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    The Iliad
    The Iliad
    The Iliad
    Ebook671 pages10 hours

    The Iliad

    By Homer

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    The Iliad is an ancient Greek epic poem in dactylic hexameter, traditionally attributed to Homer. Set during the Trojan War, the ten-year siege of the city of Troy (Ilium) by a coalition of Greek states, it tells of the battles and events during the weeks of a quarrel between King Agamemnon and the warrior Achilles. Although the story covers only a few weeks in the final year of the war, the Iliad mentions or alludes to many of the Greek legends about the siege; the earlier events, such as the gathering of warriors for the siege, the cause of the war, and related concerns tend to appear near the beginning. Then the epic narrative takes up events prophesied for the future, such as Achilles' looming death and the sack of Troy, prefigured and alluded to more and more vividly, so that when it reaches an end, the poem has told a more or less complete tale of the Trojan War. The Iliad is paired with something of a sequel, the Odyssey, also attributed to Homer. Along with the Odyssey, the Iliad is among the oldest extant works of Western literature, and its written version is usually dated to around the eighth century BC.[2] Recent statistical modelling based on language evolution has found it to date to 760–710 BC.[3] In the modern vulgate (the standard accepted version), the Iliad contains 15,693 lines; it is written in Homeric Greek, a literary amalgam of Ionic Greek and other dialects.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherHomer
    Release dateSep 11, 2015
    ISBN9786050415087
    Author

    Homer

    Although recognized as one of the greatest ancient Greek poets, the life and figure of Homer remains shrouded in mystery. Credited with the authorship of the epic poems Iliad and Odyssey, Homer, if he existed, is believed to have lived during the ninth century BC, and has been identified variously as a Babylonian, an Ithacan, or an Ionian. Regardless of his citizenship, Homer’s poems and speeches played a key role in shaping Greek culture, and Homeric studies remains one of the oldest continuous areas of scholarship, reaching from antiquity through to modern times.

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    Reviews for The Iliad

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    • 4/5
      Translated into English Prose by Andrew Lang, Walter Leaf and Ernest Myers
    • 5/5
      Brilliant.
    • 4/5
      At long last! The Illiad by Homer DIfficult to rate a literary epic. However, the entire book takes place in the 10th and last year of the Trojan War. Achilles’ wrath at Agamemnon for taking his war prize, the maiden Briseis, forms the main subject of this book. It seemed as if there were a lot of introductions to characters we never hear from again. The word refulgent was used dozen of times. All in all I'm glad I slogged my way through this. The novelized from of Song of Achilles was more satisfactory to me than the Illiad. I read the translation by Caroline Alexander because that's the one the library had. 3 1/2 stars 604 pages
    • 3/5
      Important in the history of literature and classical Greek thought.
    • 3/5
      Stanley Lombardo's translation of Homer's Iliad is wonderful and very readable, better evoking the grittiness and rage of warfare than most other translations. I think of it as the "Vietnam War version of the Iliad." However, there are also parts where Homer's humor shines through, particularly when the Greek warriors are ribbing each other.Though the translation is excellent, I only got through about half of the book. The plot moves quite slowly, and the long lists of characters and backstory become tiresome. Also, there also is a lot of conversation between the various warriors, which illuminates Greek values (such as what makes for heroism or cowardice) but does not advance the storyline. Parts can get repetitious. I preferred the Odyssey, which I read in the Robert Fagles translation.
    • 5/5
      After reading W. H. D. Rouse's delightful prose translation of Homer's Odyssey, I was excited to pick up his translation of the Iliad. Having never read this classic before, I was expecting something similar to the Odyssey, which of course I did not get! Instead I read an incredibly bloody account of the Trojan War. The story line was very addicting; indeed, I kept waiting and waiting for Achilles to make peace with Agamemnon and get into the fighting. I was impressed with the true manliness and might of Hector. My heart grew heavy reading the account of Patrocles' death. I even felt for poor Hector's dad when he, an old man, had to risk his own life to claim the body of his slain son. I also appreciated the strong emphasis on the importance of morals and ethics, even on the battlefield (and even if they don't quite match my own). In today's American society, where for so many people the idea of ethical behavior or objective morals is foreign, it was refreshing to see men willing to die for their beliefs in an honorable way. Indeed, I kept getting the distinct impression that this story was crafted, in part, to teach young Greek boys how to be upstanding men in their culture. (Perhaps someone with more of a background in Homer than I have can confirm or deny this thought.)All in all, this was a compelling, instructive, manly, bloody, and difficult read. I'm glad I read it, and I can see why it has endured throughout the millennia. Like many classics, I think it will take me several more readings and a lot of contemplation, though, to really understand all that is going on in this story; and in so doing, I have no doubt that it will help me to understand myself better, as well.
    • 5/5
      I have read Homer before but reread it recently to rediscover the wonder of the Greeks and Trojans, Achilles, Agamemnon and Hector. It is a delight to wonder at the Gods and mortals and the role of fate in their enterprise. This mythic epic still speaks to us more than twenty-five hundred years after it first began to be recited by the poet Homer. After withstanding the rage of Achilles, the Greeks go up against the Trojans led by Achilles friend Patroclus. But, fate has decreed and with Apollo's help Hector brings the final blow down on Patroclus. At this point you realize why this poem has been read for millenia and loved by many. But just as touching, perhaps more moving are moments like the one described in the epigraph above. For in the next book as Menelaus leads the Greeks to retrieve Patroclus body and the Trojans battle the Argives we are told of Achilles' horses who "wept from the time they had first sensed their driver's death," (lines 493-4, p. 456). This brings home the momentous occasion of Patroclus' death in a way that transcends the battle scenes and suggests it is the fabric of their life that has been rent - not just another battle death.Achilles takes his fight to the Trojans as Book 21 of the Iliad begins with the Trojans routed, one half blocked by Hera with the other half "packed in the silver-whirling river," (line 9). Achilles slays Lycaon, son of Priam, and Asteropaeus, son of Pelegon. Then he goes after the Trojan's allies from Paeona, beating and hacking them "in a blur of kills" (line 235). The blood of the men is so thick that the river rose. But Achilles proceeds to attack and fight the river itself. Continuing until the gods recognize that this cannot stay. Poseidon and Athena come to him and advise him, "It's not your fate to be swallowed by a river:" (line 328). The gods take over from this point and the book chronicles the spectacle of battles among the gods, mirroring the battles of the men below. even through this the river remains a thread that cannot be forgotten. The Trojan's and Hector's days in particular are numbered from this point onward.The final book of The Iliad begins with the games over and the armies scattered, but Achilles remains in grief over the death of his friend Patrocles. He slowly is persuaded that he must return Hector's body to Priam. Even as his mother Thetis mourns the future fate of her son who is also doomed to die, the gods gather and continue to argue over the situation.
    • 5/5
      Iliaden skildrer det tiende år af den græske belejring af Troja. Prins Paris af Troja startede krigen ved at bortføre den smukke Helene fra kong Menelaos.Fortællingen begynder med at Chryses, Apollons ypperstepræst, kommer til kong Agamemnon for at løskøbe sin datter Chryseis. Agamemnon afviser ham, og Apollon nedkalder derfor pest over grækerne. Kalchas forudser, at pesten kun kan afværges ved at give Chryseis tilbage og Achilleus støtter ham. Agamemnon gør det, men tager til gengæld Briseis fra Achilleus. Som hævn strejker Achilleus og får endda Thetis til at påvirke Zeus til trojanernes fordel: Da trojanerne er ved at vinde, beder Patroklos Achilleus om lov til at kæmpe. Achilleus accepterer det, og Patrokles slår trojanerne tilbage, men dræbes af Hektor. For at hævne ham går Achilleus igen ind på Agamemnons side og slår Hektor ihjel og slæber hans lig tilbage til grækernes lejr. Kong Priamos kommer til Achilleus og kysser hans hånd for at få sin søns lig tilbage. Achilleus forbarmer sig og giver ham liget.Iliaden slutter med Hektors ligfærd.Indeholder "Første sang", " Pesten", " Vreden", "Anden sang", " Drømmen", " Fristelsen", " Skibsfortegnelsen", "Tredje sang", " Edspagen", " Udsigten fra Muren", " Tvekampen mellem Alexandros og Menelaos", "Fjerde sang", " Pagtens brud", " Agamemnons hærmønstring", "Femte sang", " Diomedes's heltedaad", "Sjette sang", " Hektors og Andromaches møde", "Syvende sang", " Tvekampen mellem Hektor og Aias", " De faldnes begravelse", "Ottende sang", " Den afbrudte kamp", "Niende sang", " Gesandtskabet til Achillevs", " Bønfaldelsen", "Tiende sang", " Sangen om Dolon", "Ellevte sang", " Agamemnons heltedaad", "Tolvte sang", " Kampen om muren", "Trettende sang", " Kampen ved skibene", "Fjortende sang", " Zeus's bedaarelse", "Femtende sang", " Bortdrivelsen fra skibene", " Troernes nye angreb", "Sekstende sang", " Sangen om Patroklos", "Syttende sang", " Menelaos's heltedaad", " Kampen om Patroklos's lig", "Attende sang", " Achilleus erfarer Patroklos's død", " Vaabensmedningen", "Nittende sang", " Achilleus opgiver sin vrede", "Tyvende sang", " Kampens genoptagelse", " Gudernes kamp", "Enogtyvende sang", " Kampen ved floden", "Toogtyvende sang", " Hektors død", "Treogtyvende sang", " Patroklos's ligfærd", " Kamplegene til Patroklos's ære", "Fireogtyvende sang", " Hektors udløsning".Fremragende epos, der med fuld ret er en klassiker.
    • 5/5
      Gory, long, and strangely moving. The action is pretty much nonstop, and the characters felt like real people. This is the only translation I've read, so I can't compare to others, but it was pretty smooth reading.
    • 5/5
      This version was quite the tome and I suffered from RSI just from holding the book. I have embarked upon the Great Books series as set out by Hutchins and Adler at the University of Chicago and this great tale is number 1. This is no small task but it is essential. Time and again I have seen movies about Achilles and the fall of Troy but there is something to be said about the various translations and notes that direct the reader to a long history of debates, arguments, and disagreements over Homer (or whether it was Homers), and then the translations that incorporate the Latin amendments (such as Samuel Butler's), and then how the "folk tradition" has twisted and turned this nation-building epic to suit different times. The movies have it that Hector was simply out-classed, not that he ran three laps around the walls of Troy trying to escape Achilles, not that the gods intervened time and again, even helping to kill other soldiers and so on. I like the introduction's idea of Hector as a complete man, husband, father, prince, warrior; whereas Achilles is the unbalanced warrior, hell-bent on death and glory. I have now started on The Odyssey and I did not know that the Trojan horse was not of the first book, I had suspicions but I did not know that Ulysses was the Latin name, and so on. Even the unpacking of these issues helps with my reading of Plato and Aristotle. I felt I had arrived at a place where reading more of the classic scholars made no sense unless I had at least a working grasp of Homer. But the manly ideal that has been bastardised by Hollywood and others has set me thinking deeply. Honour didn't mean masculine aggression at all costs, or that any man could do anything, or that class could not hold one back and so on. In the translation (rather than bastardisation) of the original, an entirely different view of masculinity emerges. These people were all fallible, all helped or thwarted by fortune, the gods played a major role in the plot (religion is all but excluded from the Brad Pitt version of the story), and Paris, a snivelling coward, is not helped out by Hector. Hector hates him! So much to unlearn from reading one of the oldest "western" texts. I shirk at this title - much like the re-writing of Greek ideas about masculinity, all of a sudden the Eastern Europeans get a guernsey in the Great Race Race because they were so brilliant. But it really does set me at ease to now see the portrayals of the Greek ideal and be able to see it for what it was meant to be. This does not help me to feel more secure in the world, but it does help me to see the world differently, and, maybe, more accurately.
    • 4/5
      As much as I love the Greeks in general, the Illiad is never as good a read as the Odyssey mostly because it's 80% horrible violent fighting and despair at a neverending war and then 20% interesting characters, speeches, and god/mortal interaction. I'll admit, I always end up doing a fair bit of skimming. The emotional resonance and epic descriptions are still as strong as the Odyssey, it just doesn't have the same fluid narrative. And then there's the fact that hearing how hundreds of people die in excruciating detail over and over again might be a good lesson against glorifying war, but it's just depressing. Personally, Achilles is just less likable a character. The really enjoyable part of this book is the relations between the gods and the mortals and the question of the inevitability of Fate.
    • 5/5
      The back cover of lombardo's translation of the Iliad boldly states "this is as good as Homer gets in English". I don't doubt it. The language is clearly more modern than other translations I have sampled and its pace is gripping.

