Book XXIII

The Funeral of Patroclus


Preparations for the funeral of Patroclus hastened by his appearance to Achilles in a dream⁠—Wood brought from the forest for the funeral pile⁠—A funeral procession, with offerings of hair shorn from the heads of the chiefs and laid on the dead⁠—Sacrifice offered, and the twelve Trojan youths slain, and the pile kindled⁠—The funeral games, at which Achilles presides.


So mourned they in the city; but the Greeks,

When they had reached the fleet and Hellespont,

Dispersed, repairing each one to his ship,

Save that Achilles suffered not his band

Of Myrmidons to part in disarray.

And thus the chief enjoined his warrior friends:⁠—


“Myrmidons, gallant knights, my cherished friends!

Let us not yet unyoke our firm-paced steeds,

But bring them with the chariots, and bewail

Patroclus with the honors due the dead,

And, when we have indulged in grief, release

Our steeds and take our evening banquet here.”


He spake, and led by him the host broke forth

In lamentation. Thrice around the dead,

Weeping, they drave their steeds with stately manes,

While Thetis in their hearts awoke the sense

Of hopeless loss; their tears bedewed the sands,

And dropped upon their arms, so brave was he

For whom they sorrowed. Peleus’ son began

The mourning; on the breast of his dead friend

He placed his homicidal hands, and said:⁠—


“Hail thou, Patroclus, even amid the shades!

For now shall I perform what once I vowed:

That, dragging Hector hither, I will give

His corse to dogs, and they shall rend his flesh;

And at thy funeral pile there shall be slain

Twelve noble Trojan youths, to avenge thy death.”


So spake he, meditating outrages

To noble Hector’s corse, which he had flung

Beside the bier of Menoetiades,

Amid the dust. The Myrmidons unbraced

Their shining brazen armor, and unyoked

Their neighing steeds, and sat in thick array

Beside the ship of swift Aeacides,

While he set forth a sumptuous funeral feast.

Many a white ox, that day, beneath the axe

Fell to the earth, and many bleating goats

And sheep were slain, and many fattened swine,

White-toothed, were stretched to roast before the flame

Of Vulcan, and around the corse the earth

Floated with blood. Meantime the Grecian chiefs

To noble Agamemnon’s royal tent

Led the swift son of Peleus, though he went

Unwillingly, such anger for the death

Of his companion burned within his heart.

As soon as they had reached his tent, the king

Bade the clear-throated heralds o’er the fire

Place a huge tripod, that Pelides there

Might wash away the bloody stains he bore.

Yet would he not, and with an oath replied:⁠—


“No! By the greatest and the best of gods,

By Jupiter, I may not plunge my head

Into the bath before I lay my friend

Patroclus on the fire, and heap his mound,

And till my hair is shorn; for never more

In life will be so great a sorrow mine.

But now attend we to this mournful feast.

And with the morn, O king of men, command

That wood be brought, and all things duly done

Which may beseem a warrior who goes down

Into the lower darkness. Let the flames

Seize fiercely and consume him from our sight,

And leave the people to the tasks of war.”


He spake; they hearkened and obeyed, and all

Prepared with diligent hands the meal, and each

Sat down and took his portion of the feast.

And when their thirst and hunger were allayed,

Most to their tents betook them and to rest.

But Peleus’ son, lamenting bitterly,

Lay down among his Myrmidons, beside

The murmuring ocean, in the open space,

Where plashed the billows on the beach. And there,

When slumber, bringing respite from his cares,

Came softly and enfolded him⁠—for much

His shapely limbs were wearied with the chase

Of Hector round the windy Ilium’s walls⁠—

The soul of his poor friend Patroclus came,

Like him in all things⁠—stature, beautiful eyes,

And voice, and garments which he wore in life.

Beside his head the vision stood and spake:⁠—

“Achilles, sleepest thou, forgetting me?

Never of me unmindful in my life,

Thou dost neglect me dead. O, bury me

Quickly, and give me entrance through the gates

Of Hades; for the souls, the forms of those

Who live no more, repulse me, suffering not

That I should join their company beyond

The river, and I now must wander round

The spacious portals of the House of Death.

Give me thy hand, I pray; for never more

Shall I return to earth when once the fire

Shall have consumed me. Never shall we take

Counsel together, living, as we sit

Apart from our companions; the hard fate

Appointed me at birth hath drawn me down.

Thou too, O godlike man, wilt fall beneath

The ramparts of the noble sons of Troy.

Yet this I ask, and if thou wilt obey,

This I command thee⁠—not to let my bones

Be laid apart from thine. As we were reared

Under thy roof together, from the time

When first Menoetius brought thee, yet a boy,

From Opus, where I caused a sorrowful death;⁠—

For by my hand, when wrangling at the dice,

Another boy, son of Amphidamas,

Was slain without design⁠—and Peleus made

His halls my home, and reared me tenderly,

And made me thy companion;⁠—so at last

May one receptacle, the golden vase

Given by thy gracious mother, hold our bones.”


The swift Achilles answered: “O most loved

And honored, wherefore art thou come, and why

Dost thou command me thus? I shall fulfil

Obediently thy wish; yet draw thou near,

And let us give at least a brief embrace,

And so indulge our grief.” He said, and stretched

His longing arms to clasp the shade. In vain;

Away like smoke it went, with gibbering cry,

Down to the earth. Achilles sprang upright,

Astonished, clapped his hands, and sadly said:⁠—


“Surely there dwell within the realm below

Both soul and form, though bodiless. All night

Hath stood the spirit of my hapless friend

Patroclus near me, sad and sorrowful,

And asking many duties at my hands,

A marvellous semblance of the living man.”


