Book IX

SO were the Troyfolk keeping their watch; but Achaia’s array
Were holden of Panic, the handmaid of palsy-numbed Dismay;
And their mightiest all were stricken with heart-overmastering pain.
And even as the fish-fraught sea is upstirred by the storm-winds twain,
The North-wind and West-wind, that forth of their lair in the Thrace-land leaping
Swoop suddenly down, and all in a moment the surge dark-sweeping
Uptosseth its crests, and in heaps the sea-tangle is hurled to the shore,
Even so were the souls in the bosoms Achaian disquieted sore.
But Atreides, stricken at heart with the mighty grief of a king,
Went bidding the clear-voiced heralds to call to the council-ring
The heroes Achaian—but every man by his name should they call,
Nor in any wise shout, and himself therein toiled more than all.
So they gathered, and sat down troubled, and there Agamemnon stood
Fast shedding the tears, as a spring dark-watered poureth its flood
When bursteth its sunless stream from the cleft of a lone steep scaur:
And heavily groaning he spake to the Argive chiefs of war:
“Friends, lords of the Argives, and captains of fight, unto you I declare
Kronion hath tangled my feet in folly’s ruin-snare.
Ah cruel!—he promised me once, by his nod did he seal it withal,
That ere I returned I should cast down Ilium’s goodly wall.
He hath fed me on lying delusions!—lo, how he biddeth me fly
With shame unto Argos—me, who have led those thousands to die!
Yea, this strange thing is the pleasure of Zeus the almighty, I trow,
Who hath brought down many a city’s crown of pride full low,
And yet shall bring, for that none may withstand him, his doom to gainsay.
Come then, as my counsel shall be, even so let us all obey:
To our own dear fatherland-shore let us flee in the galleys away:—
We shall never hereafter win broad-wayed Troy-town for a prey.”
So spake he, and no man answered a word, but amazement-hushed
Long sat they in silence, the sons of Achaia, with hearts grief-crushed,
Till the word from the battle-helper, the lord Diomedes, burst:
“Atreides, ’tis I will contend against this thy madness first
In council, O King, and thou shalt not be wroth, for that mine is the right.
Thou first in the midst of the Danaans spakest in scorn of my might:
Thou didst call me a battle-blencher, a dastard—yea, thy jeers
Be known unto all the Argives, the young and the stricken in years!
Now the son of the God dark-counselled by halves hath dowered thee:
Above all men he gave to thee honour of sceptre-majesty,
But battle-prowess he gave not, the crown of the mightiest ones.
What, Sir, and tak’st thou upon thee to count Achaia’s sons
Dastards and battle-blenchers, according to that thy word
But if thine heart, thine, unto shameful home-return be stirred,
Go, for the way is before thee, thy galleys are hard by the sea:
There stand they, the host of the ships that came from Mycenae with thee!
But the rest of the long-haired sons of Achaia shall yet stay on
Till we utterly waste Troy-town;—yea, though all these would be gone,—
E’en let them flee in the ships to their own dear fatherland-home!—
Yet twain shall fight on, even I and Sthenelus, until the doom
Of Ilium’s judgment be won, for in God’s name now are we come.”
Then from the sons of Achaia went up a mighty shout,
As they hailed Diomedes the horse-queller’s rede unblenching stout.
Then Nestor arose, and spake that lord of the battle-car:
O Tydeus’ son, exceeding mighty thou art in war,
And counsel-peerless amidst of the heroes younger-born.
There is no man of all the Achaians shall hold thy rede in scorn,
Nor gainsay,—but the end of thy speech hath been left unspoken of thee.
Lo now, thou art even a youth; thou mightest be son unto me,
Yea, even my youngest of all; yet wise is thy counsel to-night
To the Argive kings, forasmuch as thy words be meet and right.
Come then, I am older than thou: from the thoughts that the years have stored
I will speak out; every whit shall be said, and this my word
Shall no man set at naught, no, not Agamemnon our lord.
Tribeless and lawless is he, and a hearthless man accurst,
Whose heart for the strife that teareth the bowels of his land is athirst!
But now let us heed the behest of the dark-palled night on-sweeping,
And prepare us our supper: let watchmen withal for the host’s safe-keeping
Along by the deep-delved trench bestow them without the wall.
Even this is my rede to the youths: but thereafter be thou unto all
A leader, O Atreus’ son, for that thou art the kingliest.
Spread thou a feast for the princes, for this beseemeth thee best:
Filled be thy tents with wine which the ships of Achaia’s host
Bring over the broad sun-flashing waters from Thracia’s coast.
All guest-receiving is thine, seeing many be under thy sway:
And when many in council be met, thou shalt do as that man shall say
Whose rede is the wisest: sore is the war-host’s need, I trow,
Of counsel valiant and prudent, for hard by our galleys the foe
Be burning their countless fires—what heart for this would joy
This night, even this, shall deliver the host from bane, or destroy.”
So spake he, the ancient of days, and they hearkened with heed and obeyed;
And forth of the camp went speeding the watchmen harness-arrayed:
With Nestor’s son, Thrasymédes, shepherd of folk, did they speed,
With Askalaphus others fared, and Ialmenus Arés’ seed,
With Aphareus, Mériones, and Déipyrus some be gone,
And other with Kreion’s child, Lykomédes the mighty one.
Seven were the captains of watchmen, and each man’s warder-band
Was a hundred warriors, each with his long lance gripped in his hand.