      Obviously, the are tons if ink spilled in reviewing the Iliad, so I will not even attempt to add to it in describing Homer's story.

      But, I will say it is, at essence a war story and Lombardo has captured it in English incredibly well. The average reader may dread the suggestion of reading Homer as it has a reputation as dense ancient poetry. Not so with Lombardo.

      Highly recommended.
    • 5/5
      Comments on just finishing the Robert Fagles translation:oPeople say it is a book about anger, but it is certainly also about killing, getting killed, grasping for glory or fame, as well as loving.oFor someone like myself who finds cultural historiography fascinating, the book is an excellent resource.oOne obvious thing is that while all humans have an emotional natures it becomes equally apparent that different cultures in different times respond radically different to age old basic situations like love and death. In the book, the Greeks respond to love or loss of a loved one without any inhibition or effort at self control. By comparison, in our time the practice of keeping a stiff upper lip and a measured middle way would look anemic by comparison. It is strange that this view toward loving and loss are not covered in any of the books of criticism cited at the back of the book.oOn the topic of loss also, it is apparent that it was a totally acceptable custom and even expected for one to give oneself up to publicly and totally grieving-for as long as it takes. The men and women both are expected to weep uncontrollably.When was the last time any of us ever did that?In summary, I loved it and was amazed that I found it so entrancing through out.Would obviously love to hear how those with military background respond to the book.
    • 4/5
      The Iliad is a mixed bag. It is the very wellspring of Western culture, for good and for bad. The storied Olympian gods and heroic mortals who participated in the Trojan War are still alluded to in the written word three thousand years later. But the brutal behavior of those same gods and mortals in that war are also memorialized in the six hundred pages of Homer's epic.The verse translation by Robert Fagles reads very well — like a novel, in fact. The rhythm, the beat is prominent, and presumably if you took the time to read it aloud, it would be powerful indeed. Despite this, The Iliad is not an easy read thanks to the almost one thousand names and epithets of characters and places about which the action takes place and through which that action is conducted. Many of these names are very familiar, some vaguely familiar, but most by far are new to us. The Fagles edition blesses us in this department by providing a pronouncing vocabulary which gives a brief identifying statement about each one. Without this or something like it, The Iliad would be a bewildering swirl of confusion to the modern reader. The Introduction, notes and maps are also helpful.We all know the story of The Iliad — or at least we think we do. Surprisingly to me at least, after nine years of the siege of Troy by the Achaeans, it only covers a brief period of 45 days, and within that the bulk of the poem takes place over six days and nights of intense climactic fighting in which the greatest heroes on both sides are killed. A few of the most famous are left standing: Aeneas, will eventually be the lone survivor of Troy who will go on to found Rome; Odysseus famously takes another twenty years to reach his home in Ithaca; and Achilles, who has slain Troy's greatest hero Hector, is destined beyond the confines of The Iliad to be killed by Paris, the culprit who stole Helen from Menelaus and started the entire conflict to begin with.There are no spoilers here. The destinies of the great and near great are announced early and often throughout the pages of The Iliad. The power of the poem lies not in suspense but in the drama of battle. That drama is conveyed through the driving verse which honors its heroes in the process of butchering them. Battles wax and wane with the rhythm of the poetry. The great Homeric similes, sometimes piled on top of each other, churn and froth with soaring images. Here is an example; italics highlight the "like … so" pattern:"Achilles nowlike inhuman fire raging on through the mountain gorgessplinter-dry, setting ablaze big stands of timber,the wind swirling the huge fireball left and right—chaos of fire—Achilles storming on with brandished spearlike a frenzied god of battle trampling all he killed and the earth ran black with blood. Thundering on,on like oxen broad in the brow some field hand yokesto crush white barley heaped on a well-laid threshing floorand the grain is husked out fast by the bellowing oxen's hoofs—so as the great Achilles rampaged on, his sharp-hoofed stallions trampled shields and corpses, axle under his chariot splashed with blood, blood on the handrails sweeping round the car,sprays of blood shooting up from the stallions' hoofsand churning, whirling rims—and the son of Peleus charioteering on to seize his glory, bloody filthsplattering both strong arms, Achilles' invincible arms."What sets off the episode of The Iliad is a microcosm of the whole arc of the Trojan War itself. The war occurred because Paris, a prince of Troy and a guest at the home of Menelaus, stole Menelaus's wife Helen and spirited her off to Troy together with a vast amount of spoils. Most of the battling within The Iliad occurs without the aid of Achilles who ironically has been humiliated by the brother of Menelaus, warlord Agamemnon, who insists on taking the beautiful Briseis from Achilles for daring to challenge Agamemnon who has behaved badly in capturing the daughter of a priest of Apollo and refusing to give her back, thereby causing the god Apollo to shower down a plague on the Achaeans. Thus The Iliad boils down to an epic tale about men fighting over women!Agamemnon at the beginning of The Iliad is not an attractive figure. Toward the end, Achilles' great friend Patroclus is killed by Hector and that finally brings Achilles into action, particularly as the Achaeans seem to be losing and Agamemnon sees the error of his ways and agrees to return Briseis to Achilles.When The Iliad is reminiscing about the great deeds of one hero or another, it is quite affecting. A great deal of mythology is encompassed here, and the jealousies and machinations of the Olympians behind the scenes are both amusing and annoying.But the battle scenes sometimes amount to a catalog of killing and brutality that go beyond the pleasurable. And while the poem as a whole makes for compelling reading, the blood and gore take it over the top. Compared with The Odyssey, it seems much more primitive in its motivation and unrelenting gratuitous violence. I am glad I read it, and I acknowledge its importance in the literary canon, but it is not one of my favorite reads. Because I personally have a distaste for this level of bloody mindedness doesn't mean it isn't worth reading. Everybody really should read it, and all congratulations go to Robert Fagles for his excellent translation.
    • 3/5
      I'm actually not sure which translation of this I read, but what fun. I studied this in class in high school and the teacher did an excellent job of bringing in other sources to explain the allusions and make it more compelling.
    • 5/5
      Three things about The Iliad. 1. There are quite a few metaphors about lions, who either kill cattle or sheep or are hunted in turn. 3,000 years ago Greece was overrun with lions.2. It's interesting that one of the first long narratives in human has no suspense. The sack of Troy is a foregone conclusion. Even Achilles knows his fate. 3. I read Fagles' translation. I love it, but I think Fitzgerald is slightly better at conveying the strangeness of this world even if that does lead him astray sometimes.
    • 5/5
      My favourite book/poem ever. I read the Robert Fagles edition (Penguin Classics) of both the Iliad and Odyssey and highly recommend it. I had no problem following the story and enjoying the style.
    • 3/5
      I read this -at last- some months ago. I was a bit disappointed; I think the battle scenes, which appeal so much to many male readers, tend to leave the women readers cold, though, as a one time champion Sportsfighter, I was once a bit attracted to the adrenalin rush of battle myself. Still, I found these gruesome without being riveting.I felt for many of the characters and for Achilles, a demi god and isolated in the human world, but so alien is the culture, so oppressed the women that I couldn't really get absorbed by the story.
    • 2/5
