The Iliads of Homer. Homer

In their supreme states, wresting thus this motion for our home,

       To soothe thy cowardice; since ourselves yet know not what will

       come

       Of these designments, if it be our good to stay, or go.

       Nor is it that thou stand'st on; thou revil'st our Gen'ral so,

       Only because he hath so much, not giv'n by such as thou

       But our heroës. Therefore this thy rude vein makes me vow

       (Which shall be curiously observ'd) if ever I shall hear

       This madness from thy mouth again, let not Ulysses bear

       This head, nor be the father call'd of young Telemachus,

       If to thy nakedness I take and strip thee not, and thus

       Whip thee to fleet from council; send, with sharp stripes, weeping

       hence

       This glory thou affect'st to rail." This said, his insolence

       He settled with his sceptre; strook his back and shoulders so

       That bloody wales rose. He shrunk round; and from his eyes did flow

       Moist tears, and, looking filthily, he sate, fear'd, smarted, dried

       His blubber'd cheeks; and all the prease, though griev'd to be

       denied

       Their wish'd retreat for home, yet laugh'd delightsomely, and spake

       Either to other: "O ye Gods, how infinitely take

       Ulysses' virtues in our good! Author of counsels, great

       In ord'ring armies, how most well this act became his heat,

       To beat from council this rude fool! I think his saucy spirit,

       Hereafter, will not let his tongue abuse the sov'reign merit,

       Exempt from such base tongues as his." Thus spake the people; then

       The city-razer Ithacus stood up to speak again,

       Holding his sceptre. Close to him gray-eyed Minerva stood,

       And, like a herald, silence caus'd, that all the Achive brood

       (From first to last) might hear and know the counsel; when,

       inclin'd

       To all their good, Ulysses said: "Atrides, now I find

       These men would render thee the shame of all men; nor would pay

       Their own vows to thee, when they took their free and honour'd way

       From Argos hither, that, till Troy were by their brave hands rac'd,

       They would not turn home. Yet, like babes, and widows, now they

       haste

       To that base refuge, 'Tis a spite to see men melted so

       In womanish changes; though 'tis true, that if a man do go

       Only a month to sea, and leave his wife far off, and he,

       Tortur'd with winter's storms, and toss'd with a tumultuous sea,

       Grows heavy, and would home. Us then, to whom the thrice-three year

       Hath fill'd his revoluble orb since our arrival here,

       I blame not to wish home much more; yet all this time to stay,

       Out of our judgments, for our end; and now to take our way

       Without it, were absurd and vile. Sustain then, friends; abide

       The time set to our object; try if Calchas prophesied

       True of the time or not. We know, ye all can witness well,

       (Whom these late death-conferring fates have fail'd to send to

       hell)

       That when in Aulis, all our fleet, assembled with a freight

       Of ills to Ilion and her friends, beneath the fair grown height

       A platane bore, about a fount, whence crystal water flow'd,

       And near our holy altar, we upon the Gods bestow'd

       Accomplish'd hecatombs; and there appear'd a huge portent,

       A dragon with a bloody scale, horrid to sight, and sent

       To light by great Olympius; which, crawling from beneath

       The altar, to the platane climb'd, and ruthless crash'd to death

       A sparrow's young, in number eight, that in a top-bough lay

       Hid under leaves; the dam the ninth, that hover'd every way,

       Mourning her lov'd birth, till at length, the serpent, watching

       her,

       Her wing caught, and devour'd her too. This dragon, Jupiter,

       That brought him forth, turn'd to a stone, and made a pow'rful mean

       To stir our zeals up, that admir'd, when of a fact so clean

       Of all ill as our sacrifice, so fearful an ostent

       Should be the issue. Calchas, then, thus prophesied th' event

       'Why are ye dumb-strook, fair-hair'd Greeks? Wise Jove is he hath

       shown

       This strange ostent to us. 'Twas late, and passing lately done,

       But that grace it foregoes to us, for suff'ring all the state

       Of his appearance (being so slow) nor time shall end, nor fate.

       As these eight sparrows, and the dam (that made the ninth) were eat

       By this stern serpent; so nine years we are t' endure the heat

       Of rav'nous war, and, in the tenth, take-in this broad-way'd town.'

       Thus he interpreted this sign; and all things have their crown

       As he interpreted, till now. The rest, then, to succeed

       Believe as certain. Stay we all, till, that most glorious deed

       Of taking this rich town, our hands are honour'd with." This said,

       The Greeks gave an unmeasur'd shout; which back the ships repaid

       With terrible echoes, in applause of that persuasion

       Divine Ulysses us'd; which yet held no comparison

       With Nestor's next speech, which was this: "O shameful thing! Ye

       talk

       Like children all, that know not war. In what air's region walk

       Our oaths, and cov'nants? Now, I see the fit respects of men

       Are vanish'd quite; our right hands giv'n, our faiths, our counsels

       vain,

       Our sacrifice with wine, all fled in that profanéd flame

       We made to bind all; for thus still we vain persuasions frame,

       And strive to work our end with words, not joining stratagemes

       And hands together, though, thus long, the pow'r of our extremes

       Hath urg'd us to them. Atreus' son, firm as at first hour stand!

       Make good thy purpose; talk no more in councils, but command

       In active field. Let two or three, that by themselves advise,

       Faint in their crowning; they are such as are not truly wise;

       They will for Argos, ere they knew if that which Jove hath said

       Be false or true. I tell them all, that high Jove bow'd his head,

       As first we went aboard our fleet, for sign we should confer

       These Trojans their due fate and death; almighty Jupiter

       All that day darting forth his flames, in an unmeasur'd light,

       On our