The Iliad Part 58

To these a youth awakes the warbling strings, Whose tender lay the fate of Linus sings; In measured dance behind him move the train, Tune soft the voice, and answer to the strain.

Here herds of oxen march, erect and bold, Rear high their horns, and seem to low in gold, And speed to meadows on whose sounding sh.o.r.es A rapid torrent through the rushes roars: Four golden herdsmen as their guardians stand, And nine sour dogs complete the rustic band.

Two lions rus.h.i.+ng from the wood appear'd; And seized a bull, the master of the herd: He roar'd: in vain the dogs, the men withstood; They tore his flesh, and drank his sable blood.

The dogs (oft cheer'd in vain) desert the prey, Dread the grim terrors, and at distance bay.

Next this, the eye the art of Vulcan leads Deep through fair forests, and a length of meads, And stalls, and folds, and scatter'd cots between; And fleecy flocks, that whiten all the scene.

A figured dance succeeds; such once was seen In lofty Gnossus for the Cretan queen, Form'd by Daedalean art; a comely band Of youths and maidens, bounding hand in hand.

The maids in soft simars of linen dress'd; The youths all graceful in the glossy vest: Of those the locks with flowery wreath inroll'd; Of these the sides adorn'd with swords of gold, That glittering gay, from silver belts depend.

Now all at once they rise, at once descend, With well-taught feet: now shape in oblique ways, Confusedly regular, the moving maze: Now forth at once, too swift for sight, they spring, And undistinguish'd blend the flying ring: So whirls a wheel, in giddy circle toss'd, And, rapid as it runs, the single spokes are lost.

The gazing mult.i.tudes admire around: Two active tumblers in the centre bound; Now high, now low, their pliant limbs they bend: And general songs the sprightly revel end.

Thus the broad s.h.i.+eld complete the artist crown'd With his last hand, and pour'd the ocean round: In living silver seem'd the waves to roll, And beat the buckler's verge, and bound the whole.

This done, whate'er a warrior's use requires He forged; the cuira.s.s that outshone the fires, The greaves of ductile tin, the helm impress'd With various sculpture, and the golden crest.

At Thetis' feet the finished labour lay: She, as a falcon cuts the aerial way, Swift from Olympus' snowy summit flies, And bears the blazing present through the skies.(257)

BOOK XIX.

ARGUMENT.

THE RECONCILIATION OF ACHILLES AND AGAMEMNON.

Thetis brings to her son the armour made by Vulcan. She preserves the body of his friend from corruption, and commands him to a.s.semble the army, to declare his resentment at an end. Agamemnon and Achilles are solemnly reconciled: the speeches, presents, and ceremonies on that occasion.

Achilles is with great difficulty persuaded to refrain from the battle till the troops have refreshed themselves by the advice of Ulysses. The presents are conveyed to the tent of Achilles, where Briseis laments over the body of Patroclus. The hero obstinately refuses all repast, and gives himself up to lamentations for his friend. Minerva descends to strengthen him, by the order of Jupiter. He arms for the fight: his appearance described. He addresses himself to his horses, and reproaches them with the death of Patroclus. One of them is miraculously endued with voice, and inspired to prophesy his fate: but the hero, not astonished by that prodigy, rushes with fury to the combat.

The thirteenth day. The scene is on the sea-sh.o.r.e.

Soon as Aurora heaved her Orient head Above the waves, that blush'd with early red, (With new-born day to gladden mortal sight, And gild the courts of heaven with sacred light,) The immortal arms the G.o.ddess-mother bears Swift to her son: her son she finds in tears Stretch'd o'er Patroclus' corse; while all the rest Their sovereign's sorrows in their own express'd.

A ray divine her heavenly presence shed, And thus, his hand soft touching, Thetis said:

"Suppress, my son, this rage of grief, and know It was not man, but heaven, that gave the blow; Behold what arms by Vulcan are bestow'd, Arms worthy thee, or fit to grace a G.o.d."

Then drops the radiant burden on the ground; Clang the strong arms, and ring the sh.o.r.es around; Back shrink the Myrmidons with dread surprise, And from the broad effulgence turn their eyes.

Unmoved the hero kindles at the show, And feels with rage divine his bosom glow; From his fierce eyeb.a.l.l.s living flames expire, And flash incessant like a stream of fire: He turns the radiant gift: and feeds his mind On all the immortal artist had design'd.

"G.o.ddess! (he cried,) these glorious arms, that s.h.i.+ne With matchless art, confess the hand divine.

Now to the b.l.o.o.d.y battle let me bend: But ah! the relics of my slaughter'd friend!

In those wide wounds through which his spirit fled, Shall flies, and worms obscene, pollute the dead?"

"That unavailing care be laid aside, (The azure G.o.ddess to her son replied,) Whole years untouch'd, uninjured shall remain, Fresh as in life, the carcase of the slain.

But go, Achilles, as affairs require, Before the Grecian peers renounce thine ire: Then uncontroll'd in boundless war engage, And heaven with strength supply the mighty rage!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: THETIS BRINGING THE ARMOUR TO ACHILLES.]

THETIS BRINGING THE ARMOUR TO ACHILLES.

Then in the nostrils of the slain she pour'd Nectareous drops, and rich ambrosia shower'd O'er all the corse. The flies forbid their prey, Untouch'd it rests, and sacred from decay.

Achilles to the strand obedient went: The sh.o.r.es resounded with the voice he sent.

