The Iliads of Homer. Homer
Let therefore none once dream of coward flight,
Till (for his own) some wife of Troy he sleeps withal, the rape
Of Helen wreaking, and our sighs enforc'd for her escape.
If any yet dare dote on home, let his dishonour'd haste
His black and well-built bark but touch, that (as he first
disgrac'd
His country's spirit) fate, and death, may first his spirit let go.
But be thou wise, king, do not trust thyself, but others. Know
I will not use an abject word. See all thy men array'd
In tribes and nations, that tribes tribes, nations may nations,
aid.
Which doing, thou shalt know what chiefs, what soldiers, play the
men,
And what the cowards; for they all will fight in sev'ral then,
Easy for note. And then shalt thou, if thou destroy'st not Troy,
Know if the prophecy's defect, or men thou dost employ
In their approv'd arts want in war, or lack of that brave heat
Fit for the vent'rous spirits of Greece, was cause to thy defeat."
To this the king of men replied: "O father, all the sons
Of Greece thou conquer'st in the strife of consultations.
I would to Jove, Athenia, and Phœbus, I could make,
Of all, but ten such counsellors; then instantly would shake
King Priam's city, by our hands laid hold on and laid waste.
But Jove hath order'd I should grieve, and to that end hath cast
My life into debates past end. Myself, and Thetis' son,
Like girls, in words fought for a girl, and I th' offence begun.
But if we ever talk as friends, Troy's thus deferréd fall
Shall never vex us more one hour. Come then, to victuals all,
That strong Mars all may bring to field. Each man his lance's steel
See sharpen'd well, his shield well lin'd, his horses meated well,
His chariot carefully made strong, that these affairs of death
We all day may hold fiercely out. No man must rest, or breath;
The bosoms of our targeteers must all be steeped in sweat;
The lancer's arm must fall dissolv'd; our chariot-horse with heat
Must seem to melt. But if I find one soldier take the chace,
Or stir from fight, or fight not still fix'd in his enemy's face,
Or hid a-ship-board, all the world, for force, nor price, shall
save
His hated life, but fowls and dogs be his abhorréd grave."
He said; and such a murmur rose, as on a lofty shore
The waves make, when the south wind comes, and tumbles them before
Against a rock, grown near the strand which diversely beset
Is never free, but, here and there, with varied uproars beat.
All rose then, rushing to the fleet, perfum'd their tents, and eat;
Each off'ring to th' immortal gods, and praying to 'scape the heat
Of war and death. The king of men an ox of five years' spring
T' almighty Jove slew, call'd the peers; first Nestor; then the
king
Idomenëus; after them th' Ajaces; and the son
Of Tydeus; Ithacus the sixth, in counsel paragon
To Jove himself. All these he bade; but at-a-martial-cry
Good Menelaus, since he saw his brother busily
Employ'd at that time, would not stand on invitation,
But of himself came. All about the off'ring over-thrown
Stood round, took salt-cakes, and the king himself thus pray'd for
all:
"O Jove, most great, most glorious, that, in that starry hall,
Sitt'st drawing dark clouds up to air, let not the sun go down,
Darkness supplying it, till my hands the palace and the town
Of Priam overthrow and burn; the arm, on Hector's breast
Dividing, spoiling with my sword thousands, in interest
Of his bad quarrel, laid by him in dust, and eating earth."
He pray'd; Jove heard him not, but made more plentiful the birth
Of his sad toils, yet took his gifts. Pray'rs past, cakes on they
threw;
The ox then, to the altar drawn, they kill'd, and from him drew
His hide, then cut him up, his thighs; in two hewn, dubb'd with
fat,
Prick'd on the sweetbreads, and with wood, leaveless, and kindled
at
Apposéd fire, they burn the thighs; which done, the inwards, slit,
They broil'd on coals and eat; the rest, in giggots cut, they spit,
Roast cunningly, draw, sit, and feast; nought lack'd to leave
allay'd
Each temp'rate appetite; which serv'd, Nestor began and said:
"Atrides, most grac'd king of men, now no more words allow,
Nor more defer the deed Jove vows. Let heralds summon now
The brazen-coated Greeks, and us range ev'rywhere the host,
To stir a strong war quickly up." This speech no syllable lost;
The high-voic'd heralds instantly he, charg'd to call to arms
The curl'd-head Greeks; they call'd; the Greeks straight answer'd
their alarms.
The Jove-kept kings, about the king all gather'd, with their aid
Rang'd all in tribes and nations. With them the gray-eyed Maid
Great Ægis (Jove's bright shield) sustain'd, that can be never old,
Never corrupted, fring'd about with serpents forg'd of gold,
As many all suffic'd to make an hundred fringes, worth
An hundred oxen, ev'ry snake all sprawling, all set forth
With wondrous spirit. Through the host with this the Goddess ran,
In fury casting round her eyes, and furnish'd ev'ry man
With strength, exciting all to arms, and fight incessant. None
Now lik'd their lov'd homes like the wars. And as a fire upon
A huge wood, on the heights of hills, that far off hurls his light;
So the divine brass shin'd on these thus thrusting on for fight,
Their splendour through the air reach'd heav'n. And as about the
flood
Caïster, in an Asian mead, flocks of the airy brood,
Cranes, geese, or long-neck'd swans, here, there, proud of their
pinions fly,
And in their falls layout such throats, that with their spiritful
cry
The meadow shrieks again; so here, these many-nation'd men
Flow'd over the Scamandrian field, from tents and ships; the din