Book IX: The Embassy to Achilles

The Trojans thus kept watch; while through the nightThe power of Flight, companion of cold Fear,Wrought on the Greeks, and all their bravest menWere bowed beneath a sorrow hard to bear.As when two winds upturn the fishy deep—The north wind and the west, that suddenlyBlow from the Thracian coast; the black waves riseAt once, and fling the sea-weed to the shore—Thus were the Achaians troubled in their hearts.

Atrides, deeply grieving, walked the camp,And bade the clear-voiced heralds call by nameTo council all the chiefs, but not aloud.The king himself among the foremost gaveThe summons. Sadly that assembly tookTheir seats; and Agamemnon in the midstRose, shedding tears—as down a lofty rock,Darkening its face, a fountain’s waters flow—And, deeply sighing, thus addressed the Greeks:—

“O friends! the chiefs and princes of the Greeks!Saturnian Jove hath in an evil snareMost cruelly entangled me. He gaveHis promise once that I should overthrowThis strong-walled Ilium, and return; but nowHe meditates a fraud, and sends me backTo Argos without glory, and with lossOf many warriors. Thus doth it seem goodDoubtless to Jove Almighty, who hath castThe towers of many a city down to earth,And will cast others down—his might excelsAll other might. But let us now obey,As I shall counsel you, and in our shipsHaste to our own dear country; for I seeThat Troy with its broad streets can ne’er be ours.”

He spake; and all were silent. Silent longRemained the sorrow-stricken sons of Greece,Till Diomed, the brave in battle, spake:—

“First of the chiefs I speak, to disapprove,Atrides, thy rash purpose: ’tis my rightIn council; nor, O king, be thou displeased.Thou first among the Greeks hast taunted meWith lack of valor, calling me unaptFor war and weak of arm. The young and oldHave heard the taunt. One of two gifts the sonOf wily Saturn hath bestowed on thee:High rank and rule o’er all the rest he gave,But gave thee not the nobler qualityOf fortitude. Dost thou then truly deemThe Greeks unapt for war and weak of arm,As thou hast said? Thou longest to return:Go, then; the way is open; by the seaThe barques that brought thee from Mycenae lie,A numerous fleet. Yet others will remain—Long haired Achaians—till we overthrowThe city. Should they also pine for home,Then let them flee, with all their ships; while IWith Sthenelus fight on until we makeAn end of Troy—for with the gods we came.”

He spake. The Greeks applauded; all admiredThe words of the horse-tamer Diomed.Nestor the knight then rose, and thus he spake:—

“O son of Tydeus, eminently braveArt thou among thy comrades in the field,And great in council. No one here condemnsThe sentence thou hast given; among the GreeksIs no one who denies what thou hast said;Yet hast thou not said all. Thy years are few—So few, thou mightest be my youngest son;And yet thou speakest wisely to the kingsOf Greece, and thy discourse is just and right.Now I, who boast of far more years than thou,Will speak of this that yet remains, and none—Not even Agamemnon—will gainsayWhat I advise. A wretch without a tieOf kin, a lawless man without a home,Is he who takes delight in civil strifes.But let us now give way to the dark night,And make our banquets ready. Let the guardsLie down within the trenches which we diggedWithout the wall: be this the young men’s charge.And thou, Atrides, do thou now begin,Who art supreme, and make a feast for allThe elder chiefs; it shall become thee well:Thy tents are full of wine, which ships from ThraceBring every day across the mighty deep,And thou hast all things ready, and a hostOf menials. Then, when many throng the board,Thou shalt defer to him who counsels theeMost wisely; for the Greeks have urgent needOf prudent counsels, when the foe so closeBeside our galleys lights his multitudeOf watch-fires. Who that sees them can rejoice?This night will rescue or destroy our host.”

He spake. They listened all, and willinglyObeyed him. Forth in armor went the guards,Led by the chieftain Thrasymedes, sonOf Nestor, by Ascalaphus, who claimedHis birth from Mars, and by IalmenusHis brother, and Deipyrus, with whomThere followed Aphareus, Meriones,And Lycomedes, Creon’s noble son.Seven were the leaders of the guards; with eachA hundred youths in warlike order marched,Bearing long spears; and when they reached the spaceBetween the trench and wall they sat them down,And kindled fires and made their evening meal.