      I read this too quickly and passively. One day I'll give it another shot.
    • 1/5
      An extremely clumsy translation by an otherwise capable poet. I cannot critique the scholarship. but the word choice is ugly.
    • 3/5
      I ended up following the dimly-remembered advice of a high school teacher from long ago: "Read The Iliad in prose first to understand the story, then re-read it in a good verse translation to appreciate the language." I didn't set out that way—I started with the Richmond Lattimore verse translation. However, I found it very hard to follow the story and the myriad relationships between the characters while struggling with some of the difficult passages that were (according to the introduction) rendered rather literally. So, I switched.All in all, I liked The Odyssey better, preferring its "adventure story" style to the "history roll call" style of The Iliad. I felt that the latter was a fast-moving action story that, unfortunately, found itself embedded within a rather repetitious and verbose structure that diminished the excitement. I don't know if I'll take the second part of the advice and try another verse translation.
    • 4/5
      Set in Ancient Greece, The Iliad is an epic poem about a decade-long war. The book starts when the Trojans and Achaeans have already been at war for years. The war itself begins because Paris (a Trojan), steals Helen, the wife of Menelaus (an Achaean). This gives the Achaeans an excuse to load up their ships and head to Troy to attack them. Helen is the woman behind the infamous “face that launched a thousand ships.” ***SPOILERS*** Paris’ brother Hector is a great warrior, unlike Paris, and because of this he leads the Trojan side of the battle. The Achaeans’ greatest warrior is Achilles, but a falling out with Agamemnon (Menelaus’ brother, leader of the Greeks) over spoils of war causes Achilles to refuse to fight. It’s not until Hector kills his close friend, Patroclus, that Achilles rejoins the war to avenge his friend’s death. Confused yet? It’s pretty straight forward while you’re reading it, but it sounds convoluted when you try to summarize it. It’s considered the greatest war story ever told and so obviously there are a lot of battle scenes. I really liked the moral dilemmas, but after awhile the battles seemed repetitive. I loved The Odyssey, (Homer’s book that followed one of the warriors on his journey home after the Trojan War), so much because it’s one man’s journey and every aspect of his adventure is new and unexpected. With the Iliad, Homer has to convey the exhaustion the men feel after fighting the same battle for years. The fatigue was contagious and I felt it about half way through the book. Things pick up towards the end because big players are dying and you know it’s all coming to a head. The plot is frustrating at times, because the meddlesome gods cause more problems than they solve. They’re petty and territorial and they choose humans that they want to champion and they don’t care who is hurt along the way. It also seems to remove the element of free choice in the warriors; lives. They can choose to do something, but the gods will just prevent it from happening if they want to. After Hector is killed there is a brief mention of Helen's loneliness. She was taken from her home and is treated horribly by most people in Troy because they see her as the reason for the war. Hector was always kind to her and she realizes that none of her only friends is now dead and the loneliness is overwhelming. Even though this is a tiny part, it was really poignant to me. She’s always painted as a guilty party in this legend, leaving her husband for another man, causing a war, etc. I never thought about how terrible her life must have been. I couldn't believe that the infamous Trojan Horse makes no appearance in The Iliad. It's my own fault for assuming it was part of the book, but I kept waiting for that part ... and then it ended. Apparently the Trojan Horse in mentioned in The Odyssey, which I remember, and then the full story is found in The Aeneid by Virgil. One of my favorite scenes in the book is the exchange between Priam and Achilles. Priam (Hector’s father) goes to talk to Achilles after his son is killed. He begs Achilles to let him have Hector’s body. The beauty of this scene is that it strips away ten-years of war and reduces the powerful Priam and Achilles to two grieving men. They aren’t on opposite ends of an epic battle; they’re just heartbroken individuals lamenting the cost of war. ***SPOILERS OVER*** In the end, The Iliad is a must read, not because it’s the best book ever, but because it’s a cornerstone of literature. It has provided the basis and inspiration for countless war stories in the centuries since its creation. It’s one of the oldest and most well-known stories in existence and that’s not something anyone should miss. But I would recommend The Odyssey over The Iliad if you’re only going to read one, even though that story comes after this one in chronological order.  
    • 4/5
      This review is of the New American Library (Mentor) edition, published as a paperback in the 1950s. If you are to tackle Homer, you need a used paperback for the actual slogging, as you'll be turning pages and all but tearing the binding by the time you're done. You should also have a real book, leatherbound with excellent typeset, which will proudly stand on your bookshelf as the first-masterpiece-among-masterpieces. If you need to make notes, get the ebook and start the highlighting.

      This translation is by Rouse, which is why my review is not five stars. Granted, it's THE ILIAD, but not my favorite version. Here it is set up almost as a novel, albeit a very clustered novel. Since Achilles is rather angry throughout the entire expedition, I would hope for more rage but you'll have to turn to Lattimore for that angle.

      Still, it all starts with Homer, doesn't it? For me, I recall having a job in the law courts and scurrying to the office of the "Elder Judge" after a day's work was completed, where we would sit spellbound before him as he orated the Homeric saga to us. "The King prefers a good warhorse to a conscientious objector." Wonder of wonders.

      Book Season = Year Round
    • 4/5
      A cornerstone of Western literature that remains hugely influential. Read it for that reason, and because the poetry is still enjoyable enough to be read aloud with panache. The story itself is mostly a catalog of slaughter with very little human drama, although the interaction between the gods and the human characters is fascinating and tragic.
    • 3/5
      not sure i would have got through this without the image of Brad Pitt in that leather miniskirt. Basically first half is just Achilles acting like a petulant child, but then it gets going and is still slow going but gets better.
    • 4/5
      Although I've long been a fan of these stories, I've never read Homer himself. I enjoyed this in parts, and the Fagles translation seems readable. However, narrative styles have changed so much over the centuries that this is somewhat hard work for the unaccustomed modern reader, at least me. The long battle scenes and the many tangential stories are sometimes challenging for the reader. I hadn't quite realised what a small portion of the Trojan War the Iliad covers. I was surprised quite how much it is really a study of the character of Achilles.
    • 4/5
      First, this is a very enjoyable, readable translation. I'm no Greek scholar, but Fagle's translation maintained beautiful, dramatic images without confusing the reader as to the progression of plot and dialogue. As for the story itself, it largely revolves around an impending confrontation between Hector (Trojan) and Achilles (Argive), but Homer shows us the full battle. He gives us life stories of soldiers as they fall on the battlefield, lets us into the manipulative ways of the immortals as they control human lives, and slips in metaphors that reveal much of ancient Greek life. Large chunks of the text are dialogue, split with snippets of bloody deaths, but the plot moves along at a decent pace. While Fagle's translation is not a difficult read, it did take me a while to finish the book, but even weeks later, I'm left with strong images of the Trojan war, and I think that's what Homer would want.
    • 5/5
      Excellent translation that catches the meaning of the Iliad nicely. It's a favorite for study in my classes. Lattimore doesn't try to capture so much the rhyme behind it but what the meaning was. You can even get the jokes behind the dog names. No other translation can do that as well.

