Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ILIAD: BOOK 24. THE LAMENTATIONS, by HOMER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE ILIAD: BOOK 24. THE LAMENTATIONS, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Of their lament white-armed andromache
Last Line: A cry.
Subject(s): Mythology - Classical; Trojan War


OF their lament white-armed Andromache
Was leader, holding in her hands the while
The head of slaughterous Hector: 'O my man,
Thou art gone young from life, and leavest me
A widow in thy house! Thy son is yet
Only a babe, whom we two luckless ones
Begot; nor can I hope for him to come
To manhood, for ere that this city must
Be wasted root and branch. For thou art gone,
Who didst watch over it and keep it safe
And guard its noble wives and little ones.
And they will doubtless soon go riding on
The hollow ships, and I along with them;
And thither thou, my child, wilt follow me,
Where thou wilt labour at unseemly tasks,
Toiling before a brutal master's eyes;
Or else some Greek will seize thee by the arm
And hurl thee from the wall, a ghastly death,
Some rancorous man whose brother Hector killed
Or else his son or father, since full many
Achaeans bit vast earth at Hector's hands;
For in distressful war thy father's touch
Was not caressing: therefore through the city
The people mourn him. Hector, grief untold
And desolation hast thou brought thy parents;
But the extremity of sorrow will
Be left to me, for in thy death thou didst not
Stretch out thy hands towards me from thy bed,
Nor speak to me one pregnant word, whereon
I might have wept and pondered night and day.'
And so she mourned; the women joined her wail.
Then Hecuba took up the throbbing dirge:
'Hector, of all my sons the best beloved,
Thou in thy life wert dear unto the gods,
And even in the doom of death they have
Shown care for thee. For other sons of mine
Swift-foot Achilles, when he took them, sold
Across the sterile sea to Samos' isle,
Imbros, or Lemnos hid in steam. But when
He took thy life with the long-bladed bronze,
He dragged thee many a time around the barrow
Of his own friend Patroclus, whom thou slewest;
Yet for all that he could not raise him up.
And now I see thee lying here at home
All dewy fresh, new-slain, like some one whom
Apollo of the silver bow hath reached
With painless darts and killed.'
And so she mourned and stirred the hopeless wail
Once more. But third to lead the dirge for them
Was Helen: 'Hector, whom I loved the best
Of all my husband's brothers; being the wife
Of godlike Alexander, him, who brought me
To Troy -- and would that I had died ere that!
For this is now the twentieth year since I
Came thence and left my native land behind;
Yet never have I heard from thee one word
Of harshness or discourtesy; nay, more,
If any one else attacked me in the palace,
Brother of thine or brother's well-dressed wife,
Or else thy sister or thy mother (but
Thy father is as kindly with me always
As if he were mine own), then thou wouldst speak
Appeasing words to them, and check them with
Thy gentle-mindedness and gentle words.
Therefore with broken heart I weep for thee
And for my wretched self; for in wide Troia
No longer have I one to be a friend
Or kind to me, but all men shudder at me.'
She wept, and from the infinite people broke
A cry.





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