Book XIX

NOW Dawn the saffron-mantled up from the Ocean-streams
Arose, to Immortals and mortals to bring the new day’s beams;
And, bearing the gift of the God, to the galleys had Thetis won.
There lying and clasping Patroclus she found her beloved son;
And his wail rang wild and high; and his comrades, a warrior band,
Mourned round: but now did the Goddess divine in the midst of them stand,
And she spake and she uttered the word, as her fingers enfolded his hand:
“My child, this man will we leave, for all our heart-sick pain,
To lie here, seeing that he by the will of the Gods hath been slain.
But thou, the gift of Hephaistus, the glorious arms, take thou,
Most fair, whose like no man on his shoulders hath borne ere now.”
So spake the Goddess, and cast with the word that battle-gear
At Achilles’ feet, and the rich-wrought work rang loud and clear.
On the Myrmidons trembling came; none dared for very awe
Thither to turn his face, for they quailed. But Achilles saw,
And still as he gazed the battle-wrath filled him the more, and his eyes
From beneath his brows as the lightning gleamed in terrible wise.
And he joyed to hold in his hands the God’s gift glorious-fair
Till his spirit was filled with delight of beholding the marvels there.
Then straightway he spake to his mother, and sped the winged word-flight:
“My mother, the god-given armour is such as is meet and right
That the work of the Deathless should be: no mortal the labour had sped.
But now will I don mine harness of fight: yet sorely I dread
Lest into Menoitius’ stalwart scion the while there should pass
Flies, entering into the wounds that were stricken deep with the brass,
And should breed their worms, and his corpse be entreated shamefully,—
For his life hath been slain out of him,—and his flesh be corrupted thereby.”
Unto him did Thetis the Goddess, the silver-footed, reply:
“My child, let trouble for this on thy spirit in no wise lie.
Lo, I for his sake will essay to drive those fierce tribes far,
The flies, which be wont to devour the warriors slain in war.
For though he should still lie here for a whole year’s space, evermore
Untainted his flesh shall abide, yea, sounder than heretofore.
But thou to the council summon Achaia’s lords of fight,
And thy wrath against king Agamemnon their captain renounce in their sight,
Thereafter full swiftly array thee for battle, and clothe thee with might.”
So spake she, and thrilled him with prowess and valour above all dread;
But ambrosia into Patroclus and nectar rosy-red
She poured through his nostrils, to keep untainted the flesh of the dead.
But forth by the shore of the sea Achilles the godlike hied
With a terrible shout, and the heroes Achaian upsprang as he cried.
And they mid the gathered galleys that wont theretofore to abide,
And they that were helmsmen, and steered the ships o’er the salt sea-flood,
And they which were stewards beside the galleys, dispensers of food,
Even these came unto the folkmote now, for Achilles at last
Had appeared: he had lingered from stern fight long in the days overpast.
And the War-god’s henchmen twain came halting thitherward,
Tydeides the battle-bider, Odysseus the godlike lord;
And they leaned on their spears, for their grievous hurts were upon them yet,
And they sat them down where foremost the folk in assembly were set.
And last of them all Agamemnon the King of Men drew near,
With his wound on him yet, the stab of the brazen-pointed spear,
When Koön the son of Antenor in stern fight dealt the stroke.
So when all the Achaians were met, and thronged were the gathered folk,
Arose fleet-footed Achilles amidst of them all, and he spoke:
“Atreides, better by far had this thing been for twain,
Even for thee and for me, when, stricken at heart with pain,
We raged for the sake of a girl in soul-devouring strife,—
O would that Artemis’ shaft mid the galleys had reft her life
In the day when I won her, when down to destruction Lyrnessus I thrust!
Then not so many Achaians had gnashed their teeth in the dust
Under the hands of their foes, when the fire of my wrath was aglow.
For the Trojans and Hector better it was: but Achaia, I trow,
Long time shall remember our feud, the contention of thee and me.
But now will we suffer the past to be past, though a sorrow it be,
Down-crushing the spirit our breasts within ’neath necessity’s feet.
Yea, now will I still mine anger: I count it nowise meet
To be wroth evermore without surcease: but with all speed now
The long-haired sons of Achaia to battle enkindle thou,
To the end I may meet yon Trojans again, and make trial, and know
Whether haply they long by the galleys to sleep. There be some, I trow,
Full gladly for resting shall bend their knees, what fleer soe’er
Shall escape from devouring war, shall outrun my chasing spear.”
