{"id":3658,"date":"2013-07-13T01:50:16","date_gmt":"2013-07-13T01:50:16","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/localhost\/?p=3658"},"modified":"2013-07-13T01:50:16","modified_gmt":"2013-07-13T01:50:16","slug":"06-the-book-of-achilles-vol-ilion-an-epic-in-quantitative-hexameters","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/01-works-of-sri-aurobindo\/02-other-editions\/ilion-an-epic-in-quantitative-hexameters\/06-the-book-of-achilles-vol-ilion-an-epic-in-quantitative-hexameters","title":{"rendered":"-06_The Book Of Achilles.htm"},"content":{"rendered":"\n\n
\n

\nBook <\/font> <\/i><\/b>Five<\/i>
\n<\/font><\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\nTHE BOOK OF ACHILLES
\n<\/font><\/b>\n<\/p>\n

\n\tMEANWHILE grey from the Trojan gates Talthybius journeyed, <\/p>\n

Spurred by the secret thought of the Fates who change not nor falter\n\t<\/p>\n

Simois sighed round his wheels and Xanthus roared at his passing,\n\t<\/p>\n

Troas’ god like a lion wroth and afraid; to meet him\n\t<\/p>\n

Whistling the ocean breezes came and Ida regarded.\n\t<\/p>\n

So with his haste in his wheels the herald ocean ward driving\n\t<\/p>\n

Came through the gold of the morn o’er the trampled green of the pastures\n\t<\/p>\n

\n\tBack to the ships and the roar of the sea and the iron hopped leaguer. <\/p>\n

Wide to the left his circle he wrote where the tents of Achilles\n\t<\/p>\n

Trooped like a flock of the sea-fowl pensive and still on the margin.\n\t<\/p>\n

He past the outposts rapidly coursed to the fosse1<\/sup> of the Argives.\n\t<\/p>\n

In with a quavering cry to the encampment over the causeway\n\t<\/p>\n

Bridging the moat of the ships Talthybius drove in his chariot\n\t<\/p>\n

Out of the wide plains azure-roofed and the silence of Nature\n\t<\/p>\n

Passing in to the murmur of men and the thick of the leaguer.\n\t<\/p>\n

There to a thrall of the Hellene he cast his reins and with labour\n\t<\/p>\n

Down from the high seat climbed of the war-car framed for the mighty.\n\t<\/p>\n

Then betwixt tent-doors endless, vistaed streets of the canvas,\n\t<\/p>\n

Slowly the old man toiled with his eager
\n\theart, and to meet him <\/p>\n

\n\tSauntering forth from his tent at the sound of the driving car-wheels <\/p>\n

\n\tStrong Automaton came who was charioteer of Achilles. <\/p>\n

\n\t"Grey Talthybius, whence art thou coming? From Troya the ancient? <\/p>\n

\n\tOr from a distant tent was thy speed and the King Agamemnon? <\/p>\n

\n\tWhat in their armoured assembly counsel the Kings2<\/sup> of the
\n\tArgives?" <\/p>\n

\n\t"Not from the host but from Troy, Automaton, come I with tidings, <\/p>\n

\n\tNor have I mixed with the Greeks in their cohorts ranked by the Ocean, <\/p>\n

\n\tNor have I stood in their tents who are kings in sceptred Achaia, <\/p>\n

\n\tBut from Achilles sent to Achilles I bring back the message. <\/p>\n

\n\t\t1<\/font><\/sup> moat <\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t 2<\/sup> chiefs. <\/font>
\n\t\t<\/p>\n<\/p>\n

Page-74<\/p>\n

\n

\n

Tell me, then, what does Pelides,\u2014whether his strength he reposes\n\t<\/p>\n

Soothed by the lyre or hearing the chanted deeds of the mighty,\n\t<\/p>\n

Or does he walk as he loves by the shore of the far-sounding waters ?"\n\t<\/p>\n