He spake, and moved the hearts of all to grief

And lamentation. Rosy-fingered Morn

Dawned on them as around the hapless dead

They stood and wept. Then Agamemnon sent

In haste from all the tents the mules and men

To gather wood, and summoned to the task

Meriones, himself a gallant chief,

Attendant on the brave Idomeneus.

These went with woodmen’s axes and with ropes

Well twisted, and before them went the mules.

O’er steep, o’er glen, by straight, by winding ways,

They journeyed till they reached the woodland wilds

Of Ida fresh with springs, and quickly felled

With the keen steel the towering oaks that came

Crashing to earth. Then, splitting the great trunk.

They bound them on the mules, that beat the earth

With hasty footsteps through the tangled wood,

Impatient for the plain. Each woodcutter

Shouldered a tree, for so Meriones,

Companion of the brave Idomeneus,

Commanded, and at last they laid them down

In order on the shore, where Peleus’ son

Planned that a mighty sepulchre should rise

Both for his friend Patroclus and himself.


So brought they to the spot vast heaps of wood,

And sat them down, a numerous crowd. But then

Achilles bade his valiant Myrmidons

Put on their brazen mail and yoke their steeds.

At once they rose, and put their harness on,

And they who fought from chariots climbed their seats

With those who reined the steeds. These led the van,

And after them a cloud of men on foot

By thousands followed. In the midst was borne

Patroclus by his comrades. Cutting off

Their hair, they strewed it, covering the dead.

Behind the corpse, Achilles in his hands

Sustained the head, and wept, for on that day

He gave to Hades his most cherished friend.

Now when they reached the spot which Pelcus’ son

Had chosen, they laid down the dead, and piled

The wood around him, while the swift of foot,

The great Achilles, bent on other thoughts,

Standing apart, cut off his amber hair,

Which for the river Sperchius he had long

Nourished to ample growth, and, sighing, turned

His eyes upon the dark-blue sea, and said:⁠—


“Sperchius, in vain my father made a vow

That I, returning to my native shore,

Should bring my hair, an offering to thee,

And slay a consecrated hecatomb,

And burn a sacrifice of fifty rams,

Beside the springs where in a sacred field

Thy fragrant altar stands. Such was the vow

Made by the aged man, yet hast thou not

Fulfilled his wish. And now, since I no more

Shall see my native land, the land I love,

Let the slain hero bear these locks away.”


He spake, and in his dear companion’s hands

He placed the hair, and all around were moved

To deeper grief; the setting sun had left

The host lamenting, had not Peleus’ son

Addressed Atrides, standing at his side:⁠—


“Atrides, thou whose word the Greeks obey

Most readily, all mourning has an end.

Dismiss the people from the pyre to take

Their evening meal, while we with whom it rests

To pay these mournful duties to the dead

Will close the rites; but let the chiefs remain.”


This when the monarch Agamemnon heard,

Instantly he dismissed to their good ships

The people. They who had the dead in charge

Remained, and heaped the wood, and built a pyre

A hundred feet each way from side to side.

With sorrowful hearts they raised and laid the corse

Upon the summit. Then they flayed and dressed

Before it many fatlings of the flock,

And oxen with curved feet and crooked horns.

From these magnanimous Achilles took

The fat, and covered with it carefully

The dead from head to foot. Beside the bier,

And leaning toward it, jars of honey and oil

He placed, and flung, with many a deep-drawn sigh,

Twelve high-necked steeds upon the pile. Nine hounds

There were, which from the table of the prince

Were daily fed; of these Achilles struck

The heads from two, and laid them on the wood,

And after these, and last, twelve gallant sons

Of the brave Trojans, butchered by the sword;

For he was bent on evil. To the pile

He put the iron violence of fire,

And, wailing, called by name the friend he loved:⁠—


“Rejoice, Patrochis, even in the land

Of souls. Lo! I perform the vow I made;

Twelve gallant sons of the brave men of Troy

The fire consumes with thee. For Hector’s corse,

The flames shall not devour it, but the dogs.”


Such was his threat; but Hector was not made

The prey of dogs, for Venus, born to Jove,

Drave off by night and day the ravenous tribe,

And with a rosy and ambrosial oil

Anointed him, that he might not be torn

When dragged along the earth. Above the spot

And all around it, where the body lay,

Phoebus Apollo drew a veil of clouds

Reaching from heaven, that on his limbs the flesh

And sinews might not stiffen in the sun.


The flame seized not upon the funeral pile

Of the dead chief. Pelides, swift of foot,

Bethought him of another rite. He stood

Apart, and offered vows to the two winds,

Boreas and Zephyr. Promising to bring

Fair offerings to their shrines, and pouring out

Libations from a golden cup, he prayed

That they would haste and wrap the pile in flames,

And burn the dead to ashes. At his prayer

Fleet Iris on a message to the Winds

Took instant wing. They sat within the halls

Of murmuring Zephyr, at a solemn feast.

There Iris lighted on the threshold-stone.

As soon as they beheld her, each arose

And bade her sit beside him. She refused

To seat her at the banquet, and replied:⁠—


“Not now; for I again must take my way

Over the ocean currents to the land

Where dwell the Ethiopians, who adore

The gods with hecatombs, to take my share

Of sacrifice. Achilles supplicates,

With promise of munificent offerings,

Boreas and sounding Zephyrus to come

And blow the funeral structure into flames

On which, bewailed by all the Grecian host,

Patroclus lies, and waits to be consumed.”


So spake she, and departed. Suddenly

Arose the Winds with tumult, driving on

The clouds before them. Soon they reached the deep;

Beneath the violence of their sounding breath

The billows heaved. They swept the fertile fields

Of Troas, and descended on the pyre,

And mightily it blazed with fearful roar.