He spake, and rejoiced the Achaians, the goodly-greaved array,
That Peleides the mighty-hearted renounced his wrath that day.
Then in their hearing the King of Men Agamemnon spoke,
Even there from his seat, for he rose not up in the midst of the folk:
“O friends and Danaan heroes, the War-god’s henchman throng,
Meet is it to hear who upriseth: beseems not with clamourous tongue
To break in: even the wise were hardly bestead, I doubt.
Yea, how should any man hear in the midst of babble and shout,
Or speak?—for that even the voice clear-ringing were drowned mid the rout.
Unto Peleus’ son will I now declare my counsel; but ye
Argives, give heed, and ponder the word that proceedeth from me.
Full oft the Achaians spake unto me for the selfsame cause,
Yea, and reproached me for this: yet not blame-worthy I was;
But herein Zeus, Fate, and Erinnyes that walketh in gloom had part,
Who amidst the assembly with furious blindness smote mine heart,
In the day when I took from Achilles myself his honour-meed:
But what could I do?—’tis a God accomplisheth each such deed.
Eldest of Zeus’s daughters is Até, who blindeth all,
The fell one: soft are her feet, for not on the earth do they fall;
But she setteth her silent steps on the very heads of men
To their hurting: and many an one was fettered of her ere then;
Yea, Zeus she blinded of yore, albeit they name him the best
Of the children of earth and of heaven; yet even the mightiest
Was by crafty wiles of Héré, a God by a Goddess, beguiled,
In the day when Alkméné’s time was fulfilled to bear a child,
Even Hérakles’ might, in the city of Thébé the beautiful-crowned.
Yea, then unto all the Gods Zeus spake that boast renowned:
‘Give ear, ye Gods, unto me, ye Goddesses, hearken my speech,
That the thing which my heart in my breast hath commanded my lips may teach.
This day shall Eileithuia, the Queen of Travail, bring
A man to the light, who o’er all the dwellers around shall be king,
Even them whose blood is mine, and of Zeus their high descent.
Then unto him spake Héré the Queen with subtle intent:
‘ Thou wilt yet play false, neither bring to fulfilment this thy word!
Now swear unto me a mighty oath, Olympian Lord,
That o’er all the dwellers around that child shall indeed bear sway
Which between the feet of a travailing woman shall fall this day,
A child of the race of the men which by lineage come of thy blood.’
She spake, but her crafty guile Zeus nowise understood;
But he swore that mighty oath: then blinded sore was his heart.
Swift from the peak of Olympus adown did Héré dart;
And with speed to Achaian Argos she came, wherein she had known
Was abiding the stately wife of Sthenelus, Perseus’ son;
And the woman was great with child, but there lacked of her nine months two;
Yet she brought him forth to the light before the season due.
But she stayed Alkméné from bearing: the Travail-queens from her need
She withheld; and herself with the tidings hasted to Kronos’ seed:
‘Zeus, Lightning-father, a word have I brought for thy pondering.
This day is a hero born o’er the Argive folk to be king,
The offspring of Sthenelus child of Perseus, Eurystheus hight.
Of thy lineage he is: that he govern the Argives is meet and right.’
So spake she, and deep through his soul did the piercing anguish smite.
Forthright he laid hold upon Até’s head of the shining hair,
Wroth in the spirit of him, and a mighty oath he sware,
That ne’er to Olympus again and the star-bestudded heaven
Should Até return, by whom all men into madness are driven.
So spake he, and hurled her from heaven, the star-paved home of the Gods,
Whirling her round; and swift she descended to menfolk’s abodes.
Yet he groaned for her deed evermore when he saw his beloved child
As in labour unseemly and sore at the hest of Eurystheus he toiled.
So also I, when Hector the mighty of stormy plume
By the sterns of the galleys was hurling the Argive men to their doom,
Could never forget that blindness which erst had led me astray.
But since I was blinded, and Zeus had stolen my wit away,
Fain am I to make amends, and a countless requital to pay.
But thou to the battle arouse thee, and kindle the folk to the fray.
Here am I to render thee all, even whatso gifts yestreen
Odysseus the godlike promised to thee thy tents within.
