POEM BY TORSTEN SCHWANKE
CANTO I
I will proclaim to all the lands the name
Of him who saw the deep, and won his fame.
He learned all secrets, knew all things that were,
And total wisdom did great Anu confer.
He saw the hidden, brought the ancient lore
Of days before the Flood had swept the shore.
On weary paths he traveled far and wide,
Till peace at last rewarded every stride.
He carved on stone his labors and his pain,
And built high Uruk and its sacred fane.
Look on the walls, like polished copper bright,
Examine every course and towering height!
Touch the old threshold stone from days of old,
Where Ishtar dwelt in majesty untold.
Walk Uruk’s wall, survey its broad domain,
The fired brickwork and the fertile plain;
Seven Sages laid the foundation's grace,
And bound three leagues within its grand embrace.
Unlock the copper box, slip back the ring,
Unseal the hidden tablet of the king;
Read from the lapis lazuli the strain
Of all the hardships Gilgamesh did sustain.
A king supreme, in beauty and in might,
A goring bull who leads his men to fight;
The mighty net that guards his folk from harm,
A raging wave that breaks the stone by charm.
From Lugalbanda born, and Ninsun’s grace,
He excels all who run the mortal race.
He opened mountain passes, dug the well,
And crossed vast seas where eastern shadows fell.
He sought out life across the world’s domain,
And reached far Utanapishtim through his pain,
Restoring fanes the deluge swept away,
To give mankind new hope and brighter day.
Who can compare with him in regal state,
Or claim such majesty and power great?
Two-thirds divine, one-third of human birth,
Aruru shaped the grandest form on earth.
Yet in Uruk he walks with head held high,
An unchecked bull beneath the open sky.
No rival dares to lift against him steel,
While all his subjects bitter sorrow feel;
He leaves no son unto his father’s hand,
And night and day his tyranny spans the land.
The people cried, and heaven heard their groan,
Imploring Anu on his starry throne:
"You made this bull who leaves no bride or heir,
Whose heavy hand brings anguish and despair;
Is this the shepherd who should guard the weak,
The wise, the bold, of whom the people speak?"
Then Anu heard, and called Aruru forth:
"Create a match to tame his raging wrath!
Let one arise to match his stormy heart,
That Uruk’s weary strife may now depart."
Aruru washed her hands and took the clay,
And threw it in the wild, far away.
There valiant Enkidu she brought to birth,
A wild creature untouched by human worth.
With matted hair that floated long and free,
Like wild grain swaying over field and lea,
He grazed with soft gazelles upon the plain,
And drank with beasts beneath the open rain.
A hunter saw him by the water’s side,
Three days in fear the trembling trapper spied.
With frozen heart and countenance drained pale,
He sought his father, telling him his tale:
"Father, a giant walks the mountain crest,
Strong as a fallen star from Anu's breast!
He breaks my traps, fills in the pits I line,
And frees the beasts I hunted to design."
His father said: "In Uruk dwells a king,
Whose matchless strength exceeds all living thing.
Go ask for Shamhat, bring the harlot near;
When at the pool the wild beasts appear,
Let her strip off her robe and yield her grace,
And he will draw into her warm embrace.
Then will the beasts he ran with flee his side,
And in his wild heart strange new thoughts abide."
The trapper went to Uruk, bold and fleet,
And laid the story at the sovereign's feet.
Then Gilgamesh replied: "Go, take the maid,
And let her charm be on the wild man laid.
When at the pool he sees her beauty bare,
He will draw near to taste the pleasure there;
And when he yields unto her soft caress,
The wild beasts will reject his wilderness."
The trapper left, and with him Shamhat went;
To reach the chosen place their steps were bent.
Three days they traveled on the direct way,
And sat beside the pool till break of day.
For two whole days they watched the water's edge,
As wild beasts came to drink along the sedge.
Then Enkidu descended from the height,
To slake his thirst beneath the morning light.
The harlot saw the wild and primitive man;
The hunter urged her as her task began:
"Lo, there he stands! Unclench your arms, my maid,
Reveal your charms, and do not be afraid!
Spread out your robe and let him take his fill;
Perform the task of womankind with skill.
When he has tasted of your sweet delight,
His wilderness will fade before his sight,
And all the beasts that roamed with him before
Will turn away and know his face no more."
Then Shamhat yielded to the hunter's word,
And in her wild embrace his passion stirred.
For six full days and seven nights he stayed,
Enraptured by the beauty of the maid.
When sated at the last, he turned to run
To rejoin the wild herds beneath the sun;
The swift gazelles beheld him and fled fast,
And all the beasts drew back from him at last.
His body was depleted, knees grew weak,
No longer fleet of foot across the peak.
Yet in his heart a deeper wisdom grew;
He sat beside her feet, her gaze he knew.
She spoke to him: "How beautiful you stand!
You seem a god born in this lonely land.
Why range the wilderness with beasts of prey?
Come, let me lead you on a brighter way,
To Uruk-Haven, where the temples rise,
Where Gilgamesh, the powerful and wise,
Rules like a bull and struts his royal power,
Unmatched in strength within his city tower."
His heart approved her words, and now he sought
A faithful friend to share his every thought.
He answered: "Lead me, Shamhat, to that place,
Where I may meet this monarch face to face!
I shall challenge him, and loudly shout
That I am mightiest, beyond a doubt!
Born in the wild, I come with strength untold,
To change the ancient order of the old."
She said: "Come, let us go, and you shall see
Great Uruk clad in fine embroidery!
Where every day is like a festive night,
Where drums and lyres resound for man's delight,
And lovely maidens, laughing in the street,
Exude sweet charms where joy and pleasure meet.
Forget your wild resolve, for you must know
That Gilgamesh is favored here below.
By Anu and by Enlil he is blessed,
And even now, his dreams have him possessed."
For Gilgamesh had spoken to his dame,
Wise Ninsun, telling dreams before she came:
"O Mother, stars fell from the sky last night,
Anu’s great meteor before my sight!
I could not lift or budge it from the ground,
Though all of Uruk gathered all around;
The people kissed its feet, and it became
Loved like a wife, till you declared its fame,
And set it in competition next to me."
Wise Ninsun answered to his prophecy:
"The star that fell, the stone you could not move,
Which like a wife you cherished with your love,
Foretells a mighty comrade who shall rise—
The strongest in the land, both fierce and wise.
He will protect you, save you from all harm,
And stand beside you with a powerful arm."
Then Gilgamesh declared a second dream:
"An axe lay at my gate with bronze-like gleam;
The populace of Uruk gathered there,
And I embraced it as a lady fair,
And laid it at your feet to test my force."
His mother answered of the vision's course:
"The axe you saw portends a loyal man,
The strongest hero in the earthly span,
Mighty as Anu's star, a brother true."
And Gilgamesh replied: "May it come true!
May Great Enlil grant me this trusted guide,
A loyal counselor to grace my side!"
Thus Shamhat told the dreams to Enkidu,
And in the wild, their passion bloomed anew.
CANTO II
Before Enkidu the priestess takes her place;
He heeds her guidance, following her grace.
For royal Shamhat strips her robes away,
And wraps him warm in half of her array;
The other half she winds around her frame,
Then leads him forth, as gods might do the same,
To where the shepherds in their encampment dwell.
The herdsmen gather, marveling to tell:
“How like to Gilgamesh this youth appears—
Tall as the wall that royal Uruk rears!
Bred in the hills, his mighty sinews show
The force of Anu’s fallen star below.”
They set out bread and beer upon the board,
Unseen by one who ranged the wild untamed,
Who knew no food that human arts afford,
Nor drank the brew that cultured cities claimed.
Then spoke the maiden: “Eat the bread, and live;
Drink of the cup the customs offer give.”
He ate his fill, seven brimming pitchers drained;
His spirit rose, no longer wild or chained.
With water then he washed his shaggy hide,
Anointed deep with oil, and stepped inside
The ranks of men, in warrior’s garments dressed.
He took his blade to keep the flocks at rest,
Drove off the wolves, made fearful lions flee,
That herdsmen slept in full security—
A watchful youth, twice tall as common men.
He raised his eyes and saw a stranger then.
“Make him depart,” to Shamhat Enkidu cried,
“Why comes he here? His name shall be decried!”
The maiden ran to halt the traveler's pace:
“Young man, where hasten you with hurried face?”
He answered straight: “To wedding feasts I go,
As custom bids the common people know.
High platters bear sweet dainties for the rite,
Where Uruk's king claims paramount delight.
For Gilgamesh the veiled bride is set;
Before the groom, the royal lust is met.
By Anu’s doom, from birth this heavy fate
Appoints the king to tread the nuptial gate.”
At this dark tale, wild anger flushed his cheek.
He walked ahead; she followed, mild and meek.
He reached the streets of Uruk, strong and grand,
And blocked the way before the gathered land.
The people thronged, the crowd surrounding pressed,
And kissed his feet like some sweet babe caressed.
A handsome youth drew near; the couch was spread
Where royal Gilgamesh would claim the bed.
