidons disperse, But thus his warlike comrades he address’d: “My faithful comrades, valiant Myrmidons, Loose we not yet our horses from the cars; But for Patroclus mourn, approaching near, With horse and car; such tribute claim the dead; Then, free indulgence to our sorrows giv’n, Loose we the steeds, and share the ev’ning meal.” He said; and they with mingled voices rais’d The solemn dirge; Achilles led the strain; Thrice round the dead they drove their sleek-skinn’d steeds, Mourning, with hearts by Thetis grief-inspir’d; With tears the sands, with tears the warriors’ arms, Were wet; so mighty was the chief they mourn’d. Then on his comrade’s breast Achilles laid His blood-stain’d hands, and thus began the wail: “All hail, Patroclus, though in Pluto’s realm; All that I promis’d, lo! I now perform; That on the corpse of Hector, hither dragg’d, Our dogs should feed; and that twelve noble youths, The sons of Troy, before thy fun’ral pyre, My hand, in vengeance for thy death, should slay.” He said, and foully Hector’s corpse misus’d, Flung prostrate in the dust, beside the couch Where lay Menoetius’ son. His comrades then Their glitt’ring armour doff’d, of polish’d brass, And loos’d their neighing steeds; then round the ship Of Peleus’ son in countless numbers sat, While he th’ abundant fun’ral feast dispens’d. There many a steer lay stretch’d beneath the knife, And many a sheep, and many a bleating goat, And many a white-tusk’d porker, rich in fat, There lay extended, singeing o’er the fire; And blood, in torrents, flow’d around the corpse. To Agamemnon then the Kings of Greece The royal son of Peleus, swift of foot, Conducted; yet with him they scarce prevail’d; So fierce his anger for his comrade’s death. But when to Agamemnon’s tent they came, He to the clear-voic’d heralds gave command An ample tripod on the fire to place; If haply Peleus’ son he might persuade To wash away the bloody stains of war: But sternly he, and with an oath refus’d. “No, by great Jove I swear, of all the Gods Highest and mightiest, water shall not touch This head of mine, till on the fun’ral pyre I see the body of Patroclus laid, And build his tomb, and cut my votive hair; For while I live and move ’mid mortal men, No second grief like this can pierce my soul. Observe we now the mournful fun’ral feast; But thou, great Agamemnon, King of men, Send forth at early dawn, and to the camp Bring store of fuel, and all else prepare, That with provision meet the dead may pass Down to the realms of night; so shall the fire From out our sight consume our mighty dead, And to their wonted tasks the troops return.” He said; they listen’d, and his words obey’d; Then busily the ev’ning meal prepar’d, And shar’d the social feast; nor lack’d there aught. The rage of thirst and hunger satisfied, Each to their sev’ral tents the rest repair’d; But on the many-dashing ocean’s shore Pelides lay, amid his Myrmidons, With bitter groans; in a clear space he lay, Where broke the waves, continuous, on the beach. There, circumfus’d around him, gentle sleep, Lulling the sorrows of his heart to rest, O’ercame his senses; for the hot pursuit Of Hector round the breezy heights of Troy His active limbs had wearied: as he slept, Sudden appear’d Patroclus’ mournful shade, His very self; his height, and beauteous eyes, And voice; the very garb he wont to wear: Above his head it stood, and thus it spoke: “Sleep’st thou, Achilles, mindless of thy friend, Neglecting, not the living, but the dead? Hasten my fun’ral rites, that I may pass Through Hades’ gloomy gates; ere those be done, The spirits and spectres of departed men Drive me far from them, nor allow to cross Th’ abhorred river; but forlorn and sad I wander through the wide-spread realms of night. And give me now thy hand, whereon to weep; For never more, when laid upon the pyre, Shall I return from Hades; never more, Apart from all our comrades, shall we two, As friends, sweet counsel take; for me, stern Death, The common lot of man, has op’d his mouth; Thou too, Achilles, rival of the Gods, Art destin’d here beneath the walls of Troy To meet thy doom; yet one thing must I add, And make, if thou wilt grant it, one request. Let not my bones be laid apart from thine, Achilles, but together, as our youth Was spent together in thy father’s house, Since first my sire Menoetius me a boy From Opus brought, a luckless homicide, Who of Amphidamas, by evil chance, Had slain the son, disputing o’er the dice: Me noble Peleus in his house receiv’d, And kindly nurs’d, and thine attendant nam’d; So in one urn be now our bones enclos’d, The golden vase, thy Goddess-mother’s gift.” Whom answer’d thus Achilles, swift of foot: “Why art thou here, lov’d being? why on me These sev’ral charges lay? whate’er thou bidd’st Will I perform, and all thy mind fulfil; But draw thou near; and in one short embrace, Let us, while yet we may, our grief indulge.” Thus as he spoke, he spread his longing arms, But nought he clasp’d; and with a wailing cry, Vanish’d, like smoke, the spirit beneath the earth. Up sprang Achilles, all amaz’d, and smote His hands together, and lamenting cried: “O Heav’n, there are then, in the realms below, Spirits and spectres, unsubstantial all; For through the night Patroclus’ shade hath stood, Weeping and wailing, at my side, and told His bidding; th’ image of himself it seem’d.” He said; his words the gen’ral grief arous’d: To them, as round the piteous dead they mourn’d, Appear’d the rosy-finger’d morn; and straight, From all the camp, by Agamemnon sent, Went forth, in search of fuel, men and mules, Led by a valiant chief, Meriones, The follower of renown’d Idomeneus. Their felling axes in their hands they bore, And twisted ropes; their mules before them driv’n; Now up, now down, now sideways, now aslope, They journey’d on; but when they reach’d the foot Of spring-abounding Ida, they began With axes keen to hew the lofty oaks; They, loudly crashing, fell: the wood they clove, And bound it to the mules; these took their way Through the thick brushwood, hurrying to the plain. The axe-men too, so bade Meriones, The follower of renown’d Idomeneus, Were laden all with logs, which on the beach They laid in order, where a lofty mound, In mem’ry of Patroclus and himself, Achilles had design’d. When all the store Of wood was duly laid, the rest remain’d In masses seated; but Achilles bade The warlike Myrmidons their armour don, And harness each his horses to his car; They rose and donn’d their arms, and on the cars Warriors and charioteers their places took. First came the horse, and then a cloud of foot, Unnumber’d; in the midst Patroclus came, Borne by his comrades; all the corpse with hair They cover’d o’er, which from their heads they shore. Behind, Achilles held his head, and mourn’d The noble friend whom to the tomb he bore. Then on the spot by Peleus’ son assign’d, They laid him down, and pil’d the wood on high. Then a fresh thought Achilles’ mind conceiv’d: Standing apart, the yellow locks he shore, Which as an off’ring to Sperchius’ stream, He nurs’d in rich profusion; sorrowing then Look’d o’er the dark-blue sea, as thus he spoke: “Sperchius, all in vain to thee his pray’r My father Peleus made, and vow’d that I, Return’d in safety to my native land, To thee should dedicate my hair, and pay A solemn hecatomb, with sacrifice Of fifty rams, unblemish’d, to the springs Where on thy consecrated soil is plac’d Thine incense-honour’d altar; so he vow’d; But thou the boon withhold’st; since I no more My native land may see, the hair he vow’d, To brave Patroclus thus I dedicate.” He said, and on his comrade’s hand he laid The locks; his act the gen’ral grief arous’d; And now the setting sun had found them still Indulging o’er the dead; but Peleus’ son Approaching, thus to Agamemnon spoke: “Atrides, for to thee the people pay Readiest obedience, mourning too prolong’d May weary; thou then from the pyre the rest Disperse, and bid prepare the morning meal; Ours be the farther charge, to whom the dead Was chiefly dear; yet let the chiefs remain.” The monarch Agamemnon heard, and straight Dispers’d the crowd amid their sev’ral ships. Th’ appointed band remain’d, and pil’d the wood. A hundred feet each way they built the pyre, And on the summit, sorrowing, laid the dead. Then many a sheep and many a slow-paced ox They flay’d and dress’d around the fun’ral pyre; Of all the beasts Achilles took the fat, And cover’d o’er the corpse from head to foot, And heap’d the slaughter’d carcases around; Then jars of honey plac’d, and fragrant oils, Resting upon the couch; next, groaning loud, Four pow’rful horses on the pyre he threw; Then, of nine dogs that at their master’s board Had fed, he slaughter’d two upon his pyre; Last, with the sword, by evil counsel sway’d, Twelve noble youths he slew, the sons of Troy. The fire’s devouring might he then applied, And, groaning, on his lov’d companion call’d: “All