Atrides brought the assembled elder chiefsTo his pavilion, and before them setA generous banquet. They put forth their handsAnd shared the feast; and when the calls of thirstAnd hunger ceased, the aged Nestor firstBegan to counsel them; the chief, whose wordsHad lately seemed of wisest import, nowAddressed the assembly with well-ordered speech:—

“Atrides Agamemnon, glorious king!What I shall say begins and ends with thee,For thou dost rule o’er many nations. JoveHath given to thee the sceptre, and the powerTo make their laws, that thou mayst seek their good.Thou, therefore, of all men, shouldst speak and hearIn council, and shouldst follow willinglyAnother’s judgment when it best promotesThe general weal; for all depends on thee.Now let me say what seems to me most wise;For better counsel none can give than thisWhich now I meditate, and which to giveI purposed from the hour when thou, great king,Didst bear the maid Briseis from the tentOf the enraged Achilles, unapprovedBy me, who strove to change thy rash design.Then didst thou yield thee to thy haughty will,And didst dishonor a most valiant man,Whom the immortals honor. Thou didst takeAnd still dost keep the prize he fairly won.Let it be now our study to appeaseThe hero with large gifts and soothing words.”

Then Agamemnon, king of men, replied:—“O ancient man, most truly hast thou namedMy faults. I erred, and I deny it not.That man indeed is equal to a hostWhom Jupiter doth love and honor thus,Humbling the Achaian people for his sake.And now, since, yielding to my wayward moodI erred, let me appease him, if I may,With gifts of priceless worth. Before you allI number them—seven tripods which the fireHath never touched, six talents of pure gold,And twenty shining cauldrons, and twelve steedsOf hardy frame, victorious in the race,Whose feet have won me prizes in the games.No beggar would he be, nor yet with storeOf gold unfurnished, in whose coffers layThe prizes those swift steeds have brought to me.Seven faultless women, skilled in household arts,I give moreover—Lesbians, whom I choseWhen he o’erran the populous Lesbian isle—Damsels in beauty who excel their sex.These I bestow, and with them I will sendHer whom I took away—Briseis, pure—I swear it with a mighty oath—as pureAs when she left his tent. All these I giveAt once; and if by favor of the godsWe lay the mighty city of Priam waste,He shall load down his galley with large storeOf gold and silver, entering first when we,The Greeks, divide the spoil. Then may he chooseTwice ten young Trojan women, beautifulBeyond their sex save Helen. If we comeSafe to Achaian Argos, richly stockedWith milky kine, he may become to meA son-in-law, and cherished equallyWith my sole son Orestes, who is rearedMost royally. Three daughters there, withinMy stately palace-walls—Chrysothemis,Laodice, and Iphianassa—dwell,And he may choose among them, and may leadHome to the house of Peleus her who bestDeserves his love. Nor need he to endowThe bride, for I will give an ampler dowerThan ever father to his daughter gave—Seven cities with thronged streets—Cardamyle,Enope, grassy Hira, Pherae famedAfar, Antheia with rich pasture-fields,Aepeia beautiful, and PedasusWith all its vineyards; all are near the sea,And stand the last before you reach the coastOf sandy Pylos. Rich in flocks and herdsTheir dwellers are, and they will honor himAs if he were a god, and, ruled by him,Will pay large tribute. These will I bestow,Let but his anger cool and his resolveGive way. ’Tis Pluto who is deaf to prayerAnd ne’er relents, and he, of all the gods,Most hateful is to men. Now let the sonOf Peleus yield at length to me, who standAbove him in authority and years.”

Then answered Nestor the Gerenian knight:—“Atrides Agamemnon! Glorious king!Gifts not to be contemned thou offerestTo Prince Achilles. Let us now despatchA chosen embassy, who shall proceedAt once to where Pelides holds his tent.I name the men; and cheerfully will theyPerform the duty: Phoenix, dear to Jove,Shall be their leader, mighty Ajax next,And then high-born Ulysses; heralds twainShall follow—Hodius and Eurybates.And now be water brought to cleanse our hands,And charge be given that no ill-omened wordBe uttered, while we pray that Jupiter,The son of Saturn, will assist our need.”