All night they howled and tossed the flames. All night

Stood swift Achilles, holding in his hand

A double beaker; from a golden jar

He dipped the wine, and poured it forth, and steeped

The earth around, and called upon the soul

Of his unhappy friend. As one laments

A newly married son upon whose corse

The flames are feeding, and whose death has made

His parents wretched, so did Peleus’ son,

Burning the body of his comrade, mourn,

As round the pyre he moved with frequent sighs.


Now when the star that ushers in the day

Appeared, and after it the morning, clad

In saffron robes, had overspread the sea,

The pyre sank wasted, and the flames arose

No longer, and the Winds, departing, flew

Homeward across the Thracian sea, which tossed

And roared with swollen billows as they went.

And now Pelides from the pyre apart

Weary lay down, and gentle slumber soon

Came stealing over him. Meantime the Greeks

Gathered round Agamemnon, and the stir

And bustle of their coming woke the chief,

Who sat upright and thus addressed his friends:⁠—


“Atrides, and all ye who lead the hosts

Of Greece! Our task is, first to quench the pyre

With dark red wine where’er the flames have spread,

And next to gather, with discerning care,

The bones of Menoetiades. And these

May well be known; for in the middle space

He lay, and round about him, and apart

Upon the border, were the rest consumed⁠—

The bodies of the captives and the steeds.

Be his enclosed within a golden vase,

And wrapped around with caul, a double fold,

Till I too pass into the realm of Death.

And be a tomb not over-spacious reared,

But of becoming size, which afterward

Ye whom we leave behind in our good ships,

When we are gone, will build more broad and high.”


So spake the swift Pelides, and the chiefs

Complied; and first they quenched with dark red wine

The pyre, where’er the flames had spread, and where

Lay the deep ashes; then, with many tears,

Gathered the white bones of their gentle friend,

And laid them in a golden vase, wrapped round

With caul, a double fold. Within the tents

They placed them softly, wrapped in delicate lawn,

Then drew a circle for the sepulchre,

And, laying its foundations to enclose

The pyre, they heaped the earth, and, having reared

A mound, withdrew. Achilles yet detained

The multitude, and made them all sit down,

A vast assembly. From the ships he brought

The prizes⁠—cauldrons, tripods, steeds, and mules,

Oxen in sturdy pairs, and graceful maids,

And shining steel. Then for the swiftest steeds

A princely prize he offered first⁠—a maid

Of peerless form, and skilled in household arts,

And a two-handled tripod of a size

For two-and-twenty measures. He gave out

The second prize⁠—a mare unbroken yet,

Of six years old, and pregnant with a mule.

For the third winner in the race he staked

A cauldron that had never felt the fire,

Holding four measures, beautiful, and yet

Untarnished. For the fourth, he offered gold,

Two talents. For the fifth, and last, remained

A double vessel never touched by fire.

He rose and stood, and thus addressed the Greeks:⁠—


“Atrides, and ye other well-armed Greeks,

These prizes lie within the chariot-course,

And wait the charioteers. Were but these games

In honor of another, then would I

Contend, and win and carry to my tent

The first among these prizes. For my steeds,

Ye know, surpass the rest in speed, since they

Are of immortal birth, by Neptune given

To Peleus, and by him in turn bestowed

On me his son. But I and they will keep

Aloof; they miss their skilful charioteer,

Who washed in limpid water from the fount

Their manes, and moistened them with softening oil.

And now they mourn their friend, and sadly stand

With drooping heads and manes that touch the ground.

Let such of you as trust in their swift steeds

And their strong cars prepare to join the games.”


Pelides spake: the abler charioteers

Arose, and, first of all, the king of men,

Eumelus, eminent in horsemanship,

The dear son of Admetus. Then arose

The valiant son of Tydeus, Diomed,

And led beneath the yoke the Trojan steeds

Won from Aeneas when Apollo saved

That chief from death. The son of Atreus next,

The noble Menelaus, yellow-haired,

Brought two swift coursers underneath the yoke,

King Agamemnon’s Aethè, and with her

His own Podargus. Echepolus once,

Anchises’ son, sent Aethè as a gift

To Agamemnon, that he might be free

From following with the army to the heights

Of Ilium, and enjoy the ease he loved;

For Jove had given him wealth, and he abode

On Sicyon’s plains. Now, eager for the race,

She took the yoke. Antilochus, the fourth,

The gallant son of the magnanimous king,

Neleian Nestor, harnessed next his steeds

With stately manes. Swift coursers that were foaled

At Pylus drew his chariot. To his side as

His father came and stood, and spake and gave

Wise counsels, though the youth himself was wise:⁠—


“Antilochus, I cannot doubt that Jove

And Neptune both have loved thee, teaching thee,

Young as thou art, all feats of horsemanship.

Small is the need to instruct thee. Thou dost know

Well how to turn the goal, and yet thy steeds

Are slow, and ill for thee may be the event.

Their steeds are swift, yet have they never learned

To govern them with greater skill than thou.

Now then, dear son, bethink thee heedfully

Of all precautions, lest thou miss the prize.

By skill the woodman, rather than by strength,

Brings down the oak; by skill the pilot guides

His wind-tossed galley over the dark sea;

And thus by skill the charioteer o’ercomes

His rival. He who trusts too much his steeds

And chariot lets them veer from side to side

Along the course, nor keeps a steady rein

Straight on, while one expert in horsemanship,

Though drawn by slower horses, carefully

Observes the goal, and closely passes it,

Nor fails to know how soon to turn his course,

Drawing the leathern reins, and steadily

Keeps on, and watches him who goes before.

Now must I show the goal which, easily

Discerned, will not escape thine eye. It stands

An ell above the ground, a sapless post,

Of oak or larch⁠—a wood of slow decay

By rain, and at its foot on either side

Lies a white stone; there narrow is the way,

But level is the race-course all around.

