I finished book 7. An account of Trojans cremating their fallen comrades, followed by a loose translation.
Ἠέλιος μὲν ἔπειτα νέον προσέβαλλεν ἀρούρας
ἐξ ἀκαλαρρείταο βαθυρρόου Ὠκεανοῖο
οὐρανὸν εἰσανιών: οἳ δ᾽ ἤντεον ἀλλήλοισιν.
ἔνθα διαγνῶναι χαλεπῶς ἦν ἄνδρα ἕκαστον:
ἀλλ᾽ ὕδατι νίζοντες ἄπο βρότον αἱματόεντα
δάκρυα θερμὰ χέοντες ἀμαξάων ἐπάειραν.
οὐδ᾽ εἴα κλαίειν Πρίαμος μέγας: οἳ δὲ σιωπῇ
νεκροὺς πυρκαϊῆς ἐπινήνεον ἀχνύμενοι κῆρ,
ἐν δὲ πυρὶ πρήσαντες ἔβαν προτὶ Ἴλιον ἱρήν.
The newly arisen sun struck its rays upon the farmlands as it rose from the deep, soft-flowing ocean toward the sky. The Trojans came together, and struggled to identify each dead man. Hot tears falling from their faces, they washed the blood from the dead and loaded the bodies onto wagons. King Priam forbade them from openly weeping: in silence they heaped the bodies onto the funeral pyre and in silence they grieved in their hearts. After burning the bodies in the fire, they returned to Troy.
I find the language simple, noble, and entirely persuasive. Already I think the Iliad is the most compelling piece of literature I've encountered. I certainly prefer it by a considerable margin to the Aeneid, which, for all its impressive craftsmanship, I found to be a heavy-handed piece of state propaganda. I intentionally withheld myself from reading the Iliad in translation for many years, hoping one day to read it in the original. I'm glad I waited.
Book7: 