So they hied them, and sat them down in the midst ’twixt trench and wall,
And they kindled a fire, and prepared them the meal of the evenfall.
But the counsel-chiefs of Achaia’s host Atreides led
Unto his tent, and before them a plenteous feast he spread.
So they put forth their hands to eat of the meats on the board that lay.
But so soon as the craving for meat and for drink was done away,
For the weaving of counsel-weft did the ancient king uprise,
Nestor, whose rede in the days overpast seemed best in their eyes.
And he lifted his voice in their midst, and with kindly intent he spoke:
“Most glorious Atreus’ son, Agamemnon lord of folk,
With thee will I end, and with thee will begin, for of many a land
Thou rulest the sons, and Zeus hath committed into thine hand
The sceptre and laws of a king, that thine heart may be careful for all:
Wherefore ’tis meet that thou speak, it is meet that thou hearken withal,
Yea, that thou bring to pass whatsoever excellent thought
Hath birth in another man’s soul:—it is thine, whatsoe’er shall be wrought.
Lo, now will I utter the thing that seemeth the best in mine eyes,
For better counsel than this shall no man’s heart devise,
Than the thought that hath lain in my soul from the days overpast until now,
Even from the hour when in anger, O Zeus-begotten, thou
Didst go and didst bear from the tent of Achilles Briséis the maid—
Not in any wise after my mind, for with earnest words I essayed
To turn thee therefrom, but thou, overborne by thy mood high-souled,
Didst dishonour a man most mighty, whom even the Deathless hold
In honour: his guerdon thou tookest and keepest: yet let us to-day,
Even now, take counsel, if haply his wrath may be charmed away
By the gifts that our hands shall bring, by the love that our lips shall say.”
Answered and spake unto him Agamemnon the King again:
“Old sire, not false is the tale thou hast told of my madness-bane.
Fool-furious I was, I deny not:—better, I see it, is he
Whom Zeus holdeth dear to his heart than a great war-company,
As now he hath favoured Achilles, and smitten Achaia’s array.
But since in the hour of my bane my infatuate heart bare sway,
Fain would I win back his love with a recompense-price untold.
Lo, the tale of the glorious gifts in the midst of you all I unfold:—
Seven tripods that never were sullied of fire, ten talents of gold,
And flame-bright caldrons a score, and twelve steeds goodly to see,
Guerdon-winners whose hoofs beat music of victory.
No lackland wight were the man, neither scant were the treasure that shone
In his halls gold-gleaming, who called such guerdon-wealth his own
As the speed of my thunderfoot steeds for me in the race hath won.
Seven women withal will I give him, in fair work cunning to toil,
Lesbians, the which, when himself took Lesbos-town for a spoil,
I chose me; in beauty above all women-folk peerless were they; I
These will I give him: with them shall be she that I reft away,
Briséis: thereto will I swear a mighty oath and dread
That never for love’s embracing I gat me unto her bed,
As the children of men be wont, when man and maiden wed.
All these will I give forthright; and if Priam’s mighty wall
By the grace of the Gods hereafter beneath our hands shall fall,
Let him come when the host is dividing the spoil in the triumphing day,
And heap up his galley with gold as he will and with brass of the prey.
Yea, twenty daughters of Troy let him choose, of all that therein
Be fairest next unto Helen the peerless Argive Queen.
And when Argos, the choice of the land of Achaia, again shall be won,
He shall wed with my child; I will honour him even as Orestes my son,
The lad that in stintless abundance is nurtured royally.
Behold three daughters have I in my fair-built halls oversea,
Chrysothemis, Laodiké, and Iphianassa withal:
Whichso he will let him lead for his bride unto Peleus’ hall,
Neither pay me the bride-price: yea, and a dower of mine hand shall she have,
Such treasure as never a father yet with his daughter gave.
Seven cities to wit will I give him, stately and fair to be seen,
Kardamylé, Enopé, Hiré, with pastures ever green,
Pherae the hallowed, Antheia deep-meadowed on every hand,
Aipeia the lovely-lying, and Pedasus’ vine-gladdened land,
All nigh to the sea, on the borders of Pylos the city of sand.
Sheep-flocks enow have the burghers thereof, and herds of kine,
And with gifts, as men worship a God, shall they render him honour divine,
And shall bring rich tribute, bowing them under his sceptred sway.
All this will I surely fulfil if he turn from his anger away.
Let him yield: unrelenting is none nor unyielding save Hades, I wis;
Wherefore most hateful of Gods to the children of men he is.
Yea, let him give place unto me as a king, for that higher than he
Am I set, and as yieldeth the young to the old let him yield unto me.”
Made answer Gerenia’s horseman, and Nestor the ancient spoke:
“Atreides the high-renowned, Agamemnon lord of folk,
The gifts thou wouldst give to Achilles the King no man may contemn.
Come then, let us take to us chosen men, let us hasten them
To go to the tent of Achilles Peleus’ son straightway.
Now whomso I choose for our helping, he shall not say us nay:—
Foremost of all let Phoinix the Zeus-belovéd lead,
And with him shall be Aias the giant, and godlike Odysseus, to plead;
And let Odius with these, and Eurybates, thither as heralds fare.
Now bring for our hands the water, proclaim ye the hush for our prayer,
To the end we may cry unto Zeus, if perchance he will pity and spare.”
So spake he, and good in the eyes of them all was the ancient’s word.
And the heralds brought them water, and over their hands they poured;
And the mixing bowls by the boys with the banquet-wine were crowned,
And to all, from the right to the left, they filled the goblets round.
