The Iliads of Homer. Homer

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       Of their egression endlessly, with ever rising new

       From forth their sweet nest; as their store, still as it faded,

       grew,

       And never would cease sending forth her clusters to the spring,

       They still crowd out so; this fleck here, that there, belabouring

       The loaded flow'rs; so from the ships and tents the army's store

       Troop'd to these princes and the court, along th' unmeasur'd shore;

       Amongst whom, Jove's ambassadress, Fame, in her virtue shin'd,

       Exciting greediness to hear. The rabble, thus inclin'd,

       Hurried together; uproar seiz'd the high court; earth did groan

       Beneath the settling multitude; tumult was there alone.

       Thrice-three vocif'rous heralds rose, to check the rout, and get

       Ear to their Jove-kept governors; and instantly was set

       That huge confusion; ev'ry man set fast, the clamour ceas'd.

       Then stood divine Atrides up, and in his hand compress'd

       His sceptre, th' elaborate work of fi'ry Mulciber,

       Who gave it to Saturnian Jove; Jove to his messenger;

       His messenger, Argicides, to Pelops, skill'd in horse;

       Pelops to Atreus, chief of men; he, dying, gave it course

       To prince Thyestes, rich in herds; Thyestes to the hand

       Of Agamemnon render'd it, and with it the command

       Of many isles, and Argos all. On this he leaning, said:

       "O friends, great sons of Danaus, servants of Mars, Jove laid

       A heavy curse on me, to vow, and bind it with the bent

       Of his high forehead; that, this Troy of all her people spent,

       I should return; yet now to mock our hopes built on his vow,

       And charge ingloriously my flight, when such an overthrow

       Of brave friends I have authored. But to his mightiest will

       We must submit us, that hath raz'd, and will be razing still,

       Men's footsteps from so many towns; because his pow'r is most,

       He will destroy most. But how vile such and so great an host

       Will show to future times, that, match'd with lesser numbers far,

       We fly, not putting on the crown of our so-long-held war,

       Of which there yet appears no end! Yet should our foes and we

       Strike truce, and number both our pow'rs; Troy taking all that be

       Her arm'd inhabitants, and we, in tens, should all sit down

       At our truce banquet, ev'ry ten allow'd one of the town

       To fill his feast-cup; many tens would their attendant want;

       So much I must affirm our pow'r exceeds th' inhabitant.

       But their auxiliáry bands, those brandishers of spears,

       From many cities drawn, are they that are our hinderers,

       Not suff'ring well-rais'd Troy to fall. Nine years are ended now,

       Since Jove our conquest vow'd; and now, our vessels rotten grow,

       Our tackling falls; our wives, young sons, sit in their doors and

       long

       For our arrival; yet the work, that should have wreak'd our wrong,

       And made us welcome, lies unwrought. Come then, as I bid, all

       Obey, and fly to our lov'd home; for now, nor ever, shall

       Our utmost take-in broad-way'd Troy." This said, the multitude

       Was all for home; and all men else that what this would conclude

       Had not discover'd. All the crowd was shov'd about the shore,

       In sway, like rude and raging waves, rous'd with the fervent blore

       Of th' east and south winds, when they break from Jove's clouds,

       and are borne

       On rough backs of th' Icarian seas: or like a field of corn

       High grown, that Zephyr's vehement gusts bring eas'ly underneath,

       And make the stiff up-bristled ears do homage to his breath;

       For ev'n so eas'ly, with the breath Atrides us'd, was sway'd

       The violent multitude. To fleet with shouts, and disarray'd,

       All rush'd; and, with a fog of dust, their rude feet dimm'd the

       day;

       Each cried to other, "Cleanse our ships, come, launch, aboard,

       away."

       The clamour of the runners home reach'd heav'n; and then, past

       fate,

       The Greeks had left Troy, had not then the Goddess of estate

       Thus spoke to Pallas: "O foul shame, thou untam'd seed of Jove,

       Shall thus the sea's broad back be charg'd with these our friends'

       remove,

       Thus leaving Argive Helen here, thus Priam grac'd, thus Troy,

       In whose fields, far from their lov'd own, for Helen's sake, the

       joy

       And life of so much Grecian birth is vanish'd? Take thy way

       T' our brass-arm'd people, speak them fair, let not a man obey

       The charge now giv'n, nor launch one ship." She said, and Pallas

       did

       As she commanded; from the tops of heav'n's steep hill she slid,

       And straight the Greeks' swift ships she reach'd; Ulysses (like to

       Jove

       In gifts of counsel) she found out; who to that base remove

       Stirr'd not a foot, nor touch'd a ship, but griev'd at heart to see

       That fault in others. To him СКАЧАТЬ