hail, Patroclus, though in Pluto’s realm! All that I promis’d, lo! I now perform: On twelve brave sons of Trojan sires, with thee, The flames shall feed; but Hector, Priam’s son, Not to the fire, but to the dogs I give.” Such was Achilles’ threat, but him the dogs Molested not; for Venus, night and day Daughter of Jove, the rav’ning dogs restrain’d; And all the corpse o’erlaid with roseate oil, Ambrosial, that though dragg’d along the earth, The noble dead might not receive a wound. Apollo too a cloudy veil from Heav’n Spread o’er the plain, and cover’d all the space Where lay the dead, nor let the blazing sun The flesh upon his limbs and muscles parch. Yet burnt not up Patroclus’ fun’ral pyre; Then a fresh thought Achilles’ mind conceiv’d: Standing apart, on both the Winds he call’d, Boreas and Zephyrus, and added vows Of costly sacrifice; and pouring forth Libations from a golden goblet, pray’d Their presence, that the wood might haste to burn, And with the fire consume the dead; his pray’r Swift Iris heard, and bore it to the Winds. They in the hall of gusty Zephyrus Were gather’d round the feast; in haste appearing, Swift Iris on the stony threshold stood. They saw, and rising all, besought her each To sit beside him; she with their requests Refus’d compliance, and address’d them thus: “No seat for me; for I o’er th’ ocean stream From hence am bound to Æthiopia’s shore, To share the sacred feast, and hecatombs, Which there they offer to th’ immortal Gods; But, Boreas, thee, and loud-voic’d Zephyrus, With vows of sacrifice, Achilles calls To fan the fun’ral pyre, whereon is laid Patroclus, mourn’d by all the host of Greece.” She said, and vanish’d; they, with rushing sound, Rose, and before them drove the hurrying clouds: Soon o’er the sea they swept; the stirring breeze Ruffled the waves; the fertile shores of Troy They reach’d, and falling on the fun’ral pyre, Loud roar’d the crackling flames; they all night long With current brisk together fann’d the fire. All night Achilles from a golden bowl Drew forth, and, in his hand a double cup, The wine outpouring, moisten’d all the earth, Still calling on his lost Patroclus’ shade. As mourns a father o’er a youthful son, Whose early death hath wrung his parents’ hearts; So mourn’d Achilles o’er his friend’s remains, Prostrate beside the pyre, and groan’d aloud. But when the star of Lucifer appear’d, The harbinger of light, whom following close Spreads o’er the sea the saffron-robed morn, Then pal’d the smould’ring fire, and sank the flame; And o’er the Thracian sea, that groan’d and heav’d Beneath their passage, home the Winds return’d; And weary, from the pyre a space withdrawn, Achilles lay, o’ercome by gentle sleep. Anon, awaken’d by the tramp and din Of crowds that follow’d Atreus’ royal son, He sat upright, and thus address’d his speech: “Thou son of Atreus, and ye chiefs of Greece, Far as the flames extended, quench we first With ruddy wine the embers of the pyre; And of Menoetius’ son, Patroclus, next With care distinguishing, collect the bones; Nor are they hard to know; for in the midst He lay, while round the edges of the pyre, Horses and men commix’d, the rest were burnt. Let these, between a double layer of fat Enclos’d, and in a golden urn remain, Till I myself shall in the tomb be laid; And o’er them build a mound, not over-large, But of proportions meet; in days to come, Ye Greeks, who after me shall here remain, Complete the work, and build it broad and high.” Thus spoke Achilles; they his words obey’d: Far as the flames had reach’d, and thickly strown The embers lay, they quench’d with ruddy wine; Then tearfully their gentle comrade’s bones Collected, and with double layers of fat Enclos’d, and in a golden urn encas’d; Then in the tent they laid them, overspread With veil of linen fair; then meting out Th’ allotted space, the deep foundations laid Around the pyre, and o’er them heap’d the earth. Their task accomplished, all had now withdrawn; But Peleus’ son the vast assembly stay’d, And bade them sit; then, prizes of the games, Tripods and caldrons from the tents he brought, And noble steeds, and mules, and sturdy steers, And women fair of form, and iron hoar. First, for the contest of the flying cars The prizes he display’d: a woman fair, Well skill’d in household cares; a tripod vast, Two-handled, two and twenty measures round; These both were for the victor: for the next, A mare, unbroken, six years old, in foal Of a mule