So when they had poured the libation, and drunk to their hearts’ content,
Forth of the tent of Atreus’ son Agamemnon they went.
But still did Gerenia’s horseman charge them with diligent heed,
Ever laying on this one and that, but most on Odysseus, his rede,
How they should strive to prevail with ‘Peleus’ noble seed.
By the thunderous-plunging sea they paced the sighing sands
With many a prayer to the Earth-shaking King, the Girder of Lands,
That lightly the mighty spirit might yield of Aiakus’ son.
So when to the tents and the ships of the Myrmidon host they won,
They found him delighting his soul as rang to the sweep of his hand
His beautiful rich-wrought lyre with a silver cross-bar spanned,
Which he chose from the spoils of the war when he smote Eétion’s town.
Sweetly it rang as he sang old deeds of hero-renown.
And overagainst him Patroclus sat, and he held his peace,
Spell-bound till the glorious lay of Aiakus’ son should cease.
So drew they anigh him, and foremost Odysseus the godlike went,
And before him they stood, and sprang to his feet in astonishment
Achilles, yet holding the lyre in his hand as he left his seat;
Therewithal did Patroclus, beholding the heroes, uprise to his feet.
Then greeted them well fleet-footed Achilles, and thus spake he:
“All hail!—ye be friends—good sooth there is need that such should be!—
Who, for all my wrath, of the host of Achaia be dearest to me.”
Then strode he, Achilles the godlike, before, to his tent as they hied;
And he caused them to rest upon couches and bright rugs purple-dyed,
And he spake forthright to Patroclus, while yet he abode at his side:
‘A bowl yet greater, O son of Menoitius, set thou up:
Let the wine be stronger-mingled, and deal unto each man a cup;
For the dearest of men this night beneath my pavilion shall sup.”
He spake, and Patroclus hearkened to do his friend’s desire.
Down flung he a mighty fleshing-block in the light of the fire;
Thereon hath he laid the backs of a fatling goat and a sheep,
And a huge boar’s chine, with the fat’s abundant fold clothed deep.
Then Automedon held, and Achilles the godlike carved the meats,
And deftly he cut them in pieces, and set the same on the spits.
Then a mighty flame did the godlike son of Menoitius raise.
And so soon as the fire burned low, and abated the leaping blaze,
The red-glowing embers he levelled, and stretched the spits thereover,
On the spit-racks laid, and with sprinkling of holy salt did he cover.
So when he had roasted the flesh, and into the chargers had poured,
Patroclus took of the bread, and he dealt it about the board
In beautiful maunds, and Achilles portioned the meats unto all.
Then, facing Odysseus the godlike, against the further wall
Sat hero Achilles, and spake to Patroclus his comrade true
To sacrifice, and he cast on the fire the high Gods’ due.
So they put forth their hands to eat of the meats on the board that lay.
But so soon as the craving for meat and for drink had been done away,
Then Aias to Phoinix nodded: Odysseus marked that sign,
And he filled up a goblet, and pledged Achilles the King in the wine:
“All hail unto thee, Achilles: the banquet’s abundant cheer
We lack not in Atreus’ son Agamemnon’s tent, nor here;
For with stintless dainties ever the feastful board is dight.
But not for the pleasant banquet our hearts are careful to-night.
But we look on affliction exceeding heavy, O fostered of Zeus,
And we fear, and we know not whether we yet shall save or lose
The fair-benched galleys, except thou clothe thee with battle-might:
For anigh to the ships and the compassing rampart the camp is pight
Of the Trojans lofty-souled and their far-famed battle-aid.
They have kindled their countless watch-fires, they deem they shall not be stayed
Till down on the dark-hulled galleys in onset triumphant they dash.
And Zeus Kronion is showing them signs by his levin-flash
To rightward, and Hector is storming with battle-rage high-wrought
In horrible madness: he trusteth in Zeus, and he careth naught
Or for men or for Gods; overmastering frenzy hath seized upon him.
And he prayeth that dawn may shine with speed on the earth-ways dim;
For he sweareth to hew from the galleys the ensign-crests of the same,
And he sweareth to burn their hulls with ruthless-ravening flame,
And amidst them to slay the Achaians as ’wildered they gasp mid the smoke.
Sorely afraid in my spirit am I lest the threats that he spoke
May yet be fulfilled of the Gods, and our weird at the last may be
To perish in Troy far off from Argos the horse-fed lea.
Up then, if thy will be to save Achaia’s fainting sons,
Though late, from the onset-thunder of Troyland’s mighty ones,
Thyself shalt have anguish of ruth thereafter: no help is at all,
Neither healing, for mischief done. But long ere such befall,
O bethink thee to turn from the Danaans ruin’s evil day!
O friend, thou wast charged of thy sire—ah, surely did Peleus say,
In the hour when he sent thee from Phthia for King Agamemnon to fight,
‘My son, Athéné and Héré shall give thee battle-might,
If such be their pleasure, but be it for thee to rein in thy breast
Thy mood high-hearted, for verily lovingkindness is best,
And refrain thee from strife, from the worker of bane, and the Argives shall raise
The higher thy name and thy fame, both the young and the ancient of days.’
So charged thee the old man, but ah, thou forgettest: yet fling from thee, fling,
Even now, heart-cankering anger. Lo, Agamemnon the King
Maketh proffer of worthy gifts, if thou turn from thine anger away.