The monument it is of one long dead,

Or haply it has been in former days

A goal, as the swift-footed Peleus’ son

Has now appointed it. Approach it near,

Driving thy chariot close upon its foot,

Then in thy seat lean gently to the left

And cheer the right-hand horse, and ply the lash,

And give him a loose rein, yet firmly keep

The left-hand courser close beside the goal⁠—

So close that the wheel’s nave may seem to touch

The summit of the post; yet strike thou not

The stone beside it, lest thou lame thy steeds

And break the chariot, to thy own disgrace

And laughter of the others. My dear son,

Be on thy guard; for if thou pass the goal

Before the rest, no man in the pursuit

Can overtake or pass thee, though he drave

The noble courser of Adrastus, named

Arion the swift-footed, which a god

Bade spring to life, or those of matchless speed

Reared here in Ilium by Laomedon.”


Neleian Nestor spake, and, having thus

Given all the needful cautions, took his seat

In his own place. Meriones, the fifth,

Harnessed his steeds with stately manes, and all

Mounted their chariots. Lots were cast; the son

Of Peleus shook the helmet, and the lot

Of Nestor’s son, Antilochus, leaped forth;

And next the lot of King Eumelus came;

And Menelaus, mighty with the spear,

Had the third lot; Meriones was next;

And to the bravest of them all, the son

Of Tydeus, fell the final lot and place.

They stood in order, while Achilles showed

The goal far off upon the level plain,

And near it, as the umpire of the race,

He placed the godlike Phoenix, who had been

His father’s armor-bearer, to observe

With judging eye, and bring a true report.


All raised at once the lash above their steeds,

And smote them with the reins, and cheered them on

With vehement cries. Across the plain they swept,

Far from the fleet; beneath them rose the dust,

A cloud, a tempest, and their tossing manes

Were lifted by the wind. And now the cars

Touched earth, and now were flung into the air.

Erect the drivers stood, with beating hearts,

Eager for victory, each encouraging

His steeds, that flew beneath the shroud of dust.


But when they turned their course, and swiftly ran

Back to the hoary deep to close the course,

Well did the skill of every chief appear.

They put their horses to the utmost speed,

And then did the quick-footed steeds that drew

Eumelus bear him on beyond the rest.

But with his Trojan coursers Diomed

Came next, so near it seemed that they would mount

The car before them, and upon the back.

And ample shoulders of Eumelus smote

Their steaming breath; for as they ran their heads

Leaned over him. And then would Diomed

Have passed him by, or would at least have made

The victory doubtful, had not Phoebus struck,

In his displeasure, from the hero’s hand

The shining scourge. It fell, and to his eyes

Started indignant tears; for now he saw

The others gaining on him, while the speed

Of his own steeds, which feared the lash no more,

Was slackened. Yet Apollo’s stratagem

Was not unseen by Pallas, who o’ertook

The shepherd of the people, and restored

The scourge he dropped, and put into his steeds

New spirit. In her anger she approached

Eumelus, snapped his yoke, and caused his mares

To start asunder from the track; the pole

Was dashed into the ground, and from the seat

The chief was flung beside the wheel, his mouth,

Elbows, and nostrils torn, his forehead bruised.

Grief filled his eyes with tears and choked his voice,

While Diomed drave by his firm-paced steeds,

Outstripping all the rest; for Pallas nerved

Their limbs with vigor, and bestowed on him

Abundant glory. After him the son

Of Atreus, fair-haired Menelaus, came,

While Nestor’s son cheered on his father’s steeds:⁠—


“On, on! Press onward with your utmost speed!

Not that I bid you strive against the steeds

Of warlike Diomed, for Pallas gives

Swiftness to them and glory to the man

Who holds the reins; but let us overtake

The horses of Atrides, nor submit

To be thus distanced, lest the victory

Of the mare Aethè cover you with shame.

Fleet as ye are, why linger? This at least

I tell you, and my words will be fulfilled:

Look not for kindly care at Nestor’s hands,

That shepherd of the people, but for death

With the sharp steel, if through your fault we take

A meaner prize. Then onward and away,

With all your strength, for this is my design⁠—

To pass by Menelaus where the way

Is narrow, and he cannot thwart my plan.”


He spake, and they who feared their master’s threat

Mended their speed awhile. The warlike son

Of Nestor saw just then the narrow pass

Within the hollow way, a furrow ploughed

By winter floods, which there had torn the course

And deepened it. Atrides, to avoid

The clash of wheels, drave thither; thither too

Antilochus⁠—who turned his firm-paced steeds

A little from the track in which they ran⁠—

Followed him close. Atrides saw with fear,

And shouted to Antilochus aloud:⁠—


“Antilochus, thou drivest rashly; rein

Thy horses in. The way is narrow here,

But soon will broaden, and thou then canst pass.

Beware lest with thy chariot-wheels thou dash

Against my own, and harm befall us both.”


He spake; but all the more Antilochus

Urged on his coursers with the lash, as if

He had not heard. As far as flies a quoit

Thrown from the shoulder of a vigorous youth

Who tries his strength, so far they ran abreast.

The horses of Atrides then fell back;

He slacked the reins; for much he feared the steeds

Would dash against each other in the way,

And overturn the sumptuous cars, and fling

The charioteers contending for the prize

Upon the dusty track. With angry words

The fair-haired Menelaus chided thus:⁠—


“Antilochus, there is no man so prone

As thou to mischief, and we greatly err,

We Greeks, who call thee wise. Go now, and yet

Thou shalt not take the prize without an oath.”


Again he spake, encouraging his steeds:

“Check not your speed, nor sorrowfully stand:

Their feet and knees will fail with weariness

Before your own; they are no longer young.”