He spake; and all approved the words he said.Then poured the heralds water on the handsOf those who sat. The young men crowned with wineThe goblets, and in seemly order passedThe brimming cups, distributing to each.Part to the gods they poured, and next they drankAs each might choose, and then the embassyHastened from Agamemnon’s tent. To eachGerenian Nestor spake in turn, and fixedHis eyes on each intently—most of allUpon Ulysses—and with many a chargeTo turn Pelides from his angry mood.Along the edge of the resounding deepThey went, and as they walked they offered prayerTo earth-embracing Neptune, that their wordsMight move the great soul of Aeacides.And now they came where lay the MyrmidonsAmong their tents and ships. Achilles thereDrew solace from the music of a harpSweet-toned and shapely, in a silver frame,Part of the spoil he took when he o’erthrewEëtion’s town. To soothe his mood he sangThe deeds of heroes. By him sat alonePatroclus, silent till the song should cease.On moved the messengers—before them walkedHigh-born Ulysses—till they stood besideAchilles. He beheld, and with the harpSprang from his seat, surprised. Patroclus sawThe heroes also, and arose. Their handsThe swift Achilles took in his, and said:—

“Welcome! Ye come as friends. Some pressing causeMust surely bring you hither, whom I prize,Wronged as I am, beyond all other Greeks.”

Thus speaking, the great son of Peleus ledHis guests still farther on, and seated themOn couches spread with purple coverings,And thus addressed Patroclus, who was near:—

“Son of Menoetius, bring a larger vase,And mingle purer wine, and place a cupFor each, since these are most beloved friends—These warriors who now sit beneath my roof.”

He spake. Patroclus hearkened, and obeyedHis well-beloved friend, who meantime placedA block beside the fire, and on it laidChines of a sheep and of a fatling goat,And of a sow, the fattest of her kind.Automedon stood by and held them fast;Achilles took the knife and skilfullyCarved them in portions, and transfixed the partsWith spits. Patroclus, the divine in form,Woke to a blaze the fire; and when the flameHad ceased to rise he raked the glowing coalsApart, and o’er them stretched the spits, and strewed,Raising the flesh, the sacred salt o’er all.And when he had made ready and had spreadThe banquet on the board, Patroclus tookThe bread and offered it to all the guestsIn shapely canisters. Achilles servedThe meats, and took his seat against the wall,In front of great Ulysses. There he badeHis friend Patroclus offer sacrifice,Casting the first rich morsels to the flames.The guests put forth their hands and shared the feast;And when the calls of hunger and of thirstWere felt no longer, Ajax gave a nodTo Phoenix, which divine Ulysses saw,And filled his cup and drank to Peleus’ son:—

“Thy health, Achilles! Princely feasts like thisAttend us both in Agamemnon’s tentAnd here—for here is all that makes a feastComplete; yet now is not the time to thinkOf pleasant banquets, for our thoughts are turned—O Jove-born warrior!—to a fearful timeOf slaughter, and the fate of our good ships—Whether we save them harmless, or the foeDestroy them, if thou put not on thy might.For now the haughty Trojans, and the troopsWho come from far to aid them, pitch their campClose to our fleet and wall, and all aroundKindle their many fires, and boast that weNo longer have the power to drive them backFrom our black galleys. Jupiter, the sonOf Saturn, shows them favorable signsWith lightnings from above; and, terribleIn aspect and in valor, Hector makesSad havoc, trusting in the aid of Jove,And neither reverences gods nor men—Such rage possesses him. He prays that soonThe morn may rise, that he may hew the prowsFrom all our ships and give them to the flames,And slay the Greeks, bewildered with the smoke.For me, I greatly fear the gods will grantThat he fulfil his threat, and that our doomWill be to perish on the Trojan coast,And far away from Argos, famed for steeds.Rise, then, though late—rise with a resolute mind,And from the hard-pressed sons of Greece drive backThe assailing Trojans. Thou wilt else lamentHereafter, when the evil shall be doneAnd shall admit no cure. Bethink thee wellHow from the Greeks thou mayst avert the dayOf their destruction. O my friend, when firstHe sent thee forth to Agamemnon’s helpFrom Phthia’s coast, thy father Peleus said:—

“ ‘My child, from Juno and Minerva comesThe gift of valor, if they choose to give.But curb thou the high spirit in thy breast,For gentle ways are best, and keep aloofFrom sharp contentions, that the old and youngAmong the Greeks may honor thee the more.’

