Robert Fagles and Alexander Pope each bring unique styles and perspectives to their translations of Homer's *Iliad*. Fagles' translation is noted for its straightforward and accessible language, making it appealing to modern readers. His opening lines set a vivid scene of Achilles' wrath, using the term "rage" to immediately convey a sense of intense emotion and foreboding destiny. Throughout his work, Fagles often employs a sense of realism, such as when Athena encourages Diomedes in battle, capturing both the urgency and divine intervention with dramatic flair. He balances this immediacy with moments of poignant reflection, such as the famous passage comparing human lives to leaves, underscoring the transient nature of existence with a clear, visual metaphor. Pope's translation, in contrast, reflects the poetic conventions of his time, employing a more formal and ornate style. His version of Achilles' rage opens with a grand, almost theatrical flourish, using "direful spring" to describe the source of the Greeks' suffering, immediately linking personal conflict with cosmic consequences. Pope's rendition is rich with rhythmic and musical qualities, reflected in passages such as Athena’s encouragement to Diomedes, where he maintains a lyrical quality, emphasizing the divine support given to the warrior. The metaphor of the leaves takes on a stately elegance under Pope's pen, capturing the cyclical nature of life with a solemn grace. Both translations deliver Homer's epic themes and narrative, yet they do so in manners distinctly their own, showcasing Fagles' clarity and directness against Pope's poetic grandeur.
Rage—Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus' son Achilles,
murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses,
hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls,
great fighters' souls, but made their bodies carrion,
feasts for the dogs and birds,
and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end.
Achilles' wrath, to Greece the direful spring
Of woes unnumbered, heavenly goddess, sing!
That wrath which hurled to Pluto's gloomy reign
The souls of mighty chiefs untimely slain;
Whose limbs, unburied on the naked shore,
Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore.
Since great Achilles and Atrides strove,
Such was the sovereign doom, and such the will of Jove!