And to the Argive herald grey Automedon answered:\n\t<\/p>\n

"Now from the meal he rests and Briseis lyres to him singing\n\t<\/p>\n

One of the Ilian chants of old in the tongue of the Trojans."\n\t<\/p>\n

"Early then he has eaten, Automedon, early reposes ?"\n\t<\/p>\n

"Early the meat was broached on the spits, Talthybius, early\n\t<\/p>\n

High on the sands or under the tents we have eaten and rested.\n\t<\/p>\n

None knows the hour of the hunt red, fierce nor the prey he shall leap on,\n\t<\/p>\n

All are like straining hounds; for Achilles shares not his counsels,\n\t<\/p>\n

But on the ships, in the tents the talk has run like Peneus; These upon\n\t<\/p>\n

Troy to be loosed and the hard-fighting wolf-brood of Priam,\n\t<\/p>\n

These hope starkly with Argos embraced, to have done with the Spartan,\n\t<\/p>\n

Ending his brilliance in blood, to sport on the sands of the margent\n\t<\/p>\n

Playing at bowls with the heads of the Cretan and crafty Odysseus.\n\t<\/p>\n

Welcome were either or both; we shall move in the dances of Ares,\n\t<\/p>\n

Quicken heart-beats dulled and limbs that are numb with reposing.\n\t<\/p>\n

War we desire and no longer this ease by the drone of the waters."\n\t<\/p>\n

So as they spoke, they beheld far-off the tent of Achilles,\n\t<\/p>\n

Splendid and spacious even as the hall of a high-crested chieftain,\n\t<\/p>\n

Lofty, held by a hundred stakes to the Phrygian meadow.\n\t<\/p>\n

Hung were its sides with memories bronze and trophies of armour,\n\t<\/p>\n

Sword and spear and helmet and cuirass of fallen heroes\n\t<\/p>\n

Slain by the hand of mighty Achilles warring with Troya.\n\t<\/p>\n

Teemed in its canvas rooms the plundered riches of Troas,\n\t<\/p>\n

Craftsman’s work and the wood well-carved and the ivory painted,\n\t<\/p>\n

Work of bronze and work of gold and the dreams of the artist.\n\t<\/p>\n

And in those tents of his pride, in the dreadful guard of the Hellene,\n\t<\/p>\n

Nobler boys and daughters of high-born Phrygians captive,\n\t<\/p>\n

Borne from the joyless ruins that now were the sites of their childhood,\n\t<\/p>\n

Served in the land of their sires the will of the Pthian Achilles.\n\t<\/p>\n

There on a couch reclined in his beauty mighty and golden,\n\t<\/p>\n

Loved by the Fates and doomed by them, spear of their will against Troya,\n\t<\/p>\n

Peleus’ hero son by the foam-white child of the waters\n\t<\/p>\n

Dreaming reposed and his death-giving hand hung lax o’er the couch-side.\n\t<\/p>\n

