The Iliad Part 68

FUNERAL GAMES IN HONOUR OF PATROCLUS.(280)

Achilles and the Myrmidons do honours to the body of Patroclus. After the funeral feast he retires to the sea-sh.o.r.e, 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 flames. When the pile has burned all night, they gather the bones, place them in an urn of gold, and raise the tomb. Achilles inst.i.tutes the funeral games: the chariot-race, the fight of the caestus, the wrestling, the foot-race, 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-sh.o.r.e.

Thus humbled in the dust, the pensive train Through the sad city mourn'd her hero slain.

The body soil'd with dust, and black with gore, Lies on broad h.e.l.lespont's resounding sh.o.r.e.

The Grecians seek their s.h.i.+ps, and clear the strand, All, but the martial Myrmidonian band: These yet a.s.sembled great Achilles holds, And the stern purpose of his mind unfolds:

"Not yet, my brave companions of the war, Release your smoking coursers from the car; But, with his chariot each in order led, Perform due honours to Patroclus dead.

Ere yet from rest or food we seek relief, Some rites remain, to glut our rage of grief."

The troops obey'd; and thrice in order led(281) (Achilles first) their coursers round the dead; And thrice their sorrows and laments renew; Tears bathe their arms, and tears the sands bedew.

For such a warrior Thetis aids their woe, Melts their strong hearts, and bids their eyes to flow.

But chief, Pelides: thick-succeeding sighs Burst from his heart, and torrents from his eyes: His slaughtering hands, yet red with blood, he laid On his dead friend's cold breast, and thus he said:

"All hail, Patroclus! let thy honour'd ghost Hear, and rejoice on Pluto's dreary coast; Behold! Achilles' promise is complete; The b.l.o.o.d.y Hector stretch'd before thy feet.

Lo! to the dogs his carcase I resign; And twelve sad victims, of the Trojan line, Sacred to vengeance, instant shall expire; Their lives effused around thy funeral pyre."

Gloomy he said, and (horrible to view) Before the bier the bleeding Hector threw, p.r.o.ne on the dust. The Myrmidons around Unbraced their armour, and the steeds unbound.

All to Achilles' sable s.h.i.+p repair, Frequent and full, the genial feast to share.

Now from the well-fed swine black smokes aspire, The bristly victims hissing o'er the fire: The huge ox bellowing falls; with feebler cries Expires the goat; the sheep in silence dies.

Around the hero's prostrate body flow'd, In one promiscuous stream, the reeking blood.

And now a band of Argive monarchs brings The glorious victor to the king of kings.

From his dead friend the pensive warrior went, With steps unwilling, to the regal tent.

The attending heralds, as by office bound, With kindled flames the tripod-vase surround: To cleanse his conquering hands from hostile gore, They urged in vain; the chief refused, and swore:(282)

"No drop shall touch me, by almighty Jove!

The first and greatest of the G.o.ds above!

Till on the pyre I place thee; till I rear The gra.s.sy mound, and clip thy sacred hair.

Some ease at least those pious rites may give, And soothe my sorrows, while I bear to live.

Howe'er, reluctant as I am, I stay And share your feast; but with the dawn of day, (O king of men!) it claims thy royal care, That Greece the warrior's funeral pile prepare, And bid the forests fall: (such rites are paid To heroes slumbering in eternal shade:) Then, when his earthly part shall mount in fire, Let the leagued squadrons to their posts retire."

He spoke: they hear him, and the word obey; The rage of hunger and of thirst allay, Then ease in sleep the labours of the day.

But great Pelides, stretch'd along the sh.o.r.e, Where, dash'd on rocks, the broken billows roar, Lies inly groaning; while on either hand The martial Myrmidons confusedly stand.

Along the gra.s.s his languid members fall, Tired with his chase around the Trojan wall; Hush'd by the murmurs of the rolling deep, At length he sinks in the soft arms of sleep.

When lo! the shade, before his closing eyes, Of sad Patroclus rose, or seem'd to rise: In the same robe he living wore, he came: In stature, voice, and pleasing look, the same.