Prithee hearken to me, I will set forth all that goodly array
Of the peace-gifts promised to thee in the tent of the King of Men:—
Seven tripods unsullied of fire, and talents of red gold ten,
And flame-bright caldrons a score, and twelve steeds stately to see,
Guerdon-winners whose hoofs beat music of victory.
No lackland wight were the man, neither scant were the treasures that shone
In his halls gold-gleaming, who called such guerdon-wealth his own
As the speed of the thunderfoot steeds of the King in the races hath won.
Seven women withal will he give thee, in fair work cunning to toil,
Lesbians, the which, when thyself tookest Lesbos-town for a spoil,
He chose him; in beauty above all womenfolk peerless were they.
These will he give thee: with them shall be she that he reft away,
Briséis: thereto will he swear a mighty oath and dread
That never for love’s embracing he gat him unto her bed,
As the loving be wont, O King, when man and maiden wed.
All these shall be thine forthright; and if Priam’s mighty wall
By the grace of the Gods hereafter beneath our hands shall fall,
Come thou when the host is dividing the spoil in the triumphing day,
And heap up thy galley with gold as thou wilt and with brass of the prey.
Yea, twenty daughters of Troy shalt thou choose thee, of all that therein
Be fairest next unto Helen the peerless Argive Queen.
And when Argos, the choice of the land of Achaia, again shall be won,
Thou shalt wed with his child, he will honour thee even as Orestes his son,
The lad that in stintless abundance is nurtured royally.
Behold, three daughters he hath in his fair-built halls oversea,
Chrysothemis, Laodiké, and Iphianassa withal:
Whichso thou wilt shalt thou lead for thy bride unto Peleus’ hall,
Neither pay him the bride-price’: yea, and a dower of his hand shall she have,
Such treasure as never a father yet with his daughter gave.
Seven cities to wit will he give thee, stately and fair to be seen,
Kardamylé, Enopé, Hiré with pastures ever green,
Pherae the hallowed, Antheia deep-meadowed on every hand,
Aipeia the lovely-lying, and Pedasus’ vine-gladdened land,
All nigh to the sea, on the borders of Pylos the city of sand.
Sheep-flocks enow have the burghers thereof, and herds of kine;
And with gifts, as men worship a God, shall they render thee honour divine,
And shall bring rich tribute, bowing them under thy sceptred sway.
All this will he surely fulfil if thou turn from thine anger away.
But if Atreus’ son be utterly loathed of thy soul this day,
Even he and his gifts, yet pity the rest of Achaia’s array,
Which be fainting throughout the host: as a God’s shall they honour thy name,
For of these shalt thou win of a truth exceeding glorious fame.
Even Hector thou now couldest slay: he would draw full nigh unto thee.
He is filled with baleful madness, he deemeth that none such as he
Is found mid the Danaan men whom the galleys bare oversea.”
Made answer Achilles to him, and the fleetfoot hero replied:
O scion of Zeus and Laertes, Odysseus in wiles deep-tried,
Clear-spoken this word of mine answer must be, and I may not feign;
I must tell you the thought of my soul and the thing that shall surely remain,
Lest ye tarry and tarry with fawning words to tempt me in vain.
For hateful to me is the man as the very gates of Death
Who hideth a thing in his heart that is not as the thing that he saith.
But for me, I will utter the thing that I deem shall be best in the end:—
Not me shall the son of Atreus, the King Agamemnon, bend,
Nor the rest of the Danaan men: for a thankless toil hath it been
To grapple with foes evermore in the battle sleepless-keen.
One share hath the home-abider, and he that hath fought with his might:
In the selfsame honour the dastard is held, and the valiant in fight:
And how dieth the deedless man?—as the deed-crowned heroes die.
Of my travail and all my vexation of spirit no profit have I:
Naught boots it that ever in battle I set my life at stake.
And even as a bird to her callow nestling brood doth take
Each morsel she winneth, the while herself is in sorriest plight,
Even so was I wont to watch through many a sleepless night,
And I bore the brunt of the battle of many a bloody day,
Warring with men with intent to win their wives for a prey.
Twelve fenced cities of men in sea-raid I took for a spoil,
Yea, and by land eleven on Troyland’s deep-loamed soil;
And out of them all did I gather their treasures many and brave,
And to Atreus’ son Agamemnon I bare them all and gave.
And he, he tarried behind by the sea-swift ships of the host,
And received them: a few did he portion to others; he kept the most.
Other guerdons of honour he wont to give unto captain and king,
And they keep them, but me alone of Achaia’s gathering
Hath he robbed, he hath gotten my heart’s delight:—let him take his joy
In her arms! But why must the Argives fight with the sons of Troy?
Why gathered Atreides the host and led them on this war-quest?
Was it not for the winning of Helen the Queen, the beautiful-tressed?
What then, amongst menfolk shall none save Atreus’ sons be found
That love their wives?—tush, whoso is good and whose heart is sound
Loveth his own, and he cherisheth, even as I held dear,
Dear from my heart, this maid, what though she were spoil of my spear.
Now since he hath torn from mine hands my prize, and deceived me herein,
No more let him tempt me—I know him: my trust shall he never win.
But let him, Odysseus, with thee and the kings that will trust the liar,
Take counsel how to deliver the ships from the foemen’s fire.
Good sooth, he hath fashioned full many a deed without mine aid.
O yea, he hath built him a wall, and a trench thereby hath he made;
Wide is it and deep, and therein is the fence of his stakes arrayed.
Yet the might of the manslaying Hector not even so hath he stayed.
Howbeit while yet with the host of Achaia I fared to the war,
Never dared Hector his battle array from the wall afar.
