The Iliad and the Odyssey (Classics of World Literature) (61 page)

Prince of the people.’ He replied: ‘Shall thy command assuage

(Gulf-fed Scamander) my free wrath? I’ll never leave pursu’d

Proud Ilion’s slaughters, till this hand in her fil’d walls conclude

Her flying forces, and hath tried in single fight the chance

Of war with Hector, whose event with stark death shall advance

One of our conquests.’ Thus again he like a fury flew

Upon the Trojans, when the flood his sad plaint did pursue

To bright Apollo, telling him he was too negligent

Of Jove’s high charge, importuning by all means vehement

His help of Troy, till latest ev’n should her black shadows pour

On earth’s broad breast. In all his worst, Achilles yet from shore

Leapt to his midst. Then swell’d his waves, then rag’d, then boil’d again

Against Achilles: up flew all, and all the bodies slain

In all his deeps (of which the heaps made bridges to his waves)

He belch’d out, roaring like a bull. The unslain yet he saves

In his black whirlpits vast and deep. A horrid billow stood

About Achilles. On his shield the violence of the flood

Beat so, it drove him back, and took his feet up, his fair palm

Enforc’d to catch into his stay a broad and lofty elm,

Whose roots he toss’d up with his hold, and tore up all the shore;

With this then he repell’d the waves, and those thick arms it bore

He made a bridge to bear him off (for all fell in), when he

Forth from the channel threw himself. The rage did terrify

Ev’n his great spirit, and made him add wings to his swiftest feet,

And tread the land. And yet not there the flood left his retreat,

But thrust his billows after him, and black’d them all at top

To make him fear, and fly his charge, and set the broad field ope

For Troy to ’scape in. He sprung out a dart’s cast, but came on

Again with a redoubled force; as when the swiftest flown

And strong’st of all fowls (Jove’s black hawk, the huntress) stoops upon

A much lov’d quarry: so charg’d he, his arms with horror rung

Against the black waves: yet again he was so urg’d, he flung

His body from the flood, and fled. And after him again

The waves flew roaring, as a man that finds a water-vein,

And from some black fount is to bring his streams through plants and groves,

Goes with his mattock, and all checks, set to his course, removes;

When that runs freely, under it the pebbles all give way,

And where it finds a fall, runs swift, nor can the leader stay

His current then; before himself full-pac’d it murmurs on:

So, of Achilles, evermore the strong flood vantage won.

Though most deliver, gods are still above the pow’rs of men.

As oft as th’ able god-like man endeavour’d to maintain

His charge on them that kept the flood (and charg’d, as he would try

If all the gods inhabiting the broad unreached sky

Could daunt his spirit), so oft still the rude waves charg’d him round,

Rampt on his shoulders, from whose depth his strength and spirit would bound

Up to the free air, vex’d in soul. And now the vehement flood

Made faint his knees, so overthwart his waves were, they withstood

All the denied dust, which he wish’d, and now was fain to cry,

Casting his eyes to that broad heav’n that late he long’d to try,

And said: ‘O Jove, how am I left? No god vouchsafes to free

Me, miserable man; help now, and after torture me

With any outrage. Would to heav’n, Hector (the mightiest

Bred in this region) had imbru’d his javelin in my breast

That strong might fall by strong, where now weak water’s luxury

Must make my death blush; one heav’n-born shall like a hog-herd die,

Drown’d in a dirty torrent’s rage. Yet none of you in heav’n

I blame for this, but she alone by whom this life was giv’n,

That now must die thus. She would still delude me with her tales,

Affirming Phoebus’ shafts should end within the Trojan walls

My curs’d beginning.’ In this strait, Neptune and Pallas flew

To fetch him off. In men’s shapes both close to his danger drew,

And, taking both both hands, thus spake the Shaker of the world:

‘Pelides, do not stir a foot, nor these waves, proudly curl’d

Against thy bold breast, fear a jot; thou hast us two thy friends

(Neptune and Pallas), Jove himself approving th’ aid we lend.

Tis nothing, as thou fear’st, with fate; she will not see thee drown’d:

This height shall soon down, thine own eyes shall see it set aground.