Yet tarry a space, if thou wilt, how eager for battle soe’er,
And the gifts mine henchmen shall take from beside my galley, and bear.
And so, if my givings content thee, shalt thou be certified.”
Then unto him made answer Achilles the fleetfoot, and cried:
“Agamemnon, King of Men, far-famous Atreus’ son,
The gifts give thou, if thou wilt, as seemeth thee best to be done,
Or withhold them: it lieth with thee. But now let us think of the fight
With speed: for to chaffer here it is nowise meet and right,
Neither to tarry; for yet unwrought is a deed of might,
That again mid the forefighters men may behold Achilles go
With his spear brass-headed laying the Trojan war-ranks low.
Bethink you of this, all ye, as ye fight each man with his foe.”
But Odysseus the full of devices uprose, and his counsel he gave:
“Now nay, O Achilles the godlike, not thus, be thou never so brave,
The sons of Achaia fasting Ilium-ward speed thou
With the Trojans to fight; for not for a little space, I trow,
Shall the strife continue, when mingled once the battalions are
In the battle, if God shall breathe into both the fury of war.
Nay, bid the Achaians to taste by the sea-swift galleys of food
And of wine, for herein is their strength and their battle-hardihood.
For to fight through the livelong day till the sun from the heavens fail
All unsustained of food, may no man’s strength avail:
For how eager soever for battle the soul of him be at the first,
Nathless his limbs unawares wax heavy, and hunger and thirst
Beset him; his knees are hindered what time he essayeth to go.
But whoso hath taken his fill of the wine and the meat, and so
Setteth himself to war through the livelong day with the foe,
Ever stout is the heart in his breast, and his limbs unwearying strain,
Neither faint, until all the host at the last from the battle refrain.
Go to now, suffer the host to disperse, and bid them prepare
Their meat, and the gifts let the King of Men Agamemnon bear
To the midst of the folkmote-stead that all the Achaians may see
With their eyes, and thou in thy spirit gladdened thereby shalt be.
And, uprising amidst of the Argives, an oath unto thee let him swear
That he never ascended her couch, nor in love embraced her there,
As the wont is of man, O King, that coucheth by woman’s side;
And so shall the spirit within thy breast be pacified.
And thereafter to do thee a pleasure be goodly banquet arrayed
In his tent, to the end that naught of thy due may be left unpaid.
And hereafter, Atreides, to others withal shall thy dealings be made
More just, forasmuch as, I ween, a king is in no wise shamed:
When he maketh amends to a man, if first into anger he flamed.”
Then spake unto him in turn Agamemnon the nations’ lord:
“Glad am I, Laertes’ son, who hearken to this thy word:
For meetly all hast thou uttered, and said it in season due.
This oath I consent to take, and my spirit doth move me thereto,
Neither falsely in presence of God will I swear. Yet a little to stay
Here let Achilles incline, howsoever he yearn for the fray:
And all ye others abide in assembly, until in your sight
The gifts from my tent shall come, and we seal the sure oath-plight.
And to thee thyself mine instruction is this, and this my command,
That thou choose to thee noble Achaian youths, a princely band,
Who shall bear from my galley the gifts, even all that yestreen the King
To Achilles pledged him to give, and the women withal shall ye bring.
And let Talthybius speed, and a boar let the herald provide,
That to Zeus and the Sun we may sacrifice mid the war-host wide.”
But Achilles the fleet of foot made answer and spake to him then:
“Atreides the high-renowned, Agamemnon King of Men,
Of a surety another season for these your doings were best,
Whensoever there cometh from stress of the battle respite and rest,
And my fury shall burn no longer so fiercely within my breast.
But pierced are they lying and mangled now, those friends stricken down
By Hector the son of Priam, when Zeus vouchsafed him renown:
And behold, ye are bidding us hence to the feast!—now verily nay.
For me, I would bid the sons of Achaia to naught but the fray,
Ay, fasting and hungry: and then, at the going down of the sun,
Be goodly supper arrayed, when revenge for the shame hath been won.
Ere then down this my throat shall there pass not in any wise bread,
Neither in any wise drink, while lieth my comrade dead,
Lieth within my tent, by the keen brass stabbed and torn,
With his feet to the door thereof, and ever around him mourn
My companions: wherefore in these things pleasure my soul hath none,
But in slaughter and blood of men, and the hard-heaved dying groan.”