      I really do recommend this esp if you have read or have been force fed the Iliad and hope never to hear about it again. It changed my tune.
    • 5/5
      I believe I've read all of the major western classical epics. This is the best.
    • 4/5
      If over 600 pages of lyrically-rendered death, blood, and mayhem sound like your cup of tea, than you'll definitely want to read this. People get eviscerated, skewered, decapitated, hewed, trampled, hacked, cleaved, etc, and it's all really very poetic. I just wasn't wildly enthusiastic about it.

    Book preview

    The Iliad - Homer

    Olympus.

    BOOK I.

    Of Peleus' son, Achilles, sing, O Muse,

    The vengeance, deep and deadly; whence to Greece

    Unnumbered ills arose; which many a soul

    Of mighty warriors to the viewless shades

    Untimely sent; they on the battle plain

    Unburied lay, a prey to rav'ning dogs,

    And carrion birds; but so had Jove decreed,

    From that sad day when first in wordy war,

    The mighty Agamemnon, King of men,

    Confronted stood by Peleus' godlike son.

    Say then, what God the fatal strife provok'd?

    Jove's and Latona's son; he, filled with wrath

    Against the King, with deadly pestilence

    The camp afflicted,—and the people died,—

    For Chryses' sake, his priest, whom Atreus' son

    With scorn dismiss'd, when to the Grecian ships

    He came, his captive daughter to redeem,

    With costly ransom charg'd; and in his hand

    The sacred fillet of his God he bore,

    And golden staff; to all he sued, but chief

    To Atreus' sons, twin captains of the host:

    "Ye sons of Atreus, and ye well-greav'd Greeks,

    May the great Gods, who on Olympus dwell,

    Grant you yon hostile city to destroy,

    And home return in safety; but my child

    Restore, I pray; her proffer'd ransom take,

    And in his priest, the Lord of Light revere."

    Then through the ranks assenting murmurs ran,

    The priest to rev'rence, and the ransom take:

    Not so Atrides; he, with haughty mien,

    And bitter speech, the trembling sire address'd:

    "Old man, I warn thee, that beside our ships

    I find thee not, or ling'ring now, or back

    Returning; lest thou prove of small avail

    Thy golden staff, and fillet of thy God.

    Her I release not, till her youth be fled;

    Within my walls, in Argos, far from home,

    Her lot is cast, domestic cares to ply,

    And share a master's bed. For thee, begone!

    Incense me not, lest ill betide thee now."

    He said: the old man trembled, and obeyed;

    Beside the many-dashing Ocean's shore

    Silent he pass'd; and all apart, he pray'd

    To great Apollo, fair Latona's son:

    "Hear me, God of the silver bow! whose care

    Chrysa surrounds, and Cilia's lovely vale;

    Whose sov'reign sway o'er Tenedos extends;

    O Smintheus, hear! if e'er my offered gifts

    Found favour in thy sight; if e'er to thee

    I burn'd the fat of bulls and choicest goats,

    Grant me this boon—upon the Grecian host

    Let thine unerring darts avenge my tears."

    Thus as he pray'd, his pray'r Apollo heard:

    Along Olympus' heights he pass'd, his heart

    Burning with wrath; behind his shoulders hung

    His bow, and ample quiver; at his back

    Rattled the fateful arrows as he mov'd;

    Like the night-cloud he pass'd, and from afar

    He bent against the ships, and sped the bolt;

    And fierce and deadly twang'd the silver bow.

    First on the mules and dogs, on man the last,

    Was pour'd the arrowy storm; and through the camp,

    Constant and num'rous, blaz'd the fun'ral fires.

    Nine days the heav'nly Archer on the troops

    Hurl'd his dread shafts; the tenth, th' assembled Greeks

    Achilles call'd to council; so inspir'd

    By Juno, white-arm'd Goddess, who beheld

    With pitying eyes the wasting hosts of Greece.

    When all were met, and closely throng'd around,

    Rose the swift-footed chief, and thus began:

    "Great son of Atreus, to my mind there seems,

    If we would 'scape from death, one only course,

    Home to retrace our steps: since here at once

    By war and pestilence our forces waste.

    But seek we first some prophet, or some priest,

    Or some wise vision-seer (since visions too

    From Jove proceed), who may the cause explain,

    Which with such deadly wrath Apollo fires:

    If for neglected hecatombs or pray'rs

    He blame us; or if fat of lambs and goats

    May soothe his anger and the plague assuage."

    This said, he sat; and Thestor's son arose,

    Calchas, the chief of seers, to whom were known

    The present, and the future, and the past;

    Who, by his mystic art, Apollo's gift,

    Guided to Ilium's shore the Grecian fleet.

    Who thus with cautious speech replied, and said;

    "Achilles, lov'd of Heav'n, thou bidd'st me say

    Why thus incens'd the far-destroying King;

    Therefore I speak; but promise thou, and swear,

    By word and hand, to bear me harmless through.

    For well I know my speech must one offend,

    The Argive chief, o'er all the Greeks supreme;

    And terrible to men of low estate

    The anger of a King; for though awhile

    He veil his wrath, yet in his bosom pent

    It still is nurs'd, until the time arrive;

    Say, then, wilt thou protect me, if I speak?"

    Him answer'd thus Achilles, swift of foot:

    "Speak boldly out whate'er thine art can tell;

    For by Apollo's self I swear, whom thou,

    O Calchas, serv'st, and who thy words inspires,

    That, while I live, and see the light of Heav'n,

    Not one of all the Greeks shall dare on thee,

    Beside our ships, injurious hands to lay:

    No, not if Agamemnon's self were he,

    Who 'mid our warriors boasts the foremost place."

    Embolden'd thus, th' unerring prophet spoke:

    "Not for neglected hecatombs or pray'rs,

    But for his priest, whom Agamemnon scorn'd,

    Nor took his ransom, nor his child restor'd;

    On his account the Far-destroyer sends

    This scourge of pestilence, and yet will send;

    Nor shall we cease his heavy hand to feel,

    Till to her sire we give the bright-ey'd girl,

    Unbought, unransom'd, and to Chrysa's shore

    A solemn hecatomb despatch; this done,

    The God, appeas'd, his anger may remit."

    This said, he sat; and Atreus' godlike son,

    The mighty monarch, Agamemnon, rose,

    His dark soul fill'd with fury, and his eyes

    Flashing like flames of fire; on Calchas first

    A with'ring glance he cast, and thus he spoke;

    "Prophet of ill! thou never speak'st to me

    But words of evil omen; for thy soul

    Delights to augur ill, but aught of good

    Thou never yet hast promis'd, nor perform'd.

    And now among the Greeks thou spread'st abroad

    Thy lying prophecies, that all these ills

    Come from the Far-destroyer, for that I

    Refus'd the ransom of my lovely prize,

    And that I rather chose herself to keep,

    To me not less than Clytemnestra dear,

    My virgin-wedded wife; nor less adorn'd

    In gifts of form, of feature, or of mind.

    Yet, if it must he so, I give her back;

    I wish my people's safety, not their death.

    But seek me out forthwith some other spoil,

    Lest empty-handed I alone appear

    Of all the Greeks; for this would ill beseem;

    And how I lose my present share, ye see."

    To whom Achilles, swift of foot, replied:

    "Haughtiest of men, and greediest of the prey!

    How shall our valiant Greeks for thee seek out

    Some other spoil? no common fund have we

    Of hoarded treasures; what our arms have won

    From captur'd towns, has been already shar'd,

    Nor can we now resume th' apportion'd spoil.

    Restore the maid, obedient to the God!

    And if Heav'n will that we the strong-built walls

    Of Troy should raze, our warriors will to thee

    A threefold, fourfold recompense assign."

    To whom the monarch Agamemnon thus:

    "Think not, Achilles, valiant though thou art

    In fight, and godlike, to defraud me thus;

    Thou shalt not so persuade me, nor o'erreach.