Near him dark-eyed Briseis, the fatal and beautiful captive,\n\t<\/p>\n

Sung to the Grecian victor chants of the land of her fathers,\n\t<\/p>\n

Sang the chant of Ilus, the tale of the glories of Troya.\n\t<\/p>\n

Trojan boys and maidens sat near the singer and listened
\n\t<\/p>\n<\/p>\n

Page-75<\/p>\n

\n

\n

Heart-delighted if with some tears; for easy are mortal\n\t<\/p>\n

Hearts to be bent by Fate and soon we consent to our fortunes.\n\t<\/p>\n

But in the door-way Automedon stood with the shadowy Argive\n\t<\/p>\n

And at the ominous coming the voice of the singer faltered,\n\t<\/p>\n

Faltering hushed like a thought melodious ceasing in heaven.\n\t<\/p>\n

But from his couch the Peleid sprang to action, rejoicing,\n\t<\/p>\n

Gladly delivered from patience long and he cried to the herald:\n\t<\/p>\n

"Long hast thou lingered in Ilion, envoy, mute in the chambers\n\t<\/p>\n

Golden of Priam old; while around thee darkened the counsels\n\t<\/p>\n

Wavering blindly and fiercely of minds that revolt from compulsion,\n\t<\/p>\n

Natures at war with the gods and their fortunes. Fain would I fathom\n\t<\/p>\n

Whatever the thoughts of Deiphobus locked in that nature of iron\n\t<\/p>\n

Now that he stands confronting his fate in the town of his fathers.\n\t<\/p>\n

Peace dwells not in thy aspect. Sowst thou a seed then of ruin\n\t<\/p>\n

Cast from the inflexible heart and the faltering tongue of Aeneas\n\t<\/p>\n

Or with the golden laugh of the tame less bright Alexander ?"\n\t<\/p>\n

Grey Talthybius answered: "Surely their doom has embraced them\n\t<\/p>\n

Wrapping her locks round their ears and their eyes, lest they see and
\nescape her,\n<\/p>\n

Kissing their tongue with her fatal lips and dictating its answers.\n\t<\/p>\n

Dire is the hope of their chiefs and fierce is the will of their commons.\n\t<\/p>\n

Son of the Aeacids, spurned is thy offer. The pride of thy challenge\n\t<\/p>\n

Rather we choose; it is nearer to Dardanus, King of the Hellenes.\n\t<\/p>\n

Neither shall Helen captive be dragged to the feet of her husband,\n\t<\/p>\n

Nor down the paths of peace revisit her fathers’ Eurotas.\n\t<\/p>\n

Death and the fire may prevail on us, never our wills shall surrender\n\t<\/p>\n

Lowering Priam’s heights and darkening Ilion’s splendours;\n\t<\/p>\n

Not of such sires were we born, but of kings and of gods. Larissan,\n\t<\/p>\n

Not with her gold Troy purchases safety but with her spear-point.\n\t<\/p>\n

Stand with thy oath in the war-front, Achilles, call on thy helpers\n\t<\/p>\n

Armed to descend from the calm of Olympian heights to thy succour,\n\t<\/p>\n

Hedging thy fame from defeat; for we all desire thee in battle,\n\t<\/p>\n

Mighty to end thee or tame at last by the floods of the Xanthus.’\n\t<\/p>\n

So they reply; they are true to their death, they are constant for ruin.\n\t<\/p>\n

Humbler answer hope not, O hero, from Penthesilea;\n\t<\/p>\n

Insolent, warlike, regal and swift as herself is her message :\n\t<\/p>\n

Sea of renown and of valour that
\n\tfillets the world with thy rumour, <\/p>\n

Speed of the battle incarnate, mortal image of Ares !\n\t<\/p>\n

Terror and tawny delight like a lion one hunts or is hunted !\n\t<\/p>\n

Dread
\n\tof the world and my target, swift-footed glorious hero !
\n\t<\/p>\n<\/p>\n

Page-76<\/p>\n

\n

\n

Thus have I imaged thee, son of Peleus, dreaming in countries\n\t<\/p>\n

Far from thy knowledge, in mountains that never have rung to thy war-cry.\n\t<\/p>\n

\n\tO, I have longed for thee, warrior ! Therefore today by thy message\n\t<\/p>\n

So was I seized with delight that my heart was hurt with its rapture,\n\t<\/p>\n

Knowing today I shall gaze with my eyes on that which I imaged\n\t<\/p>\n

Only in air of the mind or met in the paths of my dreaming.\n\t<\/p>\n

Thus have I praised thee first with my speech; with my spear I would answer.\n\t<\/p>\n