The heroes heard, and all the naval train That tend the s.h.i.+ps, or guide them o'er the main, Alarm'd, transported, at the well-known sound, Frequent and full, the great a.s.sembly crown'd; Studious to see the terror of the plain, Long lost to battle, s.h.i.+ne in arms again.

Tydides and Ulysses first appear, Lame with their wounds, and leaning on the spear; These on the sacred seats of council placed, The king of men, Atrides, came the last: He too sore wounded by Agenor's son.

Achilles (rising in the midst) begun:

"O monarch! better far had been the fate Of thee, of me, of all the Grecian state, If (ere the day when by mad pa.s.sion sway'd, Rash we contended for the black-eyed maid) Preventing Dian had despatch'd her dart, And shot the s.h.i.+ning mischief to the heart!

Then many a hero had not press'd the sh.o.r.e, Nor Troy's glad fields been fatten'd with our gore.

Long, long shall Greece the woes we caused bewail, And sad posterity repeat the tale.

But this, no more the subject of debate, Is past, forgotten, and resign'd to fate.

Why should, alas, a mortal man, as I, Burn with a fury that can never die?

Here then my anger ends: let war succeed, And even as Greece has bled, let Ilion bleed.

Now call the hosts, and try if in our sight Troy yet shall dare to camp a second night!

I deem, their mightiest, when this arm he knows, Shall 'scape with transport, and with joy repose."

He said: his finish'd wrath with loud acclaim The Greeks accept, and shout Pelides' name.

When thus, not rising from his lofty throne, In state unmoved, the king of men begun:

"Hear me, ye sons of Greece! with silence hear!

And grant your monarch an impartial ear: Awhile your loud, untimely joy suspend, And let your rash, injurious clamours end: Unruly murmurs, or ill-timed applause, Wrong the best speaker, and the justest cause.

Nor charge on me, ye Greeks, the dire debate: Know, angry Jove, and all-compelling Fate, With fell Erinnys, urged my wrath that day When from Achilles' arms I forced the prey.

What then could I against the will of heaven?

Not by myself, but vengeful Ate driven; She, Jove's dread daughter, fated to infest The race of mortals, enter'd in my breast.

Not on the ground that haughty fury treads, But prints her lofty footsteps on the heads Of mighty men; inflicting as she goes Long-festering wounds, inextricable woes!

Of old, she stalk'd amid the bright abodes; And Jove himself, the sire of men and G.o.ds, The world's great ruler, felt her venom'd dart; Deceived by Juno's wiles, and female art: For when Alcmena's nine long months were run, And Jove expected his immortal son, To G.o.ds and G.o.ddesses the unruly joy He show'd, and vaunted of his matchless boy: 'From us, (he said) this day an infant springs, Fated to rule, and born a king of kings.'

Saturnia ask'd an oath, to vouch the truth, And fix dominion on the favour'd youth.

The Thunderer, unsuspicious of the fraud, p.r.o.nounced those solemn words that bind a G.o.d.

The joyful G.o.ddess, from Olympus' height, Swift to Achaian Argos bent her flight: Scarce seven moons gone, lay Sthenelus's wife; She push'd her lingering infant into life: Her charms Alcmena's coming labours stay, And stop the babe, just issuing to the day.

Then bids Saturnius bear his oath in mind; 'A youth (said she) of Jove's immortal kind Is this day born: from Sthenelus he springs, And claims thy promise to be king of kings.'

Grief seized the Thunderer, by his oath engaged; Stung to the soul, he sorrow'd, and he raged.

From his ambrosial head, where perch'd she sate, He s.n.a.t.c.h'd the fury-G.o.ddess of debate, The dread, the irrevocable oath he swore, The immortal seats should ne'er behold her more; And whirl'd her headlong down, for ever driven From bright Olympus and the starry heaven: Thence on the nether world the fury fell; Ordain'd with man's contentious race to dwell.

Full oft the G.o.d his son's hard toils bemoan'd, Cursed the dire fury, and in secret groan'd.(258) Even thus, like Jove himself, was I misled, While raging Hector heap'd our camps with dead.

What can the errors of my rage atone?

My martial troops, my treasures are thy own: This instant from the navy shall be sent Whate'er Ulysses promised at thy tent: But thou! appeased, propitious to our prayer, Resume thy arms, and s.h.i.+ne again in war."

" O king of nations! whose superior sway (Returns Achilles) all our hosts obey!

To keep or send the presents, be thy care; To us, 'tis equal: all we ask is war.

While yet we talk, or but an instant shun The fight, our glorious work remains undone.

Let every Greek, who sees my spear confound The Trojan ranks, and deal destruction round, With emulation, what I act survey, And learn from thence the business of the day.

The son of Peleus thus; and thus replies The great in councils, Ithacus the wise: "Though, G.o.dlike, thou art by no toils oppress'd, At least our armies claim repast and rest: Long and laborious must the combat be, When by the G.o.ds inspired, and led by thee.

Strength is derived from spirits and from blood, And those augment by generous wine and food: What boastful son of war, without that stay, Can last a hero through a single day?

Courage may prompt; but, ebbing out his strength, Mere unsupported man must yield at length; Shrunk with dry famine, and with toils declined, The drooping body will desert the mind: But built anew with strength-conferring fare, With limbs and soul untamed, he tires a war.

Dismiss the people, then, and give command.

With strong repast to hearten every band; But let the presents to Achilles made, In full a.s.sembly of all Greece be laid.

The king of men shall rise in public sight, And solemn swear (observant of the rite) That, spotless, as she came, the maid removes, Pure from his arms, and guiltless of his loves.