The form familiar hover'd o'er his head, "And sleeps Achilles? (thus the phantom said:) Sleeps my Achilles, his Patroclus dead?

Living, I seem'd his dearest, tenderest care, But now forgot, I wander in the air.

Let my pale corse the rites of burial know, And give me entrance in the realms below: Till then the spirit finds no resting-place, But here and there the unbodied spectres chase The vagrant dead around the dark abode, Forbid to cross the irremeable flood.

Now give thy hand; for to the farther sh.o.r.e When once we pa.s.s, the soul returns no more: When once the last funereal flames ascend, No more shall meet Achilles and his friend; No more our thoughts to those we loved make known; Or quit the dearest, to converse alone.

Me fate has sever'd from the sons of earth, The fate fore-doom'd that waited from my birth: Thee too it waits; before the Trojan wall Even great and G.o.dlike thou art doom'd to fall.

Hear then; and as in fate and love we join, Ah suffer that my bones may rest with thine!

Together have we lived; together bred, One house received us, and one table fed; That golden urn, thy G.o.ddess-mother gave, May mix our ashes in one common grave."

"And is it thou? (he answers) To my sight(283) Once more return'st thou from the realms of night?

O more than brother! Think each office paid, Whate'er can rest a discontented shade; But grant one last embrace, unhappy boy!

Afford at least that melancholy joy."

He said, and with his longing arms essay'd In vain to grasp the visionary shade!

Like a thin smoke he sees the spirit fly,(284) And hears a feeble, lamentable cry.

Confused he wakes; amazement breaks the bands Of golden sleep, and starting from the sands, Pensive he muses with uplifted hands:

"'Tis true, 'tis certain; man, though dead, retains Part of himself; the immortal mind remains: The form subsists without the body's aid, Aerial semblance, and an empty shade!

This night my friend, so late in battle lost, Stood at my side, a pensive, plaintive ghost: Even now familiar, as in life, he came; Alas! how different! yet how like the same!"

Thus while he spoke, each eye grew big with tears: And now the rosy-finger'd morn appears, Shows every mournful face with tears o'erspread, And glares on the pale visage of the dead.

But Agamemnon, as the rites demand, With mules and waggons sends a chosen band To load the timber, and the pile to rear; A charge consign'd to Merion's faithful care.

With proper instruments they take the road, Axes to cut, and ropes to sling the load.

First march the heavy mules, securely slow, O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crags, o'er rocks they go:(285) Jumping, high o'er the shrubs of the rough ground, Rattle the clattering cars, and the shock'd axles bound But when arrived at Ida's spreading woods,(286) (Fair Ida, water'd with descending floods,) Loud sounds the axe, redoubling strokes on strokes; On all sides round the forest hurls her oaks Headlong. Deep echoing groan the thickets brown; Then rustling, crackling, cras.h.i.+ng, thunder down.

The wood the Grecians cleave, prepared to burn; And the slow mules the same rough road return The st.u.r.dy woodmen equal burdens bore (Such charge was given them) to the sandy sh.o.r.e; There on the spot which great Achilles show'd, They eased their shoulders, and disposed the load; Circling around the place, where times to come Shall view Patroclus' and Achilles' tomb.

The hero bids his martial troops appear High on their cars in all the pomp of war; Each in refulgent arms his limbs attires, All mount their chariots, combatants and squires.

The chariots first proceed, a s.h.i.+ning train; Then clouds of foot that smoke along the plain; Next these the melancholy band appear; Amidst, lay dead Patroclus on the bier; O'er all the corse their scattered locks they throw; Achilles next, oppress'd with mighty woe, Supporting with his hands the hero's head, Bends o'er the extended body of the dead.

Patroclus decent on the appointed ground They place, and heap the sylvan pile around.

But great Achilles stands apart in prayer, And from his head divides the yellow hair; Those curling locks which from his youth he vow'd,(287) And sacred grew, to Sperchius' honour'd flood: Then sighing, to the deep his locks he cast, And roll'd his eyes around the watery waste:

"Sperchius! whose waves in mazy errors lost Delightful roll along my native coast!