But Enkidu stood firm before the door,
And barred the king from stepping on the floor.
They locked in strife before the marital room,
Their heavy footfalls shaking wall and doom;
The doorposts trembled as they strained and bled,
Till Gilgamesh sank down, his anger fled.
With knee to earth, he turned his chest away,
And Enkidu spoke out to yield the day:
“Unique your mother bore you to the earth—
The Wild Cow Ninsun gave you noble birth!
Exalted high above all human grace,
Enlil has crowned you king of all your race.”
They kissed, reconciled, their strife no more,
Bound in a friendship stronger than before.
Great Ninsun sought the sun-god’s sacred gate,
And wept aloud to mourn the wild man’s fate:
“No father nurtured him, no mother’s care;
Unshorn upon the hills he wore his hair.”
And Enkidu stood by, and heard her speak;
Tears filled his eyes, his mighty arms grew weak.
They joined their hands, pledged fast in brotherhood,
When Enkidu revealed where danger stood:
“To guard the forest, Enlil set a dread—
Humbaba’s mouth spews fire, his roar brings dread!
His breath is death; a hundred leagues away
He hears the rustling leaf by night or day.
Whoever treads that grove shall feel the stroke
Of swift paralysis beneath his oak.”
Then Gilgamesh replied: “What man can rise
To dwell forever in the starry skies?
The gods alone with Shamash ever stay;
Man’s numbered years are wind that blows away.
Why fear you death? Where went your ancient might?
Walk you before me; call me to the fight!
If I should fall, eternal fame I gain—
‘He fought Humbaba on the cedar plain!’
Come, to the forge we go, that smiths may mold
Great swords and axes for our hands to hold.”
Together to the artisan they came,
Who cast heavy blades of legendary name.
Then Gilgamesh addressed the crowd once more:
“O men of Uruk, hear the path before!
A distant, untrod road I now decree,
To face a combat never known to me.
Give me your blessing; when the deed is done,
I shall return to praise the New Year’s sun.”
The elders rose, and bade the king refrain:
“You are too young; wild passions guide your brain!
Humbaba’s roar is like the ocean flood,
His breath is death, his fury thirsts for blood.
Even the Igigi gods would shrink to stand
Against the terror of that forest land!”
Yet Gilgamesh paid heed to no dismay,
Resolved to march upon the perilous way.
CANTO III
The Elders spoke, and cautioned Gilgamesh:
“Rely not solely on thy strength, O prince!
Keep sharp thy sight, and let each blow strike true;
He saves his comrade who goes first in view.
Who knows the way shall keep his brother sound:
Let Enkidu go first upon this ground.
He knows the pathway to the Cedar Wood,
Has seen fierce battle and in conflict stood.
The friend he shall protect, the comrade save,
And bring thee safely to thy wives, O brave!
To thee, O Enkidu, we give our King;
Back to our council him in safety bring!”
Then Gilgamesh to Enkidu did say:
“Come, friend, to Egalmah we take our way,
Where Ninsun reigns, all-wise and full of grace;
She sets the proper path before our face.”
Hand held in hand, they walked the palace floor,
And came before Great Ninsun at her door.
Thus Gilgamesh addressed her, bold and high:
“O Ninsun, though in strength none match as I,
A distant journey now my feet must tread,
To Humbaba, where unknown strife I dread.
I walk a path I never knew before;
Till I return and cross this land once more,
Till Cedar Forests hear the monster’s groan,
And I erase the plague that Shamash hates,
Intercede for me before the heavenly gates!
If I should fell him and his timber cleave,
Joy shall reign high, and thou a monument receive.”
Her son’s hard words Queen Ninsun heard with grief;
She sought her chambers, seeking no relief.
She cleansed her body with the sacred weed,
And donned her robes, majestic for her deed.
Bright jewels upon her breast she did array,
Her crown and sash she wore without delay.
Water she sprinkled on the ground below,
Then mounted to the roof with solemn woe.
Incense she burned to Shamash, high in air,
Offered sweet cuttings, and upraised her prayer:
“Why hast thou given my son a restless heart?
Why touch his soul to make him thus depart?
To Humbaba a long, dark road he goes,
To fight unknown and unrecorded foes!
Until he shall return from that far wood,
And slay the beast, destroying what is vile,
Look down upon his path and grant a smile!
May Aja, thy fair bride, remind thee well,
And Night’s watchful stars thy mercy tell!”
She banked the incense, spoke the rite complete,
And called bold Enkidu before her seat:
“Mighty Enkidu, though not born of my womb,
With sacred priestesses I ward thy doom.”
A pendant on his neck she gently laid;
The holy women solemn vows displayed.
“Enkidu now I take to guard my son,
Through month or year, until the deed is done.”
At Cedar gates and Shamash’ holy shrine,
They offered cuttings to the power divine.
The Elders cried once more: “Protect the King!
Back to our council him in safety bring!”
Then Enkidu spoke out with heavy breath:
“Turn back, my friend! This road but leads to death!”
CANTO IV
At twenty leagues they broke their march for bread;
At thirty leagues they camped to rest the head.
A full day's march of fifty leagues they trod,
A six-weeks' journey for a mortal clod.
And on the third day Lebanon drew near;
They dug a well to Shamash, bright and clear.
Then Gilgamesh climbed up the mountain crest,
Poured flour libations, and made his request:
“O Mountain, bring a dream, a sign to light,
A favorable message through the night.”
Then Enkidu prepared his friend a bed,
And pinned a cloak against the wind that sped.
He laid him down within a sheltered space,
As scattered grain upon the mountain’s face.
While Gilgamesh rested chin upon his knees,
Sleep, pouring over man, brought quiet ease.
At midnight's turn his slumber vanished fast;
He rose and spoke unto his friend at last:
“My friend, did you not call? Why do I wake?
Did you not touch me? Why do muscles shake?
Did some god pass us by? Why do I fear?
My friend, I had a dream that brought despair—
The mountain fell upon us from the sky,
And trapped like insects, we were left to die.”
Then Enkidu, born where the wild beasts roam,
Explained the dream and brought the comfort home:
“My friend, your dream is good and full of grace;
The mountain that you saw in this high place
Is fierce Humbaba. Him we shall overthrow,
And throw his lifeless corpse where wild winds blow.
When morning comes, bright Shamash will reply.”
At twenty leagues they broke their march for bread;
At thirty leagues they camped to rest the head.
A full day's march of fifty leagues they trod,
A six-weeks' journey for a mortal clod.
They dug a well where setting Shamash shone;
Then Gilgamesh climbed up the peak alone,
Poured flour libations, and proclaimed his prayer:
“O Mountain, bring a dream to ease my care!”
Then Enkidu prepared his friend a bed,
And pinned a cloak against the wind that sped.
He laid him down within a sheltered space,
As scattered grain upon the mountain’s face.
While Gilgamesh rested chin upon his knees,
Sleep, pouring over man, brought quiet ease.
At midnight's turn his slumber vanished fast;
He rose and spoke unto his friend at last:
“My friend, did you not call? Why do I wake?
Did you not touch me? Why do muscles shake?
Did some god pass us by? Why do I fear?
My friend, a second dream has brought despair!
I wrestled with a bull of wild degree,
Whose bellow split the earth, whose dust rose free.
Before his strength I sank upon my knees,
My temple throbbed, my breath began to freeze,
Until he offered water from his skin.”
Said Enkidu: “The god we go to win
Is not a bull to fear, but Shamash bright,
Who holds our hands through trouble's darkest night.
The one who gave you drink to end your pain
Is Lugalbanda, source of all your gain.
Come, let us join as one and undertake
A deed no man before us dared to make!”
At twenty leagues they broke their march for bread;
At thirty leagues they camped to rest the head.
A full day's march of fifty leagues they trod,
A six-weeks' journey for a mortal clod.
They dug a well where setting Shamash shone;
Then Gilgamesh climbed up the peak alone,
Poured flour libations, and proclaimed his prayer:
“O Mountain, bring a dream to ease my care!”
Then Enkidu prepared his friend a bed,
And pinned a cloak against the wind that sped.
He laid him down within a sheltered space,
As scattered grain upon the mountain’s face.
While Gilgamesh rested chin upon his knees,
Sleep, pouring over man, brought quiet ease.
At midnight's turn his slumber vanished fast;
He rose and spoke unto his friend at last:
“My friend, did you not call? Why do I wake?
Did you not touch me? Why do muscles shake?
Did some god pass us by? Why do I fear?
My friend, a third dark dream has brought despair!
The heavens roared, the earth began to groan,
Then deathly silence fell, and dark was thrown.
A bolt of lightning cracked, the fire spread,
And from the thickening smoke rained ash and dread.
The flame burned out, the heat began to die,
And all that fell became cold ash nearby.
Let us descend unto the plain below.”
Then Enkidu explained what this would show,
And eased the fear that made his monarch quail.
At twenty leagues they broke their march for bread;
At thirty leagues they camped to rest the head.
