Classic Poem

First Re-Appearance of Achilles; and its Effects

And now the Greeks, with war-cries full of doom,
Flying from underneath the slaughterer Hector,
Had reached their ships and the Hellespont; nor yet
Had they been able from the press to drag
Achilles' household friend, the dead Patroclus;
For men and horse, and Hector, Priam's son,
Followed him up, like the fierce strength of fire.

Thrice did great Hector drag him by the feet
Backward, and loudly shouted to the Trojans;
And thrice did the Ajaces, springy-strengthed,
Thrust him away; yet still he kept his ground,
Sure of his strength; and now and then rushed on
Into the thick, and now and then stood still,
Shouting great shouts;—and not an inch gave he.

And as night-watching shepherds in the fields
Find all their efforts vain to drive away
A starved and fiery lion from a carcase;
So found the two great-helmed chiefs, to scare
Hector, the son of Priam, from the dead

And now he would have dragged him off, and gained
Unspeakable praise, had not wind-footed Iris,
Bearing a secret message from Heaven's queen,
Come sweeping from Olympus' top to bid
Achilles arm him. Close to him she shot,
And thus accosted him in winged words:—

Up, thou most overwhelming of mankind,
Pelides:—there 's a dreadful roar of men
For thy friend's body at the ships, and thou
Must rescue him. They slay each other there,
Some in their rage to rescue the dead corpse,
And some to drag it to the windy towers
Of Ilion: the illustrious Hector most.
Already does he think to fix aloft
The head on spikes, cut from the gentle neck.
Up then, nor keep thee longer:—blush to think
What shame it would be to thee, should Patroclus
Be pastime for the teeth of howling dogs,
Or one irreverent thing come to the dead.’
To her the conquering-footed chief divine:—
‘What god has sent thee to me, goddess Iris?’

And Iris the wind-footed thus replied:—
‘Juno, the glorious bed-fellow of Jove;
Nor knows it he, the lofty-throned, nor any one
Of all that live about the snowy Olympus’

And her again addressed the swift of foot:—
‘But how am I to go into the press?
They are all armed; and my dear mother bade me
Wait, till I saw her with these eyes return
With beautiful arms from Vulcan; for I know not
What other glorious armour I could wear,
Except the shield of Telamonian Ajax;
And he, I trust, crowds with the foremost, wasting
About him with his spear for dead Patroclus.’

And him again wind-footed Iris thus:—
‘We know full well, that others have their arms;
But do thou, nevertheless, just as thou art,
Go to the trench, and stand there, and be seen;
That from the fight the Trojans may hold back,
Awe-stricken, and the Greeks have time to breathe.’

So saying, the rapid Iris disappeared.
But up Achilles rose, the loved of heaven;
And on his powerful shoulders Pallas cast
Her bordered ægis; and about his head
She put the glory of a golden mist,
For which there burnt a fiery-flaming light.
And as when smoke goes heavenward from a town
In some far island, which its foes besiege,
Who all day long with dreadful martialness
Have poured from their own town;—soon as the sun
Has set, thick lifted fires are visible,
Which, rushing upward, make a light in the sky,
And let the neighbours know, who may perhaps
Bring help across the sea; so from the head
Of great Achilles went up an effuigence.
Upon the trench he stood, without the wall,
But mixed not with the Greeks, for he revered
His mother's word; and so, thus standing there,
He shouted; and Minerva, to his shout,
Added a dreadful cry; and there arose
Among the Trojans an unspeakable tumult.
And as the clear voice of a trumpet, blown
Against a town by spirit-withering foes,
So sprung the clear voice of Æacides.
And when they heard the brazen voice, their minds
Were all awakened; and the proud-maned horses
Ran with the chariots round, for they foresaw
Calamity; and the charioteers were smitten,
When they beheld the ever-active fire
Upon the dreadful head of the great-minded one,
Burning; for bright-eyed Pallas made it burn.
Thrice o'er the trench divine Achilles shouted;
And thrice the Trojans and their great allies
Rolled back; and twelve of all their noblest men
Then perished, crushed by their own arms and chariots.

But from the throng the Greeks dragged forth Patroclus
Fondly, and bore him off upon his bier;
And his old comrades came about him, weeping.
Achilles joined them, pouring forth warm tears,
When he beheld his true companion stretched
Out on his funeral bed, torn with the spear;
For 'twas himself that sent him to the fight
With horse and chariot, nor received him more.EnglishHomer