\n\tYet for thy haughty scorn who deeming of me as some Hellene <\/p>\n

Or as a woman weak of these plains fit but for the distaff,\n\t<\/p>\n

\n\tPromises capture in war and fame as thy slave-girl in Pthia,\u2014 <\/p>\n

Surely I think that death today will reply to that promise,\u2014\n\t<\/p>\n

Now I will give thee my answer and warn thee ere we encounter.\n\t<\/p>\n

Know me queen of a race that never was conquered in battle !\n\t<\/p>\n

Know me armed with a spear that never has missed in the combat !\n\t<\/p>\n

There where my car-wheels run, good fruit gets the husbandman after.\n\t<\/p>\n

This thou knowest. Ajax has told thee, thy friend, in his dying.\n\t<\/p>\n

Has not Meriones’ spirit come in thy dreams then to warn thee ?\n\t<\/p>\n

Didst thou not number the Argives over ere I came to the battle ?\n\t<\/p>\n

Number them now and measure the warrior Penthesilea.\n\t<\/p>\n

Such am I then whom thy dreams have seen meek-browed in Larissa,\n\t<\/p>\n

And in the battle behind me thunder the heroes Eoan,\n\t<\/p>\n

Ranks whose feeblest can match with the vaunted chiefs of the Argives.\n\t<\/p>\n

Never yet from the shock have they fled ; if they turn from the foeman,\n\t<\/p>\n

Always ’tis to return like death recircling on mortals.\n\t<\/p>\n

Yet being such, having such for my armies, this do I promise :\n\t<\/p>\n

Ion the left of the Trojans war with my bright-armed numbers,\n\t<\/p>\n

Thou on the Argive right come forth, Achilles, and meet me !\n\t<\/p>\n

If thou canst drive us with rout into Troy, I will own thee for master,\n\t<\/p>\n

Do thy utmost will and make thee more glorious than gods are,\n\t<\/p>\n

Serving thy couch in Pthia and drawing the jar from thy rivers.\n\t<\/p>\n

Nay, if thou hast that strength, then hunt me, O hunter, and seize me,\n\t<\/p>\n

If ’tis thy hope indeed that the sun can turn back from the Orient,\n\t<\/p>\n

But if thou canst not, death of myself or thyself thou shalt capture. "\n\t<\/p>\n

Musing heard and was silent a while the strength of Achilles,\n\t<\/p>\n

Musing of Fate and the wills of men and the purpose of Heaven,\n\t<\/p>\n

Then from his thoughts he broke and turned in his soul towards battle.\n\t<\/p>\n

"Well did I know what reply would come winged from the princes of Troya.\n\t<\/p>\n

Prone are the hearts of heroes to wrath and to God-given blindness\n\t<\/p>\n

When from their will they are thrust and harried by Fate and disaster :\n\t<\/p>\n

Fierceness then is the armour of strength against grief and its yieldings.
\n\t<\/p>\n<\/p>\n

Page-77<\/p>\n

\n

\n

\n

So have the gods made man for their purpose, cunningly fashioned.\n\t<\/p>\n

Once had defiance waked from my depths a fury far-striding\n\t<\/p>\n

Flaming for justice and vengeance, nor had it, satisfied, rested,\n\t<\/p>\n

Sunk to its lair till the insulter died torn or was kneeling for pardon.\n\t<\/p>\n

Fierce was my heart in my youth and exulted in triumph and slaughter.\n\t<\/p>\n

Now as I grow in my spirit like to my kin the immortals,\n\t<\/p>\n

Joy more I find in saving and cherishing than in the carnage.\n\t<\/p>\n

Greater it seems to my mind to be king over men than their slayer,\n\t<\/p>\n

Nobler to build and to govern than what the ages have laboured\n\t<\/p>\n

Putting their godhead forth to create or the high gods have fashioned,\n\t<\/p>\n

