The Iliad by Homer (the alpha prince and his bride full story free .txt) 📕

all be vain: when Heaven’s revenge is slow, Jove but prepares to strike the fiercer blow.

The day shall come, that great avenging day, When Troy’s proud glories in the dust shall lay, When Priam’s powers and Priam’s self shall fall, And one prodigious ruin swallow all.

I see the god, already, from the pole

Bare his red arm, and bid the thunder roll; I see the Eternal all his fury shed,

And shake his aegis o’er their guilty head.

Such mighty woes on perjured princes wait; But thou, alas! deserv’st a happier fate.

Still must I mourn the period of thy days, And only mourn, without my share of praise?

Deprived of thee, the heartless Greeks no more Shall dream of conquests on the hostile shore; Troy seized of Helen, and our glory lost, Thy bones shall moulder on a foreign coast; While some proud Trojan thus insulting cries, (And spurns the dust where Menelaus lies,) ‘Such are the trophies Greece from Ilion brings, And such the conquest of her king of kings!

Lo his proud vessels scatter’d o’er the main, And unrevenged, his mighty brother slain.’

Oh! ere that dire disgrace shall blast my fame, O’erwhelm me, earth! and hide a monarch’s shame.”

 

He said: a leader’s and a brother’s fears Possess his soul, which thus the Spartan cheers: “Let not thy words the warmth of Greece abate; The feeble dart is guiltless of my fate: Stiff with the rich embroider’d work around, My varied belt repell’d the flying wound.”

 

To whom the king: “My brother and my friend, Thus, always thus, may Heaven thy life defend!

Now seek some skilful hand, whose powerful art May stanch the effusion, and extract the dart.

Herald, be swift, and bid Machaon bring His speedy succour to the Spartan king; Pierced with a winged shaft (the deed of Troy), The Grecian’s sorrow, and the Dardan’s joy.”

 

With hasty zeal the swift Talthybius flies; Through the thick files he darts his searching eyes, And finds Machaon, where sublime he stands [92]

In arms incircled with his native bands.

Then thus: “Machaon, to the king repair, His wounded brother claims thy timely care; Pierced by some Lycian or Dardanian bow, A grief to us, a triumph to the foe.”

 

The heavy tidings grieved the godlike man Swift to his succour through the ranks he ran.

The dauntless king yet standing firm he found, And all the chiefs in deep concern around.

Where to the steely point the reed was join’d, The shaft he drew, but left the head behind.

Straight the broad belt with gay embroidery graced, He loosed; the corslet from his breast unbraced; Then suck’d the blood, and sovereign balm infused, [93]

Which Chiron gave, and AEsculapius used.

 

While round the prince the Greeks employ their care, The Trojans rush tumultuous to the war; Once more they glitter in refulgent arms, Once more the fields are fill’d with dire alarms.

Nor had you seen the king of men appear Confused, unactive, or surprised with fear; But fond of glory, with severe delight, His beating bosom claim’d the rising fight.

No longer with his warlike steeds he stay’d, Or press’d the car with polish’d brass inlaid But left Eurymedon the reins to guide;

The fiery coursers snorted at his side.

On foot through all the martial ranks he moves And these encourages, and those reproves.

“Brave men!” he cries, (to such who boldly dare Urge their swift steeds to face the coming war), “Your ancient valour on the foes approve; Jove is with Greece, and let us trust in Jove.

‘Tis not for us, but guilty Troy, to dread, Whose crimes sit heavy on her perjured head; Her sons and matrons Greece shall lead in chains, And her dead warriors strew the mournful plains.”

 

Thus with new ardour he the brave inspires; Or thus the fearful with reproaches fires: “Shame to your country, scandal of your kind; Born to the fate ye well deserve to find!

Why stand ye gazing round the dreadful plain, Prepared for flight, but doom’d to fly in vain?

Confused and panting thus, the hunted deer Falls as he flies, a victim to his fear.

Still must ye wait the foes, and still retire, Till yon tall vessels blaze with Trojan fire?

Or trust ye, Jove a valiant foe shall chase, To save a trembling, heartless, dastard race?”

 

This said, he stalk’d with ample strides along, To Crete’s brave monarch and his martial throng; High at their head he saw the chief appear, And bold Meriones excite the rear.

At this the king his generous joy express’d, And clasp’d the warrior to his armed breast.

“Divine Idomeneus! what thanks we owe

To worth like thine! what praise shall we bestow?

To thee the foremost honours are decreed, First in the fight and every graceful deed.

For this, in banquets, when the generous bowls Restore our blood, and raise the warriors’ souls, Though all the rest with stated rules we bound, Unmix’d, unmeasured, are thy goblets crown’d.

Be still thyself, in arms a mighty name; Maintain thy honours, and enlarge thy fame.”

To whom the Cretan thus his speech address’d: “Secure of me, O king! exhort the rest.

Fix’d to thy side, in every toil I share, Thy firm associate in the day of war.

But let the signal be this moment given; To mix in fight is all I ask of Heaven.

The field shall prove how perjuries succeed, And chains or death avenge the impious deed.”

 

Charm’d with this heat, the king his course pursues, And next the troops of either Ajax views: In one firm orb the bands were ranged around, A cloud of heroes blacken’d all the ground.

