Than ever father to his daughter gave—
Seven cities with thronged streets—Cardamyle,
Enope, grassy Hira, Pherae famed
Afar, Antheia with rich pasture-fields,
Aepeia beautiful, and Pedasus
With all its vineyards; all are near the sea,
And stand the last before you reach the coast
Of sandy Pylos. Rich in flocks and herds
Their dwellers are, and they will honor him
As if he were a god, and, ruled by him,
Will pay large tribute. These will I bestow,
Let but his anger cool and his resolve
Give way. ’Tis Pluto who is deaf to prayer
And ne’er relents, and he, of all the gods,
Most hateful is to men. Now let the son
Of Peleus yield at length to me, who stand
Above him in authority and years.”
Then answered Nestor the Gerenian knight:—
“Atrides Agamemnon! Glorious king!
Gifts not to be contemned thou offerest
To Prince Achilles. Let us now despatch
A chosen embassy, who shall proceed
At once to where Pelides holds his tent.
I name the men; and cheerfully will they
Perform the duty: Phoenix, dear to Jove,
Shall be their leader, mighty Ajax next,
And then high-born Ulysses; heralds twain
Shall follow—Hodius and Eurybates.
And now be water brought to cleanse our hands,
And charge be given that no ill-omened word
Be uttered, while we pray that Jupiter,
The son of Saturn, will assist our need.”
He spake; and all approved the words he said.
Then poured the heralds water on the hands
Of those who sat. The young men crowned with wine
The goblets, and in seemly order passed
The brimming cups, distributing to each.
Part to the gods they poured, and next they drank
As each might choose, and then the embassy
Hastened from Agamemnon’s tent. To each
Gerenian Nestor spake in turn, and fixed
His eyes on each intently—most of all
Upon Ulysses—and with many a charge
To turn Pelides from his angry mood.
Along the edge of the resounding deep
They went, and as they walked they offered prayer
To earth-embracing Neptune, that their words
Might move the great soul of Aeacides.
And now they came where lay the Myrmidons
Among their tents and ships. Achilles there
Drew solace from the music of a harp
Sweet-toned and shapely, in a silver frame,
Part of the spoil he took when he o’erthrew
Eëtion’s town. To soothe his mood he sang
The deeds of heroes. By him sat alone
Patroclus, silent till the song should cease.
On moved the messengers—before them walked
High-born Ulysses—till they stood beside
Achilles. He beheld, and with the harp
Sprang from his seat, surprised. Patroclus saw
The heroes also, and arose. Their hands
The swift Achilles took in his, and said:—
“Welcome! Ye come as friends. Some pressing cause
Must surely bring you hither, whom I prize,
Wronged as I am, beyond all other Greeks.”
Thus speaking, the great son of Peleus led
His guests still farther on, and seated them
On couches spread with purple coverings,
And thus addressed Patroclus, who was near:—
“Son of Menoetius, bring a larger vase,
And mingle purer wine, and place a cup
For each, since these are most beloved friends—
These warriors who now sit beneath my roof.”
He spake. Patroclus hearkened, and obeyed
His well-beloved friend, who meantime placed
A block beside the fire, and on it laid
Chines of a sheep and of a fatling goat,
And of a sow, the fattest of her kind.
Automedon stood by and held them fast;
Achilles took the knife and skilfully
Carved them in portions, and transfixed the parts
With spits. Patroclus, the divine in form,
Woke to a blaze the fire; and when the flame
Had ceased to rise he raked the glowing coals
Apart, and o’er them stretched the spits, and strewed,
Raising the flesh, the sacred salt o’er all.
And when he had made ready and had spread
The banquet on the board, Patroclus took
The bread and offered it to all the guests
In shapely canisters. Achilles served
The meats, and took his seat against the wall,
In front of great Ulysses. There he bade
His friend Patroclus offer sacrifice,
Casting the first rich morsels to the flames.
The guests put forth their hands and shared the feast;
And when the calls of hunger and of thirst
Were felt no longer, Ajax gave a nod
To Phoenix, which divine Ulysses saw,
And filled his cup and drank to Peleus’ son:—
“Thy health, Achilles! Princely feasts like this
Attend us both in Agamemnon’s tent
And here—for here is all that makes a feast
Complete; yet now is not the time to think
Of pleasant banquets, for our thoughts are turned—
O Jove-born warrior!—to a fearful time
Of slaughter, and the fate of our good ships—
Whether we save them harmless, or the foe
Destroy them, if thou put not on thy might.
For now the haughty Trojans, and the troops
Who come from far to aid them, pitch their camp
Close to our fleet and wall, and all around
Kindle their many fires, and boast that we
No longer have the power to drive them back
From our black galleys. Jupiter, the son
Of Saturn, shows them favorable signs
With lightnings from above; and, terrible
In aspect and in valor, Hector makes
Sad havoc, trusting in the aid of Jove,
And neither reverences gods nor men—
Such rage possesses him. He prays that soon
The morn may rise, that he may hew the prows
From all our ships and give them to the flames,
And slay the Greeks, bewildered with the smoke.
For me, I greatly fear the gods will grant
That he fulfil his threat, and that our doom
Will be to perish on the Trojan coast,
And far away from Argos, famed for steeds.
Rise, then, though late—rise with a resolute mind,
And from the hard-pressed sons of Greece drive back
The assailing Trojans. Thou wilt else lament
Hereafter, when the evil shall be done
And shall admit no cure. Bethink thee well
How from the Greeks thou mayst avert the day
Of their destruction. O my friend, when first
He sent thee forth to Agamemnon’s help
From Phthia’s coast, thy father Peleus said:—
“ ‘My child, from Juno and Minerva comes
The gift of valor, if they choose to give.
But curb thou the high spirit in thy breast,
For gentle ways are best, and keep aloof
From sharp contentions, that the old and young
Among the Greeks may honor thee the more.’
“Such was the old man’s charge, forgotten now.
Yield, then, and lay thy wrath aside. Large gifts
Doth Agamemnon offer, to appease
Thy wounded spirit. Hear me, if thou wilt,
Recount what gifts the monarch in his tent
Hath promised thee:—Seven tripods which the fire
Hath never touched; six talents of pure gold;
And twenty shining cauldrons; and twelve steeds
Of hardy frame,
