Butler writes in plain Victorian prose, and his sentences run at a steady, unhurried pace. The register is slightly formal but clear: "Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades" reads almost like a schoolroom summary. Fitzgerald writes in verse, and the line breaks do real work, slowing or quickening the reader's attention. In the Book 21 killing, Butler gives "the hands of doom and death overshadow me all as surely," which is wordy and soft. Fitzgerald cuts to "Yet death waits for me, / for me as well, in all the power of fate," where the line break and the repetition of "for me" land with controlled force. Fitzgerald's diction stays contemporary without going colloquial; Butler's prose occasionally tips into archaism without gaining the strangeness that might justify it. Butler prioritises accessibility and accuracy over performance. He keeps the meaning close and the sentences clear, but he sometimes softens or flattens the Greek's compression. In the leaves passage, he adds "Even so is it with the generations of mankind," a sentence the Greek does not have, explaining the comparison rather than leaving it. Fitzgerald aims for something closer to oral delivery, maintaining the weight of individual images. His version of the same passage, "old leaves, cast on the ground by wind, young leaves / the greening forest bears," keeps the parallel structure of the Greek more faithfully. Butler gains readability for a reader who wants the story quickly. Fitzgerald asks for slightly more attention, and the verse gives him room to keep the Greek's pace and its pauses.
Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans. Many a brave soul did it send hurrying down to Hades, and many a hero did it yield a prey to dogs and vultures, for so were the counsels of Jove fulfilled from the day on which the son of Atreus, king of men, and great Achilles, first fell out with one another.
Anger be now your song, immortal one,
Akhilleus' anger, doomed and ruinous,
that caused the Akhaians loss on bitter loss
and crowded brave souls into the undergloom,
leaving so many dead men—carrion
for dogs and birds; and the will of Zeus was done.