No farther he came than the Skaian gate and the oak thereby.
There once he abode me, and scarce from mine onset alive did he fly.
But now, since my will is to fight not with Hector the godlike again,
Tomorn unto Zeus and the rest of the Gods will I sacrifice; then
I will run my galleys asea, and with goodly freight will I stow;
Thou shalt see, if thou wilt, if thou carest for suchlike gallant show,
Right early my ships o’er the fish-fraught Hellespont sailing away,
And my comrades therein, full fain of the dashing oar’s swift play.
And if fair-breathed winds be vouchsafed of the Shaker of the Land,
On the third day hence shall I win unto deep-loamed Phthia’s strand.
Much wealth have I there, which I left when on this ill quest I came;
Fine gold moreover from hence, and the copper’s ruddy flame,
And fair-girt women, and hoary steel, will I bear oversea,
Yea, all that by lot was mine: but the prize that he gave unto me
Lord Agamemnon from me like a tyrant hath taken away,
Even Atreus’ son. Now therefore proclaim all this that I say—
Openly tell it, that all may be indignation-stirred,
If he hopeth to cheat any Danaan yet with deceitful word,
Who is ever with impudence clad: yet he will not dare, I wis,
Dog-shameless albeit he be, to look in my face after this.
I will frame not with him war-counsel, nor fashion the deeds of war.
He hath wholly deceived me, and played the villain, and me never more
With words shall he cozen: suffice him the past: in peace let him go
To his ruin: the Counsel-father hath stolen his wits, I trow.
Hateful to me are his gifts, and I hold him at one straw’s fee.
Not though he would give ten, twenty-fold so much unto me
As the wealth that he hath, and the wealth that may come otherwhence to his hand,
Not all that Orchomenus gathers, nor Thebes in Egypt-land,
The city that hath in the halls of her palaces treasure untold,—
She hath gates five-score, and through every gate of the war-fenced hold
March forth five hundred men with the steed and the battle-car,—
Though his gifts were in number as sands of the sea or as dust-motes are,
Not even so Agamemnon should bend my purpose again
Till he pay me the uttermost price of my grievous honour-stain.
With a daughter of Atreus’ son Agamemnon I wed not, I,
Though with Aphrodité the Golden in beauty his child should vie,
And in cunning work of the loom with Athéné the flashing-eyed.
Not I—let him choose him another Achaian lord for the bride,
Ay, let one worthy to mate her, a kinglier wooer, come!
If the Gods shall preserve me in life, if again I shall win to mine home,
Peleus himself thereafter shall find out a wife for his son.
In Hellas and Phthia be maidens Achaian many an one,
Daughters of princes the champion-warders of tower and wall.
For my dear-loved wife will I take whichsoever I will of them all.
There many a time and oft of my princely heart was I moved
To woo me and win me a bride, a true wife meet to be loved,
And to take my joy of the wealth by the old man Peleus stored;
For as nothing-worth in the balance with life I account that hoard
That in Ilium lay, in the fair-built city, as telleth the tale,
In the days of peace, ere came Achaia’s sons for her bale,
Neither all that the rock-hewn threshold of Phoebus Apollo doth keep
In the fane of the Archer-god, on Pytho’s craggy steep.
For kine may ye get you in foray, and flocks of goodly sheep;
There be tripods to win, and the bright-maned war-steed’s gallant head:
But neither by foray nor price returneth the life to the dead,
When once through the fence of the teeth the soul of a man hath fled.
For my mother the Goddess Thetis the silver-footed saith
That of twofold fates am I onward thrust to the bourne of death.
If here I abide and battle to win the Trojans’ town,
Lost is mine home-return, but unfading is my renown.
But and if to mine own dear country I hie me, to Phthia’s strand,
Lost is my fair renown, but my days shall be long in the land,
And it shall not be soon that my feet at the goal of death shall stand.
Yea, to the rest of the host withal would I utter my rede,
That homeward ye sail, for your expectation never shall speed,
That Ilium the steep should be won, for that far-seeing Zeus stretcheth out
His hand for her shield, and the hearts of her folk be uplifted and stout.
But ye to the lords of the host of Achaia go and declare
My message,—for this is the office that ambassage-elders bear,—
To devise in their hearts new counsel, and find them a better way,
Such as shall save them their ships and the lives of Achaia’s array
By the hollow ships, forasmuch as this hath availed them naught
Which of late they devised, for the flame of mine anger their ruin hath wrought.
But here let Phoinix abide, let him lie in my tent this night,
And so to our fatherland-home shall he sail with the morning’s light,
If such be his will, but I bear him not hence in his own despite.”
So did he speak, and in silence hushed were they all as they heard,
Aghast at his speech, for he cried an exceeding vehement word.
But at last made answer Phoinix the chariot-champion hoar,
Sudden-weeping, for trembled his heart for the sons of Achaia sore:
O glorious Achilles, if this be thy very soul’s desire
To return, if thou wilt not in any wise save from the ravening fire
The sea-swift ships, for the fierceness of wrath that hath entered thine heart,
How dare I be left alone, my son, if thou wilt depart?
For with thee was I sent of the car-borne Peleus the hoary-grey
In the hour when from Phthia to King Agamemnon he sent thee away,
When thou wert but a child, in the shock of the battle untried as yet,
Or the council-ring, where the wise amid princes on high be set.
Wherefore he sent me forth for to teach thee all this lore,
To make thee a prince in counsel, a doer of deeds of war.
