THE ILIAD (Completed)

BOOK 8

Now morn, in saffron robe, the earth o'erspread; And Jove, the lightning's Lord, of all the Gods A council held upon the highest peak Of many-ridg'd Olympus; he himself Address'd them; they his speech attentive heard.

"Hear, all ye Gods, and all ye Goddesses, The words I speak, the promptings of my soul. Let none among you, male or female, dare To thwart my counsels: rather all concur, That so these matters I may soon conclude. If, from the rest apart, one God I find Presuming or to Trojans or to Greeks To give his aid, with ignominious stripes Back to Olympus shall that God be driv'n; Or to the gloom of Tartarus profound, Far off, the lowest abyss beneath the earth, With, gates of iron, and with floor of brass, Beneath the shades as far as earth from Heav'n, There will I hurl him, and ye all shall know In strength how greatly I surpass you all. Make trial if ye will, that all may know. A golden cord let down from Heav'n, and all, Both Gods and Goddesses, your strength, apply: Yet would ye fail to drag from Heav'n to earth, Strive as ye may, your mighty master, Jove; But if I choose to make my pow'r be known, The earth itself, and ocean, I could raise, And binding round Olympus' ridge the cord, Leave them suspended so in middle air: So far supreme my pow'r o'er Gods and men."

He said, and they, confounded by his words, In silence sat; so sternly did he speak. At length the blue-ey'd Goddess, Pallas, said: "O Father, Son of Saturn, King of Kings, Well do we know thy pow'r invincible; Yet deeply grieve we for the warlike Greeks, Condemn'd to hopeless ruin; from the fight, Since such is thy command, we stand aloof; But yet some saving counsel may we give, Lest in thine anger thou destroy them quite."

To whom the Cloud-compeller, smiling, thus: "Be of good cheer, my child; unwillingly I speak, yet will not thwart thee of thy wish."

He said, and straight the brazen-footed steeds, Of swiftest flight, with manes of flowing gold, He harness'd to his chariot; all in gold Himself array'd, the golden lash he grasp'd, Of curious work; and mounting on his car, Urg'd the fleet coursers; nothing loth, they flew Midway betwixt the earth and starry heav'n. To Ida's spring-abounding hill he came, And to the crest of Gargarus, wild nurse Of mountain beasts; a sacred plot was there, Whereon his incense-honour'd altar stood: There stay'd his steeds the Sire of Gods and men Loos'd from the car, and veil'd with clouds around. Then on the topmost ridge he sat, in pride Of conscious strength; and looking down, survey'd The Trojan city, and the ships of Greece.

Meantime, the Greeks throughout their tents in haste Despatch'd their meal, and arm'd them for the fight; On th' other side the Trojans donn'd their arms, In numbers fewer, but with stern resolve, By hard necessity constrain'd, to strive, For wives and children, in the stubborn fight. The gates all open'd wide, forth pour'd the crowd Of horse and foot; and loud the clamour rose. When in the midst they met, together rush'd Bucklers and lances, and the furious might Of mail-clad warriors; bossy shield on shield Clatter'd in conflict; loud the clamour rose: Then rose too mingled shouts and groans of men Slaying and slain; the earth ran red with blood. While yet 'twas morn, and wax'd the youthful day, Thick flew the shafts, and fast the people fell On either side; but when the sun had reach'd The middle Heav'n, th' Eternal Father hung His golden scales aloft, and plac'd in each The fatal death-lot: for the sons of Troy The one, the other for the brass-clad Greeks; Then held them by the midst; down sank the lot Of Greece, down to the ground, while high aloft Mounted the Trojan scale, and rose to Heav'n. [2] Then loud he bade the volleying thunder peal From Ida's heights; and 'mid the Grecian ranks He hurl'd his flashing lightning; at the sight Amaz'd they stood, and pale with terror shook.

Then not Idomeneus, nor Atreus' son, The mighty Agamemnon, kept their ground, Nor either Ajax, ministers of Mars; Gerenian Nestor, aged prop of Greece, Alone remain'd, and he against his will, His horse sore wounded by an arrow shot By godlike Paris, fair-hair'd Helen's Lord: Just on the crown, where close behind the head First springs the mane, the deadliest spot of all, The arrow struck him; madden'd with the pain He rear'd, then plunging forward, with the shaft Fix'd in his brain, and rolling in the dust, The other steeds in dire confusion threw; And while old Nestor with his sword essay'd To cut the reins, and free the struggling horse, Amid the rout down came the flying steeds Of Hector, guided by no timid hand, By Hector's self; then had the old man paid The forfeit of his life, but, good at need, The valiant Diomed his peril saw, And loudly shouting, on Ulysses call'd: "Ulysses sage, Laertes' godlike son, Why fliest thou, coward-like, amid the throng, And in thy flight to the aim of hostile spears Thy back presenting? stay, and here with me From this fierce warrior guard the good old man."