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

him, and with glory crown’d.

This done, the patron of the silver bow A phantom raised, the same in shape and show With great AEneas; such the form he bore, And such in fight the radiant arms he wore.

Around the spectre bloody wars are waged, And Greece and Troy with clashing shields engaged.

Meantime on Ilion’s tower Apollo stood, And calling Mars, thus urged the raging god: “Stern power of arms, by whom the mighty fall; Who bathest in blood, and shakest the embattled wall, Rise in thy wrath! to hell’s abhorr’d abodes Despatch yon Greek, and vindicate the gods.

First rosy Venus felt his brutal rage;

Me next he charged, and dares all heaven engage: The wretch would brave high heaven’s immortal sire, His triple thunder, and his bolts of fire.”

 

The god of battle issues on the plain,

Stirs all the ranks, and fires the Trojan train; In form like Acamas, the Thracian guide, Enraged to Troy’s retiring chiefs he cried: “How long, ye sons of Priam! will ye fly, And unrevenged see Priam’s people die?

Still unresisted shall the foe destroy, And stretch the slaughter to the gates of Troy?

Lo, brave AEneas sinks beneath his wound, Not godlike Hector more in arms renown’d: Haste all, and take the generous warrior’s part.

He said;—new courage swell’d each hero’s heart.

Sarpedon first his ardent soul express’d, And, turn’d to Hector, these bold words address’d: “Say, chief, is all thy ancient valour lost?

Where are thy threats, and where thy glorious boast, That propp’d alone by Priam’s race should stand Troy’s sacred walls, nor need a foreign hand?

Now, now thy country calls her wonted friends, And the proud vaunt in just derision ends.

Remote they stand while alien troops engage, Like trembling hounds before the lion’s rage.

Far distant hence I held my wide command, Where foaming Xanthus laves the Lycian land; With ample wealth (the wish of mortals) bless’d, A beauteous wife, and infant at her breast; With those I left whatever dear could be: Greece, if she conquers, nothing wins from me; Yet first in fight my Lycian bands I cheer, And long to meet this mighty man ye fear; While Hector idle stands, nor bids the brave Their wives, their infants, and their altars save.

Haste, warrior, haste! preserve thy threaten’d state, Or one vast burst of all-involving fate Full o’er your towers shall fall, and sweep away Sons, sires, and wives, an undistinguish’d prey.

Rouse all thy Trojans, urge thy aids to fight; These claim thy thoughts by day, thy watch by night; With force incessant the brave Greeks oppose; Such cares thy friends deserve, and such thy foes.”

 

Stung to the heart the generous Hector hears, But just reproof with decent silence bears.

From his proud car the prince impetuous springs, On earth he leaps, his brazen armour rings.

Two shining spears are brandish’d in his hands; Thus arm’d, he animates his drooping bands, Revives their ardour, turns their steps from flight, And wakes anew the dying flames of fight.

They turn, they stand; the Greeks their fury dare, Condense their powers, and wait the growing war.

 

As when, on Ceres’ sacred floor, the swain Spreads the wide fan to clear the golden grain, And the light chaff, before the breezes borne, Ascends in clouds from off the heapy corn; The grey dust, rising with collected winds, Drives o’er the barn, and whitens all the hinds: So white with dust the Grecian host appears.

From trampling steeds, and thundering charioteers; The dusky clouds from labour’d earth arise, And roll in smoking volumes to the skies.

Mars hovers o’er them with his sable shield, And adds new horrors to the darken’d field: Pleased with his charge, and ardent to fulfil, In Troy’s defence, Apollo’s heavenly will: Soon as from fight the blue-eyed maid retires, Each Trojan bosom with new warmth he fires.

And now the god, from forth his sacred fane, Produced AEneas to the shouting train;

Alive, unharm’d, with all his peers around, Erect he stood, and vigorous from his wound: Inquiries none they made; the dreadful day No pause of words admits, no dull delay; Fierce Discord storms, Apollo loud exclaims, Fame calls, Mars thunders, and the field’s in flames.

 

Stern Diomed with either Ajax stood,

And great Ulysses, bathed in hostile blood.

Embodied close, the labouring Grecian train The fiercest shock of charging hosts sustain.

Unmoved and silent, the whole war they wait Serenely dreadful, and as fix’d as fate.

So when the embattled clouds in dark array, Along the skies their gloomy lines display; When now the North his boisterous rage has spent, And peaceful sleeps the liquid element: The low-hung vapours, motionless and still, Rest on the summits of the shaded hill; Till the mass scatters as the winds arise, Dispersed and broken through the ruffled skies.

 

Nor was the general wanting to his train; From troop to troop he toils through all the plain, “Ye Greeks, be men! the charge of battle bear; Your brave associates and yourselves revere!

Let glorious acts more glorious acts inspire, And catch from breast to breast the noble fire!

On valour’s side the odds of combat lie, The brave live glorious, or lamented die; The wretch who trembles in the field of fame, Meets death, and worse than death, eternal shame!”

 

These words he seconds with his flying lance, To meet whose point was strong Deicoon’s chance: AEneas’ friend, and in his native place Honour’d and loved like Priam’s royal race: Long had he fought the foremost in the field, But now the monarch’s lance transpierced his shield: His shield too weak the furious dart to stay, Through his broad belt the weapon forced its way: The grisly wound dismiss’d his soul to hell, His arms around him rattled as he fell.

