THE ILIAD (Completed)

BOOK 24

The games were ended, and the multitude Amid the ships their sev'ral ways dispers'd: Some to their supper, some to gentle sleep Yielding, delighted; but Achilles still Mourn'd o'er his lov'd companion; not on him Lighted all-conqu'ring sleep, but to and fro Restless he toss'd, and on Patroclus thought, His vigour and his courage; all the deeds They two together had achiev'd; the toils, The perils they had undergone, amid The strife of warriors, and the angry waves. Stirr'd by such mem'ries, bitter tears he shed; Now turning on his side, and now again Upon his back; then prone upon his face; Then starting to his feet, along the shore All objectless, despairing, would he roam; Nor did the morn, above the sea appearing, Unmark'd of him arise; his flying steeds He then would harness, and, behind the car The corpse of Hector trailing in the dust, Thrice make the circuit of Patroclus' tomb; Then would he turn within his tent to rest, Leaving the prostrate corpse with dust defil'd; But from unseemly marks the valiant dead Apollo guarded, who with pity view'd The hero, though in death; and round him threw His golden aegis; nor, though dragg'd along, Allow'd his body to receive a wound.

Thus foully did Achilles in his rage Misuse the mighty dead; the blessed Gods With pitying grief beheld the sight, and urg'd That Hermes should by stealth the corpse remove. The counsel pleas'd the rest; but Juno still, And Neptune, and the blue-ey'd Maid, retain'd The hatred, unappeas'd, with which of old Troy and her King and people they pursued; Since Paris to the rival Goddesses, Who to his sheepfold came, gave deep offence, Preferring her who brought him in return The fatal boon of too successful love. But when the twelfth revolving day was come, Apollo thus th' assembled Gods address'd: "Shame on ye, Gods, ungrateful! have ye not, At Hector's hand, of bulls and choicest goats Receiv'd your off'rings meet? and fear ye now E'en his dead corpse to save, and grant his wife, His mother, and his child, his aged sire And people, to behold him, and to raise His fun'ral pile, and with due rites entomb? But fell Achilles all your aid commands; Of mind unrighteous, and inflexible His stubborn heart; his thoughts are all of blood; E'en as a lion, whom his mighty strength And dauntless courage lead to leap the fold, And 'mid the trembling flocks to seize his prey; E'en so Achilles hath discarded ruth, And conscience, arbiter of good and ill. A man may lose his best-lov'd friend, a son, Or his own mother's son, a brother dear: He mourns and weeps, but time his grief allays, For fate to man a patient mind hath giv'n: But godlike Hector's body, after death, Achilles, unrelenting, foully drags, Lash'd to his car, around his comrade's tomb. This is not to his praise; though brave he be, Yet thus our anger he may justly rouse, Who in his rage insults the senseless clay."

To whom, indignant, white-arm'd Juno thus: "Some show of reason were there in thy speech, God of the silver bow, could Hector boast Of equal dignity with Peleus' son. A mortal one, and nurs'd at woman's breast; The other, of a Goddess born, whom I Nurtur'd and rear'd, and to a mortal gave In marriage; gave to Peleus, best belov'd By all th' Immortals, of the race of man. Ye, Gods, attended all the marriage rites; Thou too, companion base, false friend, wast there, And, playing on thy lyre, didst share the feast."

To whom the Cloud-compeller answer'd thus: "Juno, restrain thy wrath; they shall not both Attain like honour; yet was Hector once, Of all the mortals that in Ilium dwell, Dearest to all the Gods, and chief to me; For never did he fail his gifts to bring. And with, burnt-off 'rings and libations due My altars crown; such worship I receiv'd. Yet shall bold Hector's body, not without The knowledge of Achilles, be remov'd; For day and night his Goddess-mother keeps Her constant watch beside him. Then, some God Bid Thetis hither to my presence haste; And I with prudent words will counsel her, That so Achilles may at Priam's hand Large ransom take, and set brave Hector free."

He said; and promptly on his errand sprang The storm-swift Iris; in the dark-blue sea She plung'd, midway 'twixt Imbros' rugged shore And Samos' isle; the parting waters plash'd. As down to ocean's lowest depths she dropp'd, Like to a plummet, which the fisherman Lets fall, encas'd in wild bull's horn, to bear Destruction to the sea's voracious tribes. There found she Thetis in a hollow cave, Around her rang'd the Ocean Goddesses: She, in the midst, was weeping o'er the fate Her matchless son awaiting, doom'd to die Far from his home, on fertile plains of Troy. Swift-footed Iris at her side appear'd, And thus address'd her: "Hasten, Thetis; Jove, Lord of immortal counsel, summons thee." To whom the silver-footed Goddess thus: "What would with me the mighty King of Heav'n? Press'd as I am with grief, I am asham'd To mingle with the Gods; yet will I go: Nor shall he speak in vain, whate'er his words."