    Think'st thou to keep thy portion of the spoil,

    While I with empty hands sit humbly down?

    The bright-ey'd girl thou bidd'st me to restore;

    If then the valiant Greeks for me seek out

    Some other spoil, some compensation just,

    'Tis well: if not, I with my own right hand

    Will from some other chief, from thee perchance,

    Or Ajax, or Ulysses, wrest his prey;

    And woe to him, on whomsoe'er I call!

    But this for future counsel we remit:

    Haste we then now our dark-ribb'd bark to launch,

    Muster a fitting crew, and place on board

    The sacred hecatomb; then last embark

    The fair Chryseis; and in chief command

    Let some one of our councillors be plac'd,

    Ajax, Ulysses, or Idomeneus,

    Or thou, the most ambitious of them all,

    That so our rites may soothe the angry God."

    To whom Achilles thus with scornful glance;

    "Oh, cloth'd in shamelessness! oh, sordid soul!

    How canst thou hope that any Greek for thee

    Will brave the toils of travel or of war?

    Well dost thou know that 't was no feud of mine

    With Troy's brave sons that brought me here in arms;

    They never did me wrong; they never drove

    My cattle, or my horses; never sought

    In Phthia's fertile, life-sustaining fields

    To waste the crops; for wide between us lay

    The shadowy mountains and the roaring sea.

    With thee, O void of shame! with thee we sail'd,

    For Menelaus and for thee, ingrate,

    Glory and fame on Trojan crests to win.

    All this hast thou forgotten, or despis'd;

    And threat'nest now to wrest from me the prize

    I labour'd hard to win, and Greeks bestow'd.

    Nor does my portion ever equal thine,

    When on some populous town our troops have made

    Successful war; in the contentious fight

    The larger portion of the toil is mine;

    But when the day of distribution comes,

    Thine is the richest spoil; while I, forsooth,

    Must be too well content to bear on board

    Some paltry prize for all my warlike toil.

    To Phthia now I go; so better far,

    To steer my homeward course, and leave thee here

    But little like, I deem, dishonouring me,

    To fill thy coffers with the spoils of war."

    Whom answer'd Agamemnon, King of men:

    "Fly then, if such thy mind! I ask thee not

    On mine account to stay; others there are

    Will guard my honour and avenge my cause:

    And chief of all, the Lord of counsel, Jove!

    Of all the Heav'n-born Kings, thou art the man

    I hate the most; for thou delight'st in nought

    But war and strife: thy prowess I allow;

    Yet this, remember, is the gift of Heav'n.

    Return then, with thy vessels, if thou wilt,

    And with thy followers, home; and lord it there

    Over thy Myrmidons! I heed thee not!

    I care not for thy fury! Hear my threat:

    Since Phoebus wrests Chryseis from my arms,

    In mine own ship, and with mine own good crew,

    Her I send forth; and, in her stead, I mean,

    Ev'n from thy tent, myself, to bear thy prize,

    The fair Briseis; that henceforth thou know

    How far I am thy master; and that, taught

    By thine example, others too may fear

    To rival me, and brave me to my face."

    Thus while he spake, Achilles chaf'd with rage;

    And in his manly breast his heart was torn

    With thoughts conflicting—whether from his side

    To draw his mighty sword, and thrusting by

    Th' assembled throng, to kill th' insulting King;

    Or school his soul, and keep his anger down.

    But while in mind and spirit thus he mus'd,

    And half unsheath'd his sword, from Heav'n came down

    Minerva, sent by Juno, white-arm'd Queen,

    Whose love and care both chiefs alike enjoy'd.

    She stood behind, and by the yellow hair

    She held the son of Peleus, visible

    To him alone, by all the rest unseen.

    Achilles, wond'ring, turn'd, and straight he knew

    The blue-eyed Pallas; awful was her glance;

    Whom thus the chief with winged words address'd:

    "Why com'st thou, child of aegis-bearing Jove?

    To see the arrogance of Atreus' son?

    But this I say, and will make good my words,

    This insolence may cost him soon his life."

    To whom the blue-ey'd Goddess thus replied:

    "From Heav'n I came, to curb, if thou wilt hear,

    Thy fury; sent by Juno, white-arm'd Queen,

    Whose love and care ye both alike enjoy.

    Cease, then, these broils, and draw not thus thy sword;

    In words, indeed, assail him as thou wilt.

    But this I promise, and will make it good,

    The time shall come, when for this insolence

    A threefold compensation shall be thine;

    Only be sway'd by me, and curb thy wrath."

    Whom answer'd thus Achilles, swift of foot:

    "Goddess, I needs must yield to your commands,

    Indignant though I be—for so 'tis best;

    Who hears the Gods, of them his pray'rs are heard."

    He said: and on the silver hilt he stay'd

    His pow'rful hand, and flung his mighty sword

    Back to its scabbard, to Minerva's word

    Obedient: she her heav'nward course pursued

    To join th' Immortals in th' abode of Jove.

    But Peleus' son, with undiminish'd wrath,

    Atrides thus with bitter words address'd:

    "Thou sot, with eye of dog, and heart of deer!

    Who never dar'st to lead in armed fight

    Th' assembled host, nor with a chosen few

    To man the secret ambush—for thou fear'st

    To look on death—no doubt 'tis easier far,

    Girt with thy troops, to plunder of his right

    Whoe'er may venture to oppose thy will!

    A tyrant King, because thou rul'st o'er slaves!

    Were it not so, this insult were thy last.

    But this I say, and with an oath confirm,

    By this my royal staff, which never more

    Shall put forth leaf nor spray, since first it left

    Upon the mountain-side its parent stem,

    Nor blossom more; since all around the axe

    Hath lopp'd both leaf and bark, and now 'tis borne

    Emblem of justice, by the sons of Greece,

    Who guard the sacred ministry of law

    Before the face of Jove! a mighty oath!

    The time shall come, when all the sons of Greece

    Shall mourn Achilles' loss; and thou the while,

    Heart-rent, shalt be all-impotent to aid,

    When by the warrior-slayer Hector's hand

    Many shall fall; and then thy soul shall mourn

    The slight on Grecia's bravest warrior cast."

    Thus spoke Pelides; and upon the ground

    He cast his staff, with golden studs emboss'd,

    And took his seat; on th' other side, in wrath,

    Atrides burn'd; but Nestor interpos'd;

    Nestor, the leader of the Pylian host,

    The smooth-tongued chief, from whose persuasive lips

    Sweeter than honey flowed the stream of speech.

    Two generations of the sons of men

    For him were past and gone, who with himself

    Were born and bred on Pylos' lovely shore,

    And o'er the third he now held royal sway.

    He thus with prudent words the chiefs address'd:

    "Alas, alas! what grief is this for Greece!

    What joy for Priam, and for Priam's sons!

    What exultation for the men of Troy,

    To hear of feuds 'tween you, of all the Greeks

    The first in council, and the first in fight!

    Yet, hear my words, I pray; in years, at least,

    Ye both must yield to me; and in times past

    I liv'd with men, and they despis'd me not,

    Abler in counsel, greater than yourselves.

    Such men I never saw, and ne'er shall see,

    As Pirithous and Dryas, wise and brave,

    Coeneus, Exadius, godlike Polypheme,

    And Theseus, AEgeus' more than mortal son.

    The mightiest they among the sons of men;

    The mightiest they, and of the forest beasts

    Strove with the mightiest, and their rage subdued.

    With them from distant lands, from Pylos' shore

    I join'd my forces, and their call obey'd;

    With them I play'd my part; with them, not one

    Would dare to fight of mortals now on earth.

    Yet they my counsels heard, my voice obey'd;

    And hear ye also, for my words are wise.

    Nor thou, though great thou be, attempt to rob

    Achilles of his prize, but let him keep

    The spoil assign'd him by the sons of Greece;

    Nor thou, Pelides, with the monarch strive

    In rivalry; for ne'er to sceptred King

    Hath Jove such pow'rs, as to Atrides, giv'n;

    And valiant though thou art, and Goddess-born,

    Yet mightier he, for wider is his sway.

    Atrides, curb thy wrath! while I beseech

    Achilles to forbear; in whom the Greeks

    From adverse war their great defender see."

    To whom the monarch, Agamemnon, thus:

    "O father, full of wisdom are thy words;

    But this proud chief o'er all would domineer;

    O'er all he seeks to rule, o'er all to reign,

    To all to dictate; which I will not bear.

    Grant that the Gods have giv'n him warlike might,

    Gave they unbridled license to his tongue?"

    To whom Achilles, interrupting, thus:

    "Coward and slave indeed I might be deem'd.

    Could I submit to make thy word my law;

    To others thy commands; seek not to me

    To dictate, for I follow thee no more.