Be rul’d then, we’ll advise thee well; take not thy hand away

From putting all, indifferently, to all that it can lay

Upon the Trojans, till the walls of haughty Ilion

Conclude all in a desperate flight; and when thou hast set gone

The soul of Hector, turn to fleet: our hands shall plant a wreath

Of endless glory on thy brows. Thus to the free-from-death

Both made retreat. He (much impell’d by charge the godheads gave)

The field, that now was overcome with many a boundless wave,

He overcame: on their wild breasts they toss’d the carcasses

And arms of many a slaughter’d man. And now the winged knees

Of this great captain bore aloft: against the flood he flies

With full assault, nor could that god make shrink his rescu’d thighs:

Nor shrunk the flood, but as his foe grew powerful, he grew mad,

Thrust up a billow to the sky, and crystal Simois bade

To his assistance: ‘Simois! Ho, brother!’ out he cried.

‘Come, add thy current, and resist this man half deified,

Or Ilion he will pull down straight; the Trojans cannot stand

A minute longer. Come, assist, and instantly command

All fountains in thy rule to rise, all torrents to make in,

And stuff thy billows, with whose height engender such a din

(With trees torn up, and justling stones) as so immane a man

May shrink beneath us: whose pow’r thrives, do my pow’r all it can:

He dares things fitter for a god. But nor his form, nor force,

Nor glorious arms shall profit it: all which, and his dead corse,

I vow to roll up in my hands – nay, bury in my mud –

Nay, in the very sinks of Troy that, pour’d into my flood,

Shall make him drowning work enough: and being drown’d, I’ll set

A sort of such strong filth on him, that Greece shall never get

His bones from it. There, there shall stand Achilles’ sepulchre,

And save a burial for his friends.’ This fury did transfer

His high-ridg’d billows on the prince, roaring with blood and foam

And carcasses. The crimson stream did snatch into her womb

Surpris’d Achilles; and her height stood, held up by the hand

Of Jove himself. Then Juno cried, and call’d (to countermand

This wat’ry deity) the god that holds command in fire,

Afraid lest that gulf-stomach’d flood would satiate his desire

On great Achilles. ‘Mulciber! My best-lov’d son!’ she cried.

‘Rouse thee, for all the gods conceive this flood thus amplified

Is rais’d at thee, and shows as if his waves would drown the sky,

And put out all the sphere of fire; haste, help thy empery:

Light flames deep as his pits. Our self the west wind and the south

Will call out of the sea, and breathe in either’s full-charg’d mouth

A storm t’ enrage thy fires ’gainst Troy; which shall (in one exhal’d)

Blow flames of sweat about their brows, and make their armours scal’d.

Go thou then, and (’gainst these winds rise) make work on Xanthus’ shore,

With setting all his trees on fire: and in his own breast pour

A fervor that shall make it burn, nor let fair words or threats

Avert thy fury till I speak, and then subdue the heats

Of all thy blazes.’ Mulciber prepar’d a mighty fire,

First in the field us’d, burning up the bodies that the ire

Of great Achilles reft of souls: the quite-drown’d field it dried,

And shrunk the flood up. And as fields that have been long time cloy’d

With catching weather, when their corn lies on the gavill heap,

Are with a constant north wind dried, with which for comfort leap

Their hearts that sow’d them: so this field was dried, the bodies burn’d,

And ev’n the flood into a fire as bright as day was turn’d.

Elms, willows, tam’risks were enflam’d; the lote trees, sea-grass reeds,

And rushes, with the galingale roots (of which abundance breeds

About the sweet flood), all were fir’d; the gliding fishes flew

Upwards in flames; the grovelling eels crept upright, all which slew

Wise Vulcan’s unresisted spirit. The flood out of a flame

Cried to him: ‘Cease, O Mulciber, no deity can tame

Thy matchless virtue: nor would I (since thou art thus hot) strive:

Cease then thy strife; let Thetis’ son, with all thy wish’d haste, drive

Ev’n to their gates these Ilians: what toucheth me their aid,

Or this contention?’ Thus in flames the burning river pray’d:

And as a cauldron, underput with store of fire, and wrought

With boiling of a well-fed brawn, up leaps his wave aloft,

Bavins of sere wood urging it, and spending flames apace,

Till all the cauldron be engirt with a consuming blaze:

So round this flood burn’d, and so sod his sweet and tortur’d streams,

Nor could flow forth, bound in the fumes of Vulcan’s fiery beams.