“Such was the old man’s charge, forgotten now.Yield, then, and lay thy wrath aside. Large giftsDoth Agamemnon offer, to appeaseThy wounded spirit. Hear me, if thou wilt,Recount what gifts the monarch in his tentHath promised thee:—Seven tripods which the fireHath never touched; six talents of pure gold;And twenty shining cauldrons; and twelve steedsOf hardy frame, victorious in the race,Whose feet have won him prizes in the games.No beggar would he be, nor yet with storeOf gold unfurnished, in whose coffers layThe prizes those swift-footed steeds have won.Seven faultless women, skilled in household arts,He offers—Lesbians, whom he chose when thouDidst overrun the populous Lesbian isle—In beauty eminent among their sex.These he bestows, and with them he will sendHer whom he took away—Briseis, pureHe swears it with a mighty oath—as pureAs when she left thy tent. All these he givesAt once; and if, by favor of the gods,We lay the mighty city of Priam waste,Thou shalt load down thy galley with large storeOf gold and silver, entering first when we,The Greeks, divide the spoil. Then mayst thou chooseTwice ten young Trojan women, beautifulBeyond their sex save Helen. If we comeSafe to Achaian Argos, richly stockedWith milky kine, thou mayst become to himA son-in-law, and cherished equallyWith his sole son Orestes, who is rearedRight royally. Three daughters there, withinThe monarch’s stately halls—Chrysothemis,Laodice, and Iphianassa—dwell,And thou mayst choose among them, and mayst leadHome to the house of Peleus her who bestDeserves thy love. Nor needest thou endowThe bride, for he will give an ampler dowerThan ever father to his daughter gave—Seven cities with thronged streets—Cardamyle,Enope, grassy Hira, Pherae famedAfar, Antheia with rich pasture-grounds,Aepeia beautiful, and PedasusWith all its vineyards; all are near the sea,And stand the last before you reach the coastOf sandy Pylos. Rich in flocks and herdsTheir dwellers are, and they will honor theeAs if thou wert a god, and, ruled by thee,Will pay large tribute. These will he bestow,Let but thine anger cease. But if the sonOf Atreus and his gifts still move thy hate,At least have pity on the afflicted Greeks,Pent in their camp, who now would honor theeAs if thou wert a god; and thou shalt gainGreat glory as their champion, and shalt slayThis Hector, who even now is close at hand,And in a murderous frenzy makes his boastThat none of all the chieftains whom the fleetOf Greece brought hither equals him in might.”

