Shall win my daily meat;
Poor unsuspecting fool,
A base intriguer’s tool,
By his forged legend caught!
Wretch who my ruin wrought,
Would I might see him pine
Long years like me in agony like mine!
By destiny, by destiny ’twas sent.
To treachery my hand was never lent;
Point not at me thy baleful curse, for fain
Thy friend, as heretofore, I would remain.
Strophe 2
Ah me! he’s sitting now
Upon the grey sea sands,
And laughs at me, I trow;
My bow is in his hands,
The bow that was my life, the bow
That never lord save me did know.
My bow, my matchless bow of yew,
If thou canst feel, how must thou grieve,
Thus wrested from thy master true,
Constrained his loving hands to leave,
Thy master who, through Hellas famed,
The friend of Heracles was named.
Now art thou handled by a knave,
Past master in each cunning art,
Must do his bidding, as a slave,
In all his misdeeds take thy part.
And aid the unrelenting foe,
The source and spring of all my woe.
A man should aye his rightful cause maintain,
But from malign and venomous taunts refrain;
And he but serves the common interest,
Speaks for the host, obeying their behest.
Antistrophe 2
Ye feathered tribes, my prey,
Ye bright-eyed beasts who roam
The hills, start not away
Scared from the hunter’s home.
Stray where ye will, secure, unharmed;
Why shun a helpless man unarmed?
Gone is the mighty bow;
Flock hither without dread,
Why should ye fear a foe
So weak, so ill bestead.
Draw near ycur gluttonous mouths to fill,
Mangle my carrion flesh at will.
Here shall I waste away,
Soon will ye eye me dead;
Who can survive one day
By airs of heaven fed?
Of all that Earth affords each son,
Herb, root and fruit, possessing none.
If thou regardest a well-wishing friend,
Draw near and to his kindly rule attend.
Think well; from this intolerable bane,
That thou dost feed, and aggravate thy pain,
With thee it rests deliverance to gain.
O why recall my ancient grief once more,
Kindest of all who e’er have touched this shore?
Why twice undo a wretch undone before?
What meanest thou?
I mean that thou wast fain
To take me to the Troy I hate again.
’Tis for thy good.
O leave me then, begone!
Thanks for that word. We will be off anon,
Back to the ship, and each man to his oar.
O leave me not, for God’s sake, I implore.
Calm thyself.
Stay, O stay!
Why should we wait?
O woe is me! Out on my fate, my fate!
Accursed foot, what shall I make of thee?
Iam undone! O friends, come back to me.
What would’st thou? First thou bid’st us go, and then
In the same breath thou biddest us remain.
O be not wrath if one distraught with pain
Blurts out discordant words beside the mark.
Come then, unhappy man, with us embark.
Never, no never, though the King of Heaven
Should threat to blast me with his fiery leven.
No, perish rather Ilium, perish all
The Achaean host that batter at its wall;
Hard hearts who cast me forth as halt and maim.
From you, my friends, one parting boon I claim.
What would’st thou ask?
An axe, a spear, a brand,
No matter what—the weapon first to hand.
Wherefore! What deed of violence wouldst thou do?
Hack, mangle, limb by limb my body hew;
My thoughts are bloody.
Wherefore?
I would go
To seek my father.
In what land?
Below;
For I shall find him nowhere on this earth.
My native land, fair land that gave me birth,
Might I but see thee! Wherefore did I roam
And leave the sacred stream that guards my home?
To help the Greeks those stormy seas I crossed,
My mortal foes, by them undone, lost, lost!
I should have left thee long ago and now
Be near my ship, but that I saw Odysseus
Advancing towards us and Achilles’ son.
Wilt thou not tell me why thou hurriest back
In such hot haste and on what errand bound?
I come to expiate all former wrongs.
A strange reply. What wrong did’st thou commit?
When in obedience to the host and thee—
Prithee, what did’st thou that beseemed thee not?
I snared a man by base deceit and guile.
What man? Thou hast not something rash in hand?
Naught rash, but to the son of Poeas I—
What wilt thou do? My soul forbodes some ill.
From whom I took the bow, to him again—
Great Zeus! What meanest thou? Not give it back?
Yes, for I got it basely, shamefully.
In Heaven’s name, say’st thou this to mock at me?
If it be mockery to speak the truth.
What now? What meanest thou, Achilles’ son?
Must I repeat the same words twice and thrice?
Far better had I never heard them once.
Rest well assured I have nothing more to add.
There is, I tell thee, one to stay thy hand.
Who prithee? who to stay me or prevent?
The whole Achaean host, and I for one.
Thy words lack wisdom though thou lack’st not wits.
Unwisdom marks thy words and actions both.
If just, ’tis better than unjust and wise.
Can it be justice to give back the prize
Won by my policy?
Shameful was my fault,
And I will try to make amends for it.
Hast thou no terror of the Achaean host?
A bugbear this with justice on my side.
[Justice must yield if I resort to force.]
Not even thou canst force me ’gainst my will.
Then not with Trojans must we war, but thee.
So be it, if it must be.
See’st my hand
Upon my sword-hilt?
Me too shalt thou see
Ready to follow suit and keen
