The
Iliad of Homer
translated by Alexander Pope
London 1715-1720
[Sample
from the Opening of the Poem]
THE Wrath
of Peleus' Son, the
direful Spring
Of all the Grecian Woes,
O Goddess, sing!
That Wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's
gloomy Reign
The Souls of mighty Chiefs untimely slain;
Whose Limbs unbury'd on the naked Shore
Devouring Dogs and hungry Vultures tore.
Since Great Achilles and Atrides strove,
Such was the Sov'reign Doom, and such the Will of Jove.
Declare,
O Muse! in what ill-fated Hour
Sprung the fierce Strife, from what offended Pow'r?
Latona's Son a dire Contagion spread,
And heap'd the Camp with Mountains of the Dead;
The King of Men his Rev'rend Priest defy'd,
And, for the King's Offence, the People dy'd.
For Chryses sought
with costly Gifts to gain
His Captive Daughter from the Victor's Chain.
Suppliant the Venerable Father stands,
Apollo's awful Ensigns grace his Hands:
By these he begs; and lowly bending down,
Extends the Sceptre and the Laurel Crown.
He su'd to All, but chief implor'd for Grace
The Brother-Kings, of Atreus'
Royal Race.
Ye
Kings and Warriors! may your Vows be crown'd,
And Troy's proud Walls
lie level with the Ground.
May Jove restore
you, when your Toils are o'er,
Safe to the Pleasures of your native Shore.
But oh! relieve a wretched Parent's Pain,
And give Chruseďs to
these Arms again;
If Mercy fail, yet let my Presents move,
And dread avenging Phoebus,
Son of Jove.
The Greeks in
Shouts their joint Assent declare
The Priest to rev'rence, and release the Fair.
Not so Atrides: He,
with Kingly Pride,
Repuls'd the sacred Sire, and thus reply'd.
Hence on thy Life, and fly these hostile Plains,
Nor ask, Presumptuous, what the King detains;
Hence, with thy Laurel Crown, and Golden Rod,
Nor trust too far those Ensigns of thy God.
Mine is thy Daughter, Priest, and shall remain;
And Pray'rs, and Tears, and Bribes shall plead in vain;
'Till Time shall rifle ev'ry youthful Grace,
And Age dismiss her from my cold Embrace,
In daily Labours of the Loom employ'd,
Or doom'd to deck the Bed she once enjoy'd.
Hence then: to Argos shall
the Maid retire;
Far from her native Soil, and weeping Sire.
The
trembling Priest along the Shore return'd,
And in the Anguish of a Father mourn'd.
Disconsolate, nor daring to complain,
Silent he wander'd by the sounding Main:
'Till, safe at distance, to his God he prays,
The God who darts around the World his Rays.
O Smintheus!
sprung from fair Latona's
Line,
Thou Guardian Pow'r of Cilla the
Divine,
Thou Source of Light! whom Tenedos adores,
And whose bright Presence gilds thy Chrysa's
Shores.
If e'er with Wreaths I hung thy sacred Fane,
Or fed the Flames with Fat of Oxen slain;
God of the Silver Bow! thy Shafts employ,
Avenge thy Servant, and the Greeks destroy.
Thus Chryses pray'd:
the fav'ring Pow'r attends,
And from Olympus' lofty
Tops descends.
Bent was his Bow, the Grecian Hearts
to wound;
Fierce as he mov'd, his Silver Shafts resound.
Breathing Revenge, a sudden Night he spread,
And gloomy Darkness roll'd around his Head.
The Fleet in View, he twang'd his deadly Bow,
And hissing fly the feather'd Fates below.
On Mules and Dogs th'Infection first began,
And last, the vengeful Arrows fix'd in Man.
For nine long Nights, thro' all the dusky Air
The Fires thick-flaming shot a dismal Glare.
Review
Comment
Pope is the only major English poetical genius to tackle a full translation of Homer’s epic, and the result is, without any doubt, the most famous, popular, and financially successful rendition of Homer into English. Pope’s translation, in fact, became a major English poem in his own age and was, more than anything else, responsible for spreading the popularity of and familiarity with Homer’s verse. If one of the major tasks of a translator is to make the ancient poem live for his contemporaries in a very different age, then Pope clearly achieved this more successfully than any other translator of Homer. This feat is all the more remarkable because the eighteenth century was an age which, in many respects, had little taste for the
vision of warrior life in the Iliad (disparaging remarks about the poem were common). It is, of course, easy to criticize Pope’s liberties with Homer’s text (which are considerable)—the most famous comment is the gibe attributed to the great Classical scholar Richard Bentley, “It is a very pretty poem, Mr. Pope, but you must not call it Homer”—to question just how suitable the heroic couplet style is for rendering Homeric hexameters, and to raise other objections about the style. On the other hand, given the influence and continuing popularity of the poem, it is difficult to disagree with Dr. Johnson’s evaluation: “It is certainly the noblest version of poetry which the world has ever seen; and its publication must therefore be considered as one of the great events in the annals of learning” (Life of Pope).To
access the full translation, please use the following link Pope’s Iliad.
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