The swift Achilles answered him and said:—“Son of Laertes, nobly born, and versedIn wise devices, let me frankly speakJust as I think, and just as I shall act,And then ye will not importune me more.Hateful to me, as are the gates of hell,Is he who, hiding one thing in his heart,Utters another. I shall speak as seemsTo me the best; nor deem I that the sonOf Atreus or the other Greeks can moveMy settled purpose, since no thanks are paidTo him who with the enemy maintainsA constant battle: equal is the meedOf him who stands aloof and him who fightsManfully; both the coward and the braveAre held in equal honor, and they dieAn equal death—the idler and the manOf mighty deeds. For me there is no storeOf wealth laid up from all that I have borne,Exposing life in battle. As a birdBrings to her unfledged young the food she finds,Though she herself be fasting, so have IHad many a night unvisited by sleep,And passed in combat many a bloody day,Fighting beside these warriors for their wives.Twelve cities have I with my fleet laid waste,And with my Myrmidons have I o’erthrownEleven upon this fertile Trojan coast.Full many a precious spoil from these I bore,And to Atrides Agamemnon gave.He, loitering in his fleet, received them all;Few he distributed, and many kept.To chiefs and princes he indeed assignedPrizes, which now they hold. From me aloneOf all the Greeks he takes my prize; he takesMy bride, whom well I loved;—and let him keepThe damsel. But what need is there that GreeksWage war against the Trojans? For what causeDid Agamemnon, gathering from our realmsAn army, lead it hither? Was it notBecause of fair-haired Helen? Are the sonsOf Atreus, then, the only men on earthWho love their wives? Nay, every good man lovesAnd cherishes his spouse; and mine I lovedTenderly, though the captive of my spear:And now, since he hath taken my rewardAway and treacherously dealt with me,Let him not try again, for I am warned,And he will not persuade me. Let him takeCounsel with thee, Ulysses, and the rest,How to drive back the enemy and saveThe fleet from flames. Already has he doneMuch without me; a rampart he has raised,And round it dug a deep, broad trench, and filledThe trench with palisades. Yet can he notResist the man-destroyer Hector thus.This Hector, when I fought among the Greeks,Never would fight at distance from the walls,And ventured not beyond the Scaean gatesAnd beechen tree. There waited he for meUpon a time, and scarce escaped with lifeFrom my assault. Now, since I do not chooseTo fight with noble Hector, I shall pay,Tomorrow, sacrifice to JupiterAnd all the gods, and load my galleys well,And draw them to the water. Then shalt thouSee—if thou care for such a sight—my shipsSailing upon the fishy HellespontAt early morning, with their crews on boardEager to pull the oar; and if the godOf ocean grant a prosperous voyage, thenOn the third day we reach the fertile coastOf Phthia. Large possessions left I thereWhen I came hither in an evil hour;And thither I shall carry with me goldAnd ruddy brass, and women of fair forms,And burnished steel—the spoils I won in war.The prize he gave me, Agamemnon, sonOf Atreus, takes, with many insults, back.Bear him this message—give it openly,That others of the Greeks may be like meIndignant should he impudently dareTo wrong them also:—Let him ne’er again,Though shameless, dare to look me in the face.I will not join in council or in actWith him: he has deceived and wronged me once,And now he cannot wheedle me with words.Let once suffice. I leave him to himself,To perish. All-providing JupiterHath made him mad. I hate his gifts; I holdIn utter scorn the giver. Were his giftsTenfold—nay, twenty-fold—the worth of allThat he possesses, and with added wealthFrom others—all the riches that flow inUpon Orchomenus, or Thebes, the prideOf Egypt, where large treasures are laid up,And through whose hundred gates rush men and steeds,Two hundred through each gate;—nay, should he giveAs many gifts as there are sands and dustOf earth—not even then shall Atreus’ sonPersuade me, till I reap a just revengeFor his foul contumelies. I will wedNo child of Agamemnon. Even thoughShe vied with golden Venus in her charms,And with the blue-eyed Pallas in her skill,I would not wed her. Let him choose amongThe Greeks a fitter husband—one whose ruleIs wider than my own. For if the godsPreserve me, and I reach my home again,My father, Peleus, will bestow on meA consort. Many are the Achaian maids,Daughters of chiefs who hold our citadelsIn Hellas, and in Phthia, and of these,Her who shall most delight me I will makeMy well-beloved wife. My soul has longedEarnestly, with a fitting spouse betrothedDuly, to make my dwelling there, and thereEnjoy the wealth which aged Peleus won;For not to be compared with life is allThe wealth which, as men say, was treasured upIn Ilium’s populous town in time of peace,Ere the Greeks came, nor all the stores containedWithin the stony threshold of the godWho bears the bow, Apollo, on the coastOf rocky Pytho. We may gather spoilOf oxen and of fatling sheep, and bringTripods from war, and yellow-manèd steeds:The breath of man no force can seize or hold,And when it leaves the enclosure of the teethIt comes not back. My mother said to me—The goddess, silver-footed Thetis, said—A twofold fate conducts me to my death;—If I remain to fight beneath the wallsOf Ilium, my return will be cut off,But deathless my renown; if I returnTo the dear land in which my fathers dwell,My glory will be nought, but long my life,And late will come to me the stroke of death.And now I counsel all to sail for home,For never will ye see the overthrowOf lofty Ilium. Jove the ThundererStretches his great hand o’er her, and her sonsTake courage. Go ye now, and take with youThis message to the princes of the Greeks—As is the office of an embassy—And bid them meditate some wiser planTo save their galleys and the host of GreeksWithin the hollow barques. The plan which broughtYou hither cannot serve you while I keepMy anger unappeased. Let Phoenix stayTo pass the night with us, that he may sailTomorrow, if it please him, to the landWe love; I take him not against his will.”

He ceased; and silent were the ambassadors,Astonished at his passionate words. At lastPhoenix, the aged knight, with many tearsAnd sighs, took up the word, in grief and fearLest Hector should destroy the Grecian fleet:—