That to destroy in our wrath of a moment. Ripened, more widely\n\t<\/p>\n

Opens my heart to the valour of man and the beauty of woman,\n\t<\/p>\n

Works of the world and delight ; the cup of my victory sweetens\n\t<\/p>\n

Not with the joys of hate, but the human pride of the triumph.\n\t<\/p>\n

Yet was the battle decreed for the means supreme of the mortal\n\t<\/p>\n

Placed in a world where all things strive from the worm to the Titan.\n\t<\/p>\n

So will I seize by the onset what peace from my soul would sequester,\n\t<\/p>\n

So will I woo with the sword and with love the delight of my foeman,\n\t<\/p>\n

Troy and Polyxena, beauty of Paris and glory of Priam.\n\t<\/p>\n

This was the ancient wrestling, this was the spirit of warfare\n\t<\/p>\n

Fit for the demigods. Soon in the city of gold and of marble,\n\t<\/p>\n

There where Ilus sat and Tros, where Laomedon triumphed,\n\t<\/p>\n

Peleus’ house shall reign, the Hellene sit where the Trojan\n\t<\/p>\n

Thought himself deathless. Arise, Automedon ! Out to the people !\n\t<\/p>\n

Send forth the cry through the ships and the tents of the Myrmidon
\n\tantic <\/p>\n

Let not a man be found then lingering when o’er the causeway\n\t<\/p>\n

Thunder my chariot-wheels, nor let any give back in the battle,\n\t<\/p>\n

Good if he wills from me, till through the conquered gates of the foeman\n\t<\/p>\n

Storming we herd in their remnants and press into Troy as with evening\n\t<\/p>\n

Helios rushing sinks to the sea. But thou, Briseis,\n\t<\/p>\n

Put by thy lyre, O girl ; it shall gladden my heart in my triumph\n\t<\/p>\n

Victor returned from Troy to listen pleased to thy singing,\n\t<\/p>\n

Bearing a captive bound to my car-wheels Penthesilea,\n\t<\/p>\n

Bearing my valour’s reward, Polyxena, daughter of Priam,\n\t<\/p>\n

Won in despite of her city and brothers and spears of her kindred.\n\t<\/p>\n

So by force it is best to take one’s will and be mighty."\n\t<\/p>\n

Joyful, Automedon ran through the drowsy camp of the Hellenes\n\t<\/p>\n

Changing the hum of the tents as he raced into shoutings of battle ;\n\t<\/p>\n

For with the giant din of a nation triumphant arising\n\t<\/p>\n

Hellas sprang from her irksome ease and mounted her war-car ;\n\t<\/p>\n<\/p>\n

Page-78<\/p>\n

\n

\n

Donning her armour bright she rejoiced in the trumpet of battle.\n\t<\/p>\n

But to the herald grey the Peleid turned and the old man\n\t<\/p>\n

Shuddered under his gaze and shrank from the voice of the hero ;\n\t<\/p>\n

"Thou to the tents of thy kings, Talthybius, herald of Argos !\n\t<\/p>\n

Stand in the Argive assembly, voice of the strength of Achilles.\n\t<\/p>\n

Care not at all though the greatest and fiercest be wroth with thy message.\n\t<\/p>\n

Deem not thyself, old man, as a body and flesh that is mortal,\n\t<\/p>\n

Rather as living speech from the iron breast of the Hellene.\n\t<\/p>\n

Thus shalt thou chide the vanquished chiefs who have fled from a woman,\n\t<\/p>\n

Thus shalt thou speak my will to the brittle and fugitive legions :\u2014\n\t<\/p>\n

‘Now Achilles turns towards Troya and fast-flowing Xanthus,\n\t<\/p>\n

Now he leaps at the iron zone, the impregnable city.\n\t<\/p>\n

Two were the Forms of the Gods that o’erhung the sails of Pelides\n\t<\/p>\n

When with a doubtful word in his soul he came wind-helped from Hellas\n\t<\/p>\n

Cleaving the Aegean deep towards the pine-crested vision of Ida.\n\t<\/p>\n

Two are the Fates that stride with the hero counting his exploits.\n\t<\/p>\n

Over all earthly things the soul that is fearless is master,\n\t<\/p>\n

Only on death he can reckon not whether it comes in the midnight\n\t<\/p>\n

Treading the couch of Kings in their pride or speeds in the spear-shaft.\n\t<\/p>\n