A full day's march of fifty leagues they trod,
A six-weeks' journey for a mortal clod.
They dug a well where setting Shamash shone;
Then Gilgamesh climbed up the peak alone,
Poured flour libations, and proclaimed his prayer:
“O Mountain, bring a dream to ease my care!”
Then Enkidu prepared his friend a bed,
And pinned a cloak against the wind that sped.
He laid him down within a sheltered space,
As scattered grain upon the mountain’s face.
While Gilgamesh rested chin upon his knees,
Sleep, pouring over man, brought quiet ease.
At midnight's turn his slumber vanished fast;
He rose and spoke unto his friend at last:
“My friend, did you not call? Why do I wake?
Did you not touch me? Why do muscles shake?
Did some god pass us by? Why do I fear?
My friend, a fourth strange dream has brought despair!”
Though giant forms appeared of monstrous height,
Brave Enkidu restored his partner's light:
“Your dream is good; Humbaba soon shall fall,
Before the dawn we shall subdue him all,
And victory will come from Shamash high.”
At twenty leagues they broke their march for bread;
At thirty leagues they camped to rest the head.
A full day's march of fifty leagues they trod,
A six-weeks' journey for a mortal clod.
They dug a well where setting Shamash shone;
Then Gilgamesh climbed up the peak alone,
Poured flour libations, and proclaimed his prayer:
“O Mountain, bring a dream to ease my care!”
Then Enkidu prepared his friend a bed,
And pinned a cloak against the wind that sped.
He laid him down within a sheltered space,
As scattered grain upon the mountain’s face.
While Gilgamesh rested chin upon his knees,
Sleep, pouring over man, brought quiet ease.
At midnight's turn his slumber vanished fast;
He rose and spoke unto his friend at last:
“My friend, did you not call? Why do I wake?
Did you not touch me? Why do muscles shake?
Did some god pass us by? Why do I fear?
A fifth dark dream has filled my mind with care!”
With tears he prayed to Shamash for his aid;
And Shamash heard the vow the king had made.
A warning sounded loud throughout the sky:
“Make haste, lest he into the forest fly!
Humbaba wears but one coat of his seven;
Attack before he hides beneath the heaven!”
Like raging bulls they lunged with furious roar,
While fierce Humbaba bellowed more and more.
Yet ancient wisdom proved a steadfast guide:
A slicker path is safe with two beside;
A three-ply rope no sword can rend in two,
And two brave cubs can strike the lion through.
Said Enkidu: “When in the woods we stand,
We’ll strip the cedar branches from the land.”
And Gilgamesh replied: “Why tremble so?
Across the mountain peaks together go!
You know the fight; let fear of death depart,
Let kettle-drums resound within your heart!
Shake off the stiffness, let your legs be strong,
And take my hand as we advance along.
Forget all death, let courage burn upright!
The watcher saves himself, but he who fights
Protects his comrade, winning everlasting fame!”
Thus to the evergreen woods the heroes came,
And at the forest edge, they held their breath,
And ceased their speech, to face the woods and death.
CANTO V
They stood beside the gloomy forest’s edge,
And gazed upon the Cedar’s towering crest.
They marked the entry where the beast would tread;
A smooth and open path before them led.
Then saw they Cedar Mount, the gods' domain,
Where Imini sits high in majestic reign.
Thick foliage bloomed across the mountain's face,
And pleasant shadows cooled the sacred place.
Through tangled thorns and thickets dense they pressed,
Where boxwood grew and Cedars stood confessed.
A gorge two leagues in girth enclosed the wood,
And further still the winding chasm stood.
Then flashed the sudden swords from out the sheath,
And dripping axes vowed the monster's death.
While standing bound in solitude and dread,
Unto the king the fierce Humbaba said:
"No mortal dares invade this dark domain..."
But Enkidu replied in high disdain:
"A slippery path no traveler fears to tread
When two march on by mutual courage led.
A threefold cord no sudden force can break,
And two small cubs can make the lion quake."
Humbaba spurned the words with scornful pride:
"Let fools and simpletons each other guide!
Why come you here, O King, to seek my land?
Must you obey a nameless orphan's hand?
A creature spawned like fishes in the sea,
Unfed by milk, now dares to counsel thee!
In youth I saw thee, Enkidu, and spurned
To crush thy life, though deep my anger burned.
Yet now you bring the king to face my wrath,
A stranger standing in a hostile path!
By Enlil's power, I shall tear his throat,
And give his flesh where hungry vultures float!"
Then Gilgamesh's heart began to fail:
"My friend, his changing features make me quail!"
Unmoved, brave Enkidu replied with scorn:
"Why whine in fear like one of courage shorn?
As smiths blow hot the forge with steady blast,
So must our strength endure until the last!
Drive on the flood, let fly the heavy whip,
Turn not away, nor let thy courage slip!"
They struck with mighty force; the monster fell,
Their stamping heels split mountain peak and dell.
Hermon and Lebanon were rent in twain,
While dark clouds dropped a fog of deadly rain.
Then Shamash raised thirteen fierce winds to blow,
In blinding storms against the direct foe:
The North, the South, the Whistling and the Chill,
With icy blasts that made the giant still.
Hemmed in before, trapped helpless from behind,
He stood exposed, to sword and blade resigned.
For mercy then the trembling guardian prayed:
"O Gilgamesh, by Ninsun's favor made,
At Shamash's word you sought this distant land;
Spare now my life, O King of Uruk's strand!
I'll serve thee truly in this forest wide,
And fell the finest timber at thy side.
Myrtle and cedar for thy halls I'll save,
If thou wilt grant the mercy that I crave."
Humbaba turned to Enkidu to plead:
"You know the forest rules, the laws decreed;
I should have slain you at the outer gate,
And fed the birds of prey your flesh in hate.
Yet now for clemency to thee I cry;
Speak to the King, and let me not now die!"
But Enkidu urged Gilgamesh to slay:
"My friend, strike down the beast without delay!
Destroy Humbaba, smash him into dust,
Ere Enlil hears and turns his wrath on us!
Erect a monument of everlasting fame,
That future ages may exalt thy name!"
Humbaba heard his doom and cursed the thrall:
"You sit like hired knaves who shepherd all!
Yet now my fate depends upon thy voice..."
Again brave Enkidu made clear the choice:
"Strike down the guardian, grind him into dust,
Ere mighty Enlil turns his rage on us!"
Then dying, dark Humbaba breathed a bane:
"May neither hero long on earth remain!
May Enkidu no greater portion find
Than swift demise, and leave his friend behind!"
Said Enkidu: "You listen to his curse,
Instead of heeding what my lips rehearse!"
They pulled his tongue and inner parts away,
And dead upon the mountain side he lay.
Abundance fell upon the land around
As noble cedar trees bestrewed the ground.
While Gilgamesh felled trunks of wondrous size,
His comrade searched where hidden timber lies.
Said Enkidu: "We've felled the tallest tree,
Whose soaring top the heavens longed to see.
Shape now a door seventy cubits high,
And twenty-four in breadth to greet the eye;
A cubit thick, with pivots carved as one,
To send to Nippur when the work is done.
Down the Euphrates shall the timber glide,
And holy Nippur rejoice in its pride."
They bound the logs into a sturdy raft;
Brave Enkidu stood by to steer the craft,
While Gilgamesh held high the monster's head,
And down the stream the glorious victors sped.
CANTO VI
He cleansed his matted hair and cleaned his gear,
And shook his flowing locks out, bright and clear.
He cast his dirty garments to the floor,
Arrayed in royal robes, a sash he wore.
When Gilgamesh had set his crown on high,
Fair Princess Ishtar cast a longing eye:
“Come, Gilgamesh, and be my wedded lord;
To me the sweetness of your frame afford!
Be you my groom, and I shall be your bride;
A golden chariot for you I’ll provide,
With lapis lazuli and wheels of gold,
And horns of electrum, grand to behold!
With mountain mules to draw it through the gale,
Enter our cedar-scented house and hail!
There, threshold, throne, and dais kiss your feet,
While kings and lords bow down in tribute sweet.
The Lullubu shall yield their mountain store;
Your goats bear triplets, and your ewes give more.
Your burdened donkey shall outrun the mule,
Your chariot steed shall gallop under rule,
Your yoke-bound ox shall carry unmatched might.”
Then Gilgamesh addressed her in the night:
“What must I pay to win you as my wife?
Require you oil or clothes to grace your life?
I’d serve you bread to satisfy a god,
And royal wine where heavenly feet have trod.
Yet what are you? A drafty house of cold,
A cloak to leave a man exposed and old!
An oven freezing ice, a broken door,
A crumbling palace crushing men of war,
An elephant that chews its own design,
A skin that drenches him who carries wine,
Dark pitch that stains the hand that holds it fast,
Or crumbling stone that cannot stand the blast,
A ram that draws the foe to breach the wall,
A shoe that bites and makes its master fall!
Where are the grooms you cherished without end?
Where is the shepherd bird you used to tend?
Hear now the list of lovers you have claimed:
First Tammuz of your youth, forever maimed,
For whom you set yearly laments and tears.