Who (then not mov’d) his mother’s ruth by all his means he craves,

And ask’d, why Vulcan should invade and so torment his waves

Past other floods, when his offence rose not to such degree

As that of other gods for Troy, and that himself would free

Her wrath to it, if she were pleas’d; and pray’d her, that her son

Might be reflected, adding this, that he would ne’er be won

To help keep off the ruinous day in which all Troy should burn,

Fir’d by the Grecians. This vow heard, she charg’d her son to turn

His fiery spirits to their homes, and said it was not fit

A god should suffer so for men. Then Vulcan did remit

His so unmeasur’d violence, and back the pleasant flood

Ran to his channel. Thus these gods she made friends, th’ others stood

At weighty dif
f
’
rence; both sides ran together with a sound

That earth resounded, and great heav’n about did surrebound.

Jove heard it, sitting on his hill, and laugh’d to see the gods

Buckle to arms like angry men; and (he pleas’d with their odds)

They laid it freely. Of them all, thump-buckler Mars began,

And at Minerva with a lance of brass he headlong ran,

These vile words ushering his blows: ‘Thou dog-fly, what’s the cause

Thou mak’st gods fight thus? Thy huge heart breaks all our peaceful laws

With thy insatiate shamelessness. Rememb’rest thou the hour

When Diomed charg’d me – and by thee – and thou with all thy pow’r

Took’st lance thyself, and in all sights rush’d on me with a wound?

Now vengeance falls on thee for all.’ This said, the shield fring’d round

With fighting adders, borne by Jove, that not to thunder yields,

He clapt his lance on, and this god that with the blood of fields

Pollutes his godhead, that shield pierc’d, and hurt the armed Maid:

But back she leapt, and with her strong hand rapt a huge stone laid

Above the champaign, black and sharp, that did in old time break

Partitions to men’s lands; and that she dusted in the neck

Of that impetuous challenger. Down to the earth he sway’d,

And overlaid seven acres land: his hair was all beray’d

With dust and blood mix’d, and his arms rung out. Minerva laugh’d,

And thus insulted: ‘O thou fool, yet hast thou not been taught

To know mine eminence? Thy strength opposest thou to mine?

So pay thy mother’s furies then; who for these aids of thine

(Ever afforded perjur’d Troy, Greece ever left) takes spleen

And vows thee mischief.’ Thus she turn’d her blue eyes, when love’s queen

The hand of Mars took, and from earth rais’d him with thick-drawn breath,

His spirits not yet got up again. But from the press of death

Kind Aphrodite was his guide. Which Juno seeing, exclaim’d:

‘Pallas, see, Mars is help’d from field! “Dog-fly” his rude tongue nam’d

Thyself even now, but that his love, that dog-fly, will not leave

Her old consort. Upon her fly.’ Minerva did receive

This excitation joyfully, and at the Cyprian flew,

Struck with her hard hand her soft breast, a blow that overthrew

Both her and Mars, and there both lay together in broad field;

When thus she triumph’d. ‘So lie all that any succours yield

To these false Trojans ’gainst the Greeks so bold and patient,

As Venus (shunning charge of me); and no less impotent

Be all their aids than hers to Mars, so short work would be made

In our depopulating Troy (this hardiest to invade

Of all earth’s cities).’ At this wish white-wristed Juno smil’d.

Next Neptune and Apollo stood upon the point of field,

And thus spake Neptune: ‘Phoebus! Come, why at the lance’s end

Stand we two thus?’ Twill be a shame for us to re-ascend

Jove’s golden house, being thus in field and not to fight. Begin,

For ’tis no graceful work for me: thou hast the younger chin,

I older, and know more. O fool! What a forgetful heart

Thou bear’st about thee, to stand here, press’d to take th’ Ilian part,

And fight with me! Forget’st thou then what we two, we alone

(Of all the gods) have suffer’d here, when proud Laomedon