But Odysseus spake unto him, and the manifold-counselled replied:
“O Peleus’ scion Achilles, Achaia’s crown of pride,
Thou art stronger than I, not a little thy might overpasseth mine
With the spear, yet haply Odysseus’ wisdom excelleth thine.
I am elder-born, and more do I know that the years can teach:
Then let thine heart for a little incline to hearken my speech.
Full soon is the hunger of men for the battle satisfied:
And when heaviest falleth the swath of the keen brass sweeping wide,
Full short is the reaping-time, when bowed are the scales of doom
By Zeus, of whose hand war’s dispensation to man doth come.
But with fasting it may not be that Achaians their dead should mourn:
For day after day full many in heaps upon heaps are borne
Earthward—when should we win any respite from trouble at all?
Nay, rather behoveth it even to bury him, whoso shall fall,
Casting out ruth from our hearts, and weeping the dead but a day.
But whoso be left alive from the hateful war, even they
Must needs bethink them of meat and of drink, that more than before
We may battle against the foe unflinching evermore
With our flesh clothed on with the stubborn brass, and let no man abide
To tarry and wait for any battle-summons beside,
For an evil thing this summons shall be unto whoso shall stay
By the ships of the Argives; but, charging forth in serried array,
With the horse-quelling warriors of Troy will we waken the eager fray.”
He spake, and the sons of renownéd Nestor he took, and with these
Took he Meges the son of Phyleus, and Thoas and Mériones:
And with Melanippus he called Lykomédes Kreon’s son,
And these to the tent of Atreus’ son Agamemnon are gone.
In the selfsame hour was the word and the deed’s accomplishing.
Seven tripods they bare from the tent, the promised gift of the King,
And flame-bright caldrons a score: twelve horses forth did they lead:
And the women in loomwork wise did they bring from the tent with speed,
Seven, and the eighth was the lovely-cheeked Briséis the maid.
Thereafter the gold, ten talents in all, Odysseus weighed;
And he led, and behind him the princes Achaian the rich gifts bare.
And they set them amidst the assembly; and rose Agamemnon there.
Then stood by the shepherd of folk Talthybius, mighty of voice
As a God, with his hands on the head of the boar of sacrifice.
And the son of Atreus drew his dagger forth with his hand,
Which hung evermore by the sheath of his mighty battle-brand,
And he severed the hairs, unto Zeus uplifting his hands on high;
And he prayed, and in silence the while the Argives all sat by,
As was meet, giving ear to the King, to his solemn sacrifice-cry.
And he uttered his voice, and he prayed, looking up to the broad-arched sky:
“Be witness now Zeus first, most highest and best of the Gods,
And Earth, and the Sun, and Erinnyes that hear from the nether abodes
Men that have falsely sworn, and avenge the oath betrayed,
That never I laid mine hands upon Briséis the maid,
Neither with purpose of love’s embrace, nor for aught beside:
But ever within my tents unsullied did she abide.
And if aught of mine oath is false, may the Gods give me pain upon pain,
Even all that they render to him that taketh their name in vain.”
He spake, and with pitiless brass through the neck of the beast he shore.
And the body Talthybius hurled amid gulfs of the sea-surf hoar,
Whirling it round, for the fish to devour: but Achilles then
Arose, and spake mid the battle-revelling Argive men:
“Zeus Father, with blindness exceeding great thou visitest
Men’s spirits! For never had Atreus’ son uproused in my breast
The anger that thrilled it deep, nor with stubborn will had he ta’en
That maid in mine own despite; but Zeus, I ween, was fain
That death should befall full many a man of Achaia’s array.
Now get ye unto your meat, to the end we may clash in the fray.”
So did he speak, and dispersed the gathered host straightway.
So scattered the folk, and each to his several ship fared they.
And the gifts were taken in charge of the Myrmidons mighty-hearted,
And bearing the same unto godlike Achilles’ ship they departed.
In the tents they laid them, a place therein to the women they gave;
And the horses into the herd the lordly henchmen drave.
And Briséis thereafter, like unto Aphrodité the Golden,
So soon as Patroclus, stabbed with the brass, of her eyes was beholden,
Fell on him, and clasped with a wild-ringing cry: with her hands she tare
Her bosom and tender neck, and her face exceeding fair.