“Illustrious son of Peleus, if indeedThou wilt return, nor carest to repelFrom our swift galleys the consuming fire,Because thou art offended, how shall I,Dear child, remain without thee? When at firstPeleus, the aged knight, from Phthia sentThee, yet a boy, to Agamemnon’s aid,Unskilled as then thou wert in cruel warAnd martial councils—where men also gainA great renown—he sent me with thee, chargedTo teach thee both, that so thou mightst becomeIn words an orator, in warlike deedsAn actor. Therefore, my beloved child,Not willingly shall I remain behind;Not even though a god should promise meThat, overcoming the decays of age,I might become a beardless youth again,As when from Hellas and its companiesOf lovely maids I came a fugitive,And left Amyntor, son of Ormenus—My father—angry with me for the sakeOf a fair-tressed wanton, whom he loved,Treating my mother basely. To my kneesMy mother came and prayed me ceaselessly,First, to possess the woman, that she thenMight loathe the elder one; and I obeyed.My father knew it, and with many a curseInvoked the hateful furies to forbidThat any child who owed his birth to meShould ever sit upon his knees. The gods—The Jove of Hades and dread Proserpine—Confirmed his curse. To slay him with the swordWas my first thought. Some god subdued my wrath,Reminding me of what the public voiceWould say, and infamy that would ensue—Lest I among the Achaians should be calledA parricide. I could not brook to dwellWithin my father’s palace while he thusWas wroth with me. My kindred and my friendsCame round me, and besought me to remain,And stayed beside me. Many a fatling eweAnd many a slow-paced ox with curving hornsThey slew, and many a fattened swine they stretchedOver the flame of Vulcan. From the casksOf the old chief his wine was freely drawn.Nine nights they slept surrounding me, while eachKept watch in turn: nor ever were the firesPut out; one blazed beneath the porticoOf the fair hall, and near the chamber-doorAnother glimmered in the vestibule.But when upon me rose the tenth dark night,I broke my aptly-jointed chamber-doors,And issued forth, and easily o’erleapedThe wall around the palace, quite unseenOf watching men and of the serving maids.I fled through spacious Hellas to the fieldsOf Phthia, nurse of flocks, and to her king,Peleus, who kindly welcomed me, and lovedMe as a father loves his only son,Born to large wealth in his declining years.He made me rich, and gave me sovereign ruleOver much people. My abode was fixedIn farthest Phthia, where I was the princeOf the Dolopians. As for thee, my care,Godlike Achilles, made thee what thou art.I loved thee from my soul: thou wouldst not goWith any other to the feast, nor takeThy food at home until upon my kneesI placed thee, carved thy meats, and gave them thee,And poured thy wine. The tunic on my breastWas often wetted by thee when the wineGushed in thy petulant childhood from thy lips.Thus many things did I endure for thee,And many toils perform; and since the godsVouchsafed no son to me, it was my thoughtTo train thee as a son, that thou mightst be,O godlike man! the bulwark of my age.And now subdue that mighty spirit of thine:Ill it becomes thee to be merciless:The gods themselves are placable, though farAbove us all in honor and in powerAnd virtue. We propitiate them with vows,Incense, libations, and burnt-offerings,And prayers for those who have offended. PrayersAre daughters of almighty Jupiter—Lame, wrinkled, and squint-eyed—that painfullyFollow Misfortune’s steps; but strong of limbAnd swift of foot Misfortune is, and, farOutstripping all, comes first to every land,And there wreaks evil on mankind, which prayersDo afterwards redress. Whoe’er receivesJove’s daughters reverently when they approach,Him willingly they aid, and to his suitThey listen. Whosoever puts them byWith obstinate denial, they appealTo Jove, the son of Saturn, and entreatThat he will cause Misfortune to attendThe offender’s way in life, that he in turnMay suffer evil and be punished thus.Wherefore, Achilles! do thou also yieldThe honor due Jove’s daughters, freely givenBy other valiant men. If Atreus’ sonBrought thee no gifts, nor promised others still,But kept his anger, I would never askThat thou shouldst lay aside thy wrath and comeTo help the Argives in their bitter need.But he bestows large gifts, and adds a pledgeOf others yet in store, and he hath