Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ILIAD: BOOK 21. ACHILLES AND LYCAON, by HOMER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE ILIAD: BOOK 21. ACHILLES AND LYCAON, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: So did the son of priam, the princely, speak his word
Last Line: When you fought by the light-sped ships and I turned not to fight again.
Subject(s): Mythology - Classical; Trojan War


SO did the son of Priam, the princely, speak his word,
And begged and besought his life, but a pitiless voice he heard:
'Fool, speak to me not of ransom nor waste in words your breath;
Of old, before Patroclus came to his day of death,
Then to spare the Trojans it delighted the heart in me,
And many alive I captured and sold into slavery.
But now there is no man living who shall escape from death
If before Troy to my hands a god him delivereth,
Even of all the Trojans, and most among Priam's breed.
Come, my friend, you must die. What tears can help your need?
Patroclus also is dead, a better man far than you.
See what a man am I, strong of body and fair to view;
A kingly father begat me, I was born from a goddess' womb,
But over me too stand death and overmastering doom.
A dawn there shall be, or an evening, or maybe a midday,
When a man shall delight the War God and take my life away,
Smiting me down with his spear or shooting a shaft from his bow.'
He spoke, and Lycaon's knees were shaken, his heart sank low;
He dropped his sword on the ground, and with both his hands he made
Entreaty, but then Achilles drew out his sharp sword-blade
And smote his neck by the collar. The two-edged falchion found
Its way straight through, and head-first he fell and lay on the ground
Outstretched, and the earth was soaked with the streaming of his black blood.
By his feet then Achilles dragged him to cast him into the flood,
And winged were the words he uttered, and over him spoke a pray'r:
'Lie there now among the fishes, and they with never a care
Shall lick up the blood from your wounds, nor shall your mother set
Your corpse on a bier and lament for you; Scamander shall fret
Your bones and carry you whirling to hidden depths of the sea.
From under the black ripples along the wave maybe
A fish shall dart up and leap and your gleaming flesh shall eat.
So perish you all, until by holy Troy we meet;
Then shall you flee before and I shall lay waste behind,
Nor shall you in your river any salvation find,
With its fine-flowing silver eddies, to which you have offering made
Of numberless bulls, and hooved horses alive have paid.
Even so shall ye perish foully, till not a man remain
To pay for Patroclus' death and for Greeks in battle slain,
When you fought by the light-sped ships and I turned not to fight again.





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