The Iliad

by Homer

Fools! will ye perish for your leader's vice; The purchase infamy, and life the price? 'Tis not your cause, Achilles' injured fame: Another's is the crime, but yours the shame. Grant that our chief offend through rage or lust, Must you be cowards, if your king's unjust?

Think, and subdue! on dastards dead to fame I waste no anger, for they feel no shame: But you, the pride, the flower of all our host, My heart weeps blood to see your glory lost!

"Ah! never may he see his native land, But feed the vultures on this hateful strand, Who seeks ignobly in his ships to stay, Nor dares to combat on this signal day! For this, behold! in horrid arms I shine, And urge thy soul to rival acts with mine. Together let us battle on the plain; Two, not the worst; nor even this succour vain: Not vain the weakest, if their force unite; But ours, the bravest have confess'd in fight."

No force, no firmness, the pale coward shows; He shifts his place: his colour comes and goes:

Go—from my conquer'd spears the choicest take, And to their owners send them nobly back."

Lord of a host, o'er all my host I shine, A scourge to thee, thy father, and thy line."

Now batter'd breast-plates and hack'd helmets ring, And o'er their heads unheeded javelins sing.

His shield emboss'd the ringing storm sustains, But he impervious and untouch'd remains.

To some the powers of bloody war belong, To some sweet music and the charm of song; To few, and wondrous few, has Jove assign'd A wise, extensive, all-considering mind;

As when from gloomy clouds a whirlwind springs, That bears Jove's thunder on its dreadful wings, Wide o'er the blasted fields the tempest sweeps; Then, gather'd, settles on the hoary deeps; The afflicted deeps tumultuous mix and roar; The waves behind impel the waves before,

The time shall come, when, chased along the plain, Even thou shalt call on Jove, and call in vain;

Better from evils, well foreseen, to run, Than perish in the danger we may shun."

And wilt thou thus desert the Trojan plain? And have whole streams of blood been spilt in vain?

Sunk cost fallacy

In such base sentence if thou couch thy fear, Speak it in whispers, lest a Greek should hear.

In this was every art, and every charm, To win the wisest, and the coldest warm: Fond love, the gentle vow, the gay desire, The kind deceit, the still-reviving fire, Persuasive speech, and the more persuasive sighs, Silence that spoke, and eloquence of eyes.

Not unappeased he enters Pluto's gate, Who leaves a brother to revenge his fate."

Death is the worst; a fate which all must try; And for our country, 'tis a bliss to die.

Like strength is felt from hope, and from despair,

This spot is all you have, to lose or keep; There stand the Trojans, and here rolls the deep.

That, taught by great examples, all may try Like thee to vanquish, or like me to die."

From the wide wound gush'd out a stream of blood, And the soul issued in the purple flood.

Haste, strip his arms, the slaughter round him spread, And send the living Lycians to the dead."

This, instant, sends thee down to Pluto's coast; Mine is the glory, his thy parting ghost."

The buzzing flies, a persevering train, Incessant swarm, and chased return again.

The god who gives, resumes, and orders all, He urged thee on, and urged thee on to fall.

By fate and Phoebus was I first o'erthrown, Euphorbus next; the third mean part thy own.

Insulting man, thou shalt be soon as I; Black fate o'erhangs thee, and thy hour draws nigh; Even now on life's last verge I see thee stand, I see thee fall, and by Achilles' hand."

"From whence this boding speech, the stern decree Of death denounced, or why denounced to me? Why not as well Achilles' fate be given To Hector's lance? Who knows the will of heaven?"

"Laugh'st thou not, Jove! from thy superior throne, When mortals boast of prowess not their own?

Or, while thou may'st, avoid the threaten'd fate; Fools stay to feel it, and are wise too late."

No longer then defer the glorious strife, Let heaven decide our fortune, fame, and life."

I joy to mingle where the battle bleeds, And hear the thunder of the sounding steeds.

But Jove's high will is ever uncontroll'd, The strong he withers, and confounds the bold; Now crowns with fame the mighty man, and now Strikes the fresh garland from the victor's brow!

Who rule the dead, and horrid woes prepare For perjured kings, and all who falsely swear! The black-eyed maid inviolate removes, Pure and unconscious of my manly loves. If this be false, heaven all its vengeance shed, And levell'd thunder strike my guilty head!"

It makes no sense that he would take her and do nothing with her. I don't like the idea of rape, but really? Highly improbable.

I left thee fresh in life, in beauty gay; Now find thee cold, inanimated clay!

Go; while thou may'st, avoid the threaten'd fate; Fools stay to feel it, and are wise too late."

For when two heroes, thus derived, contend, 'Tis not in words the glorious strife can end.

Long in the field of words we may contend, Reproach is infinite, and knows no end, Arm'd or with truth or falsehood, right or wrong; So voluble a weapon is the tongue; Wounded, we wound; and neither side can fail, For every man has equal strength to rail: Women alone, when in the streets they jar, Perhaps excel us in this wordy war;

Cease then—Our business in the field of fight Is not to question, but to prove our might.

"Talk not of life, or ransom (he replies): Patroclus dead, whoever meets me, dies:

Sprung from a river, didst thou boast thy line? But great Saturnius is the source of mine.

No less fore-right the rapid chase they held, One urged by fury, one by fear impell'd:

Boasting is but an art, our fears to blind, And with false terrors sink another's mind.

"At last is Hector stretch'd upon the plain, Who fear'd no vengeance for Patroclus slain: Then, prince! you should have fear'd, what now you feel; Achilles absent was Achilles still:

My grief perhaps his pity may engage; Perhaps at least he may respect my age. He has a father too; a man like me; One, not exempt from age and misery

I go, ye gods! obedient to your call: If in yon camp your powers have doom'd my fall, Content—By the same hand let me expire! Add to the slaughter'd son the wretched sire!

One universal solemn shower began; They bore as heroes, but they felt as man.

But since the god his hand has pleased to turn, And fill thy measure from his bitter urn, What sees the sun, but hapless heroes' falls? War, and the blood of men, surround thy walls!

What must be, must be. Bear thy lot, nor shed These unavailing sorrows o'er the dead; Thou canst not call him from the Stygian shore, But thou, alas! may'st live to suffer more!"

"If, in that gloom which never light must know, The deeds of mortals touch the ghosts below, O friend! forgive me, that I thus fulfil (Restoring Hector) heaven's unquestion'd will. The gifts the father gave, be ever thine, To grace thy manes, and adorn thy shrine."