Now will I weigh down that double beam of the Olympian balance\n\t<\/p>\n

Claiming one of the equal Fates that stand robed for the fighter,\n\t<\/p>\n

For to my last dire wrestle I go with the Archer of heaven,\n\t<\/p>\n

And ere the morning gleam have awakened the eagles on Ida,\n\t<\/p>\n

Troy shall lie prone1<\/sup> or earth shall be empty of Pthian Achilles.\n\t<\/p>\n

But for whatever Fate I accept from the ageless Immortals,\n\t<\/p>\n

Whether cold Hades dim or Indus waits for my coming\n\t<\/p>\n

Pouring down vast to the sea with the noise of his numberless waters,\n\t<\/p>\n

I with Zeus am enough. Your mortal aid I desire not,\n\t<\/p>\n

Rushing to Troy like the eagle of Zeus when he flies towards the thunders,\u2014\n\t<\/p>\n

Winged with might, the bird of the spaces,
\n\tup buoying his pinions. <\/p>\n

Nor shall my spirit look back for the surge of your
\n\tDana an fighters, <\/p>\n

Tramp of the Argive multitudes helping my lonely courage,\n\t<\/p>\n

Neither the transient swell of the cry Achaian behind me\n\t<\/p>\n

Seek, nor the far-spreading voice of Atrides guiding his legions.\n\t<\/p>\n

Need has he none for a leader who himself is the soul of his action.\n\t<\/p>\n

Zeus and his fate and his spear are enough for the Pthian Achilles.\n\t<\/p>\n

Rest, O wearied hosts ; my arm shall win for you Troya,\n\t<\/p>\n

Quelled when the stern
\n\tEoan’s break and Penthesilea\n\t<\/p>\n

\n\t\t1<\/sup> Alternative to "lie prone" : stoop low.
\n\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n<\/p>\n

Page-79<\/p>\n

\n

\n

Lies like a flower in the dust at my feet. Yet if Ares desire you,\n\t<\/p>\n

Come then and meet him once more mid the cry and the trampling !
\nAssemble\n<\/p>\n

Round the accustomed chiefs, round the old victorious wrestlers\n\t<\/p>\n

Wearied strengths Deiphobus leaves you or sternest Aeneas.\n\t<\/p>\n

But when my arm and my Fate have vanquished their gods and Apollo,\n\t<\/p>\n

Brilliant with blood when we stand amid Ilion’s marble splendours,\n\t<\/p>\n

Then let none seat deaf flame on the glory of Phrygia’s marbles\n\t<\/p>\n

Or with his barbarous rapine shatter the chambers of sweetness\n\t<\/p>\n

Slaying the work of the gods and the beauty the ages have lived for.\n\t<\/p>\n

For he shall moan in the night remote from the earth and her greenness,\n\t<\/p>\n

Spurred like a steed to its goal by my spear dug deep in his bosom ;\n\t<\/p>\n

Fast he shall fleet to the waters of wailing, the pleasure less pastures.\n\t<\/p>\n

Touch not the city Apollo built, where Poseidon has laboured.\n\t<\/p>\n

Seized and dishelmed and disgirdled of Apollonian ramparts,\n\t<\/p>\n

Empty of wide-rolling wheels and the tramp of a turbulent people\n\t<\/p>\n

Troy with her marble domes shall live for our nations in beauty\n\t<\/p>\n

Hushed mid the trees and the corn and the pictured halls of the ancients,\n\t<\/p>\n

Watching her image of dreams in the gliding waves of Scamander,\n\t<\/p>\n

Sacred and still, a city of memory spared by the Grecians1<\/sup>.\n\t<\/p>\n

So shalt thou warn the arrogant hearts of Achaia’s chieftains\n\t<\/p>\n

Lest upon Greece an evil should fall and her princes should perish.\n\t<\/p>\n

Herald, beware how thou soften my speech in the ears of thy nation\n\t<\/p>\n

Sparing their pride and their hearts but dooming their lives to the death-stroke.\n\t<\/p>\n

