If thou, great warrior, put not forth thy might.

  For close beside the ships and wall are camp'd

  The haughty Trojans and renown'd allies:

  Their watch-fires frequent burn throughout the camp;

  And loud their boast that nought shall stay their hands,

  Until our dark-ribb'd ships be made their prey.

  Jove too for them, with fav'ring augury

  Sends forth his lightning; boastful of his strength,

  And firmly trusting in the aid of Jove,

  Hector, resistless, rages; nought he fears

  Or God or man, with martial fury fir'd.

  He prays, impatient, for th' approach of morn;

  Then, breaking through the lofty sterns, resolv'd

  To the devouring flames to give the ships,

  And slay the crews, bewilder'd in the smoke.

  And much my mind misgives me, lest the Gods

  His threats fulfil, and we be fated here

  To perish, far from Argos' grassy plains.

  Up then! if in their last extremity

  Thy spirit inclines, though late, to save the Greeks

  Sore press'd by Trojan arms: lest thou thyself

  Hereafter feel remorse; the evil done

  Is past all cure; then thou reflect betimes

  How from the Greeks to ward the day of doom.

  Dear friend, remember now thy father's words,

  The aged Peleus, when to Atreus' son

  He sent thee forth from Phthia, how he said,

  'My son, the boon of strength, if so they will,

  Juno or Pallas have the pow'r to give;

  But thou thyself thy haughty spirit must curb.

  For better far is gentle courtesy:

  And cease from angry strife, that so the Greeks

  The more may honour thee, both young and old.'

  Such were the words thine aged father spoke,

  Which thou hast now forgotten; yet, e'en now,

  Pause for awhile, and let thine anger cool;

  And noble gifts, so thou thy wrath remit,

  From Agamemnon shalt thou bear away.

  Listen to me, while I recount the gifts

  Which in his tent he pledg'd him to bestow.

  Sev'n tripods promis'd he, untouch'd by fire,

  Of gold, ten talents, twenty caldrons bright,

  Twelve pow'rful horses, in the course renown'd.

  Who by their speed have many prizes won.

  Not empty-handed could that man be deem'd,

  Nor poor in gold, who but so much possess'd

  As by those horses has for him been won.

  Sev'n women too, well skill'd in household cares,

  Lesbians, whom he selected for himself,

  That day thou captur'dst Lesbos' goodly isle,

  In beauty far surpassing all their sex.

  These will he give; and with them will he send

  The fair Briseis, her whom from thy tent

  He bore away; and add a solemn oath,

  He ne'er approach'd her bed, nor held with her

  Such intercourse as man with woman holds.

  All these shall now be thine: but if the Gods

  Shall grant us Priam's city to destroy,

  Of gold and brass, when we divide the spoil,

  With countless heaps a vessel shalt thou freight,

  And twenty captives thou thyself shalt choose,

  All only less than Argive Helen fair.

  And if it be our fate to see again

  The teeming soil of Argos, thou mayst be

  His son by marriage, and in honour held

  As is Orestes, who, his only son,

  Is rear'd at home in luxury, and ease.

  Three daughters fair are his, Chrysothemis,

  Iphianassa, and Laodice;

  Of these whiche'er thou wilt, to Peleus' house,

  No portion ask'd for, thou shalt take to wife;

  And with her will he add such wedding gifts,

  As never man before to daughter gave.

  Sev'n prosp'rous towns besides; Cardamyle,

  And Enope, and Ira's grassy plains,

  And Pherae, and Antheia's pastures deep,

  AEpeia fair, and vine-clad Pedasus;

  All by the sea, by sandy Pylos' bounds.

  The dwellers there in flocks and herds are rich,

  And, as a God, will honour thee with gifts,

  And to thy sceptre ample tribute pay.

  All these he gives, so thou thy wrath remit.