    But hear me speak, and ponder what I say:

    For the fair girl I fight not (since you choose

    To take away the prize yourselves bestow'd)

    With thee or any one; but of the rest

    My dark swift ship contains, against my will

    On nought shalt thou, unpunish'd, lay thy hand.

    Make trial if thou wilt, that these may know;

    Thy life-blood soon should reek upon my spear."

    After this conflict keen of angry speech,

    The chiefs arose, the assembly was dispers'd.

    With his own followers, and Menoetius' son,

    Achilles to his tents and ships withdrew.

    But Atreus' son launch'd a swift-sailing bark,

    With twenty rowers mann'd, and plac'd on board

    The sacred hecatomb; then last embark'd

    The fair Chryseis, and in chief command

    Laertes' son, the sage Ulysses, plac'd.

    They swiftly sped along the wat'ry way.

    Next, proclamation through the camp was made

    To purify the host; and in the sea,

    Obedient to the word, they purified;

    Then to Apollo solemn rites perform'd

    With faultless hecatombs of bulls and goats,

    Upon the margin of the wat'ry waste;

    And, wreath'd in smoke, the savour rose to Heav'n.

    The camp thus occupied, the King pursued

    His threaten'd plan of vengeance; to his side

    Calling Talthybius and Eurybates,

    Heralds, and faithful followers, thus he spoke:

    "Haste to Achilles' tent, and in your hand

    Back with you thence the fair Briseis bring:

    If he refuse to send her, I myself

    With a sufficient force will bear her thence,

    Which he may find, perchance, the worse for him."

    So spake the monarch, and with stern command

    Dismiss'd them; with reluctant steps they pass'd

    Along the margin of the wat'ry waste,

    Till to the tents and ships they came, where lay

    The warlike Myrmidons. Their chief they found

    Sitting beside his tent and dark-ribb'd ship.

    Achilles mark'd their coming, not well pleas'd:

    With troubled mien, and awe-struck by the King,

    They stood, nor dar'd accost him; but himself

    Divin'd their errand, and address'd them thus:

    "Welcome, ye messengers of Gods and men,

    Heralds! approach in safety; not with you,

    But with Atrides, is my just offence,

    Who for the fair Briseis sends you here.

    Go, then, Patroclus, bring the maiden forth,

    And give her to their hands; but witness ye,

    Before the blessed Gods and mortal men,

    And to the face of that injurious King,

    When he shall need my arm, from shameful rout

    To save his followers; blinded by his rage,

    He neither heeds experience of the past

    Nor scans the future, provident how best

    To guard his fleet and army from the foe."

    He spoke: obedient to his friend and chief,

    Patroclus led the fair Briseis forth,

    And gave her to their hands; they to the ships

    Retrac'd their steps, and with them the fair girl

    Reluctant went: meanwhile Achilles, plung'd

    In bitter grief, from all the band apart,

    Upon the margin of the hoary sea

    Sat idly gazing on the dark-blue waves;

    And to his Goddess-mother long he pray'd,

    With outstretch'd hands, "Oh, mother! since thy son

    To early death by destiny is doom'd,

    I might have hop'd the Thunderer on high,

    Olympian Jove, with honour would have crown'd

    My little space; but now disgrace is mine;

    Since Agamemnon, the wide-ruling King,

    Hath wrested from me, and still holds, my prize."

    Weeping, he spoke; his Goddess-mother heard,

    Beside her aged father where she sat

    In the deep ocean-caves: ascending quick

    Through the dark waves, like to a misty cloud,

    Beside her son she stood; and as he wept,

    She gently touch'd him with her hand, and said,

    "Why weeps my son? and whence his cause of grief?

    Speak out, that I may hear, and share thy pain."

    To whom Achilles, swift of foot, replied,

    Groaning, "Thou know'st; what boots to tell thee all?

    On Thebes we march'd, Eetion's sacred town,

    And storm'd the walls, and hither bore the spoil.

    The spoils were fairly by the sons of Greece

    Apportion'd out; and to Atrides' share

    The beauteous daughter of old Chryses fell.

    Chryses, Apollo's priest, to free his child,

    Came to th' encampment of the brass-clad Greeks,

    With costly ransom charg'd; and in his hand

    The sacred fillet of his God he bore,

    And golden staff; to all he sued, but chief

    To Atreus' sons, twin captains of the host.

    Then through the ranks assenting murmurs ran,

    The priest to rev'rence, and the ransom take:

    Not so Atrides; he, with haughty mien

    And bitter words, the trembling sire dismiss'd.

    The old man turn'd in sorrow; but his pray'r

    Phoebus Apollo heard, who lov'd him well.

    Against the Greeks he bent his fatal bow,

    And fast the people fell; on ev'ry side

    Throughout the camp the heav'nly arrows flew;

    A skilful seer at length the cause reveal'd

    Why thus incens'd the Archer-God; I then,

    The first, gave counsel to appease his wrath.

    Whereat Atrides, full of fury, rose,

    And utter'd threats, which he hath now fulfill'd.

    For Chryses' daughter to her native land

    In a swift-sailing ship the keen-ey'd Greeks

    Have sent, with costly off'rings to the God:

    But her, assign'd me by the sons of Greece,

    Brises' fair daughter, from my tent e'en now

    The heralds bear away. Then, Goddess, thou,

    If thou hast pow'r, protect thine injur'd son.

    Fly to Olympus, to the feet of Jove,

    And make thy pray'r to him, if on his heart

    Thou hast in truth, by word or deed, a claim.

    For I remember, in my father's house,

    I oft have heard thee boast, how thou, alone

    Of all th' Immortals, Saturn's cloud-girt son

    Didst shield from foul disgrace, when all the rest,

    Juno, and Neptune, and Minerva join'd,

    With chains to bind him; then, O Goddess, thou

    Didst set him free, invoking to his aid

    Him of the hundred arms, whom Briareus

    Th' immortal Gods, and men AEgeon call.

    He, mightier than his father, took his seat

    By Saturn's side, in pride of conscious strength:

    Fear seiz'd on all the Gods, nor did they dare

    To bind their King: of this remind him now,

    And clasp his knees, and supplicate his aid

    For Troy's brave warriors, that the routed Greeks

    Back to their ships with slaughter may be driv'n;

    That all may taste the folly of their King,

    And Agamemnon's haughty self may mourn

    The slight on Grecia's bravest warrior cast."

    Thus he; and Thetis, weeping, thus replied:

    "Alas, my child, that e'er I gave thee birth!

    Would that beside thy ships thou could'st remain

    From grief exempt, and insult! since by fate

    Few years are thine, and not a lengthened term;

    At once to early death and sorrows doom'd

    Beyond the lot of man! in evil hour

    I gave thee birth! But to the snow-clad heights

    Of great Olympus, to the throne of Jove,

    Who wields the thunder, thy complaints I bear.

    Thou by thy ships, meanwhile, against the Greeks

    Thine anger nurse, and from the fight abstain.

    For Jove is to a solemn banquet gone

    Beyond the sea, on AEthiopia's shore,

    Since yesternight; and with him all the Gods.

    On the twelfth day he purpos'd to return

    To high Olympus; thither then will I,

    And to his feet my supplication make;

    And he, I think, will not deny my suit.

    This said, she disappear'd; and left him there

    Musing in anger on the lovely form

    Tom from his arms by violence away.

    Meantime, Ulysses, with his sacred freight,

    Arriv'd at Chrysa's strand; and when his bark

    Had reach'd the shelter of the deep sea bay,

    Their sails they furl'd, and lower'd to the hold;

    Slack'd the retaining shrouds, and quickly struck

    And stow'd away the mast; then with their sweeps

    Pull'd for the beach, and cast their anchors out,

    And made her fast with cables to the shore.

    Then on the shingly breakwater themselves

    They landed, and the sacred hecatomb

    To great Apollo; and Chryseis last.

    Her to the altar straight Ulysses led,

    The wise in counsel; in her father's hand

    He plac'd the maiden, and address'd him thus:

    "Chryses, from Agamemnon, King of men,

    To thee I come, thy daughter to restore;

    And to thy God, upon the Greeks' behalf,

    To offer sacrifice, if haply so

    We may appease his wrath, who now incens'd

    With grievous suff'ring visits all our host."

    Then to her sire he gave her; he with joy

    Receiv'd his child; the sacred hecatomb

    Around the well-built altar for the God

    In order due they plac'd; their hands then washed,

    And the salt cake prepar'd, before them all

    With hands uplifted Chryses pray'd aloud:

    "Hear me, God of the silver bow! whose care

    Chrysa surrounds, and Cilla's lovely vale,

    Whose sov'reign sway o'er Tenedos extends!