You loved the spotted bird in former years,
Yet struck his wing and left him in the grove,
To cry ‘My Wing!’ in sorrow as he rove.
You loved the lion, fierce in strength and pride,
Yet dug him fourteen pits in which to hide.
You loved the battle-charger, swift and bold,
Yet doomed his life to lashes manifold;
Seven long hours you forced his weary pace,
To drink foul water in a ruined place,
And forced his mother Silili to weep.
You loved the Master Herder of the sheep,
Who baked you embers-bread and slaughtered kid,
Yet him you struck, and into wolf he slid;
Now his own shepherds chase him from the rock,
And his own hounds pursue his hunted flock.
You loved Ishullanu, who pruned the tree,
Who brought you date-filled baskets constantly.
You raised your eyes to him and made demand:
‘O my Ishullanu, extend your hand!
Come taste my strength and touch us as we lie!’
But Ishullanu gave you this reply:
‘What do you seek from me? I have been fed;
My mother baked, and I have eaten bread.
Shall I eat curses, foul contempt, and scorn,
With bitter weeds my cover till the morn?’
When you had heard the words that he did speak,
You struck him to a dwarf, distressed and weak,
And trapped him in the garden of his toil,
Where bucket sinks no more to wet the soil.
And now you turn your lustful eyes on me,
To treat me as you treated these all three!”
When Ishtar heard, her fury reached the skies;
To father Anu, weeping, she applies,
And to her mother Antum she complained:
“O Father, Gilgamesh has me slandered and disdained!
He listed all my deeds in harsh disgrace,
My wretched acts and curses to my face!”
Anu replied: “Was it not you, my child,
Who provoked the King until his words ran wild?
Thus Gilgamesh recounted your disgrace,
Your wretched acts and curses to your face.”
Then Ishtar spoke: “Give me the Heavenly Bull
To strike down Gilgamesh and make death full!
If you refuse the Bull of Heaven today,
I’ll smash the Netherworld and break away!
I’ll shatter posts and leave the doors flat down,
And raise the dead to feast upon the town—
The dead shall rise, outnumbering the living!”
Anu replied, a solemn warning giving:
“If I grant this, then Uruk's land shall know
Seven years of empty husks and barren woe.
Have you stored grain to keep the people fed?
Have you grown grass where starving beasts are led?”
Ishtar replied: “I heaped the granaries high,
And raised green grass beneath a drought-filled sky,
That beasts and men might eat through years of plight;
I gathered grain to keep their spirits bright.”
Then Anu yielded, placing in her hand
The Bull’s nose-rope to lead it to the land.
Down to the earth she led the beast of dread;
To Uruk and Euphrates’ bank it sped.
At its first snort, a chasm opened deep,
And one hundred young men fell in its keep.
At its second snort, another pit did crack,
Two hundred fell into the endless black.
At its third snort, a pit opened once more,
And Enkidu fell in beside the shore.
Then Enkidu leaped up and seized its horns;
The Bull spat foam and tossed its tail in scorn.
He called: “My friend, we must be bold and wise!
How shall we act before each other's eyes?
I saw its strength... I’ll tear its form apart!
Together we must share a valiant heart.
I’ll hold the beast and fill my hands with power;
Strike with your sword between the horns this hour!”
So Enkidu pursued and seized its tail,
And held it fast, determined to prevail.
While Gilgamesh, like any butcher skilled,
Drove deep his sword until the Bull was killed—
Between the nape and horns he struck the blow.
They carved its heart, presenting it below
To Shamash, bowing low in reverent grace,
Then sat together in a quiet place.
Ishtar climbed up on Uruk's high wall-crest,
Assumed a mourning pose, and cried distressed:
“Woe Gilgamesh, who killed the Bull of might
And slandered me!” But Enkidu, in spite,
Tore off the Bull’s right thigh and hurled it straight:
“Could I reach you, you’d share this very fate!
I’d drape his inner parts upon your arms!”
Then Ishtar gathered all her cultic charms,
The harlots and the maidens of delight,
To mourn the flank throughout the bitter night.
Meanwhile, King Gilgamesh called every craft;
The artisans admired the horns and laughed—
Each made from thirty minas lapis stone,
Two fingers thick the casing on them shown!
Six vats of oil the massive horns contained;
He gave it all for unction, unrestrained,
Unto his god Lugalbanda divine,
And hung the horns within his family shrine.
They washed their hands within the river's flow,
And hand in hand through Uruk's streets did go.
The men of Uruk gathered in a crowd,
While Gilgamesh proclaimed his words aloud:
“Who is the bravest man among all males?
Who is the boldest hero in these tales?
Gilgamesh is the bravest of the land,
The boldest male who takes a sword in hand!
For she at whom we cast the thigh in hate,
Now walks the streets without a pleasing mate!”
Within his court, he held a feast of state.
The young men slept as night grew dark and late;
And Enkidu slept too, and dreamed a dream,
Then woke to tell his friend the vision’s gleam.
CANTO VII
"My friend, why do the Great Gods sit in state?
In dreams I saw their council weigh our fate.
Anu, Enlil, and Shamash met in power,
And Anu spoke: 'In this dark, fateful hour,
Since they have slain the Bull and Humbaba,
And pulled the Cedar down, decree the law:
The one who pulled the Cedar tree must die!'
Then Enlil answered from his throne on high:
'Let Enkidu be slain, but spare the king!'
Yet Shamash rose to challenge Enlil's sting:
'Was it not by my word they struck them low?
Shall guiltless Enkidu receive the blow?'
Then Enlil burned with anger at the Sun:
'Because you walked beside them, it is done;
You roamed as friend beside them every day,
And guided all they wrought along the way!'
Now sick before his king, Enkidu lay.
And Gilgamesh let tears like rivers stray,
And cried: 'O brother, why absolve my head,
Yet doom my dearest comrade to the dead?'
Enkidu spake: 'Must I a ghost become,
To sit in darkness in the dead men's home,
And see my cherished brother nevermore?
Within the woods where mighty gods adore,
I did not fell the tree!' Thus spake the friend,
As grief and shadow marked his bitter end.
Enkidu turned his gaze upon the door,
And spoke to wood as if a man it were:
'O senseless timber, blind to human thought,
Ten leagues away I chose the wood I sought,
Until I saw the Cedar towering high;
No wood was like your beauty to my eye.
Full seventy cubits high and fourteen wide,
With pivot stone and post on either side.
I shaped your frame and bore you to the shrine,
To sacred Nippur for a work divine.
Had I but known the thanks that you would give,
I would have raised my axe while I did live,
And chopped your planks and thrown you to the flame,
Ere Uruk heard the honor of your name!
May future kings reject your wooden face,
May gods strike out my name and yours erase!'
He tore the fittings down in rage and grief,
While Gilgamesh listened, seeking no relief.
The king wept sore to hear his friend's despair,
And answered gently to his heavy prayer:
'My friend, the gods bestowed a mind so grand,
Yet senseless words you scatter through the land.
The dream is full of terror, yet 'tis true;
Your lips are buzzing as the flies bestrew.
The gods leave sorrow to the living breath,
And dreams bring pain before the face of death.
Yet I will pray and seek the gods above,
To bend Enlil, the Father, with my love.
I’ll cast a statue out of gold for thee,
Unmeasured gold for all the world to see.
What Enlil speaks is set beyond recall;
His decrees stand, and fate must rest on all.'
As morning glowed, Enkidu raised his head,
And to the Sun God, Shamash, wept and prayed:
'I call on you, O Shamash, for my breath!
Curse now the trapper who prepared my death!
May he not thrive, nor gain his daily bread,
May all his wages fail, his hopes be fled!'
When he had cursed the trapper in his pain,
He turned to curse the Harlot with disdain:
'Come, Harlot, hear the doom that I decree,
A timeless curse for all eternity!
No happy home or children shall you know,
Where maidens dwell, you nevermore shall go.
May beer-dregs stain the lap you hold so dear,
And drunken vomit soil your festive gear!
No alabaster shall your house adorn,
No silver bright, but live a wretch forlorn!
Beside the gates and crossroads make your bed,
And in the wasteland lay your weary head.
Beneath the shadow of the wall remain,
Where thorns shall pierce your feet with bitter pain.
May drunk and sober strike you on the cheek,
And screeching owls within your ruins shriek!'
Then Shamash called down from the open sky:
'Enkidu, why curse Shamhat? Tell me why!
She fed you bread fit for the gods above,
And gave you wine and royal robes of love;
She gave you Gilgamesh, a comrade grand!
Now he, the greatest leader in the land,
Will place you on a couch of high degree,
Where earthly princes bow on bended knee.
All Uruk shall lament your final breath,
While he roams wild in lion skins for death.'
When Enkidu heard Shamash speak from high,
His anger cooled, his sorrow passed him by.
He said: 'O Shamhat, turn my words to grace;
Let blessings come to take the curse's place!
May nobles love you, rulers seek your hand,
And distant suitors pine across the land.
