Ἰλιάδος Ω

The assembly broke up, and the people scattered, each to their swift ships,

to go their ways. They turned their thoughts to supper

and to having their fill of sweet sleep; but Achilles

wept, remembering his dear comrade, nor did sleep

the all-subduing take him, but he tossed this way and that,

longing for Patroclus' manhood and noble strength,

and all he had accomplished with him, and all the pains he had suffered,

passing through the wars of men and the grievous waves.

Remembering these things, he let fall a swelling tear,

now lying on his side, and now again

on his back, now face down; then rising upright,

he wandered distraught along the seashore; nor did Dawn

escape his notice as she appeared over sea and shores.

But whenever he had yoked the swift horses beneath his chariot,

he would bind Hector behind the car to be dragged,

and after hauling him three times around the tomb of Menoetius' dead son,

he would rest again in his hut, but leave Hector

stretched face down in the dust; yet Apollo

kept all disfigurement from his flesh, pitying the man

though he was dead, and covered him wholly with the aegis,

golden, so Achilles would not tear his skin as he dragged him.

So in his fury he kept dishonoring godlike Hector;

but the blessed gods looked on and pitied him,

and urged the keen-eyed slayer of Argus to steal him away.

This pleased all the others, but never Hera,

nor Poseidon, nor the bright-eyed maiden;

they held to the hatred they first had borne sacred Ilion,

and Priam and his people, because of Paris' ruinous folly,

who disparaged the goddesses when they came to his sheepfold,

and praised the one who offered him grievous lust.

But when from that time the twelfth dawn had come,

then Phoebus Apollo spoke among the immortals:

"Cruel you are, gods, and doers of harm. Did Hector never

burn for you the thigh-pieces of bulls and unblemished goats?

Yet now you cannot bear to save him, though he is dead,

so that his wife may see him, and his mother and his child,

and his father Priam and his people, who would swiftly

burn him in fire and honor him with funeral gifts.

Instead, gods, you choose to help destructive Achilles,

whose thoughts are neither just, nor is his mind

yielding within his breast; he knows savage ways, like a lion

that yields to its great strength and proud spirit

and falls upon mortal men's flocks to seize a feast.

So Achilles has destroyed his pity, and no shame

comes to him, though shame does men both great harm and good.

A man may well lose someone dearer still,

a brother born from the same womb, or even a son;

yet when he has wept and mourned, he lets him go,

for the Fates gave mankind an enduring heart.

But when Achilles robbed godlike Hector of his life,

he fastens him to his horses, and around his dear comrade's tomb

he drags him; this is surely neither finer nor better for Achilles.

Good though he is, let him beware lest we grow angry with him,

for in his fury he dishonors only unheeding earth."

Then white-armed Hera spoke to him in anger:

"This word of yours might stand, god of the silver bow,

if you will grant equal honor to Achilles and Hector.

Hector was mortal, and suckled at a woman's breast,

but Achilles is the offspring of a goddess, whom I myself

nurtured and cherished and gave to a man as his wife,

to Peleus, who was dear above all to the immortals' hearts.

All you gods came to the wedding; and you among them

feasted with your lyre, companion of wicked men, forever faithless."

Then Zeus the cloud-gatherer answered her and said:

"Hera, do not be utterly angry with the gods.

Their honor will not be one and the same; yet Hector too

was dearest to the gods of all the mortals who live in Ilion,

and so he was to me, for he never failed in gifts that pleased me.

For never did my altar lack the fair-shared feast,

the libation and the savor of fat — for that is the honor we have won.

But we shall not permit him to be stolen; nor is there any way

to take bold Hector secretly from Achilles, for always

his mother stays close beside him, alike by night and day.

But if one of the gods would call Thetis nearer to me,

so I may speak to her a close-woven counsel, that Achilles

may take gifts from Priam and release Hector."

So he spoke, and storm-footed Iris rose to carry the message,

and midway between Samothrace and rugged Imbros

she plunged into the dark sea; the waters groaned around her.

She darted to the depths like a leaden weight

set into the horn of a field-grazing ox,

which goes among ravenous fish, carrying death.

She found Thetis in a hollow cave, and around her the other

goddesses of the sea sat gathered; she in their midst

wept for the doom of her blameless son, who was destined

to die in Troy of the rich soil, far from his homeland.

Standing close by, swift-footed Iris spoke to her:

"Rise, Thetis; Zeus, who knows imperishable counsels, calls you."

Then the goddess, silver-footed Thetis, answered her:

"Why does that mighty god command me? I feel shame

to mingle with the immortals, for I hold boundless grief in my heart.

Yet I will go, and whatever word he speaks shall not be fruitless."

So speaking, the shining one among goddesses took a veil

of dark blue, and no garment was blacker than it.

She set out, and wind-footed swift Iris went before her

and led the way; around them the wave of the sea drew back.

Climbing onto the shore, the two darted up to heaven,

and found the wide-thundering son of Cronos, while all the others

sat gathered around him, the blessed gods who live forever.

Thetis sat beside father Zeus, and Athena yielded her seat.

Hera placed a beautiful golden cup in her hand

and comforted her with words; Thetis drank, then handed back the cup.

Then among them the father of men and gods began to speak:

"You have come to Olympus, goddess Thetis, though you grieve,

with unforgettable sorrow in your heart; I know it myself.

Yet even so I will tell why I called you here.