    Once hast thou heard my pray'r, aveng'd my cause,

    And pour'd thy fury on the Grecian host.

    Hear yet again, and grant what now I ask;

    Withdraw thy chast'ning hand, and stay the plague."

    Thus, as he pray'd, his pray'r Apollo heard.

    Their pray'rs concluded, and the salt cake strew'd

    Upon the victims' heads, they drew them back,

    And slew, and flay'd; then cutting from the thighs

    The choicest pieces, and in double layers

    O'erspreading them with fat, above them plac'd

    The due meat-off'rings; then the aged priest

    The cleft wood kindled, and libations pour'd

    Of ruddy wine; arm'd with the five-fork'd prongs

    Th' attendant ministers beside him stood.

    The thighs consum'd with fire, the inward parts

    They tasted first; the rest upon the spits

    Roasted with care, and from the fire withdrew.

    Their labours ended, and the feast prepar'd,

    They shared the social meal, nor lacked there aught.

    The rage of thirst and hunger satisfied,

    Th' attendant youths the flowing goblets crown'd,

    And in fit order serv'd the cups to all.

    All day they sought the favour of the God,

    The glorious paeans chanting, and the praise

    Of Phoebus: he, well pleas'd, the strain receiv'd

    But when the sun was set, and shades of night

    O'erspread the sky, upon the sandy beach

    Close to their ship they laid them down to rest.

    And when the rosy-finger'd morn appear'd,

    Back to the camp they took their homeward way

    A fav'ring breeze the Far-destroyer sent:

    They stepp'd the mast, and spread the snowy sail:

    Full in the midst the bellying sail receiv'd

    The gallant breeze; and round the vessel's prow

    The dark waves loudly roar'd, as on she rush'd

    Skimming the seas, and cut her wat'ry way.

    Arriv'd where lay the wide-spread host of Greece,

    Their dark-ribb'd vessel on the beach they drew

    High on the sand, and strongly shor'd her up;

    Then through the camp they took their sev'ral ways.

    Meantime, beside the ships Achilles sat,

    The Heav'n-born son of Peleus, swift of foot,

    Chafing with rage repress'd; no more he sought

    The honour'd council, nor the battle-field;

    But wore his soul away, and inly pin'd

    For the fierce joy and tumult of the fight.

    But when the twelfth revolving day was come,

    Back to Olympus' heights th' immortal Gods,

    Jove at their head, together all return'd.

    Then Thetis, mindful of her son's request,

    Rose from the ocean wave, and sped in haste

    To high Olympus, and the courts of Heav'n.

    Th' all-seeing son of Saturn there she found

    Sitting apart upon the topmost crest

    Of many-ridg'd Olympus; at his feet

    She sat, and while her left hand clasp'd his knees,

    Her right approached his beard, and suppliant thus

    She made her pray'r to Saturn's royal son:

    "Father, if e'er amid th' immortal Gods

    By word or deed I did thee service true,

    Hear now my pray'r! Avenge my hapless son,

    Of mortals shortest-liv'd, insulted now

    By mighty Agamemnon, King of men,

    And plunder'd of his lawful spoils of war.

    But Jove, Olympian, Lord of counsel, Thou

    Avenge his cause; and give to Trojan arms

    Such strength and pow'r, that Greeks may learn how much

    They need my son, and give him honour due."

    She said: the Cloud-compeller answer'd not,

    But silent sat; then Thetis clasp'd his knees,

    And hung about him, and her suit renew'd:

    "Give me thy promise sure, thy gracious nod,

    Or else refuse (for thou hast none to fear),

    That I may learn, of all th' immortal Gods,

    How far I stand the lowest in thine eyes."

    Then, much disturb'd, the Cloud-compeller spoke:

    "Sad work thou mak'st, in bidding me oppose

    My will to Juno's, when her bitter words

    Assail me; for full oft amid the Gods

    She taunts me, that I aid the Trojan cause.

    But thou return, that Juno see thee not,

    And leave to me the furth'rance of thy suit.

    Lo, to confirm thy faith, I nod my head;

    And well among th' immortal Gods is known

    The solemn import of that pledge from me:

    For ne'er my promise shall deceive, or fail,

    Or be recall'd, if with a nod confirm'd."

    He said, and nodded with his shadowy brows;

    Wav'd on th' immortal head th' ambrosial locks,

    And all Olympus trembled at his nod.

    They parted thus: from bright Olympus' heights

    The Goddess hasted to her ocean-caves,

    Jove to his palace; at his entrance all

    Rose from their seats at once; not one presum'd

    To wait his coming, but advanc'd to meet.

    Then on his throne he sat; but not unmark'd

    Of Juno's eye had been the council held

    In secret with the silver-footed Queen,

    The daughter of the aged Ocean-God;

    And with sharp words she thus addressed her Lord:

    "Tell me, deceiver, who was she with whom

    Thou late held'st council? ever 'tis thy way

    Apart from me to weave thy secret schemes,

    Nor dost thou freely share with me thy mind."

    To whom the Sire of Gods and men replied:

    "Expect not, Juno, all my mind to know;

    My wife thou art, yet would such knowledge be

    Too much for thee; whate'er I deem it fit

    That thou shouldst know, nor God nor man shall hear

    Before thee; but what I in secret plan,

    Seek not to know, nor curiously inquire."

    Whom answer'd thus the stag-ey'd Queen of Heav'n:

    "What words, dread son of Saturn, dost thou speak?

    Ne'er have I sought, or now, or heretofore,

    Thy secret thoughts to know; what thou think'st fit

    To tell, I wait thy gracious will to hear.

    Yet fear I in my soul thou art beguil'd

    By wiles of Thetis, silver-footed Queen,

    The daughter of the aged Ocean-God;

    For she was with thee early, and embrac'd

    Thy knees, and has, I think, thy promise sure,

    Thou wilt avenge Achilles' cause, and bring

    Destructive slaughter on the Grecian host."

    To whom the Cloud-compeller thus replied:

    "Presumptuous, to thy busy thoughts thou giv'st

    Too free a range, and watchest all I do;

    Yet shalt thou not prevail, but rather thus

    Be alien'd from my heart—the worse for thee!

    If this be so, it is my sov'reign will.

    But now, keep silence, and my words obey,

    Lest all th' Immortals fail, if I be wroth,

    To rescue thee from my resistless hand."

    He said, and terror seiz'd the stag-ey'd Queen:

    Silent she sat, curbing her spirit down,

    And all the Gods in pitying sorrow mourn'd.

    Vulcan, the skill'd artificer, then first

    Broke silence, and with soothing words address'd

    His mother, Juno, white-arm'd Queen of Heav'n:

    "Sad were't, indeed, and grievous to be borne,

    If for the sake of mortal men you two

    Should suffer angry passions to arise,

    And kindle broils in Heav'n; so should our feast

    By evil influence all its sweetness lack.

    Let me advise my mother (and I know

    That her own reason will my words approve)

    To speak my father fair; lest he again

    Reply in anger, and our banquet mar.

    For Jove, the lightning's Lord, if such his will,

    Might hurl us from our seats (so great his pow'r),

    But thou address him still with gentle words;

    So shall his favour soon again be ours."

    This said, he rose, and in his mother's hand

    A double goblet plac'd, as thus he spoke:

    "Have patience, mother mine! though much enforc'd,

    Restrain thy spirit, lest perchance these eyes,

    Dear as thou art, behold thee brought to shame;

    And I, though griev'd in heart, be impotent

    To save thee; for 'tis hard to strive with Jove.

    When to thy succour once before I came,

    He seiz'd me by the foot, and hurl'd me down

    From Heav'n's high threshold; all the day I fell,

    And with the setting sun, on Lemnos' isle

    Lighted, scarce half alive; there was I found,

    And by the Sintian people kindly nurs'd."

    Thus as he spoke, the white-armed Goddess smil'd,

    And, smiling, from, his hand receiv'd the cup,

    Then to th' Immortals all, in order due,

    He minister'd, and from the flagon pour'd

    The luscious nectar; while among the Gods

    Rose laughter irrepressible, at sight

    Of Vulcan hobbling round the spacious hall.

    Thus they till sunset pass'd the festive hours;

    Nor lack'd the banquet aught to please the sense,

    Nor sound of tuneful lyre, by Phoebus touch'd,

    Nor Muses' voice, who in alternate strains

    Responsive sang: but when the sun had set,

    Each to his home departed, where for each

    The crippled Vulcan, matchless architect,

    With wondrous skill a noble house had rear'd.

    To his own couch, where he was wont of old,

    When overcome by gentle sleep, to rest,

    Olympian Jove ascended; there he slept,

    And, by his side, the golden-throned Queen.

    ARGUMENT.