He spake; the coursers, honoring his voice.

Ran with fresh speed, and soon were near to those

Of Nestor’s son. Meantime the assembled Greeks

Sat looking where the horses scoured the plain

And filled the air with dust. Idomeneus,

The lord of Crete, descried the coursers first,

For on a height he sat above the crowd.

He heard the chief encouraging his steeds,

And knew him, and he marked before the rest

A courser, chestnut-colored save a spot

Upon the middle of the forehead, white,

And round as the full moon. And then he stood

Upright, and from his place harangued the Greeks:⁠—


“O friends, the chiefs and leaders of the Greeks,

Am I the sole one that descries the steeds,

Or do ye also? Those who lead the race,

I think, are not the same, and with them comes

A different charioteer. The mares, which late

Were foremost, may have somewhere come to harm.

I saw them first to turn the goal, and now

I can no more discern them, though my sight

Sweeps the whole Trojan plain from side to side.

Either the charioteer has dropped the reins,

And could not duly round the goal, or else

Met with disaster at the turn, o’erthrown,

His chariot broken, and the affrighted mares

Darting, unmastered, madly from the way.

But rise: look forth yourselves. I cannot well

Discern, but think the charioteer is one

Who, born of an Aetolian stock, commands

Among the Argives⁠—valiant Diomed,

A son of Tydeus, tamer of wild steeds.”


And Ajax, swift of foot, Oileus’ son,

Answered with bitter words: “Idomeneus,

Why this perpetual prating? Far away

The mares with rapid hoofs are traversing

The plain, and thou art not the youngest here

Among the Argives, nor hast such sharp eyes

Beneath thy brows, yet must thou chatter still.

Among thy betters here it ill becomes

A man like thee to be so free of tongue.

The coursers of Eumelus, which at first

Outran the rest, are yet before them all,

And he is drawing near and holds the reins.”


The Cretan leader angrily rejoined:

“Ajax, thou railer, first in brawls, yet known

As in all else below the other Greeks,

A man of brutal mood, come, let us stake

A tripod or a cauldron, and appoint

As umpire Agamemnon, to decide

Which horses are the foremost in the race,

That when thou losest thou mayst be convinced.”


He spake: Oilean Ajax, swift of foot,

Started in anger from his seat, to cast

Reproaches back, and long and fierce had been

The quarrel if Achilles had not risen,

And said: “No longer let this strife go on,

Idomeneus and Ajax! Ill such words

Become you; ye would blame in other men

What now ye do. Sit then among the rest,

And watch the race; for soon the charioteers

Contending for the victory will be here,

And each of you⁠—for well ye know the steeds

Of the Greek chieftains⁠—for himself will see

Whose hold the second place, and whose are first.”


He spake: Tydides rapidly drew near,

Lashing the shoulders of his steeds, and they

Seemed in the air as, to complete the course,

They flew along, and flung the dust they trod

Back on the charioteer. All bright with tin

And gold, the car rolled after them; its tires

Made but a slender trace in the light dust,

So rapidly they ran. And now he stopped

Within the circle, while his steeds were steeped

In sweat, that fell in drops from neck and breast.

Then from his shining seat he leaped, and laid

His scourge against the yoke. Brave Sthenelus

Came forward, and at once received the prize

For Diomed, and bade his comrades lead

The maid away, and in their arms bear off

The tripod, while himself unyoked the steeds.


Next the Neleian chief, Antilochus,

Came with his coursers. More by fraud than speed

He distanced Menelaus, yet that chief

Drave his fleet horses near him. Just so far

As runs the wheel behind a steed that draws

His master swiftly o’er the plain, his tail

Touching the tire with its long hairs, and small

The space between them as the spacious plain

Is traversed, Menelaus just so far as

Was distanced by renowned Antilochus.

For though at first he fell as far behind

As a quoit’s cast, yet was he gaining ground

Rapidly, now that Agamemnon’s mare,

Aethè the stately-maned, increased her speed,

And Menelaus, had the race for both

Been longer, would have passed his rival by,

Nor left the victory doubtful. After him,

A spear’s throw distant, came Meriones,

The gallant comrade of Idomeneus,

Whose full-maned steeds were slower than the rest,

And he unskilled in contests such as these.

And last of all Eumelus came. He drew

His showy chariot after him, and drave

His steeds before him. Great Achilles saw

With pity, and from where he stood among

The Greeks addressed him thus with wingèd words:⁠—


“The ablest horseman brings his steeds the last,

But let us, as is just, confer on him

The second prize; Tydides takes the first.”


He spake, and all approved his words; and now

The mare, to please the Greeks, had been bestowed

Upon Eumelus, if Antilochus,

Son of magnanimous Nestor, had not risen

To plead for justice with Achilles thus:⁠—


“Achilles, I shall deem it grave offence

If thou fulfil thy word; for thou wilt take

My prize, because thou seest that this man’s car

And his fleet steeds have suffered injury,

Though he be skilful. Yet he should have prayed

To the good gods; then had he not been seen

Bringing his steeds the last. But if thou feel

Compassion for him, and if so thou please,

Large store of brass and gold is in thy tent,

And thine are cattle, and handmaidens thine,

And firm-paced steeds; hereafter give of these

A nobler largess, or bestow it now,

And hear the Greeks applaud thee. But this prize

I yield not; let the warrior who may claim

To take it try with me his strength of arm.”


He ceased: the noble son of Peleus smiled,

And, pleased to see Antilochus succeed⁠—

For he was a beloved friend⁠—he spake

These wingèd words: “Since, then, Antilochus,

Thou wilt that I bestow some recompense

Upon Eumelus from my store, I give

The brazen corselet which my arm in war

Took from Asteropaeus, edged around

With shining tin⁠—a gift of no mean price.”


