Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE ILIAD: BOOK 9. ACHILLES' REPLY TO THE EMBASSY, by HOMER


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THE ILIAD: BOOK 9. ACHILLES' REPLY TO THE EMBASSY, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: Then swift achilles answered him, saying
Last Line: Whose men are high of heart.'
Subject(s): Mythology - Classical; Trojan War


THEN swift Achilles answer'd him, saying,
'Laertes' son, Odysseus, god-begot
And man of wiles, now I must speak plain truth
Of what I think and what must come to pass,
That you sit not beside and wheedle me
For this or that thing. Nay, I hate the man
Who thinking one thing, says another thing --
Even as the jaws of Death I hate him. Then
I will say this, which seems the best to me:
I am not to be won by Agamemnon,
That son of Atreus, nor by the other Greeks,
Seeing I had no thanks for battle done
Everlastingly on the foe. As good
The share of him that stays as his that fights,
And there is honour for the craven as well
As for the man of valour, while in death
Both share, the laggard and the man of deeds.
As for me, I gained nothing by my pains
Of heart, nor endless risking of my life
In battle. Like a hen-bird who brings home
To the fledglings of the nest what scraps she wins
And evil fares herself, so many a night
I watcht out sleepless, many a day of blood
Wore thro', striving with men for womenfolk.
Twelve cities of men I wasted with my ships,
Eleven on hard ground, as I make it, thro'
This goodly land of Troy; and from all these
Treasures I took, many and excellent,
And brought them in to Agamemnon and gave
To him, who, sitting back there by the ships,
Took them, and shared a little, and kept much.
Some deal he gave to chiefs and kings, to be
An honourable share, and those they keep
Untoucht. From me alone of all the Greeks
He took away, and has, my lovely dear --
Now let him keep her and get joy of her.
Why are the Argives making war on Troy?
Why called the son of Atreus on the Greeks
And led them hither? Was it not because
Of fair-tress'd Helen? Are the sons of Atreus
Alone of mortal men to have their wives?
Every good man sound-hearted loves his wife
And takes thought for her; and with all my heart
I loved mine, tho' a prize my spear had won.
But now he has her, now he has snatcht my prize
And cheated me. Let him not try again,
For now I know him well. He tempts me not. . . .
Nor will I deal with him in schemes or deeds
Who has cheated me and done me hurt. No more!
Never again with words to cozen me!
More than enough of him. Now let him go
Harmless, for Zeus hath robb'd him of his wits;
As for myself, I hate his gifts, and him
Reckon not at a hair's worth. Let him give
Ten times or twenty times what now he has,
Or what he may have; let him give the worth
Of Orchomenos, or Thebes of Egypt where
The treasuries are fullest -- Thebes which has
A hundred gates, through each of which proceed
Two hundred men with chariots: nay, pile up
His gifts like sand or dust, not even so
Shall Agamemnon win me till he have paid
The shameful debt he owes me. As for his daughter,
I'll never wed her, nor would I, might she cope
With Aphrodite's beauty, or could vie
In craft-work with Athene the Grey-eyed.
No, let him choose some other Greek, his peer,
A kinglier man than I; and if the Gods
Suffer me win safe home, Peleus himself
Will find me a wife; for many lords' daughters
Hellas and Phthia hold, daughters of men
Who guard their cities. One of them shall be
My lady, as I choose her. Many a time
My soul urged me to wed a wife out there,
A mate with whom to pleasure in the gear
Old Peleus has in house; but of what worth
Are all such things beside one's life? What worth
The store which Troy, they say, the peopled burgh,
Possest in days of peace, before the Greeks
Came hither, or the treasure fenced within
The stony threshold of Apollo's shrine
In rockbound Pytho? Flocks and cattle enough
There are for plunder, and a man can buy
Tripods and golden herds of mares -- but life!
To fetch that back no reiving, nor no pence
Will serve, once it has slipt between your teeth.
Now thus the silver-footed Thetis saith,
My divine mother: two fates show me death;
For if I stay a-warring here by Troy
My homefare is cut off, tho' my fame lives
Imperishable; but if I go back
To my own land, then is my fame cut off
Albeit my days be long and death not swift
To fall. As for the rest of you, my rede
To you would be, Up sails and home again,
Since you shall never win sheer Ilios,
Whereover broad-brow'd Zeus has stretcht his hand,
Whose men are high of heart.'





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