    THE TRIAL OF THE ARMY AND CATALOGUE OF THE FORCES.

    Jupiter, in pursuance of the request of Thetis, sends a deceitful vision to Agamemnon, persuading him to lead the army to battle in order to make the Greeks sensible of their want of Achilles. The general, who is deluded with the hopes of taking Troy without his assistance, but fears the army was discouraged by his absence and the late plague, as well as by length of time, contrives to make trial of their disposition by a stratagem. He first communicates his design to the princes in council that he would propose a return to the soldiers, and that they should put a stop to them if the proposal was embraced. Then he assembles the whole host, and upon moving for a return to Greece, they unanimously agree to it, and run to prepare the ships. They are detained by the management of Ulysses, who chastises the insolence of Thersites. The assembly is recalled, several speeches made on the occasion, and at length the advice of Nestor followed, which was to make a general muster of the troops, and to divide them into their several nations, before they proceeded to battle. This gives occasion to the poet to enumerate all the forces of the Greeks and Trojans, in a large catalogue.

    The time employed in this book consists not entirely of one day. The scene lies in the Grecian camp and upon the sea-shore; toward the end it removes to Troy.

    BOOK II.

    All night in sleep repos'd the other Gods,

    And helmed warriors; but the eyes of Jove

    Sweet slumber held not, pondering in his mind

    How to avenge Achilles' cause, and pour

    Destructive slaughter on the Grecian host.

    Thus as he mus'd, the wisest course appear'd

    By a deluding vision to mislead

    The son of Atreus; and with winged words

    Thus to a phantom form he gave command:

    "Hie thee, deluding Vision, to the camp

    And ships of Greece, to Agamemnon's tent;

    There, changing nought, as I command thee, speak.

    Bid that he arm in haste the long-hair'd Greeks

    To combat; for the wide-built streets of Troy

    He now may capture; since th' immortal Gods

    Watch over her no longer; all are gain'd

    By Juno's pray'rs; and woes impend o'er Troy."

    He said: the Vision heard, and straight obey'd:

    Swiftly he sped, and reached the Grecian ships,

    And sought the son of Atreus; him he found

    Within his tent, wrapped in ambrosial sleep;

    Above his head he stood, like Neleus' son,

    Nestor, whom Agamemnon rev'renc'd most

    Of all the Elders; in his likeness cloth'd

    Thus spoke the heav'nly Vision; "Sleep'st thou, son

    Of Atreus, valiant warrior, horseman bold?

    To sleep all night but ill becomes a chief,

    Charg'd with the public weal, and cares of state.

    Hear now the words I bear; to thee I come

    A messenger from Jove, who from on high

    Looks down on thee with eyes of pitying love.

    He bids thee arm in haste the long-hair'd Greeks

    To combat; since the wide-built streets of Troy

    Thou now mayst capture; for th' immortal Gods

    Watch over her no longer; all are gain'd

    By Juno's pray'rs; and woes impend o'er Troy.

    Bear this in mind; and when from sleep arous'd

    Let not my words from thy remembrance fade."

    This said, he vanish'd; and the monarch left,

    Inspir'd with thoughts which ne'er should come to pass.

    For in that day he vainly hop'd to take

    The town of Priam; ignorant what Jove

    Design'd in secret, or what woes, what groans,

    What lengthen'd labours in the stubborn fight,

    Were yet for Trojans and for Greeks in store.

    He woke from sleep; but o'er his senses spread

    Dwelt still the heavenly voice; he sat upright;

    He donn'd his vest of texture fine, new-wrought,

    Then o'er it threw his ample robe, and bound

    His sandals fair around his well-turn'd feet;

    And o'er his shoulders flung his sword, adorn'd

    With silver studs; and bearing in his hand

    His royal staff, ancestral, to the ships

    Where lay the brass-clad warriors, bent his way.

    Aurora now was rising up the steep

    Of great Olympus, to th' immortal Gods

    Pure light diffusing; when Atrides bade

    The clear-voic'd heralds to th' Assembly call

    The gen'ral host; they gave the word, and straight

    From ev'ry quarter throng'd the eager crowd.

    But first, of all the Elders, by the side

    Of Nestor's ship, the aged Pylian chief,

    A secret conclave Agamemnon call'd;

    And, prudent, thus the chosen few address'd:

    "Hear me, my friends! In the still hours of night

    I saw a heav'nly Vision in my sleep:

    Most like it seemed in stature, form, and face

    To rev'rend Nestor; at my head it stood,

    And with these words address'd me—'Sleep'st thou, son

    Of Atreus, valiant warrior, horseman bold?

    To sleep all night but ill becomes a chief,

    Charg'd with the public weal, and cares of state.

    Hear now the words I bear: to thee I come

    A messenger from Jove, who from on high

    Looks down on thee with eyes of pitying love.

    He bids thee arm in haste the long-hair'd Greeks

    To combat: since the wide-built streets of Troy

    Thou now may'st capture; for th' immortal Gods

    Watch over her no longer: all are gain'd

    By Juno's pray'rs, and woes impend o'er Troy.

    Bear thou my words in mind.' Thus as he spoke

    He vanish'd; and sweet sleep forsook mine eyes.

    Seek we then straight to arm the sons of Greece:

    But first, as is our wont, myself will prove

    The spirit of the army; and suggest

    Their homeward voyage; ye, throughout the camp

    Restore their courage, and restrain from flight."

    Thus having said, he sat; and next arose

    Nestor, the chief of Pylos' sandy shore.

    Who thus with prudent speech replied, and said:

    "O friends, the chiefs and councillors of Greece,

    If any other had this Vision seen,

    We should have deem'd it false, and laugh'd to scorn

    The idle tale; but now it hath appear'd,

    Of all our army, to the foremost man:

    Seek we then straight to arm the sons of Greece."

    He said, and from the council led the way.

    Uprose the sceptred monarchs, and obey'd

    Their leader's call, and round them throng'd the crowd.

    As swarms of bees, that pour in ceaseless stream

    From out the crevice of some hollow rock,

    Now clust'ring, and anon 'mid vernal flow'rs,

    Some here, some there, in busy numbers fly;

    So to th' Assembly from their tents and ships

    The countless tribes came thronging; in their midst,

    By Jove enkindled, Rumour urged them on.

    Great was the din; and as the mighty mass

    Sat down, the solid earth beneath them groan'd;

    Nine heralds rais'd their voices loud, to quell

    The storm of tongues, and bade the noisy crowd

    Be still, and listen to the Heav'n-born Kings.

    At length they all were seated, and awhile

    Their clamours sank to silence; then uprose

    The monarch Agamemnon, in his hand

    His royal staff, the work of Vulcan's art;

    Which Vulcan to the son of Saturn gave;

    To Hermes he, the heav'nly messenger;

    Hermes to Pelops, matchless charioteer;

    Pelops to Atreus; Atreus at his death

    Bequeath'd it to Thyestes, wealthy Lord

    Of num'rous herds; to Agamemnon last

    Thyestes left it; token of his sway

    O'er all the Argive coast, and neighbouring isles.

    On this the monarch leant, as thus he spoke:

    "Friends, Grecian Heroes, Ministers of Mars!

    Grievous, and all unlook'd for, is the blow

    Which Jove hath dealt me; by his promise led

    I hop'd to raze the strong-built walls of Troy,

    And home return in safety; but it seems

    He falsifies his word, and bids me now

    Return to Argos, frustrate of my hope,

    Dishonour'd, and with grievous loss of men.

    Such now appears th' o'er-ruling sov'reign will

    Of Saturn's son; who oft hath sunk the heads

    Of many a lofty city in the dust,

    And yet will sink; for mighty is his hand.

    'Tis shame indeed that future days should hear

    How such a force as ours, so great, so brave,

    Hath thus been baffled, fighting, as we do,

    'Gainst numbers far inferior to our own,

    And see no end of all our warlike toil.

    For should we choose, on terms of plighted truce,

    Trojans and Greeks, to number our array;

    Of Trojans, all that dwell within the town,

    And we, by tens disposed, to every ten,

    To crown our cups, one Trojan should assign,

    Full many a ten no cupbearer would find:

    So far the sons of Greece outnumber all

    That dwell within the town; but to their aid

    Bold warriors come from all the cities round,

    Who greatly harass me, and render vain

    My hope to storm the strong-built walls of Troy.

    Already now nine weary years have pass'd;

    The timbers of our ships are all decay'd,

    The cordage rotted; in our homes the while

    Our wives and helpless children sit, in vain

    Expecting our return; and still the work,

    For which we hither came, remains undone.

    Hear then my counsel; let us all agree

    Home to direct our course, since here in vain

    We strive to take the well-built walls of Troy."

    Thus as he spoke, the crowd, that had not

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