The Iliad: Book 8

He harangued the immortals hanging on his words:
"Hear me, all you gods and all goddesses too,
as I proclaim what the heart inside me urges..."

But whenever I'd set my mind to drag you up,
in deadly earnest, I'd hoist you all with ease,
you and the earth, you and the sea, all together

It reared in agony, arrow piercing its brain and flung
the team in panic, writhing round the brazen point
as the old horseman hewed the trace-horse clear,
hacked away the straps—sudden strokes of his sword.

...the lord of the war cry gave a harrowing shout,
trying to rouse Odysseus

Nestor grasped the glistening reins in both fists,
lashed the team and they charged straight at Hector
charging straight at them as Tydides hurled a spear
and missed his man but he picked the driver off,
Eniopeus son of proud Thebaeus gripping the reins—
he slashed him beside the nipple, stabbed his chest
and off the car he pitched, his horses balking, rearing.

And with that he swung their racers round, mid-flight,
back again to the rout—Trojans and Hector after them,
shouting their savage cries and pelting both men now
with spears and painful arrows.

Fools, erecting their rampart! Flimsy and futile,
not worth a second thought.

They'll never hold me back in my onslaught now,
with a bound my team will leap that trench they dug.

I'll burn their ships. I'll slaughter all their men,
Argive heroes panicked in smoke along their hulls!

If only we,
we gods who defend the Argives had the will to hurl
the Trojans back and hold off thundering Zeus—
there he would sit and smolder,
throned in desolate splendor up on Ida.

Shame! Disgrace! You Argives, you degraded—
splendid in battle dress, pure sham!
Where have the fighting taunts all gone?

Hector far in the lead, bristling in all his force
like a hound that harries a wild boar or lion—
hot pursuit, snapping quick at his heels,
hindquarters and flanks but still on alert
for him to wheel and fight—so Hector harried
the long-haired Argives, killing the last stragglers,
man after lagging man and they, they fled in panic.

But Zeus hates me now. He fulfills the plans of Thetis
who cupped his chin in her hand and kissed his knees,
begging Zeus to exalt Achilles scourge of cities.

I'll maim their racers for them,
right beneath their yokes, and those two goddesses,
I'll hurl them from their chariot, smash their car

But with Hera, though,
I am not so outraged, so irate—it's always her way
to thwart my will, whatever I command.

The Seasons loosed the purebred sleek-maned team,
tethered them to their stalls, piled on ambrosia
and leaned the chariot up against the polished walls
that shimmered in the sun.

The Seasons loosed the purebred sleek-maned team,
tethered them to their stalls, piled on ambrosia
and leaned the chariot up against the polished walls
that shimmered in the sun.

Quick at Zeus's side
the famous lord of earthquakes freed the team,
canted the battle-chariot firmly on its base
and wrapped it well with a heavy canvas shroud.

This powerful Hector will never quit the fighting,
not till swift Achilles rises beside the ships
that day they battle against the high sterns,
pinned in the fatal straits
and grappling for the body of Patroclus.

Now let heralds
dear to Zeus cry out through the streets of Troy
that boys in their prime and old gray-headed men
must take up posts on the towers built by the gods,
in bivouac round the city.