Therefore, my son, my beloved, to tarry forlorn of thee
Could I nowise endure, nay, not though a God would pledge him to me
To strip me of eld, and to clothe me with youth-tide’s goodlihead,
As I was when at first from Hellas the land of the lovely I fled
From the storm of the anger of Ormenus’ son, of Amyntor my sire,
When because of his leman the beautiful-tressed I had kindled his ire.
For he loved her himself, and his true-wed wife did he set at naught
Even my mother; and me evermore by my knees she besought
To go in to her first, that his leman might loathe him, the hoary-old.
So I hearkened and did, and the tale ere long to my father was told;
And he bitterly cursed me, and loud to the hateful Avengers he prayed
That never upon his knees might prattling babe be laid
Begotten of me, and the Gods fulfilled that curse on my head,
Even Zeus of the Underworld, and Persephoné’s majesty dread.
Yea, and I purposed to slay him for this with the keen-whetted spear:
But one of the Deathless assuaged my fury, and put me in fear
Of the speech of a people indignant, a nation’s mocking breath,
Lest Achaia should call me the man blood-stained with a father’s death.
But the fire in mine heart burned ever, my spirit would nowise be won
In an angry father’s halls hate-haunted to linger on.
But my friends sore-pleading around me came, and the men of my kin:
So these constrained me to bide for a space those halls within.
And goodly sheep full many, and trailfoot wreath-horned kine
Did they slay, and the fat-enfolded carcase of many a swine
Stretched they for the singeing athwart the Fire-god’s fervent glow;
And out of the old man’s jars did the wine in abundance flow.
So for nine nights’ space round about me, all through the livelong night,
Changing about did they watch me, and never was quenched the light
Of the fires: ‘neath the colonnade of the fencéd court blazed one;
In the porchway in front of the doors of my chamber another shone.
But it came to pass, when the tenth in blackness of darkness fell,
That I burst the doors of my chamber, massy and bolt-gripped well,
And I passed forth thence, and I leapt the fence of the courtyard wall
Lightly; was none that beheld me, nor watcher nor handmaid thrall;
And fleeing afar o’er the wide-spreading lawnlands of Hellas I roamed
Till I came to the mother of sheep, unto Phthia’s soil deep-loamed,
Unto Peleus the king; and he welcomed the stranger with kindly cheer;
And he loved me like as a father holdeth his own son dear,
His darling, his only-begotten, the heir to his wealth and his land;
And he made me rich, and he gave much people into mine hand.
So I, the Dolopians’ king, on the marches of Phthia abode.
And I reared thee to this thy greatness, Achilles like to a God.
From my soul did I love thee, for thou with none other save only with me
Wouldst sit at thy meat in the halls, or go to the banquet’s glee.
Ay, naught would content thee but Phoinix’ knees for thy banqueting seat,
And his hand to put to thy lips the wine and the savoury meat.
And often the breast of my tunic was drenched and stain-defiled,
As suddenly spirted the wine from the helpless lips of the child.
So bare I the burden of travail and toil for my darling’s need,
Bethinking me how that the Gods had vouchsafed unto me no seed
Of my body: but thee, Achilles, O godlike fair and strong,
I accounted my son, my defender thereafter from shame and wrong.
Nay, Achilles, do thou overmaster thy pride: thou oughtest not, thou,
To cherish a ruthless spirit: the very Gods can bow,—
Though more excellent majesty, mightier honour and strength, be theirs,—
Even these by the incense upwafted, by wrath-assuaging prayers,
By libation and sacrifice-reek do men unto mercy win,
Whoso shall make supplication because of transgression and sin.
For Prayers be the daughters of Him of the majesty-crowned head;
Halt are they and wrinkled, with eyes ever glancing askance as in dread,
And aye in the steps of Sin do they follow with heedful tread.
But mighty and fleetfoot is Sin, whereby she outrunneth them all
By far, and through all the earth she causeth to stumble and fall
The children of men, and the Prayers follow after with balm for their bruise.
Whosoe’er in the day of their coming revereth the daughters of Zeus,
Greatly they bless him, and hearken when he in his need shall pray.
But if any deny their petition, and stubbornly say them nay,
Then go they and cry to Kronion that Sin may meet that one
In the way, that he stumble and fall, and atone for the wrong he hath done.
O then to the Daughters of Zeus, Achilles, render thou
The homage that causeth the hearts of the noblest of earth to bow!
If Atreides had offered not gifts, neither spoken of others in store,
But in malice and wrath hot-burning continued evermore,
It is not I that would bid thee to cast thine anger from thee,
And stand up for the Argives’ help, whatsoever their need might be.
But he giveth thee much forthright, and more remaineth behind,
And to plead with thee hath he sent the princeliest men he may find
In Achaia’s host, the men that of all the Argive array
Be dearest to thee; then spurn not thou their petition away,
Nor their feet: howbeit ere this could none on thy wrath cry shame.
Even so have we heard the story of heroes of olden fame;
For they bare them as thou, when swelled the stormy anger-tide;
Yet might they by presents be won, and by pleadings be pacified.
I mind me of deeds overpast, of a tale of the times of old,
How it befell: in the midst of you all now let it be told.
The Kurétes and battle-biding men of Aetolia warred
For Kalydon’s sake, and many a hero was slain by the sword,
While fought Aetolia’s sons to deliver that lovely town,
While warred the Kurétes to cast it battle-wasted down.