He ceased, and sent his friend Automedon at

To bring it from the tent. He went and brought

The corselet, and Eumelus joyfully

Received it from Achilles. Then arose,

Among them Menelaus, ill at ease,

And angry with Antilochus. He took

The sceptre from a herald’s hand, who hushed

The crowd to silence, and the hero spake:⁠—


“Antilochus, who wert till now discreet,

What hast thou done? Thou hast disgraced my skill

And wronged my steeds by thrusting in thine own,

Which were less fleet, before them. Now, ye chiefs

And leaders of the Achaians, judge between

This man and me, and judge impartially,

Lest that some warrior of the Greeks should say

That Menelaus, having overcome

Antilochus by falsehood, led away

The mare a prize; for his were slower steeds,

But he the mightier man in feats of arms.

Nay, I myself will judge; and none of all

The Greeks will censure me, for what I do

Will be but just. Antilochus, step forth,

Illustrious as thou art, and in due form,

Standing before thy horses and thy car,

And taking in thy hand the pliant scourge

Which thou just now hast wielded, touch thy steeds,

And swear by Neptune, whose embrace surrounds

The earth, that thou hast wittingly employed

No stratagem to break my chariot’s speed.”


And thus discreet Antilochus replied:

“Have patience with me: I am younger far

Than thou, King Menelaus; thou art both

My elder and my better. Thou dost know

The faults to which the young are ever prone;

The will is quick to act, the judgment weak.

Bear with me then. The mare which I received

I cheerfully make over to thy hands.

And if thou wilt yet more of what I have,

I give it willingly and instantly,

Rather, O loved of Jove, than lose a place

In thy good-will, and sin against the gods.”


The son of large-souled Nestor, speaking thus,

Led forth the mare, and gave her to the hand

Of Menelaus, o’er whose spirit came

A gladness. As upon a field of wheat

Bristling with ears gathers the freshening dew,

So was his spirit gladdened in his breast,

And he bespake the youth with wingèd words:⁠—


“Antilochus, now shall my anger cease,

For hitherto thou hast not shown thyself

Foolish or fickle, though the heat of youth

Just now hath led thee wrong. In time to come,

Beware to practise stealthy arts on men

Of higher rank than thou. No other Greek

Would easily have made his peace with me.

But thou hast suffered much, and much hast done⁠—

Thou, and thy worthy father, and his son,

Thy brother⁠—for my sake. I therefore yield

To thy petition; yet I give to thee

The mare, though mine she be, that these who stand

Around us may perceive that I am not

Of unforgiving or unyielding mood.”


He spake, and to Noëmon gave the mare⁠—

Noëmon, comrade of Antilochus⁠—

To lead her thence, while for himself he took

The shining cauldron. Then Meriones,

Fourth in the race, received the prize of gold⁠—

Two talents. But the fifth prize and the last,

The double goblet, still was left unclaimed;

And this Achilles carried through the crowd

Of Greeks, and placed in Nestor’s hands, and said:⁠—


“Receive thou this, O ancient man, to keep

In memory of the funeral honors paid

Patroclus, whom thou never more shalt see

Among the Greeks. I give this prize, which thou

Hast not contended for, since thou wilt wield

No more the cestus, nor wilt wrestle more,

Nor hurl the javelin at the mark, nor join

The foot-race; age lies heavy on thy limbs.”


He spake, and gave the prize, which Nestor took,

Well pleased, and thus with wingèd words replied:⁠—


“Son, thou hast spoken rightly, for these limbs

Are strong no longer; neither feet nor hands

Move on each side with vigor as of yore.

Would I were but as young, with strength as great,

As when the Epeians in Buprasium laid

King Amarynceus in the sepulchre,

And funeral games were offered by his sons!

Then of the Epeians there was none like me.

Nor of the Pylian youths, nor yet among

The brave Aetolians. In the boxing-match

I took the prize from Clytomedes, son

Of Enops, and in wrestling overcame

Ancaeus the Pleuronian, who rose up

Against me. In the foot-race I outstripped,

Fleet as he was, Iphiclus, and beyond

Phyleus and Polydore I threw the spear.

Only the sons of Actor won the race

Against me with their chariot, and they won

Through force of numbers. Much they envied me,

And feared lest I should bear away the prize;

For largest in that contest of the steeds

Was the reward, and they were two⁠—one held,

Steadily held, the reins, the other swung

The lash. Such was I once. Now feats like these

Belong to other, younger men, and I,

Though eminent among the heroes once,

Must do as sad old age admonishes.

Go thou, and honor thy friend’s funeral

With games. Thy gift I willingly accept,

Rejoicing that thy thoughts revert to one

Who loves thee, and that thou forgettest not

To pay the honor due to me among

The Greeks. The gods will give thee thy reward.”


He ceased. The son of Peleus, having heard

This praise from Nestor, left him, and passed through

The mighty concourse of the Greeks. He laid

Before them prizes for the difficult strife

Between the boxers. To the middle space

He led a mule, and bound him, six years old

And strong for toil, unbroken and most hard

To break, while to the vanquished he assigned

A goblet. Rising, he addressed the host:⁠—


“Ye sons of Atreus and ye well-armed Greeks,

We call for two of the most skilled to strive

For these, by striking with the lifted fist;

And he to whom Apollo shall decree

The victory, acknowledged by you all,

Shall have this sturdy mule to lead away.

The vanquished takes this goblet as his meed.”


He spake. A warrior strong and huge of limb,

Skilled in the cestus, named Epeius, son

Of Panopeus, rose at the word, and laid

His hand upon the sturdy mule, and said:⁠—


“Let him appear whose lot will be to take

The goblet. No man of the Grecian host

Will get the mule by overcoming me

In combat with the cestus⁠—so I deem.

