The Iliad

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Год написания книги

2019

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But now inglorious, stretch’d along the shore,

They hear the brazen voice of war no more;

No more the foe they face in dire array:

Close in his fleet the angry leader lay;

Since fair Briseis from his arms was torn,

The noblest spoil from sack’d Lyrnessus borne,

Then, when the chief the Theban walls o’erthrew,

And the bold sons of great Evenus slew.

There mourn’d Achilles, plunged in depth of care,

But soon to rise in slaughter, blood, and war.

To these the youth of Phylace succeed,

Itona, famous for her fleecy breed,

And grassy Pteleon deck’d with cheerful greens,

The bowers of Ceres, and the sylvan scenes.

Sweet Pyrrhasus, with blooming flowerets crown’d,

And Antron’s watery dens, and cavern’d ground.

These own’d, as chief, Protesilas the brave,

Who now lay silent in the gloomy grave:

The first who boldly touch’d the Trojan shore,

And dyed a Phrygian lance with Grecian gore;

There lies, far distant from his native plain;

Unfinish’d his proud palaces remain,

And his sad consort beats her breast in vain.

His troops in forty ships Podarces led,

Iphiclus’ son, and brother to the dead;

Nor he unworthy to command the host;

Yet still they mourn’d their ancient leader lost.

The men who Glaphyra’s fair soil partake,

Where hills incircle Boebe’s lowly lake,

Where Phaere hears the neighbouring waters fall,

Or proud Iolcus lifts her airy wall,

In ten black ships embark’d for Ilion’s shore,

With bold Eumelus, whom Alceste bore:

All Pelias’ race Alceste far outshined,

The grace and glory of the beauteous kind,

The troops Methone or Thaumacia yields,

Olizon’s rocks, or Meliboea’s fields,

With Philoctetes sail’d whose matchless art

From the tough bow directs the feather’d dart.

Seven were his ships; each vessel fifty row,

Skill’d in his science of the dart and bow.

But he lay raging on the Lemnian ground,

A poisonous hydra gave the burning wound;

There groan’d the chief in agonizing pain,

Whom Greece at length shall wish, nor wish in vain.

His forces Medon led from Lemnos’ shore,

Oileus’ son, whom beauteous Rhena bore.

The Œchalian race, in those high towers contain’d

Where once Eurytus in proud triumph reign’d,

Or where her humbler turrets Tricca rears,