Even thy time-touched snows shall not shield thy days from my sword-edge!<\/sup>\n\t<\/p>\n

Wroth grew the old man’s heart, but he feared Achilles and slowly\n\t<\/p>\n

Over the margin grey on the shore of the far-sounding ocean\n\t<\/p>\n

Silent paced to the tents of the Greeks and the Argive assembly.\n\t<\/p>\n

There on the sands while the scream of the tide as it dragged at the
\n\tpebbly <\/p>\n

Strove in vain with their droning roar, awaiting their chieftains\n\t<\/p>\n

Each in his tribe and his people far down the margin Aegean,\n\t<\/p>\n

Argolis’ sons and
\n\tEpirote spears and the isles and the southron, <\/p>\n

Locris’ swarms and Messene’s pikes and the strength of the Theban,\n\t<\/p>\n

Hosts bright-armed, bright-eyed, bright-haired, time-hardened to Ares,\n\t<\/p>\n

Stretched in harsh and brilliant lines with a glitter of spear-points\n\t<\/p>\n

Far as the eye could toil. All Europe helmeted, armoured\n\t<\/p>\n

Swarmed upon Asia’s coasts disgorged from their ships in their hundreds.\n\t<\/p>\n

\n\t\t1<\/font><\/sup> nobles <\/font><\/p>\n<\/p>\n

Page-80<\/p>\n

\n

\n

There in the wide-winged tent of the council that peered o’er the margin,\n\t<\/p>\n

High where the grass and the meadow-bloom failed on the sand-rifted
\nsward-edge,\n<\/p>\n

Pouring his argent voice Epeus spoke to the princes,\n\t<\/p>\n

Rapid in battle and speech ; and even as boy in a courtyard\n\t<\/p>\n

Tosses his ball in the air and changes his hands for the seizing,\n\t<\/p>\n

So he played with his counsel and thought and rejoiced in his swiftness.\n\t<\/p>\n

But now a nearing Fate he felt and his impulse was silenced.\n\t<\/p>\n

Stilled were his thoughts by the message that speeds twixt our minds in
\ntheir shadows\n<\/p>\n

Dumb, unthought, unphrased, to us dark, but the caverns of Nature\n\t<\/p>\n

Hear its cry when God’s moment changing our fate comes visored\n\t<\/p>\n

Silently into our lives and the spirit too knows, for it watches.\n\t<\/p>\n

Quiet he fell and all men turned to the face of the herald.\n\t<\/p>\n

Mute and alone through the ranks of the seated and silent princes\n\t<\/p>\n

Old Talthybius paced, nor paused till he stood at the midmost\n\t<\/p>\n

Fronting that council of Kings and nearest to Locrian Ajax\n\t<\/p>\n

And where Sthenelus sat and where sat the great Diomedes,\n\t<\/p>\n

Chiefs of the South, but their love was small for the Kings of the Spartans.\n\t<\/p>\n

There like one close to a refuge he lifted his high-chanting accents.\n\t<\/p>\n

High was his voice like the wind’s when it whistles shrill o’er a forest\n\t<\/p>\n

Sole of all sounds at night, for the kite is at rest and the tiger\n\t<\/p>\n

Sleeps from the hunt returned in the deepest hush of the jungle.\n\t<\/p>\n

"Hearken, O Kings of the world, to the lonely will of the Pthian !\n\t<\/p>\n

One is the roar of the lion heard by the jungle’s hundreds,\n\t<\/p>\n

One is the voice of the great and the many shall hear it inclining.\n\t<\/p>\n

Lo, he has shaken his mane for the last great leap upon Troya\n\t<\/p>\n

And when the eagle’s scream shall arise in the dawn over Ida,\n\t<\/p>\n

Troy shall have fallen or earth shall be empty of Pthian Achilles.\n\t<\/p>\n

But by whatever Fate he is claimed that waits for the mortal,\n\t<\/p>\n

Whether the fast-closed hands above have kept for his morrows\n\t<\/p>\n

Chill of the joyless shades or earth and her
\n\twooing of sunlight <\/p>\n

Still shall detain his days with the doubtful meed of our virtues,\n\t<\/p>\n

He and Zeus shall provide, not mortals. Chaff are men’s armies\n\t<\/p>\n

Threshed by the flails of Fate ; ’tis the soul of the hero that conquers.\n\t<\/p>\n