colt; the third, a caldron bright, Capacious of four measures, white and pure, By fire as yet untarnish’d; for the fourth, Of gold two talents; for the fifth, a vase With double cup, untouch’d by fire, he gave. Then, standing up, he thus address’d the Greeks: “Thou son of Atreus, and ye well-greav’d Greeks, Before ye are the prizes, which await The contest of the cars; but if, ye Greeks, For any other cause these games were held, I to my tent should bear the foremost prize; For well ye know how far my steeds excel, Steeds of immortal race, which Neptune gave To Peleus, he to me, his son, transferr’d. But from the present strife we stand aloof, My horses and myself; they now have lost The daring courage and the gentle hand Of him who drove them, and with water pure Wash’d oft their manes, and bath’d with fragrant oil. For him they stand and mourn, with drooping heads Down to the ground, their hearts with sorrow fill’d; But ye in order range yourselves, who boast Your well-built chariots and your horses’ speed.” He said: up sprang the eager charioteers; The first of all, Eumelus, King of men, Son of Admetus, matchless charioteer; Next, Tydeus’ son, the valiant Diomed, With Trojan horses, from Æneas won, When by Apollo’s aid himself escap’d; Then Heav’n-born Menelaus, Atreus’ son, Two flying coursers harness’d to his car; His own, Podargus, had for yokefellow Æthe, a mare by Agamemnon lent: Her, Echepolus to Atrides gave, Anchises’ son, that to the wars of Troy He might not be compell’d, but safe at home Enjoy his ease; for Jove had bless’d his store With ample wealth, in Sicyon’s wide domain. Her now he yok’d, impatient for the course. The fourth, Antilochus, the gallant son Of Nestor, son of Neleus, mighty chief, Harness’d his sleek-skinn’d steeds; of Pylian race Were they who bore his car; to him, his sire Sage counsel pour’d in understanding ears: “Antilochus, though young in years thou art, Yet Jove and Neptune love thee, and have well Instructed thee in horsemanship; of me Thou need’st no counsel; skill’d around the goal To whirl the chariot; but thou hast, of all, The slowest horses: whence I augur ill. But though their horses have the speed of thine, In skill not one of them surpasses thee. Then thou, dear boy, exert thine ev’ry art, That so thou mayst not fail to gain a prize. By skill, far more than strength, the woodman fells The sturdy oak; by skill the steersman guides His flying ship across the dark-blue sea, Though shatter’d by the blast; ’twixt charioteer And charioteer ’tis skill that draws the line. One, vainly trusting to his coursers’ speed, Drives reckless here and there; o’er all the course, His horses, unrestrain’d, at random run. Another, with inferior horses far, But better skill’d, still fixing on the goal His eye, turns closely round, nor overlooks The moment when to draw the rein; but holds His steady course, and on the leader waits. A mark I give thee now, thou canst not miss: There stands a wither’d trunk, some six feet high, Of oak, or pine, unrotted by the rain; On either side have two white stones been plac’d, Where meet two roads; and all around there lies A smooth and level course; here stood perchance The tomb of one who died long years ago; Or former generations here have plac’d, As now Achilles hath decreed, a goal. There drive, as only not to graze the post; And leaning o’er the wicker body, leave Close on the left the stones; thine offside horse Then urge with voice and whip, and slack his rein, And let the nearside horse so closely graze, As that thy nave may seem to touch, the goal: But yet beware, lest, striking on the stone, Thy steeds thou injure, and thy chariot break, A source of triumph to thy rivals all, Of shame to thee; but thou sage caution use; For, following, if thou make the turn the first, Not one of all shall pass thee, or o’ertake; Not though Arion’s self were in the car, Adrastus’ flying steed, of heav’nly race, Nor those which here Laomedon possess’d.” This said, and to his son his counsels giv’n, The aged Nestor to his seat withdrew. Fifth in the lists Meriones appear’d. They mounted on their cars, and cast their lots: Achilles shook the helmet; first leaped forth The lot of Nestor’s son, Antilochus; Next came the King Eumelus; after whom The valiant Menelaus, Atreus’ son; The fourth, Meriones; and last of all, But ablest far, Tydides drew his place. They stood in line; Achilles pointed out, Ear on the level plain, the distant