May warriors loose their buckles at your side,
And bring you gold and lapis for their bride!'
Yet deep within, Enkidu's spirit groaned;
Upon his bed he lay alone and moaned,
And told his friend: 'Hear now the dream I had:
The heavens roared, the earth replied in dread.
A dark-faced man appeared with Anzu's face,
With lion paws and talons in that place!
He seized my hair and struck me to the floor,
And bound me fast that I could move no more.
I called for help, but you were struck with fear;
He changed my arms to wings and brought me near
The House of Darkness, where Irkalla reigns—
The road of no return, of dust and chains.
There, those who dwell are deprived of light,
Clothed all in feathers in eternal night.
They drink of mud, on clay alone they feed,
And dust lies thick where none can ever read.
I entered in and saw the crowns of kings
Who ruled the world, now stripped of earthly things.
They serve the meat to Enlil and to Anu,
And pour cool water as the servants do.
There sat the priests, the ecstatics, and the elite,
With king Etana sitting at their feet;
And Ereshkigal, Queen of the Nether World,
Before whose knees the sacred scrolls unfurled.
The Scribe, Beletseri, read out the scroll,
Then raised her eyes and looked upon my soul,
And asked: "Who brought this living man below?"'
[Lines missing from the ancient tablet.]
'Remember all the paths we walked, my friend!'
Enkidu lay twelve days to meet his end;
His illness grew, until at last he cried:
'My comrade flees the battle at my side!
The friend who saved me leaves me to the grave!'
Then Gilgamesh awoke, and sought to save,
And moaned just like a dove in heavy woe:
'O best of men, I will not let you go!
I'll mourn your life, and stay beside your side,
To honor you, my brother and my guide.'
CANTO VIII
When morning broke, king Gilgamesh arose,
And spoke in sorrow to lament his woes:
“Enkidu, born of creatures wild and free,
The ass and gazelle gave their life to thee;
Wild asses fed thee with their milk of old,
And herds showed pastures where the rivers rolled.
May paths that to the Cedar Forest lead
Mourn for thy loss and never cease to plead.
May Uruk’s elders join the solemn cry,
And all who blessed us weep as time goes by.
May hills and mountains echo with thy name,
And fields cry out as though a mother came.
May cypress, cedar, which our rage laid low,
Resound in grief to demonstrate their woe.
May all the beasts that roam the desert plain—
The lion, tiger, bull—regret thy pain.
May sacred Ulaja, where we used to tread,
And pure Euphrates mourn that thou art dead.
May Uruk’s men, who watched our glorious fight
To slay the Heavenly Bull, grieve for thy light.
May simple farmers singing at the plow,
And city folk recall thy virtues now.
May herdsmen who once brought thee beer and curd,
And those who anointed thee, with grief be stirred.
May she who rubbed thee with her sweet perfumes,
And every wife, weep as thy fate consumes.
May brothers mourn as sisters do their kin,
And priests shear off their locks for what has been.
Thy parents roam the waste in despair;
I grieve for thee and yield to heavy care.”
Then to the elders Gilgamesh declared:
“Hear me, O men, for whom my heart is bared!
I weep for Enkidu, my faithful peer,
And shriek in anguish like a mourner here.
Thou wert my trusty axe, my side’s defence,
My belt, my sword, my noble elegance;
An evil demon stole thee from my side!
My friend, swift mule, wild ass, the forest's pride—
Together we ascanded up the steep,
Overcame Humbaba, made the monster weep,
And slew the Bull of Heaven in our wrath;
Yet now what slumber holds thee on thy path?
Thou hast grown dark and heedest not my call!”
He touched his heart, but felt no beat at all;
His friend's dark eyes no longer moved or shone.
He veiled his face as brides are veiled alone,
And hovered over him like an eagle flies,
Or as a lioness whose offspring dies
Paces in fury, restless in her grief.
He tore his locks to find a quick relief,
Stripped off his royal robes and cast them down,
An abomination to his ancient crown.
As dawn returned, he sent his royal decree
To every craftsman of the land to see:
“O smiths of bronze and gold, and lapidary,
Work ye the stone, nor let your fingers vary!
Forge me 'My Friend', a statue fair and bright!”
They wrought his form to capture heaven's light:
With skin of gold, and chest of azure stone,
He restored the image of his comrade gone.
“I laid thee down upon a couch of state,
Where earth's great princes kissed thy feet in wait;
I made all Uruk weep with bitter tears,
And turned their joy to grief through coming years.
And since thy death, I let my hair grow wild,
And roam the wastes in lion's skin defiled.”
At dawn he broke his straps, prepared the rite,
And offered carnelian in the morning light.
To Bibbi and the judges of the deep
He sought to pray, though broken by his sleep.
He brought a table made of sissoo wood,
And set the sacred gifts as best he could:
A bowl of carnelian filled with honey sweet,
And lapis filled with butter at his feet,
Displayed before the Sun God's holy face,
To seek for Enkidu a final grace.
CANTO IX
For Enkidu he wept, his dearest friend,
And wandered through the wastes without an end.
"Shall I not die like him?" his sorrow cried,
"Deep grief consumes my heart and burns inside.
I dread the grave, and roaming in my fright,
To Ubartutu’s son I haste my flight—
To Utanapishtim I must quickly speed!
When mountain passes met my nightly need,
Fierce lions filled my soul with sudden dread;
To Sin, the moon, in prayer I raised my head,
And to the Great Lady my cries arose:
'O save me now from these surrounding foes!'"
He slept, but startled from a troubled dream:
A warrior lived, rejoicing in the gleam;
He raised his axe, drew forth his gleaming blade,
And like an arrow, swift attack he made.
He struck them down, he scattered all the host,
The first was fallen, and the second lost.
To Mashu’s peaks he came, where daily lie
The bounds of sun, beneath the vaulted sky,
Whose roots descend to Netherworld below.
There Scorpion-beings guard the gate from foe;
Their dreadful aura over mountains creeps,
Whose very sight is death that never sleeps.
Though terror turned the king’s own face to pale,
He gathered heart and stepped into the vale.
The male creature called unto his wife:
"This traveler bears a godlike form of life!"
His spouse replied, "Two thirds are god alone,
The other third is mortal blood and bone."
The scorpion-man then hailed the divine seed:
"Why came you here to perform this desperate deed?
Why cross these treacherous streams where waters flow?
Your hidden purpose I am bound to know."
Gilgamesh spoke: "For Utanapishtim’s sake
I tread these paths, this journey I must make.
He joined the gods, eternal life to gain;
Of life and death I ask him to explain."
The scorpion answered: "Never mortal man
Could pass these mountains since the world began.
For twelve long leagues deep pitch and darkness lie,
No ray of light can pierce this shrouded sky."
"Though crushed by grief, in freezing cold or heat,
Though gasping, I press on with tireless feet!
Open the gate!" the hero’s voice resounded.
The scorpion spoke: "Go forth with courage ungrounded!
The Mashu peaks I give to you today;
Traverse the range in safety on your way."
Gilgamesh heard, and took the Sun's own track:
One league he marched through pitch where all was black;
No light appeared, no path before, behind.
Two leagues he walked, still pitch-black and blind.
Four leagues he pressed, no sun broke through the night;
Five leagues he marched, deprived of any light.
Six leagues he walked through shadows deep and vast;
Seven leagues he strode, as pitch-black hours passed.
At eight leagues distance, aloud he gave a cry,
Yet thickest darkness veiled the earth and sky.
At nine leagues marched, the icy North Wind blew
And licked his face, though light was hidden too.
At ten leagues distance, now the end drew near;
At eleven leagues, the morning sun shone clear.
At twelve leagues marched, the world grew bright and bold—
A garden rich with jewels to behold!
Trees bore crisp lapis foliage in the glade,
And precious gems like thorns and briars made:
Agate and emeralds, carnelian red,
And rubies bright upon the branches spread.
Beside the sea, where glittering treasures lie,
King Gilgamesh walked on, and raised his eye.
CANTO X
Beside the sea, where breaking billows roar,
The ale-wife Siduri resides on shore.
Her noble pot-stand holds the craft divine;
A golden vat ferments her precious wine.
Veiled from the world she dwells upon the strand,
When Gilgamesh draws near across the land.
Though divine blood flows purely through his veins,
He wears a skin and bears internal pains.
A weary traveler, worn by frost and heat,
He drags toward the coast his exhausted feet.
From her high bench the hostess looks afar,
And beholds the stranger like a fell dark star.
She muses in her heart, dismayed with dread:
“This wretch has surely struck a victim dead!
Where does he wander?” Fast she bolts the gate,
Draws down the bar, and leaves him to his fate.
Hearing the heavy latch and grinding lock,
The king lifts up his eyes toward the rock.
He calls aloud before her barricade:
“Hostess, what vision makes you thus afraid?
Why bar your door against my lawful right?
Open, or I will smash it in your sight!”
Then Gilgamesh declares his name and power:
“I am that king who ruled in Uruk’s tower!