In that I claim to be the best man here.

And should it not suffice that in the war

Others surpass me? All cannot excel

In everything alike. I promise this,

And shall fulfil my word⁠—that I will crush

His body, and will break his bones. His friend

Should all remain upon the ground to bear

Their comrade off when beaten by my hand.”


He spake, and all were silent. Only rose

Euryalus, whose father was the king

Mecisteus of Talaion’s line, the same

Who went to Thebes and overcame, of old,

In all the funeral games of Oedipus,

The sons of Cadmus. To Euryalus

Came Diomed, the spearman, bidding him

Expect the victory which he greatly wished

His friend might gain. Around his waist he drew

A girdle, adding straps that from the hide

Of a wild bull were cut with dextrous care.

And, fully now arrayed, the twain stepped forth

Into the middle space, and both began

The combat. Lifting their strong arms, they brought

Their heavy hands together. Fearfully

Was heard the crash of jaws; from every limb

The sweat was streaming. As Euryalus

Looked round, his noble adversary sprang

And smote him on the cheek⁠—too rude a blow

To be withstood; his shapely limbs gave way

Beneath him. As upon the weedy shore,

When the fresh north wind stirs the water’s face,

A fish leaps forth to light, and then again

The dark wave covers it, so sprang and fell

The chief. Magnanimous Epeius gave

His hands and raised him up; his friends came round

And led him thence with dragging feet, and head

That drooped from side to side, while from his mouth

Came clotted blood. They placed him in the midst,

Unconscious still, and sent and took the cup.


Then, third in order, for the wrestling-match

The son of Peleus brought and showed the Greeks

Yet other prizes. To the conqueror

A tripod for the hearth, of ample size,

He offered; twice six oxen, as the Greeks

Esteemed it, were its price. And next he placed

In view a damsel for the vanquished, trained

In household arts; four beeves were deemed her price.


Then rose Achilles, and addressed the Greeks:

“Ye who would try your fortune in this strife,

Arise.” He spake, and mighty Ajax rose,

The son of Telamon, and after him

The wise Ulysses, trained to stratagems.

They, girding up their loins, came forth and stood

In the mid space, and there with vigorous arms

They clasped each other, locked like rafters framed

By some wise builder for the lofty roof

Of a great mansion proof against the winds.

Then their backs creaked beneath the powerful strain

Of their strong hands; the sweat ran down their limbs;

Large whelks upon their sides and shoulders rose,

Crimson with blood. Still eagerly they strove

For victory and the tripod. Yet in vain

Ulysses labored to supplant his foe,

And throw him to the ground, and equally

Did Ajax strive in vain, for with sheer strength

Ulysses foiled his efforts. When they saw

That the Greeks wearied of the spectacle,

The mighty Telamonian Ajax said:⁠—


“Son of Laertes, nobly born and trained

To wise expedients, lift me up, or I

Will lift up thee; and leave the rest to Jove.”


He spake, and raised Ulysses from the ground,

Who dealt, with ready stratagem, a blow

Upon the ham of Ajax, and the limb

Gave way; the hero fell upon his back,

And on his breast Ulysses, while the host

Stood wondering and amazed. Ulysses strove,

In turn, to lift his rival, but prevailed

Only to move him from his place; he caught

The knee of Ajax in his own, and both

Came to the ground together, soiled with dust.

They rose to wrestle still, but from his seat

Achilles started, and forbade them thus:⁠—


“Contend no longer, nor exhaust your strength

With struggling; there is victory for both,

And equal prizes. Now depart, and leave

The field of contest to the other Greeks.”


He spake: they listened and obeyed, and wiped

The dust away, and put their garments on.

And then the son of Peleus placed in sight

Prizes of swiftness⁠—a wrought silver cup

That held six measures, and in beauty far

Excelled all others known; the cunning hands

Of the Sidonian artisans had given

Its graceful shape, and over the dark sea

Men of Phoenicia brought it, with their wares,

To the Greek harbors; they bestowed it there

On Thoas. Afterward Euneüs, son

Of Jason, gave it to the hero-chief,

Patroclus, to redeem a captive friend,

Lycaon, Priam’s son. Achilles now

Brought it before the assembly as a prize,

For which, in honor of the friend he loved,

The swiftest runners of the host should strive.

Next, for the second in the race, he showed

A noble fatling ox; and for the last,

Gold, half a talent. Then he stood and said

To the Achaians: “Those who would contend

For these rewards, rise up.” And then arose

Oilean Ajax, fleet of foot; and next

Ulysses the sagacious; last upstood

Antilochus, the son of Nestor, known

As swiftest of the youths. In due array

They stood; Achilles showed the goal. At once

Forward they sprang. Oilean Ajax soon

Gained on the rest, but close behind him ran

The great Ulysses. As a shapely maid

Flinging the shuttle draws with careful hand

The thread that fills the warp, and so brings near

The shuttle to her bosom, just so near

To Ajax ran Ulysses, in the prints

Made by his rival’s feet, before the dust

Fell back upon them. As he ran, his breath

Smote on the head of Ajax. All the Greeks

Shouted applause to him, encouraging

His ardor for the victory; but when now

They neared the goal, Ulysses silently

Prayed thus to Pallas: “Goddess, hear my prayer,

And help these feet to win.” The goddess heard,

And lightened all his limbs, his feet, his hands;

And just as they were rushing on the prize,

Ajax, in running, slipped and fell⁠—the work

Of Pallas⁠—where in heaps the refuse lay

From entrails of the bellowing oxen slain

In honor of Patroclus by the hand

Of swift Achilles. Mouth and nostrils both

Were choked with filth. The much-enduring man

Ulysses, coming first, received the cup,

While Ajax took the ox, and as he stood

Holding the animal’s horn and spitting forth

The dirt, he said to those around: “ ’Tis plain

The goddess caused my feet to slide; she aids

Ulysses like a mother.” So he said,

And the Greeks laughed. And then Antilochus

Received the third reward, and with a smile

Said to the Greeks: “I tell you all, my friends,

What you must know already, that the gods

Honor the aged ever. Ajax stands

Somewhat in years above me, but this chief

Who takes the prize is of a former age

And earlier race of men; they call him old,

But hard it were for any Greek to vie

With him in swiftness, save Achilles here.”