goal; And there in charge the godlike Phoenix plac’d, His father’s ancient follower, to observe The course assign’d, and true report to make. Then all at once their whips they rais’d, and urg’d By rein, and hand, and voice, their eager steeds. They from the ships pursued their rapid course Athwart the distant plain; beneath their chests Rose like a cloud, or hurricane, the dust; Loose floated on the breeze their ample manes; The cars now skimm’d along the fertile ground, Now bounded high in air; the charioteers Stood up aloft, and ev’ry bosom beat With hope of vict’ry; each with eager shout Cheering his steeds, that scour’d the dusty plain. But when, the farthest limits of the course Attain’d, they turn’d beside the hoary sea, Strain’d to their utmost speed, were plainly seen The qualities of each; then in the front Appear’d Eumelus’ flying mares, and next The Trojan horses of Tydides came: Nor these were far behind, but following close They seem’d in act to leap upon the car. Eumelus, on his neck and shoulders broad, Felt their warm breath; for o’er him, as they flew, Their heads were downward bent; and now, perchance, Had he or pass’d, or made an even race, But that, incens’d with valiant Diomed, Apollo wrested from his hands the whip. Then tears of anger from his eyelids fell, As gaining more and more the mares he saw, While, urg’d no more, his horses slack’d their speed. But Pallas mark’d Apollo’s treach’rous wile; And hasting to the chief, restor’d his whip, And to his horses strength and courage gave. The Goddess then Admetus’ son pursued, And snapp’d his chariot yoke; the mares, releas’d, Swerv’d from the track; the pole upon the ground Lay loosen’d from the car; and he himself Beside the wheel was from the chariot hurl’d. From elbows, mouth, and nose, the skin was torn; His forehead crush’d and batter’d in; his eyes Were fill’d with tears, and mute his cheerful voice. Tydides turn’d aside, and far ahead Of all the rest, pass’d on; for Pallas gave His horses courage, and his triumph will’d. Next him, the fair-hair’d Menelaus came, The son of Atreus; but Antilochus Thus to his father’s horses call’d aloud: “Forward, and stretch ye to your utmost speed; I ask you not with those of Diomed In vain to strive, whom Pallas hath endued With added swiftness, and his triumph will’d; But haste ye, and o’ertake Atrides’ car, Nor be by Æthe, by a mare, disgrac’d. Why, my brave horses, why be left behind? This too I warn ye, and will make it good: No more at Nestor’s hand shall ye receive Your provender, but with the sword be slain, If by your faults a lower prize be ours; Then rouse ye now, and put forth all your speed, And I will so contrive, as not to fail Of slipping past them in the narrow way.” He said; the horses, of his voice in awe, Put forth their pow’rs awhile; before them soon Antilochus the narrow pass espied. It was a gully, where the winter’s rain Had lain collected, and had broken through A length of road, and hollow’d out the ground: There Menelaus held his cautious course. Fearing collision; but Antilochus, Drawing his steeds a little from the track, Bore down upon him sideways: then in fear, The son of Atreus to Antilochus Shouted aloud, “Antilochus, thou driv’st Like one insane; hold in awhile thy steeds; Here is no space; where wider grows the road, There thou mayst pass; but here, thou wilt but cause Our cars to clash, and bring us both to harm.” He said; but madlier drove Antilochus, Plying the goad, as though he heard him not. Far as a discus’ flight, by some stout youth, That tests his vigour, from the shoulder hurl’d, So far they ran together, side by side: Then dropp’d Atrides’ horses to the rear, For he himself forbore to urge their speed, Lest, meeting in the narrow pass, the cars Should be o’erthrown, and they themselves, in haste To gain the vict’ry, in the dust be roll’d. Then thus, reproachful, to Antilochus: “Antilochus, thou most perverse of men! Beshrew thy heart! we Greeks are much deceiv’d Who give thee fame for wisdom! yet e’en now Thou shalt not gain, but on thine oath, the prize.” He said, and to his horses call’d aloud: “Slack not your speed, nor, as defeated, mourn; Their legs and feet will sooner tire than yours, For both are past the vigour of their youth.” Thus he; the horses, of his voice in awe, Put forth their pow’rs, and soon the leaders near’d. <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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