 

Then fierce AEneas, brandishing his blade, In dust Orsilochus and Crethon laid,

Whose sire Diocleus, wealthy, brave and great, In well-built Pherae held his lofty seat: [112]

Sprung from Alpheus’ plenteous stream, that yields Increase of harvests to the Pylian fields.

He got Orsilochus, Diocleus he,

And these descended in the third degree.

Too early expert in the martial toil,

In sable ships they left their native soil, To avenge Atrides: now, untimely slain, They fell with glory on the Phrygian plain.

So two young mountain lions, nursed with blood In deep recesses of the gloomy wood,

Rush fearless to the plains, and uncontroll’d Depopulate the stalls and waste the fold: Till pierced at distance from their native den, O’erpowered they fall beneath the force of men.

Prostrate on earth their beauteous bodies lay, Like mountain firs, as tall and straight as they.

Great Menelaus views with pitying eyes, Lifts his bright lance, and at the victor flies; Mars urged him on; yet, ruthless in his hate, The god but urged him to provoke his fate.

He thus advancing, Nestor’s valiant son Shakes for his danger, and neglects his own; Struck with the thought, should Helen’s lord be slain, And all his country’s glorious labours vain.

Already met, the threatening heroes stand; The spears already tremble in their hand: In rush’d Antilochus, his aid to bring, And fall or conquer by the Spartan king.

These seen, the Dardan backward turn’d his course, Brave as he was, and shunn’d unequal force.

The breathless bodies to the Greeks they drew, Then mix in combat, and their toils renew.

 

First, Pylaemenes, great in battle, bled, Who sheathed in brass the Paphlagonians led.

Atrides mark’d him where sublime he stood; Fix’d in his throat the javelin drank his blood.

The faithful Mydon, as he turn’d from fight His flying coursers, sunk to endless night; A broken rock by Nestor’s son was thrown: His bended arm received the falling stone; From his numb’d hand the ivory-studded reins, Dropp’d in the dust, are trail’d along the plains: Meanwhile his temples feel a deadly wound; He groans in death, and ponderous sinks to ground: Deep drove his helmet in the sands, and there The head stood fix’d, the quivering legs in air, Till trampled flat beneath the coursers’ feet: The youthful victor mounts his empty seat, And bears the prize in triumph to the fleet.

 

Great Hector saw, and, raging at the view, Pours on the Greeks: the Trojan troops pursue: He fires his host with animating cries, And brings along the furies of the skies, Mars, stern destroyer! and Bellona dread, Flame in the front, and thunder at their head: This swells the tumult and the rage of fight; That shakes a spear that casts a dreadful light.

Where Hector march’d, the god of battles shined, Now storm’d before him, and now raged behind.

 

Tydides paused amidst his full career;

Then first the hero’s manly breast knew fear.

As when some simple swain his cot forsakes, And wide through fens an unknown journey takes: If chance a swelling brook his passage stay, And foam impervious ‘cross the wanderer’s way, Confused he stops, a length of country pass’d, Eyes the rough waves, and tired, returns at last.

Amazed no less the great Tydides stands: He stay’d, and turning thus address’d his bands: “No wonder, Greeks! that all to Hector yield; Secure of favouring gods, he takes the field; His strokes they second, and avert our spears.

Behold where Mars in mortal arms appears!

Retire then, warriors, but sedate and slow; Retire, but with your faces to the foe.

Trust not too much your unavailing might; ‘Tis not with Troy, but with the gods ye fight.”

 

Now near the Greeks the black battalions drew; And first two leaders valiant Hector slew: His force Anchialus and Mnesthes found, In every art of glorious war renown’d;

In the same car the chiefs to combat ride, And fought united, and united died.

Struck at the sight, the mighty Ajax glows With thirst of vengeance, and assaults the foes.

His massy spear with matchless fury sent, Through Amphius’ belt and heaving belly went; Amphius Apaesus’ happy soil possess’d,

With herds abounding, and with treasure bless’d; But fate resistless from his country led The chief, to perish at his people’s head.

Shook with his fall his brazen armour rung, And fierce, to seize it, conquering Ajax sprung; Around his head an iron tempest rain’d; A wood of spears his ample shield sustain’d: Beneath one foot the yet warm corpse he press’d, And drew his javelin from the bleeding breast: He could no more; the showering darts denied To spoil his glittering arms, and plumy pride.

Now foes on foes came pouring on the fields, With bristling lances, and compacted shields; Till in the steely circle straiten’d round, Forced he gives way, and sternly quits the ground.

 

While thus they strive, Tlepolemus the great, [113]

Urged by the force of unresisted fate,

Burns with desire Sarpedon’s strength to prove; Alcides’ offspring meets the son of Jove.

Sheathed in bright arms each adverse chief came on.

Jove’s great descendant, and his greater son.

Prepared for combat, ere the lance he toss’d, The daring Rhodian vents his haughty boast: “What brings this Lycian counsellor so far, To tremble at our arms, not mix in war!

Know thy vain self, nor let their flattery move, Who style thee son of cloud-compelling Jove.

How far unlike those chiefs of race divine, How vast the difference of their deeds and thine!

Jove got such heroes as my sire, whose soul No fear could daunt, nor earth nor hell control.

Troy felt his arm, and yon proud ramparts stand Raised on the ruins of his vengeful hand: With six small ships, and but a slender train, lie left the town a wide-deserted plain.

But what art thou, who deedless look’st around, While unrevenged thy Lycians bite the ground!

Small aid to Troy thy feeble force can be; But wert thou greater, thou must yield to me.

Pierced by my spear, to endless darkness go!

I make this