The Iliad Part 3

THE ILIAD.

BOOK I.

ARGUMENT.(40)

THE CONTENTION OF ACHILLES AND AGAMEMNON.

In the war of Troy, the Greeks having sacked some of the neighbouring towns, and taken from thence two beautiful captives, Chryseis and Briseis, allotted the first to Agamemnon, and the last to Achilles. Chryses, the father of Chryseis, and priest of Apollo, comes to the Grecian camp to ransom her; with which the action of the poem opens, in the tenth year of the siege. The priest being refused, and insolently dismissed by Agamemnon, entreats for vengeance from his G.o.d; who inflicts a pestilence on the Greeks. Achilles calls a council, and encourages Chalcas to declare the cause of it; who attributes it to the refusal of Chryseis. The king, being obliged to send back his captive, enters into a furious contest with Achilles, which Nestor pacifies; however, as he had the absolute command of the army, he seizes on Briseis in revenge. Achilles in discontent withdraws himself and his forces from the rest of the Greeks; and complaining to Thetis, she supplicates Jupiter to render them sensible of the wrong done to her son, by giving victory to the Trojans. Jupiter, granting her suit, incenses Juno: between whom the debate runs high, till they are reconciled by the address of Vulcan.

The time of two-and-twenty days is taken up in this book: nine during the plague, one in the council and quarrel of the princes, and twelve for Jupiter's stay with the aethiopians, at whose return Thetis prefers her pet.i.tion. The scene lies in the Grecian camp, then changes to Chrysa, and lastly to Olympus.

Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring Of woes unnumber'd, heavenly G.o.ddess, sing!

That wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's gloomy reign The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain; Whose limbs unburied on the naked sh.o.r.e, Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore.(41) Since great Achilles and Atrides strove, Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove!(42)

Declare, O Muse! in what ill-fated hour(43) Sprung the fierce strife, from what offended power Latona's son a dire contagion spread,(44) And heap'd the camp with mountains of the dead; The king of men his reverent priest defied,(45) And for the king's offence the people died.

For Chryses sought with costly gifts to gain His captive daughter from the victor's chain.

Suppliant the venerable father stands; Apollo's awful ensigns grace his hands By these he begs; and lowly bending down, Extends the sceptre and the laurel crown He sued to all, but chief implored for grace The brother-kings, of Atreus' royal race(46)

"Ye kings and warriors! may your vows be crown'd, And Troy's proud walls lie level with the ground.

May Jove restore you when your toils are o'er Safe to the pleasures of your native sh.o.r.e.

But, oh! relieve a wretched parent's pain, And give Chryseis to these arms again; If mercy fail, yet let my presents move, And dread avenging Phoebus, son of Jove."

The Greeks in shouts their joint a.s.sent declare, The priest to reverence, and release the fair.

Not so Atrides; he, with kingly pride, Repulsed the sacred sire, and thus replied:

"Hence on thy life, and fly these hostile plains, Nor ask, presumptuous, what the king detains Hence, with thy laurel crown, and golden rod, Nor trust too far those ensigns of thy G.o.d.

Mine is thy daughter, priest, and shall remain; And prayers, and tears, and bribes, shall plead in vain; Till time shall rifle every youthful grace, And age dismiss her from my cold embrace, In daily labours of the loom employ'd, Or doom'd to deck the bed she once enjoy'd Hence then; to Argos shall the maid retire, Far from her native soil and weeping sire."

[Ill.u.s.tration: HOMER INVOKING THE MUSE.]

HOMER INVOKING THE MUSE.

The trembling priest along the sh.o.r.e return'd, And in the anguish of a father mourn'd.

Disconsolate, not daring to complain, Silent he wander'd by the sounding main; Till, safe at distance, to his G.o.d he prays, The G.o.d who darts around the world his rays.

"O Smintheus! sprung from fair Latona's line,(47) Thou guardian power of Cilla the divine,(48) Thou source of light! whom Tenedos adores, And whose bright presence gilds thy Chrysa's sh.o.r.es.

If e'er with wreaths I hung thy sacred fane,(49) Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain; G.o.d of the silver bow! thy shafts employ, Avenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy."

Thus Chryses pray'd.--the favouring power attends, And from Olympus' lofty tops descends.

Bent was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound;(50) Fierce as he moved, his silver shafts resound.

Breathing revenge, a sudden night he spread, And gloomy darkness roll'd about his head.

The fleet in view, he tw.a.n.g'd his deadly bow, And hissing fly the feather'd fates below.

On mules and dogs the infection first began;(51) And last, the vengeful arrows fix'd in man.

For nine long nights, through all the dusky air, The pyres, thick-flaming, shot a dismal glare.

But ere the tenth revolving day was run, Inspired by Juno, Thetis' G.o.dlike son Convened to council all the Grecian train; For much the G.o.ddess mourn'd her heroes slain.(52) The a.s.sembly seated, rising o'er the rest, Achilles thus the king of men address'd:

"Why leave we not the fatal Trojan sh.o.r.e, And measure back the seas we cross'd before?

