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How
do Homeric Greeks consider nature?
Iliad,
III, ll 10-41
[Fagles, pp.128-129]
When
the South Wind showers mist on the mountaintops,
no friend to shepherds, better than night to thieves—
you can see no further than you can fling a stone—
so dust came clouding, swirling up from the feet of armies
marching at top speed, trampling through the plain.
Now
closer, closing, front to front in the onset
till Paris sprang from the Trojan forward ranks,
a challenger, lithe, magnificent as a god,
the skin of a leopard slung across his shoulders,
a reflex bow at his back and battle-sword at hip
and brandishing two sharp spears tipped in bronze
he strode forth, challenging all the Argive best
to fight him face-to-face in mortal combat.
Soon
as the warrior Menelaus marked him,
Paris parading there with his big loping strides,
flaunting before the troops, Atrides thrilled
like a lion lighting on some handsome carcass,
lucky to find an antlered stag or wild goat
just as hunger strikes—he rips it, bolts it down,
even with running dogs and lusty hunters rushing him.
So Menelaus thrilled at heart—princely Paris there,
right before his eyes. The outlaw, the adulterer . . .
“Now for revenge!” he thought, and down he leapt
from his chariot fully armed and hit the ground.
But
soon as magnificent Paris marked Atrides
shining among the champions, Paris’ spirit shook.
Backing into his friendly ranks, he cringed from death
as one who trips on a snake in a hilltop hollow
recoils, suddenly, trembling grips his knees
and pallor takes his cheeks and back he shrinks.
so he dissolved again in the proud Trojan lines,
dreading Atrides—magnificent, brave Paris.
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