Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/187

Revere thy roof, and to thy guests be kind;
And know the men, of all the Grecian host,
Who honour worth, and prize thy valour most."
"Oh soul of battles, and thy people's guide!"
To Ajax thus the first of Greeks replied:
"Well hast thou spoke; but at the tyrant's name
My rage rekindles and my soul's on flame;
'Tis just resentment, and becomes the brave;
Disgraced, dishonoured, like the vilest slave!
Return then, heroes! and our answer bear,
The glorious combat is no more my care;
Not till amidst yon sinking navy slain,
The blood of Greeks shall dye the sable main;
Not till the flames, by Hector's fury thrown,
Consume your vessels, and approach my own;
Just there, the impetuous homicide shall stand,
There cease his battle, and there feel our hand."
This said, each prince a double goblet crowned,
And cast a large libation on the ground:
Then to their vessels, through the gloomy shades,
The chiefs return; divine Ulysses leads.
Meantime Achilles' slaves prepared a bed,
With fleeces, carpets, and soft linen spread:
There, till the sacred morn restored the day,
In slumbers sweet the reverend Phœnix lay;
But in his inner tent, an ampler space,
Achilles slept: and in his warm embrace
Fair Diomedé of the Lesbian race.
Last, for Patroclus was the couch prepared,
Whose nightly joys the beauteous Iphis shared:
Achilles to his friend consigned her charms,
When Sycros fell before his conquering arms.
And now the elected chiefs, whom Greece had sent,
Passed through the hosts, and reached the royal tent.
Then rising all, with goblets in their hands,
The peers, and leaders of the Achaian bands,
Hailed their return: Atrides first begun:
"Say, what success? divine Laertes' son!
Achilles' high resolves declare to all:
Returns the chief, or must our navy fall?"
"Great king of nations!" Ithacus replied,
"Fixed is his wrath, unconquered is his pride;
He slights thy friendship, thy proposals scorns,
And, thus implored, with fiercer fury burns.
To save our army, and our fleets to free,
Is not his care; but left to Greece and thee.
Your eyes shall view, when morning paints the sky,
Beneath his oars the whitening billows fly.
Us too he bids our oars and sails employ,