For Artemis golden-throned with her plague had smitten them sore
In her anger that Oineus had rendered her naught of his harvest-store;
But to all the rest of the Gods was the hecatomb-banquet brought,
To the daughter of Zeus most high alone he sacrificed not,
Forgetting, or heedless perchance—his spirit was folly-distraught.
And for this cause wroth was the Arrow-triumphant, the seed divine;
And she sent her avenger, a white-tushed boar, a monster of swine,
Which made havoc of Oineus’ land, of the promise of corn and wine:
And many a stately orchard-tree did the monster uproot,
And low on the ground he cast their blossomed hope of fruit.
But of Oineus’ son Meleager that terror of earth was slain,
For from many a city he gathered him hunters slaughter-fain,
And hounds: for the hands of a few might nowise lay him low,
So huge was the beast, and many he sped to the pyres of woe.
Then Artemis stirred up strife for his sake and battle-broil,
For the sake of the wild boar’s head and the great hide’s shaggy spoil,
Between the Kurétes and sons of Aetolia mighty of heart.
Now while Arés-beloved Meleager in battle played his part,
So long the Kurétes were hardly bestead, and they did not dare
To abide him without their rampart, for all that so many they were.
But when anger gat hold on the hero, such as is wont to rise
In the bosoms of others, albeit in spirit never so wise,
Then it was so, that wrathful at heart with his mother, Althaia’s son
Lay by his wedded wife, Kleopatra the lovely one,
The child of Marpessa, Evénus’ daughter of ankles slim,
And of Idas:—in might no earth-abider was like unto him
In the days of old—yea, he grasped for the battle his bow, and defied
Phoebus Apollo the King, for the lovely-ankled bride.
But the child Kleopatra was called by another name beside
In the halls of her father and mother—our Halkyoné!’ they cried,
For that like to the woe-stricken halcyon so did her mother mourn
When of Phoebus Far-darter Apollo from Idas’ arms she was torn.
By her side, on the heart-stinging rage of his soul heavy-brooding, he lay,
Wroth for the curse of his mother, who cried to the Gods in the day
Of her anguish of soul for the death of her brother, and moaned her request,
Wild-beating with passionate hands on the earth’s all-fostering breast,
Shrieking on Hades, and crying in dread Persephoné’s ears,
On her knees as she grovelled, and wet grew the folds of her bosom with tears,
That her son might be given to death; and Erinnys from Erebus heard,
The demon that walketh in darkness, the heart with relenting unstirred.
But now at their gates was there clamour of onset, the stones crashed loud
As they hailed on the towers: and to him Aetolia’s elders bowed, to rise
And the chief of the priests of the Gods did they send, and they prayed him
And defend them, yea, and they pledged them to give to him gifts of price,
Even the fat of the land of Kalydon’s lovely plain;
There bade they the hero choose him a passing-fair domain
Of fifty acres,—the half was the slope of the vine-clad hill,
And the half was the treeless tilthland, to cut from the plain at his will.
And Oineus the ancient, the war-steed-smiter, besought him sore,
As he stood on the threshold-stone of his high-built chamber door,
Shaking the leaves thereof, and bowing a suppliant knee;
And his mother the Queen and his sisters besought him earnestly.
But he hardened his heart yet more: then prayed him the true and tried,
His war-fellows trusty and dear beyond all others beside.
But for all this would not the wrath of his spirit be turned away,
Till the slingstones battered his very chamber, the Kurete array
Swarmed over the towers, and they set them to burn that mighty town.
Then at the feet of the hero his fair-robed wife fell down,
And with weeping besought him, and put him in mind of all the woes,
The horrors that light on a folk whose city is ta’en of their foes,
When they slaughter the men, when the burg is wasted with ravening flame,
When strangers are haling young children to thraldom, fair women to shame.
And his spirit was kindled within him to hear that evil tale,
And he gat him up, and arrayed his body in sunbright mail.
So did he shield the Aetolian folk from the day of their bale,
When melted his wrath into ruth; yet never the gifts they gave,
So many and fair; yet even the thankless ones did he save.
But be not thou thus-minded: may no overmastering fate
Thitherward turn thee, belovéd: late shall it be, o’erlate,
When the ships are aflame, to deliver them: come for the gifts’ sake then,
For even as a God shall they honour thee, all the Achaian men.
But and if without gift-atonement thou enter the murderous fight,
Less shall thine honour be then, though quelled be the war by thy might.”
Then to the ancient Achilles the fleetfoot made reply:
“Grey father Phoinix, thou fostered of Zeus, I need not, I,
Such honour,—I have been honoured by doom of Zeus’s will;
And this shall abide upon me beside the swift ships still,
While stirreth the breath in my breast, and my limbs may play their part.
This thing will I tell thee moreover, and thou lay it up in thine heart:
Trouble not thou my soul with lamenting and mourning and woe,
Showing kindness to Atreus’ son: it beseemeth not thee, I trow,
To love him, lest thou be hated of him that loveth thee.
It were best that with me thou vex whosoever vexeth me.
Share kingship with me, and the half of my worship and my renown:
And the tidings shall these bear back; but abide thou here, lie down
On a couch soft-spread, and so soon as the rose-flushed Dawn shall appear
Will we take thought to return to our own, or to tarry here.”