And the woman goddess-like spake weeping bitterly:
“Patroclus, dearest of all to the hapless heart of me,
Alive did I leave thee here, when forth of the tent I was led,
But now, O chieftain of men, I return but to find thee dead!
Ay, so evermore from evil to evil still am I driven.
My husband, to whom of my sire and my mother the Queen I was given,
In front of my city pierced with the keen-whetted brass did I see;
And those whom the selfsame mother had borne, my brethren three—
Ah near and dear, yet the day of destruction must all they meet!
But yet, oh yet, thou didst suffer me not, when Achilles the fleet
Smote godlike Mynes’ town, and my lord by his hand had died,
To weep, but thou saidst thou wouldst make me godlike Achilles’ bride,
His true-wedded wife, and wouldst bear me in ships far over the tide
To a marriage-feast mid the Myrmidon folk on the Phthian shore.
O bitterly therefore I weep for thee dead, who wert kind evermore.”
So spake she, weeping the while, and the women echoed her moan,
For Patroclus in outward seeming, but each for woes of her own.
But the elders Achaian came round the hero on every side,
And besought him to take some meat, but these with a groan he denied:
“I beseech you, if any friend of his love will but heed my cry,
That ye cease to require that with meat and with drink I should satisfy
Mine heart, for that terrible grief hath beset me for this my friend:
But still, till the sun goeth down, will I stay and endure to the end.”
He spake; at his word the princes departed otherwhere:
But Atreus’ sons and Odysseus the godlike tarried there;
And with Nestor Idomeneus tarried, and Phoinix the car-lord old,
Being fain to console him with grief deep-stricken: but nowise consoled
Would his heart be, or ever he plunged mid the jaws of bloody war.
And calling to mind his belovéd he spake, and he sighed full sore:
“Ah verily once, O dearest companion, O hapless dead,
Thyself for me in the tent a dainty feast didst spread
With despatchful haste, when the men of Achaia were hastening
Against the horse-quelling Trojans the tear-fraught battle to bring.
But mangled now art thou lying, and oh, the heart of me
Will none of the meat and the drink within my pavilion that be,
Through yearning for thee: no sorer affliction than this can betide;
Nay, not though the tidings should come unto me that my father had died,—
Who in Phthia-land now, I ween, is shedding the comfortless tear,
For a son sore longing; but he in the land of the alien here
For Helen’s sake, the abhorred, with the Trojans still must war,—
Yea, or that dead was my son, who is fostered in Skyros afar,
If perchance Neoptolemus yet is alive, the godlike child.
Ah once the star of a hope through my spirit’s darkness smiled,
That alone I should perish from Argos afar, the war-steed land,
In Troyland here, but that thou shouldst return to the Phthian strand,
And that thou in the dark swift galley that my child shouldst bring
Homeward from Skyros’ isle, and shouldst show to him everything,
Show him my substance and thralls, and my palace’s stately height:—
For Peleus my father by this, I ween, shall be dead outright;
Or haply in feeble life and in sorrow he lingereth on,
And in hateful eld, and ever he waiteth to hear of his son,
Till the woeful tidings come, and he know that my days are done.”
So weeping he spake, and the elders answered him groan for groan:
Dear ones had they left in their halls, and each remembered his own.
And the Kronos-begotten beholding them weeping was pity-stirred,
And straightway he cried to Athéné, and spake the swift-winged word:
“My child, of a truth yon hero wholly forsakest thou!
What, hath Achilles no more any part in the love of thee now?
Sooth, he in any wise sitteth in front of the ships tall-prowed
Aye wailing his dear-loved friend; but all that warrior-crowd
Are gone to their meat, but fasting he is, and all unfed.
Thou then go thither, and nectar into his bosom shed
And ambrosia sweet, that he be not of hunger sore bestead.”
Enkindled the more by his word was Athéné the eager-hearted:
Away, like a wide-winged falcon of scream keen-thrilling she darted,
And from heaven through the welkin she hurled her. And now the Achaian men
Swiftly were arming throughout the host. But the Goddess then
Through the breast of Achilles the nectar and sweet ambrosia shed,
Lest the faintness of hunger should come on his knees, through the war as they sped.