Such praise he gave Pelides, fleet of foot,

Who answered: “Thy good word, Antilochus,

Shall not be vainly spoken. I will add

Yet half a talent to thy gold.” He said,

And gave the gold; Antilochus, well pleased,

Received it. Then Pelides brought a spear

Of ponderous length into the middle space,

And laid it down, and placed a buckler near

And helmet, which had been Sarpedon’s arms,

And which Patroclus won of him in war.

Then stood Achilles and addressed the Greeks:⁠—


“I call on two, the bravest of the host,

To arm themselves and take their spears in hand,

And in a contest for these weapons put

Each other to the proof. Whoever first

Shall wound his adversary, piercing through

The armor to the delicate skin beneath,

And draw the crimson blood, to him I give

This beautiful sword of Thrace, with silver studs,

Won from Asteropaeus. And let both

Bear off these arms, a common gift, and both

Shall sit and banquet nobly in my tent.”


He spake, and Telamonian Ajax rose,

The large of limb; Tydides Diomed,

The strong, rose also. When they had put on

Their arms apart from all the host, they came,

All eager for the combat, to the lists,

And fearful was their aspect. All the Greeks

Looked on with dread and wonder, and when now

Stood face to face the warriors, thrice they rushed

Against each other; thrice they dealt their blows.

Then Ajax thrust through Diomed’s round shield

His weapon, but it wounded not; the mail

Beyond it stopped the stroke. Tydides aimed

Over his adversary’s mighty shield

A blow to reach his neck. The Greeks, alarmed

For Ajax, shouted that the strife should cease,

And both divide the prize. Achilles heard,

But gave to Diomed the ponderous sword,

Its sheath, and the fair belt from which it hung.


Again Pelides placed before the host

A mass of iron, shapeless from the forge,

Which once the strong Eëtion used to hurl;

But swift Achilles, when he took his life,

Brought it with other booty in his ships

To Troas. Rising, he addressed the Greeks:⁠—


“Stand forth, whoever will contend for this,

And if broad fields and rich be his, this mass

Will last him many years. The man who tends

His flocks, or guides his plough, need not be sent

To town for iron; he will have it here.”


He spake, and warlike Polypoetes rose.

Uprose the strong Leonteus, who in form

Was like a god. The son of Telamon

Rose also, and Epeius nobly born;

Each took his place. Epeius seized the mass,

And sent it whirling. All the Achaians laughed.

The loved of Mars, Leonteus, flung it next,

And after him the son of Telamon,

The large-limbed Ajax, from his vigorous arm

Sent it beyond the mark of both. But when

The sturdy warrior Polypoetes took

The mass in hand, as far as o’er his beeves

A herdsman sends his whirling staff, so far

This cast outdid the rest. A shout arose;

The friends of sturdy Polypoetes took

The prize, and bore it to the hollow ships.


Achilles for the archers brought forth steel,

Tempered for arrow-heads⁠—ten axes, each

With double edge, and single axes ten⁠—

And from a galley’s azure prow took off

A mast, and reared it on the sands afar,

And, tying to its summit by the foot

A timorous dove, he bade them aim at her:

“Whoever strikes the bird shall bear away

The double axes to his tent; while he

Who hits the cord, but not the bird, shall take

The single axes, as the humbler prize.”


He ceased, and then arose the stalwart king,

Teucer; then also rose Meriones,

The valiant comrade of Idomeneus.

The lots were shaken in a brazen helm,

And Teucer’s lot was first. He straightway sent

A shaft with all his strength, but made no vow

Of a choice hecatomb of firstling lambs

To Phoebus, monarch-god. He missed the bird,

Such was the will of Phoebus, but he struck,

Close to her foot, the cord that made her fast.

The keen shaft severed it; the dove flew up

Into the heavens; the fillet dropped to earth

Amid the loud applauses of the Greeks.

And then Meriones made haste to take

The bow from Teucer’s hand. Long time he held

The arrow aimed, the while he made a vow

To Phoebus, the great archer, promising

A chosen hecatomb of firstling lambs;

Then, looking toward the dove, as high in air

She wheeled beneath the clouds, he pierced her breast

Beneath the wing; the shaft went through and fell,

Fixed in the ground, beside Meriones,

While the bird settled on the galley’s mast

With drooping head and open wings. The breath

Forsook her soon, and down from that high perch

She fell to earth. The people all looked on,

Admiring and amazed. Meriones

Took up the double axes as his prize,

While Teucer bore the others to the fleet.


And then Pelides brought into the midst

A ponderous spear, and laid a cauldron down

Which never felt the fire, inwrought with flowers,

Its price an ox. And then the spearmen rose.

Atrides Agamemnon, mighty king,

First rose, and after him Meriones,

The brave companion of Idomeneus;

And thus to both the swift Achilles said:⁠—


“O son of Atreus, for we know how far

Thou dost excel all others, and dost cast

The spear with passing strength and skill, bear thou

This prize, as victor, to the roomy ships,

And if it please thee, let us, as I wish,

Give to our brave Meriones the spear.”


He spake, and Agamemnon, king of men,

Complied, and gave Meriones in hand

The brazen spear, while to Talthybius,

The herald, he consigned the greater prize.



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