sentThe best men of the army, who to theeAre dearest, to entreat thee. Spurn thou notThese, nor their embassy, although at firstThine anger was not causeless. We have heardThe praise of heroes of the elder time,Inflamed to vehement anger, yet appeasedBy gifts, and yielding to persuasive words.One instance I remember: long agoIt happened, and I will relate it hereAmong my friends. Around the city-wallsOf Calydon did the Curetes striveIn battle with the Aetolians; they destroyedEach other fearfully. The Aetolians foughtTo save the pleasant town of Calydon,And the Curetes warred to lay it waste.Diana of the golden throne had causedThe war, displeased with Oeneus, who withheldFrom her the first-fruits of his fertile field:While hecatombs were burnt in sacrificeTo feast the other gods, to her alone—Daughter of Jove—no offering was brought;For either he forgot, or thought the riteOf little moment; but he greatly erred.And now the child of Jove, the archer-queen,Incensed, sent forth against him from the woodA white-tusked wild boar, which upon his landsEntered, and ravaged them, and brought to earthMany tall trees: tree after tree they fell,With roots uptorn, and all the blossoms on,That promised fruit. Him Meleager, sonOf Oeneus, slew, with many hunters calledFrom neighboring cities, bringing many hounds.A few could not subdue him: he had madeMany already mount the funeral pile.Diana kindled round the boar a strifeFor the beast’s head and bristly hide—a war’Twixt the Curetes and the Aetolian bandOf braves. The war, while Meleager fought,Went not with the Curetes, nor could they,Though many, keep the field. But wrath at lastSeized Meleager—wrath, which rages oftEven in prudent minds. Incensed againstAlthaea, his own mother, he remainedAt home with Cleopatra, his young wife,The beauteous, whom a delicate-footed dameMarpessa, daughter of Evenus, boreTo Idas, bravest in his time amongThe sons of men—so brave that once he drewA bow against Apollo for the sakeOf his neat-footed bride. The honored pairWithin the palace used to call their childAlcyone; for when the archer-god,Apollo, from her husband bore awayThe mother, Cleopatra sadly wailed,As wails the halcyon. So beside his spouseDwelt Meleager, brooding ever o’erThe violent anger which his mother’s curseHad kindled. Grieving for a brother’s death,She supplicated heaven, and often struckHer hands against the teeming earth, and called—Kneeling, her bosom all bedewed with tears—On Pluto and the cruel Proserpine,To put her son to death. From ErebusThe pitiless Erinnys, wanderingIn darkness, heard the prayer. Then straightway roseA sound of fearful tumult at the gates:The towers were battered, and the elder chiefsOf the Aetolians hastened to entreatThe aid of Meleager, and they sentPriests of the gods, a chosen band, to prayThat he would come to their defence. Large giftsThey promised. Where the soil of CalydonWas best, they bade him choose a fruitful fieldOf fifty acres, half for vines, and half,Cleared of the trees, for tillage. EarnestlyDid aged Oeneus, famed for horsemanship,Beseech him; to the chamber of his son,High-roofed, he climbed, and at the threshold shookThe massive doors with knocking as he sued.His sisters and his reverend mother joinedTheir supplications: he resisted still.And much his friends, the dearest and most prized,Besought him, but they vainly strove to swerveHis steadfast mind, till his own chamber feltThe assault, and the Curetes climbed the wallsTo fire the populous city. Then the nymph,His graceful wife, entreated him with tears,And spake of all the horrors which o’ertakeA captured city—all the men cut offBy massacre, the houses given to flames,The children and deep-bosomed women draggedInto captivity. Her sorrowful wordsHe heard; his spirit was disturbed; he wentTo gird his glittering armor on, and thusHe saved the Aetolians from a fearful doom,Obeying his own impulse. The rewardOf rare and costly gifts they gave him not,Though thus he rescued them. Be not thy thoughtLike his, my friend; let no invisible powerPersuade thee thus to act. Far worse it wereTo wait, and when our fleet is all on fireOffer thy aid. Accept the gifts at once:Then will the Greeks, as if thou wert a god,Hold thee in honor. If without the giftsThou enter later on the field of fight,Thou wilt not have like honor with the host,Although thou turn the assault of battle back.”