I slew the monstrous Guard upon the hill,
In Cedar Forests worked Humbaba’s ill;
I trapped the mountain lions in the pass,
And struck the Bull of Heaven to the grass!”
The ale-wife answers: “If your claim be true,
That you are he who made those monsters rue,
Why are your hollow cheeks so pale and worn,
Your features wretched, and your body torn?
Why does deep sorrow shadow all your face,
As if you ran a long and bitter race,
Your skin seared black by bitter cold and sun,
To roam the desert till your life is done?”
Great Gilgamesh replies: “Should I not grieve,
When bitter loss leaves nothing to achieve?
Why should my countenance not suffer blight,
When my companion vanished into night?
Enkidu, who chased the wild ass on the plain,
The mountain panther whom I loved in vain,
Who shared my trials, climbed the peak with me,
And helped to bend the divine Bull's degree—
The ruthless fate of man has laid him low.
Seven days I wept in relentless woe,
Refusing burial for my dearest friend,
Until a worm declared his ghastly end!
Appalled by death, I fled into the waste,
Pursuing lonely tracks in desperate haste.
How can I rest, or hold my grieving breath,
When he I loved is turned to dust and death?
Shall I too lie beneath the clay forever,
When cold mortality my soul shall sever?
Now tell me, ale-wife, what path leads ahead
To Utanapishtim, raised among the dead?
Give me the markers! If I may, I’ll sail;
If not, I’ll wander through the desert vale.”
She answers: “King, no mortal crosses here;
The path is ancient, perilous, and drear.
None spans the deep save Shamash in his might;
The sea is treacherous to human sight,
And in the midst the Waters of Death bar high
The distant shores that mock the seeker's eye.
Yet Urshanabi stands upon the shore;
He holds the 'Stone Things' and the ferry's oar,
Gathering wild mint deep within the wood.
Go seek his face; if he deems your purpose good,
Cross in his bark—or turn your steps around.”
Hearing her word, he leaps with sudden bound;
He draws his dagger, takes his axe in hand,
And strikes the 'Stone Things' in the wooden land.
Like flying shaft he crashes through the trees;
Their shattered fragments rattle on the breeze.
Sharp-eyed Urshanabi, hearing the fray,
Runs to the noise and meets him on the way.
He strikes his head in grief, he beats his chest,
To see his sacred charms destroyed and pressed.
The boatman speaks: “Why are your cheeks so thin,
Your visage hollow, and your eyes sunk in?
Why does deep sorrow shadow all your face,
As if you ran a long and bitter race?”
And Gilgamesh replies: “Should I not grieve,
When bitter loss leaves nothing to achieve?
Enkidu, who chased the wild ass on the plain,
The mountain panther whom I loved in vain,
Who shared my trials, climbed the peak with me,
Has met the fate from which no man is free.
Six days and seven nights I wept his doom,
Nor let them bear his body to the tomb,
Till from his nose a maggot fell away.
Fearing that cold decay, I fled the day.
My friend whom I adored is turned to clay;
Must I lie down, as silent and as gray?”
Then Gilgamesh implores: “Must I decay,
And lie forever in the silent clay?
Now, Urshanabi, point me out the way!
Show me the markers! If I may, I'll sail,
Or wander ever in the desert vale.”
The boatman answers: “King, your violent hands
Have barred the passage to those distant lands!
You smashed the sacred 'Stone Things' in your rage,
And snapped the ropes that bound them to our age.
Yet take your axe into the forest shade,
Where three hundred tall punting poles are made,
Each sixty cubits long, stripped clean and dressed,
And bring them back to serve our dire quest.”
The hero hears: he takes his blade in hand,
And cuts the poles within the timbered land.
He shapes and caps them all, then seeks the shore,
And loads the vessel with his wooden store.
Great Gilgamesh and Urshanabi board,
And launch the ship to cross the ocean broad.
Three days they sail, a forty-five-day flight,
Until the Waters of Death appear in sight.
“Hold back!” the ferryman commands the king,
“Take up a pole, but let no splashings cling
Upon your skin! Touch not the lethal stream!
Take two, take three, to drive our wooden beam!
Take four, take five, take six, take seven more,
An eighth, a ninth, a tenth to reach the shore!”
Twice sixty poles the king uses and discards,
Until no timber guards his desperate yards.
Then from his waist he strips his cloak away,
And holds it high to catch the wind and spray.
Far off, old Utanapishtim gazes out,
His mind perplexed with wonder and with doubt:
“Why are the vessel's sacred stones destroyed,
And who is he that navigates the void?
He is no servant from my ancient hall,
Nor one I know—I watch him near the wall...”
The ancient sage then meets him on the strand:
“Why are you worn and withered in this land?
Why does deep sorrow shadow all your face,
As if you ran a long and bitter race?”
Great Gilgamesh replies: “Should I not grieve,
When bitter loss leaves nothing to achieve?
Enkidu, who chased the panther on the plain,
My dearest friend, whom I adored in vain,
Has met the fate from which no man goes free.
Seven days and nights I wept his tragedy,
Nor let him sink into the silent earth,
Till worms issued from him and mocked his worth.
Appalled by death, I fled into the waste,
Pursuing lonely tracks in desperate haste.
To seek the Faraway I made my quest,
Through treacherous mountains, stripped of sleep and rest.
I slew the lion, tiger, stag, and bear,
Wrapped in their skins, and ate their wild fare.
Must I lie down in darkness and decay,
When all I love has turned to heavy clay?”
Then Utanapishtim speaks: “Why yield to grief,
When divine blood should bring your soul relief?
You wear yourself with endless, toilful strife,
And cut off short the remnant of your life!
Mankind is snapped like reeds within the brake—
The youth, the maiden, all that death must take.
No man beholds its face or hears its call,
Yet savage death descends alike on all.
How long do brothers hold their joint estate?
How long does envy brew human debate?
How long do floodwaters rise up and run,
Where dragonflies float beneath the sun?
The sleeping and the dead are of one kind,
Yet death's true image no man's eye can find.
When Great Anunnaki met in ancient days,
With Mammetum, who forms destiny's ways,
They allotted life and death to mortal breath,
But kept concealed the secret hour of death.”
CANTO XI
Then Gilgamesh to Utanapishtim cried:
"I look on you and see no power denied;
Your form is like my own, your appearance plain,
Yet I had steeled my heart to strike you slain!
Instead, my idle arm now lies at rest—
How found you life among the gods' bequest?"
Utanapishtim answered from his place:
"A hidden truth to you I shall retrace,
A secret of the gods I will unfold.
You know Shuruppak, built on banks of old,
Where Euphrates flows by that ancient town,
Where mighty gods once walked of great renown.
Their hearts resolved to flood the world with strife:
Anu took oath to end all mortal life,
Enlil advised, Ninurta cleared the way,
While Ennugi maintained the watery sway.
"Yet clever Ea bound his oath to heart,
And to a house of reeds did news impart:
'O wall! O reed-built house! Hear what I tell!
Son of Ubartutu, where mortals dwell,
Tear down your home and build a ship instead!
Spurn all your wealth to save the living head!
Abandon gain; keep living things alive,
And take all species so they may survive.
Lay out the vessel equal in design,
Where length and width in symmetry align,
And roof it over like the deep Apsu.'
"I heard his word and said: 'What you pursue,
My lord, I shall obey with total care.
Yet to the elders, what shall I declare?'
"Then Ea spoke to me, his servant true:
'Tell them: "Enlil rejects me, so from you
And from his land I must depart in grief.
To live with Ea I will seek relief.
Down to the deep Apsu I shall descend,
Where showers of abundance he will send—
Fishes in swarms, and wild fowl from the air,
A harvest rich with bounties past compare.
At dawn a rain of bread shall fill the land,
At dusk a storm of wheat at his command."'
"When morning broke, the people gathered near:
The carpenter brought axes for his gear,
The reed-worker his stone, while children brought
The pitch and bitumen the master sought.
The weak brought whatever aid they could supply.
"Upon the fifth day, raised toward the sky,
I laid her outer hull upon the field:
Ten times twelve cubits were the walls revealed,
Her upper deck measured the same in square.
I drew her plans and built her with great care:
Six lower decks I built within her frame,
So seven levels total she became.
I split her inside to nine bays complete
And drove in plugs to keep the water beat.
I laid in punting poles and all we needed.
"Nine thousand measures of bitumen melted
Inside the kiln, with pitch in equal weight,
While porters carried oil in casks of state—
Three thousand measures carried by their hand,
Besides the oil consumed upon the land
And double that which boatmen stored away.
I slaughtered oxen, sheep I killed each day,
And gave the workmen beer and wine and oil,
As if river water flowed to ease their toil,
To hold a feast like New Year's day of old;
I applied the finishing oils as I was told.
"Before the sun had set, the ship was done.
To launch her was a task for everyone:
They laid out heavy poles from front to back
Till two-thirds floated on the watery track.
Whatever silver I possessed, I stored;
Whatever gold I owned was brought aboard.