Not on the tramp of the multitudes, not in the cry of the legions\n\t<\/p>\n

Founds the strong man his strength but the god that he carries within him.\n\t<\/p>\n

Zeus and his Fate and his spear are enough for the Pthian Achilles.\n\t<\/p>\n

Prudence of men shall curb no more his god-given impulse.\n\t<\/p>\n

He has no need of thy voice, O Atreus, guiding the legions,
\n\t<\/p>\n<\/p>\n

Page-81<\/p>\n

\n

\n

He is the leader, he is the soul of magnificent emprise.\n\t<\/p>\n

Rest, O ye sons of the Greeks,1<\/sup> the Pthian shall conquer for Hellas !\n\t<\/p>\n

Rest ! expose not your hearts to the war-cry of Penthesilea.\n\t<\/p>\n

Yet if the strength in you thirsts for the war-din, if Ares is hungry,\n\t<\/p>\n

Meet him stark in the mellay surging Deiphobus’ coursers,\n\t<\/p>\n

Guiding Aeneas’ spear ; recover the souls of your fathers.\n\t<\/p>\n

Bronze must his heart be who looks in the eyes of the implacable war-god!\n\t<\/p>\n

But when his Fate has conquered their gods and slaughtered their heroes,\n\t<\/p>\n

And in this marble Ilion bowed2<\/sup> to the tread of her foemen\n\t<\/p>\n

Watched by the ancient domes you stand by the timeless turrets,\n\t<\/p>\n

Then let no chieftain crowned3<\/sup> for offering lift against Troya,\n\t<\/p>\n

Counselled of Ate, torch of the burning, hand of the plunder\n\t<\/p>\n

Groping for gold but finding death in her opulent chambers.\n\t<\/p>\n

For he shall moan in the night regretting the earth and her greenness,\n\t<\/p>\n

Spurred by the spear in his arrogant breast like a steed to the gorges :\n\t<\/p>\n

Fast he shall fleet to the flowerless meadows, the sorrowful pastures.\n\t<\/p>\n

Touch not the city Apollo built, where Poseidon laboured,\n\t<\/p>\n

Slay not the work of the gods and the glory the ages have lived for.\n\t<\/p>\n

Mute of the voice of her children, void of the roll of her war-cars\n\t<\/p>\n

Timeless Troy leave solitary dreaming by ancient Scamander\n\t<\/p>\n

\n\tSacred and still, a city of memory spared by the Grecians."4<\/font><\/p>\n

So Talthybius spoke and anger silenced the Argives.\n\t<\/p>\n

Mute was the warlike assembly, silent Achaia’s princes.\n\t<\/p>\n

Wrath and counsel strove in the hush for the voice of the speakers.\n\t<\/p>\n

\n\t\t1<\/font><\/sup>  Alternative to "O ye sons of the Greeks" : O Greeks in your tents.
\n\t\t<\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t2<\/sup>  forced <\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t3<\/sup>  garbed <\/font><\/p>\n

\n\t\t4<\/sup>  Pthian <\/font><\/p>\n<\/p>\n

Page-82<\/p>\n<\/td>\n<\/tr>\n<\/table>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

Book Five THE BOOK OF ACHILLES MEANWHILE grey from the Trojan gates Talthybius journeyed, Spurred by the secret thought of the Fates who change not…<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[91],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-3658","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-ilion-an-epic-in-quantitative-hexameters","wpcat-91-id"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3658","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=3658"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/3658\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=3658"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=3658"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/worksofthemotherandsriaurobindo.org\/index.php\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=3658"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}