Then did Achilles, swift of foot, reply:—“O ancient Phoenix, father, loved of Jove,Such honor need I not; for the decreeOf Jove, I deem, already honors me,And will detain me by my beakèd shipsWhile breath is in my lungs, and I have powerTo move these knees. Yet one thing I would say—And bear it thou in mind—vex not my soulWith weeping and lamenting for the sakeOf Agamemnon; it becomes thee not—Thou who art loved by me—to yield thy loveTo him, unless thou wouldst incur my hate.And thou shouldst be the enemy of himWho wrongs me. Reign thou equally with me,And share my honors. These will carry backMy answer. Thou remain, and, softly couched,Sleep here: with early morn will we consultWhether to leave this region or remain.”

He spake, and, nodding to Patroclus, gaveA signal to prepare an ample couchFor Phoenix, while the other chiefs preparedTo leave the tent. Then Ajax Telamon,The godlike chief, addressed his comrades thus:—

“Son of Laertes, nobly born, and skilledIn sage devices, let us now depart,Since, as it seems, the end for which we cameCannot be compassed thus, and we must bearWith speed the unwelcome answer to the Greeks,Who sit expecting us; while in his breastThe implacable Achilles bears a fierceAnd haughty heart, nor doth he heed the claimOf that close friendship of his fellow-chiefs,Which at the Grecian fleet exalted himAbove all others. Unrelenting one!Even for a brother’s death a price is paid,Or when a son is slain: the slayer dwellsAt home among his people, having madeThe appointed expiation. He to whomThe fine is offered takes it, and his thirstOf vengeance is appeased. But in thy heartThe gods have kindled an unquenchable rage,All for a single damsel—and behold,Seven more we offer, passing beautiful,With many gifts beside. Let, then, thy moodBe softened: have respect to thine own roof;For we are guests beneath it, sent from allThe assembled host, and strong is our desireTo be thy dearest and most cherished friendsOf all the Achaians, many as they are.”

Achilles the swift-footed answered thus:—“Illustrious Ajax, son of Telamon,Prince of the people! All that thou hast said,I well perceive, is prompted by thy heart.Mine swells with indignation when I thinkHow King Atrides mid the assembled GreeksHeaped insults on me, as if I had beenA wretched vagabond. But go ye nowAnd bear my message. I shall never thinkOf bloody war till noble Hector, sonOf Priam, slaughtering in his way the Greeks,Shall reach the galleys of the Myrmidons,To lay the fleet in flames. But when he comesTo my own tent and galley, he, I think,Though eager for the combat, will desist.”

He spake. Each raised a double cup and pouredLibations to the gods; they then returnedBeside the fleet. Ulysses led the way.

Patroclus bade the attendant men and maidsStrew with all speed a soft and ample bedFor Phoenix. They obeyed, and spread the couchWith skins of sheep, dyed coverlets, and sheetsOf lawn; and there the old man lay to waitThe glorious morn. Meantime Achilles sleptWithin the tent’s recess, and by him layPhorbas’s daughter, whom he carried offFrom Lesbos—Diomede, rosy-cheeked.Upon the other side Patroclus lay,With slender-waisted Iphis by his side,Given by the great Achilles when he tookScyros the tall, where Enyeus ruled.

Now when the ambassadors were come withinThe tent of Agamemnon, all the chiefsRose, one by one, and, lifting up to themTheir golden goblets, asked the news they brought;And first Atrides, king of men, inquired:—

“Renowned Ulysses, glory of the Greeks!Tell me, will he protect our fleet from flames,Or does he, in his wrath and pride, refuse?”

Then spake the hardy chief Ulysses thus:—“Atrides Agamemnon, glorious kingOf men! He will not let his wrath abate,But rages yet more fiercely, and contemnsThee and thy gifts. He leaves thee to consultWith thine Achaians by what means to saveThe fleet and army; for himself he meansTomorrow, with the early dawn, to launchHis well-appointed galleys on the sea,And will advise the other Greeks to spreadThe sails for home, since they will never seeThe overthrow of lofty Troy, for JoveThe Thunderer stretches his protecting handAbove her, and her sons have taken heart.Such are his words; and those who went with meAre present—Ajax and the heralds both,Sage men—the witnesses to what I say.The aged Phoenix stays behind to sleep,And on the morrow to attend his chiefTo their beloved country—if he will,For else by no means will he take him hence.”

He spake; and all were silent, all amazedAt what they heard, for these were bitter words.Long sat the sons of Greece in silent thought,Till Diomed, the great in battle, spake:—“Atrides Agamemnon, glorious kingOf men! I would thou hadst not deigned to askThe illustrious son of Peleus for his aid,With offer of large gifts; for arrogantHe is at all times: thou hast made him nowMore insolent. Now leave him to himself,To go or to remain: he yet will fightWhen his mood changes, or some god withinShall move him. Let us do what I advise:—Betake we all ourselves to rest, but firstRefresh ourselves with food and wine; in themIs strength and spirit. When the rosy mornShall shine, command thou that the foot and horseBe speedily drawn up before the fleet,And thou encourage them with cheerful words,And fight among them in the foremost rank.”

He spake. The kings assented, and admiredThe words of the horse-tamer Diomed;And, pouring out libations, to their tentsThey all departed, and lay down to rest,And took into their souls the balm of sleep.