All living things I had were placed inside,
My kith and kin, the beast of field and hide,
And every craftsman boarded at my side.
"For Shamash set the hour and gave the sign:
'When morning rains down bread by power divine,
And evening pours down wheat upon the land,
Go in the ship and seal it by your hand.'
That appointed hour came upon the sight:
The morning rained down bread in wondrous light,
The evening showered wheat upon the ground.
I watched the weather as the sky turned 'round—
The sky was frightful, terrible to view!
I went inside and sealed the vessel too,
And gave my palace, wealth, and grand domain
To Puzuramurri, master of the main.
"When early dawn began to glow and rise,
A pitch-black cloud arose across the skies.
Inside its core the thunder of Adad roared,
While Shullat and Hanish before him soared,
Heralds who swept across the hill and plain.
Then Erragal pulled the mooring posts in twain,
Ninurta marched and made the dikes overflow,
While the Anunnaki set the land aglow,
Raising their torches high to burn the earth.
"The deeds of Adad turned all joy to dearth,
And transformed every light to darkest night.
The land was shattered like a pot in flight.
All day the tempest blew, the South Wind sped,
Submerging mountains in a watery bed,
Overwhelming men like warfare in its path.
No man could see his brother in its wrath;
None recognized another in the stream.
The gods themselves shrank from the storm extreme,
Ascending up to Anu's heaven above,
Cowering like dogs against the walls thereof.
"Then Ishtar shrieked like women giving birth,
The sweet-voiced mistress wailed over the earth:
'Alas! The olden days are turned to clay,
Because I spoke such evil on that day!
How could I utter evil in the hall,
Decreeing ruin for my people all?
Did I give birth to them upon the earth
To fill the ocean like the fish of birth?'
"The Anunnaki gods all wept in grief;
They sat in tears, unable to find relief,
Their parched lips burning with a thirsty pain.
For six long days and seven nights of rain,
The tempest blew and flattened every place.
When the seventh day arrived upon its face,
The storm was pounding, warring with its power,
Like a woman writhing in her labor hour."
The sea grew calm, the violent tempest ceased,
The whirlwind stopped, the raging waters decreased.
I scanned the silent realm in morning light—
All mankind turned to clay within my sight!
The flooded land lay level as a roof.
I opened up a hatch to seek the proof;
Fresh air and daylight struck upon my face.
I fell upon my knees in that dark place
And sat in tears, my sorrow unrestrained,
While down my nose the streaming water rained.
I searched the wide horizon of the sea,
And twelve leagues off, a land emerged to me.
Upon Mount Nimush did the vessel land;
The mountain held her fast within its hand.
One day, a second day, it held her fast;
A third and fourth, no rocking tempest passed.
A fifth and sixth day, still it held her bound.
When on the seventh morning light was found,
I brought a dove and set the creature free;
It flew away, but finding no green tree,
Returned to me without a place to rest.
I freed a swallow next upon its quest;
It too returned, no perch within its view.
And then a raven out into the blue
I sent to fly; it saw the waters drain.
It ate and scratched, nor came to me again.
Then to the four wide winds I freed them all,
And made a sacrifice at heaven’s call.
Upon the ziggurat I poured the wine,
And set seven cultic vessels in a line,
Heap’d wood with cedar, myrtle, reeds, and spice.
The gods smelled fragrance from the sacrifice,
And gathered round like flies above the meat.
Then Beletili came with swift retreat;
She raised the lapis flies that Anu made,
And to the assembled deities she prayed:
"O gods, as surely as this gems-set chain
Hangs at my neck, I’ll mind this time of pain!
The gods may gather round the incense sweet,
Save Enlil, who shall not this offering greet,
For without thought he brought the drowning wave
And doomed my people to a watery grave."
Then Enlil came and saw the vessel float;
His heart grew fierce with anger at the boat.
Against the Igigi his rage flared high:
"Did any living creature fail to die?
No mortal man was meant to yield his breath!"
Ninurta spoke: "Who else defies this death
Save clever Ea, master of design,
Who knows all schemes and every dark outline?"
Then Ea spoke to Enlil, bold and grand:
"O Valiant Sage, supreme in every land,
How could you bring a flood without a thought?
Upon the sinner let the sin be brought!
Punish the wrong, but be compassionate,
Lest mankind perish in a ruthless fate.
Instead of floods to make the world succumb,
Would that a lion or a wolf had come!
Would that a famine had destroyed the land,
Or Pestilence swept forth at your command!
I revealed no secret of the gods' decree;
In dreams alone I warned the devotee,
And Atrahasis heard the hidden word.
Now consult how his fate may be conferred!"
Then Enlil stepped aboard the ship at last,
And took my hand, and raised me from the past.
He brought my wife to kneel beside my side,
And touched our brows, uniting groom and bride:
"Though Utanapishtim was a man before,
He and his wife are mortal men no more;
Like gods they shall remain, forever blessed,
Where rivers mouth, far off, to find their rest."
They took us far away to dwell in peace.
"Now, who will call the gods for your release,
That you may find the life you seek to hold?
Come, conquer sleep six days and nights untold!"
As soon as he sat down upon the ground,
Sleep like a heavy mist wrapped him around.
Utanapishtim whispered to his wife:
"Look at the hero seeking endless life!
Sleep like a thick fog covers him today."
His wife replied: "Awaken him, I pray!
Touch him that he may journey whence he came,
And reach his home through gates of ancient fame."
Utanapishtim answered: "Man deceives,
And in his treachery he misbelieves.
Bake loaves of bread, and set them by his head,
And mark each day he lies among the dead."
She baked the loaves and placed them near his face,
And marked the wall to count his resting place.
The first was dry, the second stale and hard,
The third was moist, the fourth was specked and scarred,
The fifth grew mold, the sixth was fresh and bright;
Upon the seventh, touched, he woke to light.
Gilgamesh spoke: "The moment sleep took hold,
You touched my frame and roused me as foretold!"
Utanapishtim said: "Count up your bread!
Behold the marks upon the wall instead!
Your first is dry, the second stale and hard,
The third moist, the fourth specked and scarred,
The fifth grew mold, the sixth is fresh to view,
And at the seventh, life returned to you!"
Gilgamesh cried: "O woe! Where shall I tread?
The Snatcher holds my flesh, my joy is fled!
Within my room Death waits to take his toll,
And everywhere I walk, Death claims my soul!"
Utanapishtim spoke to Urshanabi:
"May harbor and ferry landing reject thee!
Deny the shores to him who trod them best!
The man you lead is filthily distressed;
Matted hair hides his frame, and wild skins mar
The skin that once shone bright as any star.
Take him, Urshanabi, to the washing place,
Cleanse his matted hair, wash off his disgrace.
Cast off his pelts into the ocean deep,
Anoint his body, let his beauty leap!
Give him a wrap and royal robes to wear,
Unspotted, clean, until his home appears."
Urshanabi then led him to the shore,
Washed his matted hair clean as before,
Cast off the pelts to ocean waves away,
Anointed him with oil without delay.
He bound his head and gave him robes of grace,
Unspotted till he reached his native place.
They boarded then, and pushed the ship to sea.
Utanapishtim's wife spoke tenderly:
"Gilgamesh came exhausted, worn, and low;
What gift will you bestow before he go?"
Gilgamesh raised his pole and pulled to land.
Utanapishtim spoke from where he spanned:
"Gilgamesh, you came weary from your quest;
What gift shall I bestow to grant you rest?
A secret thing I tell, a hidden truth:
A plant grows deep that gives eternal youth.
Its thorns, like roses, prick the seeker's hand,
Yet if you grasp it, youth is at command."
Hearing his words, the hero opened wide
A conduit to the deep; then heavy tide
Sank him with stones bound firmly to his feet.
Down to the Apsu dragged, his search complete,
He seized the plant despite its prickly sting,
Cut loose the stones, and waves returned the king.
Gilgamesh showed the ferryman his prize:
"Urshanabi, this plant makes old men wise!
Against decay it grants a second truth;
I’ll take it back to Uruk of my youth,
And give an elder taste to test its power—
'Old Man Grown Young' shall name this wondrous flower!
Then I shall eat, and youth shall bloom once more."
At twenty leagues they broke their march on shore;
At thirty leagues they halted for the night.
A cool spring sparkled in the fading light;
While Gilgamesh was bathing in the stream,
A serpent smelled the plant of golden dream,
Slid silently, and bore the plant away,
Sloughing its skin to gain a young display.
Then Gilgamesh sat down and wept in pain,
His tears falling like the winter rain:
"For whom, Urshanabi, have my arms striven?
For whom has my heart's blood in vain been given?
I achieved no blessing for my own design,
But gave the earth-bound lion what was mine!
Now rising waters wash my gear away;
I leave the boat and walk the land today."
At twenty leagues they broke their bread again;
At thirty leagues they rested on the plain.
At last Uruk-Haven met their eyes.
Gilgamesh turned and spoke under the skies:
"Climb up, Urshanabi, walk Uruk’s wall!