  But if thou hold Atrides in such hate,

  Him and his gifts, yet let thy pity rest

  On all the other Greeks, thus sore bested;

  By whom thou shalt be honour'd as a God:

  For great the triumph that thou now mayst gain;

  E'en Hector's self is now within thy reach;

  For he is near at hand; and in his pride

  And martial fury deems that none, of all

  Our ships contain, can rival him in arms."

  Whom answer'd thus Achilles, swift of foot:

  "Heav'n-born Ulysses, sage in council, son

  Of great Laertes, I must frankly speak

  My mind at once, my fix'd resolve declare:

  That from henceforth I may not by the Greeks,

  By this man and by that, be importun'd.

  Him as the gates of hell my soul abhors,

  Whose outward words his secret thoughts belie,

  Hear then what seems to me the wisest course.

  On me nor Agamemnon, Atreus' son,

  Nor others shall prevail, since nought is gain'd

  By toil unceasing in the battle field.

  Who nobly fight, but share with those who skulk;

  Like honours gain the coward and the brave;

  Alike the idlers and the active die:

  And nought it profits me, though day by day

  In constant toil I set my life at stake;

  But as a bird, though ill she fare herself,

  Brings to her callow brood the food she takes,

  So I through many a sleepless night have lain,

  And many a bloody day have labour'd through,

  Engag'd in battle on your wives' behalf.

  Twelve cities have I taken with my ships;

  Eleven more by land, on Trojan soil:

  From all of these abundant stores of wealth

  I took, and all to Agamemnon gave;

  He, safe beside his ships, my spoils receiv'd,

  A few divided, but the most retain'd.

  To other chiefs and Kings he meted out

  Their sev'ral portions, and they hold them still;

  From me, from me alone of all the Greeks,

  He bore away, and keeps my cherish'd wife;

  Well! let him keep her, solace of his bed!

  But say then, why do Greeks with Trojans fight?

  Why hath Atrides brought this mighty host

  To Troy, if not in fair-hair'd Helen's cause?

  Of mortals are there none that love their wives,

  Save Atreus' sons alone? or do not all,

  Who boast the praise of sense and virtue, love

  And cherish each his own? as her I lov'd

  E'en from my soul, though captive of my spear.

  Now, since he once hath robb'd me, and deceiv'd,

  Let him not seek my aid; I know him now,

  And am not to be won; let him devise,

  With thee, Ulysses, and the other Kings,

  How best from hostile fires to save his ships.

  He hath completed many mighty works

  Without my aid; hath built a lofty wall,

  And dug a trench around it, wide and deep,

  And in the trench hath fix'd a palisade;

  Nor so the warrior-slayer Hector's might

  Can keep in check; while I was in the field,

  Not far without the walls would Hector range

  His line of battle, nor beyond the Oak

  And Scaean gates would venture; there indeed

  He once presum'd to meet me, hand to hand,

  And from my onset narrowly escap'd.

  But as with Hector now no more I fight,

  To-morrow morn, my off'rings made to Jove,

  And all the Gods, and freighted well my ships,

  And launch'd upon the main, thyself shall see,

  If that thou care to see, my vessels spread

  O'er the broad bosom of the Hellespont,

  My lusty crews plying the vig'rous oar;

  And if th' Earth-shaker send a fav'ring breeze,

  Three days will bear us home to Phthia's shore.

  There did I leave abundant store of wealth,

  When hitherward I took my luckless way;

  Thither from hence I bear, of ruddy gold,

  And brass, and women fair, and iron hoar

  The share assign'd me; but my chiefest prize

  The monarch Agamemnon, Atreus' son,

  Himself who gave, with insult takes away.

  To him then speak aloud the words I send,

  That all may know his crimes, if yet he hope

  Some other Greek by treach'rous wiles to cheat,

  Cloth'd as he is in shamelessness! my glance,

  All brazen as he is, he dare not meet.

  I share no more his counsels, nor his acts;

  He hath deceiv'd me once, and wrong'd; again

  He shall not cozen me! Of him, enough!

  I pass him by, whom Jove hath robb'd of sense.