And herself to her mighty father’s palace stately-soaring
Was gone: but forth of the sea-swift ships that host went pouring.
And as when thick-thronging the flakes of the snow from Zeus flutter forth
Chill-driven before the welkin-begotten blast of the north,
So then thick-thronging the helmets flashing their glorious sheen
Went streaming forth from the ships, and the bossy shields between,
And the corslets massy-plated, and spear by ashen spear;
And the splendour went up to the sky, and the earth laughed far and near
With the lightning of brass, and the thunder pealed from the myriad tramp
Of men: and Achilles the godlike armed him amidst of the camp.
Then was a gnashing heard of his teeth, from his eyes ’gan dart
Flames like the blazing of fire, and there entered into his heart
Unendurable anguish of wrath, and his fury for fight rose higher
In the gifts of the God as he clad him, the work of the Lord of Fire.
First unto his legs did he lay the greaves fair-glittering,
Beautiful, clasped around with the silver ankle-ring.
Thereafter the sheathing corslet about his breast he laid,
And he slung from his shoulders his silver-studded battle-blade,
All-brazen; thereafter he took his buckler stark and vast,
Whose glorious shining afar like the light of the moon was cast.
And as when there appeareth to seafarers over the sea the light
Of a blazing fire, and burneth its flame on a mountain-height
In a lonely steading,—but them as they gaze do the wild winds sweep
Afar from the friends that they love o’er the face of the fish-fraught deep;—
So from the shield of Achilles the sheen went up to the sky,
From the beautiful rich-wrought targe. And he lifted the strong helm high,
And he set it upon his brow: as a star that morion gleamed
Horse-hair plumed, and golden threads all round it streamed
Wherewith of Hephaistus’ hand full thickly the crest was bedight.
Then godlike Achilles made proof of himself in his harness of fight,
To wot if they fitted, if ran untrammeled each glorious limb;
And the shepherd of folk they uplifted, as wings they became unto him.
And the lance of his sire from the spear-stand took that mightier son,
The stark spear massy and huge: mid Achaia’s host there was none
Might swing it, but strength for the wielding thereof had Achilles alone,
The shaft that Cheiron had brought to his father, the ashen beam
From the crest of Pelion hewn, o’er the slaughter of heroes to gleam.
And Automedon holpen of Alkimus hasted the steeds to array,
And they yoked them: the beautiful bands they buckled, the bits thrust they
Into the mouths of the horses; the reins to the car strong-wrought
Backward they drew; and the glittering scourge hath Automedon caught
In the hands that knew it well: to the chariot-floor hath he leapt;
And arrayed in his battle-gear behind him Achilles stept,
While bright as the Sun-god flashed his armour on every side,
Therewithal to the steeds of his father with terrible voice he cried:
“Xanthus and Balius, far-famed brood of Podargé’s strain,
Take heed that in other sort to the Danaan host again
Ye bring your chariot-lord, when ourselves from the battle refrain,
And not, as ye left Patroclus, leave us yonder slain.”
From beneath the yoke unto him the fleetfoot car-steed spoke,
Xanthus, drooping his head straightway, and beside the yoke
Streamed all his mane from the collar till low in the dust it lay.
And Héré the white-armed Goddess gave him a voice that day:
“Yea, mighty Achilles, safe this day will we bear back thee:
Yet nigh is the day of thy doom. Not guilty thereof be we,
But a mighty God and the overmastering Doom shall be cause.
For not by our slowness of foot neither slackness of will it was
That the Trojans availed from Patroclus’ shoulders thine armour to tear;
Nay, but a God most mighty, whom fair-tressed Léto bare,
Slew him in forefront of fight, giving Hector the glory-meed.
But for us, we twain as the blast of the West-wind fleetly could speed,
Which they name for the lightest-winged of the winds: but for thee withal,
Even thee, is it doomed that by might of a God and a man thou shalt fall.”
So spake he: then the Erinnyes hushed his voice for aye.
But to him did fleetfoot Achilles sorely disquieted say:
“Xanthus, why bodest thou death unto me?—thou needest not so.
Myself well know my weird, in death to be here laid low,
Far off from my dear-loved sire, from the mother that bare me afar.
Yet cease will I not till I give to the Trojans surfeit of war.”
He spake, and with shouts sped onward the thunderfoot steeds of his car.