Inspect its brickwork and foundations tall—
Is not the core of kiln-fired brick arrayed?
Was it not planned by Seven Sages’ trade?
One league of city, one of palms so green,
One league of lowlands, plus the temple scene—
Three leagues and open space the walls enclose!"
CANTO XII
The hero falls, no more to raise his head;
Low on his couch he lies among the dead.
With well-formed limbs, in strength and grace complete,
He lies in dust, enduring final defeat.
He who knew wickedness has met his end,
And to the silent shadows must descend.
The youthful prince, so grand in every part,
Lies still and cold, bereft of beating heart.
Unmatched in strength, the ruler of the realm
Has yield's to fate, which must all men overwhelm.
The lord of Kulaba now breathes no more;
Wisdom and counsel leave the earthly shore.
He who laid waste to foreign lands in fight
Is bound in darkness, swallowed by the night.
Who scaled the mountain peaks and walked the crest
Now finds upon his bed eternal rest.
Ensnared by death, he lies upon his bed,
A couch of sighs, numbered among the dead.
Bound by the door-bolt Namtar firmly places,
He cannot rise or see familiar faces.
No food nor drink can ease his bitter sigh;
In endless pain he can but weep and cry.
Like captured fish he writhes in agony,
Or trapped gazelle that strives but cannot flee.
Namtar, with neither hands nor feet to show,
Lays low the king and deals the final blow.
For six long days he suffers on his bed,
While heavy illness strikes his royal head.
Like resin clinging fast upon his skin,
The sickness spreads and burns the king within.
Lord Gilgamesh lies faint in deep despair,
As Unug's folk lament in mournful prayer.
Then on his bed the monarch sinks to sleep,
Enfolded in a vision dark and deep.
Before the council where the gods preside,
His fateful dream is shown and verified.
"Among the gods your name shall be revered,
Your word obeyed, your royal judgments feared.
Your solemn voice shall render fate's decree,
As great as Dumuzid's own majesty."
The lord of Kulaba, of noble grace,
Derived his line from gods' own pure embrace.
From Ninsumun and Lugalbanda born,
By wise Nudimmud blessed this mournful morn.
"You trod each distant path upon the earth,
Brought precious treasures back of boundless worth.
You slew the monster, raised the sacred shrine,
And established rites for ages down the line.
You reached the end of every land and sea,
Restored old ways lost to antiquity.
Correctly performed each ancient rite and rule,
And saved the land from flood's destructive pool."
"To shade his soul, bright Sisig shall arise,
The son of Utu, lighting nether skies.
When future men shall raise his statue high,
And youthful champions gather standing by,
They shall contend in strength before his door,
And wrestle as they did in days of yore.
In Nenegar, when phantom spirits meet,
His sacred shade shall guide their marching feet.
O Gilgamesh! Great Enlil gave the crown,
A earthly kingdom and a grand renown,
Yet withheld immortal life from your design;
So read the dream that comes from the divine.
Let not this heavy fate bring grief or fears,
Nor drown your valiant soul in bitter tears.
This is the burden all of mankind bears,
Cut from the cord, entangled in its cares.
The dark, solitary road now opens wide;
The raging wave no mortal can divide.
The final battle calls, uneven, grim,
A conflict where the hopes of men grow dim.
Yet enter not the gloom with heart enraged;
Let peaceful prayer and light be fully engaged."
"Beside your side lies Enkidu, your friend,
Whose lonely rest has reached its final end.
To meet your ghost the ancient shades shall tread,
And welcome you among the quiet dead."
They answered him with tears and heavy sigh:
"Why must the king, so great, be made to die?
No bird that flies the sky can slip the net,
No fish in ocean depths avoids it yet.
When once the fisher casts his mesh below,
No mortal soul ascends from realms below.
No earthly king has known a fate like thine,
Ordained to rule the dead by law divine.
A governor of ghosts you shall remain,
To judge the underworld and there to reign."
The people built a tomb beside the stream,
To honor him and realize his dream.
They dammed the waters where Euphrates ran,
And cleared the riverbed as dry as sand.
With solid stone they raised the royal bed,
Of heavy diorite to hold the dead.
With latches forged of stone and gates of gold,
They sealed the king within the cavern cold.
The mourners tore their hair and scratched their face,
To grieve the king within his resting place.
His beloved wife, his children dear to hold,
His favorite consort, adorned with finest gold;
His dark-eyed cup-bearer, musician sweet,
His barbers, guards, and servants at his feet—
All in the purified palace were laid down,
In Unug’s heart, to share his dark renown.
The son of Ninsumun set out their grace
Before Ereshkigal in that solemn place.
To dreaded Namtar gifts and gold were brought,
And Dimpikug received the wealth he sought.
To Neti, Dumuzid, Ningishzida wise,
He rendered tributes under darkened skies.
For Enki, Ninki, and the ancient line,
The ancestors of Enlil all divine;
For Shul-pa-e who holds the banquet board,
For Sumugan, Ninḫursaĝa, and her lord;
For all the Anuna gods upon the Mound,
And ancient priests in sacred linen bound—
He laid the audience-gifts in order meet,
And poured the water at his father's feet.
The people scratched their face and pulled their hair,
And threw their dusty garments in despair.
No king so great was ever born to reign,
Nor shall his match walk upon earth again.
O Gilgamesh, the lord of Kulaba's domain,
It is most sweet to praise thy endless name!
The great wild bull lies low, to rise no more;
Lord Gilgamesh has reached the silent shore.
Unique in strength, adorned with shoulder-belt,
The bitter blow of final fate is felt.
He who diminished sin and wisely spoke,
Who conquered distant realms and mountain folk,
The lord of Kulaba, now cold and still,
Lies down upon the bed of mortal chill.
Unable or to sit or stand, he cries;
Bound fast by Namtar’s bolt, in grief he lies.
Like cistern fish he writhes in heavy plight,
Or trapped gazelle before the dark of night.
The monarch lay upon his couch of death,
And in the divine council spent his breath.
The gods declared: "You trod each distant way,
Brought back the cedar for a future day.
Huwawa fell beneath your mighty hand;
You built the shrines and stelae of the land.
To Zi-ud-sura’s dwelling you drew near,
And brought the ancient rites forgotten here."
Then Enki spoke to An and Enlil bold:
"In distant nights and ancient days of old,
When floodwaters swept man from off the earth,
I spared one soul to give the future birth.
Yet by the heavens and earth you made me swear
That mortal men no endless life should share.
Can Gilgamesh escape the common doom,
Though divine blood within his veins may bloom?"
The gods decreed: "Let him below preside,
A governor where darkling phantoms bide.
Pre-eminent among the dead he'll reign,
And as a judge eternal laws maintain."
"Go onward now to where the great gods sit,
Where priests and priestesses in darkness flit;
Where father, mother, kin, and comrade lie,
And line the shadowy halls beneath the sky.
Your beloved friend, Enkidu, waits for thee,
With captains, lords, and ancient chivalry.
The elders of your town shall come to meet,
And place their solemn tributes at your feet.
Despair no more, nor let your spirit weep,
For divine honor waits within the deep."
Lord Gilgamesh awoke from out his dream,
And bathed his face within the morning beam,
Remembering the gods’ supreme decree:
A king below for all eternity.
Another god declared from on high:
"Let Gilgamesh beneath the shadowy sky
Govern the dead, a prince among the shades,
Where life's temporary glory fades.
Let his firm word pass judgment and decree,
As weight as Dumuzid's own majesty."
Yet Gilgamesh was filled with sorrowing,
Mourning for man, a heavy, bitter thing.
"Grieve not!" they cried, "nor let despair draw near,
For Sisig, Utu’s son, shall light your sphere.
This is the fate that human birth must bring,
The cut umbilical, the fatal sting.
The darkest day now waits, the solitary place,
The surging wave no mortal can efface.
Yet enter not the gloom with heart enrag’d,
Like unravelled flax let anger be assuag’d.
Go forward to the place where great gods sit,
Where ancient priests through shadowy halls flit;
Where father, mother, kin, and comrade bide,
And brave Enkidu waits upon your side.
From sacred halls the sisters shall descend,
And town elders welcome their great friend.
Numbered among the Anuna gods you'll stand,
A noble ruler in the shadowy land."
Enki revealed the dream's true meaning clear,
And Gilgamesh raised up his call to hear:
He levied Unug, summoned all the land,
To turn the Euphrates at his command.
Within ten days the riverbed lay dry;
Utu looked down upon the shells with sigh.
There in the riverbed they built the tomb
Of solid stone, to defy time and doom.
With gates of gold and thresholds heavy wrought,
They sealed the mausoleum as they ought,
Then covered all with earth and soil so deep,
That none might find the place of royal sleep.
The waters were restored, the river flowed,
Hiding forevermore his dark abode.
Though mortal men must yield their breathing frame,
In stone and statue lives their quiet name.
Aruru grants them offspring through the years,
That names remembered triumph over tears.
O Ereshkigal, who rules the depths below,
To praise thy sacred name, sweet praises flow!