  His gifts I loathe, and spurn; himself I hold

  At a hair's worth; and would he proffer me

  Tenfold or twentyfold of all he has,

  Or ever may be his; or all the gold

  Sent to Orchomenos or royal Thebes,

  Egyptian, treasurehouse of countless wealth,

  Who boasts her hundred gates, through each of which

  With horse and car two hundred warriors march:

  Nay, were his gifts in number as the sand,

  Or dust upon the plain, yet ne'er will I

  By Agamemnon be prevail'd upon,

  Till I have paid him back my heart's offence.

  Nor e'er of Agamemnon, Atreus' son,

  Will I a daughter wed; not were she fair

  As golden Venus, and in works renown'd

  As Pallas, blue-ey'd Maid, yet her e'en so

  I wed not; let him choose some other Greek,

  Some fitting match, of nobler blood than mine.

  But should the Gods in safety bring me home,

  At Peleus' hands I may receive a wife;

  And Greece can boast of many a lovely maid,

  In Hellas or in Phthia, daughters fair

  Of chiefs who hold their native fortresses:

  Of these, at will, a wife I may select:

  And ofttimes hath my warlike soul inclin'd

  To take a wedded wife, a fitting bride,

  And aged Peleus' wealth in peace enjoy.

  For not the stores which Troy, they say, contain'd

  In peaceful times, ere came the sons of Greece,

  Nor all the treasures which Apollo's shrine,

  The Archer-God, in rock-built Pythos holds,

  May weigh with life; of oxen and of sheep

  Successful forays may good store provide;

  And tripods may be gain'd, and noble steeds:

  But when the breath of man hath pass'd his lips,

  Nor strength nor foray can the loss repair.

  I by my Goddess-mother have been warn'd,

  The silver-footed Thetis, that o'er me

  A double chance of destiny impends:

  If here remaining, round the walls of Troy

  I wage the war, I ne'er shall see my home,

  But then undying glory shall be mine:

  If I return, and see my native land,

  My glory all is gone; but length of life

  Shall then be mine, and death be long deferr'd.

  If others ask'd my counsel, I should say,

  'Homeward direct your course; of lofty Troy

  Ye see not yet the end; all-seeing Jove

  O'er her extends his hand; on him relying

  Her people all with confidence are fill'd.'

  Go then; my answer to the chiefs of Greece

  Speak boldly — such the privilege of age —

  Bid that some better counsel they devise

  To save their ships and men; their present scheme,

  My anger unappeas'd, avails them nought.

  But Phoenix here shall stay, and sleep to-night;

  And with the morrow he with me shall sail

  And seek our native land, if so he will:

  For not by force will I remove him hence."

  He said; they all, confounded by his words,

  In silence heard; so sternly did he speak.

  At length, in tears, the aged Phoenix spoke,

  For greatly fear'd he for the ships of Greece:

  "If, great Achilles, on returning home

  Thy mind is set, nor canst thou be induc'd

  To save the ships from fire, so fierce thy wrath;

  How then, dear boy, can I remain behind,

  Alone? whom with thee aged Peleus sent,

  That day when he in Agamemnon's cause

  From Phthia sent thee, inexperienc'd yet

  In all the duties of confed'rate war,

  And sage debate, on which attends renown.

  Me then he sent, instructor of thy youth,

  To prompt thy language, and thine acts to guide.

  So not from thee, dear boy, can I consent

  To part, though Heav'n should undertake my age

  To prompt thy language, and thine acts to guide.

  So not from thee, dear boy, can I consent

  To part, though Heav'n should undertake my age

  To wipe away, and vig'rous youth restore,

  Such as I boasted, when from Greece I fled

  Before my angry sire, Amyntor, son

  Of Ormenus; a fair-hair'd concubine

  Cause of the quarrel; her my father lov'd,

  And by her love estrang'd, despis'd his wife,

  My mother; oft she pray'd me to seduce,

  To vex th' old man, my father's concubine;

  I yielded; he, suspecting, on my head

  A curse invok'd, and on the Furies call'd

  His curse to witness, that upon his knees

  No child, by me begotten, e'er should sit:

  His curse the Gods have heard, and ratified,

  Th' infernal King, and awful Proserpine.

