Agamemnon (632-740)

None knows to give clear report of this—except only the Sun that fosters life upon the earth.

How then do you say

rose the storm by the wrath of the gods upon the naval host and passed away?

An auspicious day one should not mar with a tale of misfortune—the honor due to the gods keeps them apart.[*]When a messenger with gloomy countenance reports to a people dire disaster of its army’s rout—

one common wound inflicted on the State, while from many a home many a victim is devoted to death by the two-handled whip beloved of Ares, destruction double-armed, a gory pair—when, I say, he is packed with woes like this,

he should sing the triumph-song of the Avenging Spirits. But when one comes with glad news of deliverance to a city rejoicing in its happiness—how shall I mix fair with foul in telling of the storm, not unprovoked by the gods’ wrath, that broke upon the Achaeans?

For fire and sea, beforehand bitterest of foes, swore alliance and as proof destroyed the unhappy Argive army. In the night-time arose the mischief from the cruel swells. Beneath blasts from Thrace ship dashed against ship;

and they, gored violently by the furious hurricane and rush of pelting rain, were swept out of sight by the whirling gust of an evil shepherd.[*]But when the radiant light of the sun rose we beheld the Aegean flowering with corpses

of Achaean men and wreckage of ships. Ourselves, however, and our ship, its hull unshattered, some power, divine not human, preserved by stealth or intercession, laying hand upon its helm; and Savior Fortune chose to sit aboard our craft

so that it should neither take in the swelling surf at anchorage nor drive upon a rock-bound coast. Then, having escaped death upon the deep, in the clear bright day, scarce crediting our fortune, we brooded in anxious thought over our late mischance,

our fleet distressed and sorely buffeted. So now, if any of them still draw the breath of life, they speak of us as lost—and why should they not? We think the same of them. But may all turn out for the best! For Menelaus, indeed;

first and foremost expect him to return. At least if some beam of the sun finds him alive and well, by the design of Zeus, who has not yet decided utterly to destroy the race, there is some hope that he will come home again.

Hearing so much, be assured that you hear the truth. Exit

Who can have given a name so altogether true—was it some power invisible guiding his tongue aright by forecasting of destiny?—

who named that bride of the spear and source of strife with the name of Helen? For, true to her name, a Hell she proved to ships, Hell to men, Hell to city,

when stepping forth from her delicate and costly-curtained bower, she sailed the sea before the breath of earth-born Zephyrus. And after her a goodly host of warrior

huntsmen followed on the oars’ vanished track in pursuit of a quarry that had beached its boat on Simois’ leafy banks—in a strife to end in blood.

To Ilium, its purpose fulfilling,

Wrath brought a marriage rightly named a mourning,[*]exacting in later time requital for the dishonor done to hospitality and to Zeus, the partaker of the hearth,

upon those who with loud voice celebrated the song in honor of the bride, even the bridegroom’s kin to whom it fell that day to raise the marriage-hymn.

But Priam’s city has learned, in her old age, an altered strain, and now, I trust, wails a loud song, full of lamentation, calling Paris evil-wed; for she has born the burden of a life in which everything was destroyed, a life full of lamentation because of

the wretched slaughter of her sons

Even so a man reared in his house a lion’s whelp, robbed of its mother’s milk yet still desiring the breast. Gentle it was

in the prelude of its life, kindly to children, and a delight to the old. Much did it get, held in arms like a nursling child, with its

bright eye turned toward his hand, and fawning under compulsion of its belly’s need.

But brought to full growth by time it showed the nature it had from its parents. Unbidden, as payment for its fostering,

it prepared a feast with ruinous slaughter of the flocks; so that the house was defiled with blood, and whose who lived there could not control their anguish, and great was the carnage far and wide.

A priest of ruin, by order of a god, it was reared in the house.

At first, I would say, there came to Ilium the spirit of unruffled calm,

a delicate ornament of wealth, a darter of soft glances from the eye, love’s flower that stings the heart. Then, swerving from her course, she brought