The plague destroying whom the sword would spare, 'Tis time to save the few remains of war.

But let some prophet, or some sacred sage, Explore the cause of great Apollo's rage; Or learn the wasteful vengeance to remove By mystic dreams, for dreams descend from Jove.(53) If broken vows this heavy curse have laid, Let altars smoke, and hecatombs be paid.

So Heaven, atoned, shall dying Greece restore, And Phoebus dart his burning shafts no more."

He said, and sat: when Chalcas thus replied; Chalcas the wise, the Grecian priest and guide, That sacred seer, whose comprehensive view, The past, the present, and the future knew: Uprising slow, the venerable sage Thus spoke the prudence and the fears of age:

"Beloved of Jove, Achilles! would'st thou know Why angry Phoebus bends his fatal bow?

First give thy faith, and plight a prince's word Of sure protection, by thy power and sword: For I must speak what wisdom would conceal, And truths, invidious to the great, reveal, Bold is the task, when subjects, grown too wise, Instruct a monarch where his error lies; For though we deem the short-lived fury past, 'Tis sure the mighty will revenge at last."

To whom Pelides:--"From thy inmost soul Speak what thou know'st, and speak without control.

E'en by that G.o.d I swear who rules the day, To whom thy hands the vows of Greece convey.

And whose bless'd oracles thy lips declare; Long as Achilles breathes this vital air, No daring Greek, of all the numerous band, Against his priest shall lift an impious hand; Not e'en the chief by whom our hosts are led, The king of kings, shall touch that sacred head."

Encouraged thus, the blameless man replies: "Nor vows unpaid, nor slighted sacrifice, But he, our chief, provoked the raging pest, Apollo's vengeance for his injured priest.

Nor will the G.o.d's awaken'd fury cease, But plagues shall spread, and funeral fires increase, Till the great king, without a ransom paid, To her own Chrysa send the black-eyed maid.(54) Perhaps, with added sacrifice and prayer, The priest may pardon, and the G.o.d may spare."

The prophet spoke: when with a gloomy frown The monarch started from his s.h.i.+ning throne; Black choler fill'd his breast that boil'd with ire, And from his eye-b.a.l.l.s flash'd the living fire: "Augur accursed! denouncing mischief still, Prophet of plagues, for ever boding ill!

Still must that tongue some wounding message bring, And still thy priestly pride provoke thy king?

For this are Phoebus' oracles explored, To teach the Greeks to murmur at their lord?

For this with falsehood is my honour stain'd, Is heaven offended, and a priest profaned; Because my prize, my beauteous maid, I hold, And heavenly charms prefer to proffer'd gold?

A maid, unmatch'd in manners as in face, Skill'd in each art, and crown'd with every grace; Not half so dear were Clytaemnestra's charms, When first her blooming beauties bless'd my arms.

Yet, if the G.o.ds demand her, let her sail; Our cares are only for the public weal: Let me be deem'd the hateful cause of all, And suffer, rather than my people fall.

The prize, the beauteous prize, I will resign, So dearly valued, and so justly mine.

But since for common good I yield the fair, My private loss let grateful Greece repair; Nor unrewarded let your prince complain, That he alone has fought and bled in vain."

"Insatiate king (Achilles thus replies), Fond of the power, but fonder of the prize!

Would'st thou the Greeks their lawful prey should yield, The due reward of many a well-fought field?

The spoils of cities razed and warriors slain, We share with justice, as with toil we gain; But to resume whate'er thy avarice craves (That trick of tyrants) may be borne by slaves.

Yet if our chief for plunder only fight, The spoils of Ilion shall thy loss requite, Whene'er, by Jove's decree, our conquering powers Shall humble to the dust her lofty towers."

Then thus the king: "Shall I my prize resign With tame content, and thou possess'd of thine?

Great as thou art, and like a G.o.d in fight, Think not to rob me of a soldier's right.

At thy demand shall I restore the maid?

First let the just equivalent be paid; Such as a king might ask; and let it be A treasure worthy her, and worthy me.

Or grant me this, or with a monarch's claim This hand shall seize some other captive dame.

The mighty Ajax shall his prize resign;(55) Ulysses' spoils, or even thy own, be mine.

The man who suffers, loudly may complain; And rage he may, but he shall rage in vain.

But this when time requires.--It now remains We launch a bark to plough the watery plains, And waft the sacrifice to Chrysa's sh.o.r.es, With chosen pilots, and with labouring oars.

Soon shall the fair the sable s.h.i.+p ascend, And some deputed prince the charge attend: This Creta's king, or Ajax shall fulfil, Or wise Ulysses see perform'd our will; Or, if our royal pleasure shall ordain, Achilles' self conduct her o'er the main; Let fierce Achilles, dreadful in his rage, The G.o.d propitiate, and the pest a.s.suage."

[Ill.u.s.tration: MARS.]

MARS.