  Then would I fain have slain him with the sword,

  Had not some God my rising fury quell'd,

  And set before my mind the public voice,

  The odium I should have to bear 'mid Greeks,

  If branded with the name of patricide.

  But longer in my angry father's house

  To dwell, my spirit brook'd not, though my friends

  And kinsmen all besought me to remain;

  And many a goodly sheep, and many a steer

  They slew, and many swine, with fat o'erlaid,

  They sing'd, and roasted o'er the burning coals;

  And drank in many a cup the old man's wine.

  Nine nights they kept me in continual watch,

  By turns relieving guards. The fires meanwhile

  Burnt constant: one beneath the porch that fac'd

  The well-fenc'd court; one in the vestibule

  Before my chamber door. The tenth dark night

  My chamber's closely-fitting doors I broke,

  And lightly vaulted o'er the court-yard fence,

  By guards alike and servant maids unmark'd.

  Through all the breadth of Hellas then I fled,

  Until at length to Phthia's fruitful soil,

  Mother of flocks, to Peleus' realm I came,

  Who kindly welcom'd me, and with such love

  As to his only son, his well-belov'd,

  A father shows, his gen'rous gifts bestow'd.

  He gave me wealth, he gave me ample rule;

  And on the bounds of Phthia bade me dwell,

  And o'er the Dolopes hold sov'reign sway.

  Thee too, Achilles, rival of the Gods,

  Such, as thou art I made thee; from my soul

  I lov'd thee; nor wouldst thou with others go

  Or to the meal, or in the house be fed,

  Till on my knee thou satt'st, and by my hand

  Thy food were cut, the cup were tender'd thee;

  And often, in thy childish helplessness.

  The bosom of my dress with wine was drench'd;

  Such care I had of thee, such pains I took,

  Rememb'ring that by Heav'n's decree, no son

  Of mine I e'er might see; then thee I made,

  Achilles, rival of the Gods, my son,

  That thou mightst be the guardian of mine age.

  But thou, Achilles, curb thy noble rage;

  A heart implacable beseems thee not.

  The Gods themselves, in virtue, honour, strength,

  Excelling thee, may yet be mollified;

  For they, when mortals have transgress'd, or fail'd

  To do aright, by sacrifice and pray'r,

  Libations and burnt-off'rings, may be sooth'd.

  Pray'rs are the daughters of immortal Jove;

  But halt, and wrinkled, and of feeble sight,

  They plod in Ate's track; while Ate, strong

  And swift of foot, outstrips their laggard pace,

  And, dealing woe to man, o'er all the earth

  Before them flies: they, following, heal her wounds.

  Him who with honour welcomes their approach,

  They greatly aid, and hear him when he prays;

  But who rejects, and sternly casts them off,

  To Saturn's son they go, and make their pray'r

  That Ate follow him and claim her dues.

  Then to the daughters of immortal Jove,

  Do thou, Achilles, show the like respect,

  That many another brave man's heart hath sway'd.

  If to thy tent no gifts Atrides brought,

  With promises of more, but still retain'd

  His vehement enmity, I could not ask

  That thou thy cherish'd anger shouldst discard,

  And aid the Greeks, how great so-e'er their need.

  But now large off'rings hath he giv'n, and more

  Hath promis'd; and, of all the Greeks, hath sent

  To pray thine aid, the men thou lov'st the best.

  Discredit not their mission, nor their words.

  Till now, I grant thee, none could blame thy wrath.

  In praise of men in ancient days renown'd,

  This have we heard, that how-so-e'er might rage

  Their hostile feuds, their anger might be still

  By gifts averted, and by words appeas'd.

  One case I bear in mind, in times long past,

 

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