Thus from the lofty promontory’s brow

A swain surveys the gathering storm below; Slow from the main the heavy vapours rise, Spread in dim streams, and sail along the skies, Till black as night the swelling tempest shows, The cloud condensing as the west-wind blows: He dreads the impending storm, and drives his flock To the close covert of an arching rock.

 

Such, and so thick, the embattled squadrons stood, With spears erect, a moving iron wood:

A shady light was shot from glimmering shields, And their brown arms obscured the dusky fields.

 

“O heroes! worthy such a dauntless train, Whose godlike virtue we but urge in vain, (Exclaim’d the king), who raise your eager bands With great examples, more than loud commands.

Ah! would the gods but breathe in all the rest Such souls as burn in your exalted breast, Soon should our arms with just success be crown’d, And Troy’s proud walls lie smoking on the ground.”

 

Then to the next the general bends his course; (His heart exults, and glories in his force); There reverend Nestor ranks his Pylian bands, And with inspiring eloquence commands;

With strictest order sets his train in arms, The chiefs advises, and the soldiers warms.

Alastor, Chromius, Haemon, round him wait, Bias the good, and Pelagon the great.

The horse and chariots to the front assign’d, The foot (the strength of war) he ranged behind; The middle space suspected troops supply, Inclosed by both, nor left the power to fly; He gives command to “curb the fiery steed, Nor cause confusion, nor the ranks exceed: Before the rest let none too rashly ride; No strength nor skill, but just in time, be tried: The charge once made, no warrior turn the rein, But fight, or fall; a firm embodied train.

He whom the fortune of the field shall cast From forth his chariot, mount the next in haste; Nor seek unpractised to direct the car, Content with javelins to provoke the war.

Our great forefathers held this prudent course, Thus ruled their ardour, thus preserved their force; By laws like these immortal conquests made, And earth’s proud tyrants low in ashes laid.”

 

So spoke the master of the martial art, And touch’d with transport great Atrides’ heart.

“Oh! hadst thou strength to match thy brave desires, And nerves to second what thy soul inspires!

But wasting years, that wither human race, Exhaust thy spirits, and thy arms unbrace.

What once thou wert, oh ever mightst thou be!

And age the lot of any chief but thee.”

 

Thus to the experienced prince Atrides cried; He shook his hoary locks, and thus replied: “Well might I wish, could mortal wish renew [94]

That strength which once in boiling youth I knew; Such as I was, when Ereuthalion, slain

Beneath this arm, fell prostrate on the plain.

But heaven its gifts not all at once bestows, These years with wisdom crowns, with action those: The field of combat fits the young and bold, The solemn council best becomes the old: To you the glorious conflict I resign,

Let sage advice, the palm of age, be mine.”

 

He said. With joy the monarch march’d before, And found Menestheus on the dusty shore, With whom the firm Athenian phalanx stands; And next Ulysses, with his subject bands.

Remote their forces lay, nor knew so far The peace infringed, nor heard the sounds of war; The tumult late begun, they stood intent To watch the motion, dubious of the event.

The king, who saw their squadrons yet unmoved, With hasty ardour thus the chiefs reproved: “Can Peleus’ son forget a warrior’s part.

And fears Ulysses, skill’d in every art?

Why stand you distant, and the rest expect To mix in combat which yourselves neglect?

From you ‘twas hoped among the first to dare The shock of armies, and commence the war; For this your names are call’d before the rest, To share the pleasures of the genial feast: And can you, chiefs! without a blush survey Whole troops before you labouring in the fray?

Say, is it thus those honours you requite?

The first in banquets, but the last in fight.”

 

Ulysses heard: the hero’s warmth o’erspread His cheek with blushes: and severe, he said: “Take back the unjust reproach! Behold we stand Sheathed in bright arms, and but expect command.

If glorious deeds afford thy soul delight, Behold me plunging in the thickest fight.

Then give thy warrior-chief a warrior’s due, Who dares to act whate’er thou dar’st to view.”

Struck with his generous wrath, the king replies: “O great in action, and in council wise!

With ours, thy care and ardour are the same, Nor need I to commend, nor aught to blame.

Sage as thou art, and learn’d in human kind, Forgive the transport of a martial mind.

Haste to the fight, secure of just amends; The gods that make, shall keep the worthy, friends.”

 

He said, and pass’d where great Tydides lay, His steeds and chariots wedged in firm array; (The warlike Sthenelus attends his side;) [95]

To whom with stern reproach the monarch cried: “O son of Tydeus! (he, whose strength could tame The bounding steed, in arms a mighty name) Canst thou, remote, the mingling hosts descry, With hands unactive, and a careless eye?

Not thus thy sire the fierce encounter fear’d; Still first in front the matchless prince appear’d: What glorious toils, what wonders they recite, Who view’d him labouring through the ranks of fight?

I saw him once, when gathering martial powers, A peaceful guest, he sought Mycenae’s towers; Armies he ask’d, and armies had been given, Not we denied, but Jove forbade from heaven; While dreadful comets glaring from afar, Forewarn’d the horrors of the Theban war. [96]

Next, sent by Greece from where Asopus flows, A fearless envoy, he approach’d the foes; Thebes’ hostile walls unguarded and alone, Dauntless he enters, and demands the throne.

The tyrant feasting with his chiefs he found, And dared to combat all those chiefs around: Dared, and subdued before their haughty lord; For Pallas strung his arm and edged his sword.

Stung with the shame, within the winding way, To bar his passage