The Iliads of Homer. Homer

       Homer

      The Iliads of Homer

      Translated according to the Greek

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4057664649089

      Table of Contents

       Cover

       Titlepage

       Text

      TO THE SACRED FOUNTAIN OF PRINCES, SOLE EMPRESS OF BEAUTY AND VIRTUE, ANNE, QUEEN OF ENGLAND, ETC.

      With whatsoever honour we adorn

       Your royal issue, we must gratulate you,

       Imperial Sovereign; who of you is born

       Is you, one tree make both the bole and bow.

       If it be honour then to join you both

       To such a pow'rful work as shall defend

       Both from foul death and age's ugly moth,

       This is an honour that shall never end.

       They know not virtue then, that know not what

       The virtue of defending virtue is;

       It comprehends the guard of all your State,

       And joins your greatness to as great a bliss.

       Shield virtue and advance her then, great Queen,

       And make this book your glass to make it seen.

       Your Majesty's in all subjection most

       humbly consecrate,

       GEO. CHAPMAN.

      TO THE READER

      Lest with foul hands you touch these holy rites,

       And with prejudicacies too profane,

       Pass Homer in your other poets' slights,

       Wash here. In this porch to his num'rous fane,

       Hear ancient oracles speak, and tell you whom

       You have to censure. First then Silius hear,

       Who thrice was consul in renowned Rome,

       Whose verse, saith Martial, nothing shall out-wear.

      SILIUS ITALICUS, LIB. XIII. 777

      He, in Elysium having cast his eye

       Upon the figure of a youth, whose hair,

       With purple ribands braided curiously,

       Hung on his shoulders wond'rous bright and fair,

       Said: "Virgin, what is he whose heav'nly face

       Shines past all others, as the morn the night;

       Whom many marvelling souls, from place to place,

       Pursue and haunt with sounds of such delight;

       Whose count'nance (were't not in the Stygian shade)

       Would make me, questionless, believe he were

       A very God?" The learned virgin made

       This answer: "If thou shouldst believe it here,

       Thou shouldst not err. He well deserv'd to be

       Esteem'd a God; nor held his so-much breast

       A little presence of the Deity,

       His verse compris'd earth, seas, stars, souls at rest;

       In song the Muses he did equalize,

       In honour Phœbus. He was only soul,

       Saw all things spher'd in nature, without eyes,

       And rais'd your Troy up to the starry pole."

       Glad Scipio, viewing well this prince of ghosts,

       Said: "O if Fates would give this poet leave

       To sing the acts done by the Roman hosts,

       How much beyond would future times receive

       The same facts made by any other known!

       O blest Æacides, to have the grace

       That out of such a mouth thou shouldst be shown

       To wond'ring nations, as enrich'd the race

       Of all times future with what he did know!

       Thy virtue with his verse shall ever grow."

      Now hear an Angel sing our poet's fame,

       Whom fate, for his divine song, gave that name.

      ANGELUS POLITIANUS, IN NUTRICIA

      More living than in old Demodocus,

       Fame glories to wax young in Homer's verse.

       And as when bright Hyperion holds to us

       His golden torch, we see the stars disperse,

       And ev'ry way fly heav'n, the pallid moon

       Ev'n almost vanishing before his sight;

       So, with the dazzling beams of Homer's sun,

       All other ancient poets lose their light.

       Whom when Apollo heard, out of his star,

       Singing the godlike act of honour'd men,

       And equalling the actual rage of war,

       With only the divine strains of his pen,

       He stood amaz'd and freely did confess

       Himself was equall'd in Mæonides.

      Next hear the grave and learned Pliny use

       His censure of our sacred poet's muse.

       Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. 7. cap. 29.

       Turned into verse, that no prose may come near Homer.

      Whom shall we choose the glory of all wits,

       Held through so many sorts of discipline

       And such variety of works and spirits,

       But Grecian Homer, like whom none did shine

       For form of work and matter? And because

       Our proud doom of him may stand justified

       By noblest judgments, and receive applause

       In spite of envy and illiterate pride,

       Great Macedon, amongst his matchless spoils

       Took from rich Persia, on his fortunes cast,

       A casket finding, full of precious oils,

       Form'd all of gold, with wealthy stones enchas'd,

       He took the oils out, and his nearest friends

       Ask'd in what better guard it might be us'd?

       All giving their conceits to sev'ral ends,

       He answer'd: "His affections rather choos'd

       An use quite opposite to all their kinds,

       And Homer's books should with