The Iliad. Homer

The Iliad - Homer


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and scourg'd with ignominious stripes."

      Thus as he spoke, upon Thersites' neck

       And back came down his heavy staff; the wretch

       Shrank from the blow, and scalding tears let fall.

       Where struck the golden-studded staff, appear'd

       A bloody weal: Thersites quail'd, and down,

       Quiv'ring with pain, he sat, and wip'd away.

       With horrible grimace, the trickling tears.

       The Greeks, despite their anger, laugh'd aloud,

       And one to other said, "Good faith, of all

       The many works Ulysses well hath done,

       Wise in the council, foremost in the fight,

       He ne'er hath done a better, than when now

       He makes this scurril babbler hold his peace.

       Methinks his headstrong spirit will not soon

       Lead him again to vilify the Kings."

      Thus spoke the gen'ral voice: but, staff in hand,

       Ulysses rose; Minerva by his side,

       In likeness of a herald, bade the crowd

       Keep silence, that the Greeks, from first to last,

       Might hear his words, and ponder his advice.

       He thus with prudent phrase his speech began:

       "Great son of Atreus, on thy name, O King,

       Throughout the world will foul reproach be cast,

       If Greeks forget their promise, nor make good

       The vow they took to thee, when hitherward

       We sailed from Argos' grassy plains, to raze,

       Ere our return, the well-built walls of Troy.

       But now, like helpless widows, or like babes,

       They mourn their cruel fate, and pine for home.

       'Tis hard indeed defeated to return;

       The seaman murmurs, if from wife and home,

       Ev'n for one month, his well-found bark be stay'd,

       Toss'd by the wint'ry blasts and stormy sea;

       But us the ninth revolving year beholds

       Still ling'ring here: I cannot therefore blame

       Our valiant Greeks, if by the ships I hear

       Their murmurs; yet 'twere surely worst of all

       Long to remain, and bootless to return.

       Bear up, my friends, remain awhile, and see

       If Calchas truly prophesy, or no.

       For this ye all have seen, and can yourselves

       Bear witness, all who yet are spar'd by fate,

       Not long ago, when ships of Greece were met

       At Aulis, charg'd with evil freight for Troy,

       And we, around a fountain, to the Gods

       Our altars rear'd, with faultless hecatombs,

       Near a fair plane-tree, where bright water flow'd,

       Behold a wonder! by Olympian Jove

       Sent forth to light, a snake, with burnish'd scales,

       Of aspect fearful, issuing from beneath

       The altars, glided to the plane-tree straight.

       There, on the topmost bough, beneath the leaves

       Cow'ring, a sparrow's callow nestlings lay;

       Eight fledglings, and the parent bird the ninth.

       All the eight nestlings, utt'ring piercing cries,

       The snake devour'd; and as the mother flew,

       Lamenting o'er her offspring, round and round,

       Uncoiling, caught her, shrieking, by the wing.

       Then, when the sparrow's nestlings and herself

       The snake had swallowed, by the God, who first

       Sent him to light, a miracle was wrought:

       For Jove, the deep-designing Saturn's son,

       Turn'd him to stone; we stood, and wond'ring gaz'd.

       But when this prodigy befell our rites,

       Calchas, inspir'd of Heaven, took up his speech:

       'Ye long-haired sons of Greece, why stand ye thus

       In mute amaze? to us Olympian Jove,

       To whom be endless praise, vouchsafes this sign,

       Late sent, of late fulfilment: as ye saw

       The snake devour the sparrow and her young,

       Eight nestlings, and the parent bird the ninth:

       So, for so many years, are we condemn'd

       To wage a fruitless war; but in the tenth

       The wide-built city shall at last be ours.'

       Thus he foretold, and now the time is come.

       Here then, ye well-greav'd Greeks, let all remain,

       Till Priam's wealthy city be our own."

      He said, and loudly cheer'd the Greeks—and loud

       From all the hollow ships came back the cheers—

       In admiration of Ulysses' speech.

       Gerenian Nestor next took up the word:

       "Like children, Grecian warriors, ye debate;

       Like babes to whom unknown are feats of arms.

       Where then are now our solemn covenants,

       Our plighted oaths? Go, cast we to the fire

       Our councils held, our warriors' plans matur'd,

       Our absolute pledges, and our hand-plight giv'n,

       In which our trust was placed; since thus in vain

       In words we wrangle, and how long soe'er

       We here remain, solution none we find.

       Atrides, thou, as is thy wont, maintain

       Unchang'd thy counsel; for the stubborn fight

       Array the Greeks; and let perdition seize

       Those few, those two or three among the host,

       Who hold their separate counsel—(not on them

       Depends the issue!)—rather than return

       To Argos, ere we prove if Jove indeed

       Will falsify his promis'd word, or no.

       For well I ween, that on the day when first

       We Grecians hitherward our course address'd,

       To Troy the messengers of blood and death,

       Th' o'er-ruling son of Saturn, on our right

       His lightning flashing, with auspicious sign

       Assur'd us of his favour; let not then

       The thoughts of home be breath'd, ere Trojan wives

       Given to our warriors, retribution pay

       For wrongs by us, in Helen's cause, sustain'd.

       But whoso longs, if such an one there be,

       To make his homeward voyage, let him take

       His well-rigg'd bark, and go; before the rest

       To meet the doom of death! But thou, O King!

       Be well advis'd thyself, and others lead

       By wholesome counsel; for the words I speak

       Are not to be despis'd;


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