The Iliad. Homer

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СКАЧАТЬ First on his legs the well-wrought greaves he fix'd,

       Fasten'd with silver clasps; his ample chest

       A breastplate guarded, by Lycaon lent,

       His brother, but which fitted well his form.

       Around his shoulders slung, his sword he bore,

       Brass-bladed, silver-studded; then his shield

       Weighty and strong; and on his firm-set head

       A helm he wore, well wrought, with horsehair plume

       That nodded, fearful, o'er his brow; his hand

       Grasp'd the firm spear, familiar to his hold.

       Prepar'd alike the adverse warrior stood.

      They, from the crowd apart their armour donn'd,

       Came forth: and each, with eyes of mutual hate,

       Regarded each: admiring wonder seiz'd

       The Trojan warriors and the well-greav'd Greeks,

       As in the centre of the measur'd ground

       They stood oppos'd, and pois'd their quiv'ring spears.

       First Paris threw his weighty spear, and struck

       Fair in the midst Atrides' buckler round,

       But broke not through; upon the stubborn targe

       Was bent the lance's point; then thus to Jove,

       His weapon hurling, Menelaus pray'd:

       "Great King, on him who wrought me causeless wrong,

       On Paris, grant that retribution due

       My arm may bring; that men in days to come

       May fear their host to injure, and repay

       With treach'rous wile his hospitable cares."

      He said, and poising, hurl'd his weighty spear:

       Full in the midst it struck the buckler round;

       Right through the buckler pass'd the sturdy spear,

       And through the gorgeous breastplate, and within

       Cut through the linen vest; but Paris, back

       Inclining, stoop'd, and shunn'd the doom of death.

      Atrides then his silver-studded sword

       Rearing on high, a mighty blow let fall

       On Paris' helm; but shiv'ring in his hand

       In countless fragments new the faithless blade.

       Then thus to Jove, with eyes uplift to Heav'n,

       Atrides made his moan: "O Father Jove!

       Of all the Gods, the most unfriendly thou!

       On Paris' head I hop'd for all his crimes

       To wreak my vengeance due; but in my grasp

       My faithless sword is shatter'd, and my spear

       Hath bootless left my hand, nor reached my foe."

       Then onward rushing, by the horsehair plume

       He seiz'd his foeman's helm, and wrenching round

       Dragg'd by main force amid the well-greav'd Greeks.

       The broider'd strap, that, pass'd beneath his beard,

       The helmet held, the warrior's throat compress'd:

       Then had Atrides dragg'd him from the field,

       And endless fame acquir'd; but Venus, child

       Of Jove, her fav'rite's peril quickly saw.

       And broke the throttling strap of tough bull's hide.

       In the broad hand the empty helm remained.

       The trophy, by their champion whirl'd amid

       The well-greav'd Greeks, his eager comrades seiz'd;

       While he, infuriate, rush'd with murd'rous aim

       On Priam's son; but him, the Queen of Love

       (As Gods can only) from the field convey'd,

       Wrapt in a misty cloud; and on a couch,

       Sweet perfumes breathing, gently laid him down;

       Then went in search of Helen; her she found,

       Circled with Trojan dames, on Ilium's tow'r:

       Her by her airy robe the Goddess held,

       And in the likeness of an aged dame

       Who oft for her, in Sparta when she dwelt,

       Many a fair fleece had wrought, and lov'd her well,

       Address'd her thus: "Come, Helen, to thy house;

       Come, Paris calls thee; in his chamber he

       Expects thee, resting on luxurious couch,

       In costly garb, with manly beauty grac'd:

       Not from the fight of warriors wouldst thou deem

       He late had come, but for the dance prepar'd,

       Or resting from the dance's pleasing toil."

      She said, and Helen's spirit within her mov'd;

       And when she saw the Goddess' beauteous neck,

       Her lovely bosom, and her glowing eyes,

       She gaz'd in wonder, and address'd her thus:

       "Oh why, great Goddess, make me thus thy sport?

       Seek'st thou to bear me far away from hence

       To some fair Phrygian or Maeonian town,

       If there some mortal have thy favour gain'd?

       Or, for that Menelaus in the field

       Hath vanquish'd Paris, and is willing yet

       That I, his bane, should to his home return;

       Here art thou found, to weave again thy wiles!

       Go then thyself! thy godship abdicate!

       Renounce Olympus! lavish here on him

       Thy pity and thy care! he may perchance

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