HOMER
The Iliad is an epic poem by the ancient Greek poet Homer. Set during the fabled Trojan War, the Iliad recounts the battles and events during a quarrel between King Agamemnon, commander of the Achaeans, and the warrior Achilles as they fight to win back Helen from Paris of Troy. Much like other Greek mythology, the Iliad glorifies men and gods in battle and lauds the stoic, courageous warrior who rules the battlefield. According to Greek tradition, Ares is the god of war. Described as a menacing and terrifying figure, Ares rules the battlefield often unjustly—killing whomever he pleases. In this excerpt, Athena—the goddess of wisdom, warfare, and skills—tricks Ares. He flees to complain to Zeus, the father of the gods, but Zeus chides him for being the worst of the gods—an allegory to describe the chaos and injustice in war.
So speaking she laid hand on Sthenelus
And pulled him back and from the driver’s place
Forced to the ground, who sped in haste away.
Then on the car beside the godlike chief
Eager the goddess stept; and loudly groaned
The oaken axle with unwonted weight,
Bearing a goddess dread and peerless man.
The whip and reins Pallas Athene took,
And turned on Ares first the firm-hoofed steeds.
He even now huge Periphas had slain,
The best by far of all Aetolia’s host,
Ochesius’ noble son—him had he slain,
That blood-stained Ares, when Athene came
With helm of Hades dark around her drawn,
To be of mighty Ares all unseen.
But soon as man-destroying Ares saw
The godlike Diomedes, there he left
Huge Periphas to lie where at the first
He slew him and bereft of life: but he
Straight at steed-taming Diomedes rushed.
And when the twain advancing drew anigh,
First Ares o’er the yoke and horses’ reins
Lunged out with brazen lance, in haste to slay:
But with her hand Athene, stern-eyed maid,
Seizing the spear, aside and from the car
Thrust it away to spend an idle speed.
Then second Diomedes good in fray
Attacked with brazen lance: which with strong force
Pallas Athene drove deep in the flank
Below the ribs, where round the loins was girt
The girdle: there the hero with true aim
Wounded the god, and rent his comely skin,
And back drew out the shaft.
Then roared amain the brazen
Ares, loud as thousands nine
May roar, or thousands ten on battle plain
Of men who meet in shock of martial fray.
And fear and trembling was on all, alike
On Trojan and Achaian host, so loud
Roared Ares, that insatiate god of war.
And as the air is dark with thunder clouds,
In sultry heat, when threatening swells the wind;
So brazen Ares to Tydides’ sight
Darkling was seen, as all in clouds enwrapt
To the wide heaven he took his upward way.
And swiftly came he to the gods’ abode,
Olympus steep, and sate him down beside
Zeus Cronides in grief of heart, and showed
The ambrosial blood down flowing from the wound;
While thus in winged words he made his moan:
“O Father Zeus, seems it not shame to thee,
Such foul destruction wrought? The worst alway
We gods have suffered from each other’s spite,
While doing mortals pleasure. And with thee
We all now quarrel: who begatst a maid
Mad, baneful, ever set on wrongful work.
For we the rest who in Olympus dwell
Obey thee, and each god submissive bows:
But her thou checkest nor by word nor deed,
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But loosest free, because she is thy child,
Destroying plague. And Tydeus’ son but now,
Presumptuous Diomedes, she hath loosed
Madly to rage against immortal gods.
Cypris first wounded he upon the wrist,
Smiting her close; then on myself he rushed
Like one divine: but me my swift feet bare
Away: else had I long felt anguish there
Amid foul heaps of slain, or faint in swoon
Lain dead in life beneath his trenchant blows.”
To whom with sternest glance cloud-gathering Zeus:
“Sit not by me, thou shifting weather-vane,
With whining plaint! Hateful to me art thou
Above all gods who in Olympus dwell.
For alway strife thou lov’st and wars and fights.
Thy mother’s mood is thine, that brooks no check,
Nor yields—thy mother Herd’s mood; whom I
Scarce by my words can tame. Wherefore I deem
‘Tis by her prompting that thou suffer’st now.
Yet will I not endure that longer thus
Thou be in pain; for thou art son of mine,
To me thy mother bare thee: surely else—
Destroyer as thou art—hadst thou been born
Of other god, thou hadst long since been hurled
Below the rebel sons of Uranus.”