In Hades.
From the Odyssey.
Tow'rds me came the Shade of Peleidean Achilles,
And of Patroclus belov'd, and Antilochus daring and blameless,
And of Aias--of Him, who in bulk and beauty of figure
Far excell'd every Greek, to Peleides only inferior.
Me on the instant knew the Shade of Eacus' grandson,
And in sorrowful mood with words swift flowing address'd me.
Tell me Laertes' son, Odysses matchless in wisdom,
What fresh wondrous deed within thy brain thou art brooding,
That to the vasty deep of Hades down thou descendest,
Where the poor dead abide, mere idle shapes of the living.
Soon as the Hero ceas'd, in answer thus I address'd him:
Know, O Peleus' son, Achilles bravest of Grecians,
Seeking Tiresias hither I've come, to beg of him counsel
How I may Ithaca reach with its high-ridg'd, cloud-cover'd mountains;
Nor to Achaia I've been, nor my foot on the shore of my country
Wretch have I plac'd, whom ever misfortunes pursue; but no mortal
E'er was so blest, as Thou, or ever will be, O Achilles,
For when alive, as a God, we Argives held thee in honor;
Now e'en here, how high above the mighty departed
Thou dost in majesty rise; grieve not though dead, O Achilles.
Soon as these words I'd said, the Shade in answer address'd me:
Talk not of death to me, in mercy, glorious Odysses,
For on the Earth's green sod I'd rather toil as the hireling
Of some inglorious wight, and of one as poor as inglorious,
Than over all the dead in Hades reign as a Monarch;
But of my noble boy some tiding give me, I pray thee,
Whether or not he's fam'd as a gallant leader in battle;
And if aught thou hast heard of good old Peleus, tell me;
Still is he held in dread in Myrmidonian cities,
Or has he lost respect in Hellas-land and in Pthia,
Now old age has robb'd his hands and feet of their vigour?
Think not an aid so good I'm now in the light of the sun-beam,
As of old time I prov'd on the broad domain of the Trojans,
When, in the Argives aid, I slew the best of their army;
Were I to enter now, as I am, the hall of my father,
Full little dread these hands would wake in the bosoms of any,
Who in that hall do serve, and are kept by fear in obeisance.
Soon as the Hero ceas'd, in answer thus I address'd him:
Nothing, alas, which regards the good, old Peleus know I;
But the whole tale of thy boy, thy Neoptolemus cherish'd,
I will with truth relate, by thee, great Shade, as commanded:
I myself had the luck in my own hollow ship to convey him
Forth from Scyros afar with a band of well-greav'd Achaians.
Ever when round Troy's town in council grave we assembled
He was the first to rise with a flow of eloquence faultless,
So that Nestor divine and myself confess'd him our master;
But when on Troy's champain we strove with spear and with buckler
Never amid the crowd you'd have found him or in the phalanx--
Far in front he advanc'd, in courage shining the foremost,
And full many a man he slew in the rage of the combat;
There's no need to recount and to name in endless succession
All the renown'd he slew, whilst assisting strongly the Argives;
Let it suffice that with steel he stretch'd Eurypilus lifeless,
Telephos' hero-son, and around that hero were slaughter'd
All his Ceteian friends, ensnar'd by the smiles of the damsels.
But when within the horse, the wondrous work of Epeius,
Enter'd the noble Greeks, with me their chosen commander,
Where we reclin'd thick and close, and one o'er the other we panted,--
Then whilst the rest of the chiefs and princes high of the Argives
Wip'd away feminine tears, and each shook in every member,
Him in that hour of dread these orbs of vision beheld not
Either grow pallid or quake, or away from his cheek fresh and downy
Wiping the tears--O no! and ever he begg'd for the signal
Forth from the horse to emerge; and with ill intent to the Trojan,
Ever his spear he grip'd, or rattled the hilt of his falchion--
But when with ruin dread we raz'd the city of Priam
Fraught with the choicest prey the hero mounted his vessel,
Free from all scathe; his form nor smit from afar by the jav'lin,
Nor by the sword from near; no rare result of the combat,
For the tremendous Mars is no respecter of persons.
Scarce had I spoke when the Shade of Eacus' swift-footed grandson
Stalk'd with huge strides away o'er the flowery grass of the meadow,
Glad at the heart that its boy was fam'd 'mongst the brave as a warrior.