To whom we vainly vow'd, at our return, These locks to fall, and hecatombs to burn: Full fifty rams to bleed in sacrifice, Where to the day thy silver fountains rise, And where in shade of consecrated bowers Thy altars stand, perfumed with native flowers!

So vow'd my father, but he vow'd in vain; No more Achilles sees his native plain; In that vain hope these hairs no longer grow, Patroclus bears them to the shades below."

Thus o'er Patroclus while the hero pray'd, On his cold hand the sacred lock he laid.

Once more afresh the Grecian sorrows flow: And now the sun had set upon their woe; But to the king of men thus spoke the chief: "Enough, Atrides! give the troops relief: Permit the mourning legions to retire, And let the chiefs alone attend the pyre; The pious care be ours, the dead to burn--"

He said: the people to their s.h.i.+ps return: While those deputed to inter the slain Heap with a rising pyramid the plain.(288) A hundred foot in length, a hundred wide, The growing structure spreads on every side; High on the top the manly corse they lay, And well-fed sheep and sable oxen slay: Achilles covered with their fat the dead, And the piled victims round the body spread; Then jars of honey, and of fragrant oil, Suspends around, low-bending o'er the pile.

Four sprightly coursers, with a deadly groan Pour forth their lives, and on the pyre are thrown.

Of nine large dogs, domestic at his board, Fall two, selected to attend their lord, Then last of all, and horrible to tell, Sad sacrifice! twelve Trojan captives fell.(289) On these the rage of fire victorious preys, Involves and joins them in one common blaze.

Smear'd with the b.l.o.o.d.y rites, he stands on high, And calls the spirit with a dreadful cry:(290)

"All hail, Patroclus! let thy vengeful ghost Hear, and exult, on Pluto's dreary coast.

Behold Achilles' promise fully paid, Twelve Trojan heroes offer'd to thy shade; But heavier fates on Hector's corse attend, Saved from the flames, for hungry dogs to rend."

So spake he, threatening: but the G.o.ds made vain His threat, and guard inviolate the slain: Celestial Venus hover'd o'er his head, And roseate unguents, heavenly fragrance! shed: She watch'd him all the night and all the day, And drove the bloodhounds from their destined prey.

Nor sacred Phoebus less employ'd his care; He pour'd around a veil of gather'd air, And kept the nerves undried, the flesh entire, Against the solar beam and Sirian fire.

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE FUNERAL PILE OF PATROCLUS.]

THE FUNERAL PILE OF PATROCLUS.

Nor yet the pile, where dead Patroclus lies, Smokes, nor as yet the sullen flames arise; But, fast beside, Achilles stood in prayer, Invoked the G.o.ds whose spirit moves the air, And victims promised, and libations cast, To gentle Zephyr and the Boreal blast: He call'd the aerial powers, along the skies To breathe, and whisper to the fires to rise.

The winged Iris heard the hero's call, And instant hasten'd to their airy hall, Where in old Zephyr's open courts on high, Sat all the bl.u.s.tering brethren of the sky.

She shone amidst them, on her painted bow; The rocky pavement glitter'd with the show.

All from the banquet rise, and each invites The various G.o.ddess to partake the rites.

"Not so (the dame replied), I haste to go To sacred Ocean, and the floods below: Even now our solemn hecatombs attend, And heaven is feasting on the world's green end With righteous Ethiops (uncorrupted train!) Far on the extremest limits of the main.

But Peleus' son entreats, with sacrifice, The western spirit, and the north, to rise!

Let on Patroclus' pile your blast be driven, And bear the blazing honours high to heaven."

Swift as the word she vanish'd from their view; Swift as the word the winds tumultuous flew; Forth burst the stormy band with thundering roar, And heaps on heaps the clouds are toss'd before.

To the wide main then stooping from the skies, The heaving deeps in watery mountains rise: Troy feels the blast along her shaking walls, Till on the pile the gather'd tempest falls.

The structure crackles in the roaring fires, And all the night the plenteous flame aspires.