The Iliad. Homer

Чтение книги онлайн.

       Or thou, the most ambitious of them all,

       That so our rites may soothe the angry God."

      To whom Achilles thus with scornful glance;

       "Oh, cloth'd in shamelessness! oh, sordid soul!

       How canst thou hope that any Greek for thee

       Will brave the toils of travel or of war?

       Well dost thou know that 't was no feud of mine

       With Troy's brave sons that brought me here in arms;

       They never did me wrong; they never drove

       My cattle, or my horses; never sought

       In Phthia's fertile, life-sustaining fields

       To waste the crops; for wide between us lay

       The shadowy mountains and the roaring sea.

       With thee, O void of shame! with thee we sail'd,

       For Menelaus and for thee, ingrate,

       Glory and fame on Trojan crests to win.

       All this hast thou forgotten, or despis'd;

       And threat'nest now to wrest from me the prize

       I labour'd hard to win, and Greeks bestow'd.

       Nor does my portion ever equal thine,

       When on some populous town our troops have made

       Successful war; in the contentious fight

       The larger portion of the toil is mine;

       But when the day of distribution comes,

       Thine is the richest spoil; while I, forsooth,

       Must be too well content to bear on board

       Some paltry prize for all my warlike toil.

       To Phthia now I go; so better far,

       To steer my homeward course, and leave thee here

       But little like, I deem, dishonouring me,

       To fill thy coffers with the spoils of war."

      Whom answer'd Agamemnon, King of men:

       "Fly then, if such thy mind! I ask thee not

       On mine account to stay; others there are

       Will guard my honour and avenge my cause:

       And chief of all, the Lord of counsel, Jove!

       Of all the Heav'n-born Kings, thou art the man

       I hate the most; for thou delight'st in nought

       But war and strife: thy prowess I allow;

       Yet this, remember, is the gift of Heav'n.

       Return then, with thy vessels, if thou wilt,

       And with thy followers, home; and lord it there

       Over thy Myrmidons! I heed thee not!

       I care not for thy fury! Hear my threat:

       Since Phoebus wrests Chryseis from my arms,

       In mine own ship, and with mine own good crew,

       Her I send forth; and, in her stead, I mean,

       Ev'n from thy tent, myself, to bear thy prize,

       The fair Briseis; that henceforth thou know

       How far I am thy master; and that, taught

       By thine example, others too may fear

       To rival me, and brave me to my face."

      Thus while he spake, Achilles chaf'd with rage;

       And in his manly breast his heart was torn

       With thoughts conflicting—whether from his side

       To draw his mighty sword, and thrusting by

       Th' assembled throng, to kill th' insulting King;

       Or school his soul, and keep his anger down.

       But while in mind and spirit thus he mus'd,

       And half unsheath'd his sword, from Heav'n came down

       Minerva, sent by Juno, white-arm'd Queen,

       Whose love and care both chiefs alike enjoy'd.

       She stood behind, and by the yellow hair

       She held the son of Peleus, visible

       To him alone, by all the rest unseen.

       Achilles, wond'ring, turn'd, and straight he knew

       The blue-eyed Pallas; awful was her glance;

       Whom thus the chief with winged words address'd:

      "Why com'st thou, child of aegis-bearing Jove?

       To see the arrogance of Atreus' son?

       But this I say, and will make good my words,

       This insolence may cost him soon his life."

      To whom the blue-ey'd Goddess thus replied:

       "From Heav'n I came, to curb, if thou wilt hear,

       Thy fury; sent by Juno, white-arm'd Queen,

       Whose love and care ye both alike enjoy.

       Cease, then, these broils, and draw not thus thy sword;

       In words, indeed, assail him as thou wilt.

       But this I promise, and will make it good,

       The time shall come, when for this insolence

       A threefold compensation shall be thine;

       Only be sway'd by me, and curb thy wrath."

      Whom answer'd thus Achilles, swift of foot:

       "Goddess, I needs must yield to your commands,

       Indignant though I be—for so 'tis best;

       Who hears the Gods, of them his pray'rs are heard."

      He said: and on the silver hilt he stay'd

       His pow'rful hand, and flung his mighty sword

       Back to its scabbard, to Minerva's word

       СКАЧАТЬ