He spake, and he bent his brows to Patroclus silently
To spread for Phoinix the thick-strewn couch, that the others thereby
Might be moved to depart from the tent. Then Aias, Telamon’s son,
Brake forth in the midst of them all, and spake that godlike one:
O Zeus-born son of Laertes, Odysseus shiftful at need,
Let us go, for I ween that the end of our message shall nowise speed
To be brought to fulfilment this day; but now must we hasten and bear
To the Danaan men the tale of our faring, how evil soe’er;
For I ween they be sitting and waiting us now: but Achilles hath turned
To tameless fury the spirit of might in his breast that burned.
On his friends’ lovingkindness he looketh not back in his stiff-necked pride,
On the love by the galleys that crowned him far above all beside.
O pitiless!—lo, from the hand that a brother’s blood hath defiled
One taketh atonement for blood, and the price for a murdered child,
So that for ransom untold the slayer in peace may dwell,
And curbed is the heart of the wronged, and his spirit’s purpose fell,
When he taketh the price:—but a vengeance-thirst that nothing can slake
The Gods have set in thy breast for naught but a damsel’s sake!
Lo, now do we offer thee seven, and they the fairest on earth,
Many gifts therewithal:—nay then, in thine heart let ruth have birth,
And have thou respect to thine hall: behold, thy guests we are
From the Danaan throng: we would fain be nearest to thee by far
And dearest of all the men of Achaia’s host of war.”
Then unto him fleet-footed Achilles made answer and spoke:
“Aias the Zeus-born, Telamon’s scion, chieftain of folk,
Well nigh as sayeth mine own soul, so hast thou spoken all;
Howbeit mine heart yet swelleth with rage, whensoe’er I recall
Those deeds, how Atreides amidst of the Argives wrought my shame,
As though he had dealt with an alien wretch without honour or name!
But now go ye with mine answer, and tell them the word that I say:
I will think not of blood-drenched battle, nor get me up to the fray,
Or ever the son of the war-wise Priam, Hector divine,
Shall win to the tents and the ships of the Myrmidon battle-line,
Slaying the Argive men, and shall smirch our galleys with fire.
But about my tent and my galley shall Hector’s grim desire
Be assuaged, and his battle-onset, I ween, shall come not nigher.”
Then raised each man the double-chalice cup to his lips,
And they poured to the Gods, and they hied them, Odysseus first, to the ships.
But Patroclus unto the henchmen and handmaids spake his behest
Swiftly to spread the thick-strewn couch for Phoinix’ rest.
And they hearkened with heed, and they spread the couch as the hero had said,
That of fleeces and rugs and of linen soft as down was the bed.
There laid him the ancient to rest, and abode the dawn of day.
In the innermost part of his stately pavilion Achilles lay;
And beside him a woman, the captive he brought from Lemnos-town,
Phorbas’ child, Diomédé the beautiful-cheeked, lay down.
And Patroclus lay on the further side, and with him withal
Was fair-girt Iphis; Achilles had given that war-won thrall
When he took steep Skyros, and scaled Enyeus’ crag-built wall.
But when herald and chief to the tent of Atreus’ son drew nigh,
Up rose the sons of Achaia with golden cups held high,
And they pledged them, this man and that, and they asked of their tidings then;
But the first that questioned was Lord Agamemnon, the King of Men:
“Come, tell me, O glorious Odysseus, Achaia’s crown of fame,—
Is it so, that he willeth to shield our ships from the ravening flame?
Or doth he refuse, and doth rage in his haughty spirit abide?”
Answered and spake unto him Odysseus, the man toil-tried:
“Agamemnon King of Men, far-famous Atreus’ son,
He refuseth to quench his wrath-flame, but more than in days bygone
Is he filled with fury, yea, and of thee and thy gifts will he none.
He biddeth that thou thyself with thine Argive warrior-band
Take thought to deliver the ships and the men of Achaia-land.
But himself hath threatened, so soon as appeareth the dawn of day,
To drag his fair-benched, wave-rocked galleys asea through the spray.
Yea, to the rest of our host, said he, would he give this rede,
Homeward to sail, for that never your expectation should speed
That Ilium the steep should be won, for that far-seeing Zeus stretcheth out
His hand for her shield, and the hearts of her folk be uplifted and stout.
So spake he, and these which followed with me shall be witness to it,
Even Aias, and yonder heralds twain, men prudent of wit.
But Phoinix the old at Achilles’ behest there lieth this night,
To the end he may go with him in the galleys with morning light
To his fatherland-home, if he will, but not in his own despite.”
So did he speak, and in silence hushed were they all as they heard,
Aghast at his tale, at Achilles’ grim and vehement word.
So long time sat the sons of Achaia in speechless grief,
Till the battle-helper arose, and cried Diomedes the chief:.
“Agamemnon, ruler of men, far-famous Atreus’ seed,
Thou shouldst nowise have prayed unto Peleus’ princely son in thy need,
Proffering gifts untold: high-stomached he was heretofore,
But now hath his spirit been pride-uplifted of thee yet more.
Go to, we will let be him: peradventure the man will go,
Peradventure remain: in that hour shall he fight, when biddeth him so
The soul in his breast, and a God uprouseth him on to the fray.
But come ye, as I shall speak, even so let us all obey:-—
Now get ye unto your rest, since cheered be your hearts with food
And with wine, for herein is your strength and your battle-hardihood.
But so soon as the beautiful Dawn rose-fingered shall shine from afar,
Swiftly in front of the ships range hero and battle-car,
Cheering them on, and thyself in the forefront be found of the war.”
So did he speak, and shouted the princes with one accord
Praising the rede of the strong Diomedes, the horse-quelling lord.
So they poured the libation, and passed each one to his tent by the deep,
There did they lay them adown, and received the gift of sleep.