Iliad

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Apollo’s priest to th’ Argive fleet doth bring

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Gifts for his daughter, pris’ner to the king;

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For which her tender’d freedom he entreats;

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But, being dismiss’d with contumelious threats,

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At Phœbus’ hands, by vengeful pray’r, he seeks

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To have a plague inflicted on the Greeks.

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Which had; Achilles doth a council cite,

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Embold’ning Calchas, in the king’s despite;

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To tell the truth why they were punish’d so.

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From hence their fierce and deadly strife did grow.

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For wrong in which Æacides so raves,

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That goddess Thetis, from her throne of waves

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Ascending heav’n, of Jove assistance won,

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To plague the Greeks by absence of her son,

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And make the general himself repent

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To wrong so much his army’s ornament.

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This found by Juno, she with Jove contends;

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Till Vulcan, with heav’n’s cup, the quarrel ends.

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ANOTHER ARGUMENT

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Alpha the prayer of Chryses sings:

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The army’s plague: the strife of kings.

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Achilles’ baneful wrath resound, O Goddess, that impos’d

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Infinite sorrows on the Greeks, and many brave souls los’d.

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From breasts heroic; sent them far to that invisible cave

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That no light comforts; and their limbs to dogs and vultures gave;

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To all which Jove’s will gave effect; from whom first strife begun

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Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and Thetis’ godlike son.

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What god gave Eris their command, and op’d that fighting vein?

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Jove’s and Latona’s son: who fir’d against the king of men,

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For contumély shown his priest, infectious sickness sent

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To plague the army, and to death by troops the soldiers went.

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Occasion’d thus: Chryses, the priest, came to the fleet to buy,

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For presents of unvalu’d price, his daughter’s liberty;

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The golden sceptre and the crown of Phœbus in his hands

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Proposing; and made suit to all, but most to the commands

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Of both th’ Atrides, who most rul’d. “Great Atreus’ sons,” said he,

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“And all ye well-greav’d Greeks, the gods, whose habitations be

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In heav’nly houses, grace your pow’rs with Priam’s razéd town,

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And grant ye happy conduct home! To win which wish’d renown

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Of Jove, by honouring his son, far-shooting Phœbus, deign

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For these fit presents to dissolve the ransomable chain

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Of my lov’d daughter’s servitude.” The Greeks entirely gave

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Glad acclamations, for sign that their desires would have

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The grave priest reverenc’d, and his gifts of so much price embrac’d.

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The Gen’ral yet bore no such mind, but viciously disgrac’d

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With violent terms the priest, and said:—“Dotard! avoid our fleet,

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Where ling’ring be not found by me; nor thy returning feet

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Let ever visit us again; lest nor thy godhead’s crown,

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Nor sceptre, save thee! Her thou seek’st I still will hold mine own,

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Till age deflow’r her. In our court at Argos, far transferr’d

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From her lov’d country, she shall ply her web, and see prepar’d[1]

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With all fit ornaments my bed. Incense me then no more,

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But, if thou wilt be safe, be gone.” This said, the sea-beat shore,

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Obeying his high will, the priest trod off with haste and fear;

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And, walking silent, till he left far off his enemies’ ear,

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Phœbus, fair hair’d Latona’s son, he stirr’d up with a vow,

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To this stern purpose: “Hear, thou God that bear’st the silver bow,

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That Chrysa guard’st, rul’st Tenedos with strong hand, and the round

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Of Cilia most divine dost walk! O Sminthëus! if crown’d

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With thankful off’rings thy rich fane I ever saw, or fir’d

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Fat thighs of oxen and of goats to thee, this grace desir’d

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Vouchsafe to me: pains for my tears let these rude Greeks repay,

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Forc’d with thy arrows.” Thus he pray’d, and Phœebus heard him pray,

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And, vex’d at heart, down from the tops of steep heav’n stoop’d; his

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bow,

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And quiver cover’d round, his hands did on his shoulders throw;

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And of the angry Deity the arrows as he mov’d

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Rattled about him. Like the night he rang’d the host, and rov’d

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(Apart the fleet set) terribly; with his hard-loosing hand

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His silver bow twang’d; and his shafts did first the mules command,

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And swift hounds; then the Greeks themselves his deadly arrows shot.

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The fires of death went never out; nine days his shafts flew hot

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About the army; and the tenth, Achilles called a court

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Of all the Greeks; heav’n’s white-arm’d Queen (who, ev’rywhere cut

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short,

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Beholding her lov’d Greeks, by death) suggested it; and he

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(All met in one) arose, and said: “Atrides, now I see

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We must be wandering again, flight must be still our stay,

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If flight can save us now, at once sickness and battle lay

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Such strong hand on us. Let us ask some prophet, priest, or prove

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Some dream-interpreter (for dreams are often sent from Jove)

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Why Phœbus is so much incens’d; if unperformed vows

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He blames in us, or hecatombs; and if these knees he bows

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To death may yield his graves no more, but off’ring all supply

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Of savours burnt from lambs and goats, avert his fervent eye,

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And turn his temp’rate.” Thus, he sat; and then stood up to them

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Calchas, surnam’d Thestorides, of augurs the supreme;

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He knew things present, past, to come, and rul’d the equipage

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Of th’ Argive fleet to Ilion, for his prophetic rage

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Giv’n by Apollo; who, well-seen in th’ ill they felt, propos’d

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This to Achilles: “Jove’s belov’d, would thy charge see disclos’d

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The secret of Apollo’s wrath? then cov’nant and take oath

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To my discov’ry, that, with words and pow’rful actions both,

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Thy strength will guard the truth in me; because I well conceive

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That he whose empire governs all, whom all the Grecians give

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Confirm’d obedience, will be mov’d; and then you know the state

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Of him that moves him. When a king hath once mark’d for his hate

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A man inferior, though that day his wrath seems to digest

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Th’ offence he takes, yet evermore he rakes up in his breast

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Brands of quick anger, till revenge hath quench’d to his desire

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The fire reservéd. Tell me, then, if, whatsoever ire

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Suggests in hurt of me to him, thy valour will prevent?”

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Achilles answer’d: “All thou know’st speak, and be confident;

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For by Apollo, Jove’s belov’d, (to whom performing vows,

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O Calchas, for the state of Greece, thy spirit prophetic shows

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Skills that direct us) not a man of all these Grecians here,

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I living, and enjoy’ng the light shot through this flow’ry sphere,

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Shall touch thee with offensive hands; though Agamemnon be

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The man in question, that doth boast the mightiest empery

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Of all our army.” Then took heart the prophet unreprov’d,

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And said: “They are not unpaid vows, nor hecatombs, that mov’d

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The God against us; his offence is for his priest impair’d

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By Agamemnon, that refus’d the present he preferr’d,

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And kept his daughter. This is cause why heav’n’s Far-darter darts

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These plagues amongst us; and this still will empty in our hearts

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His deathful quiver, uncontain’d till to her lovéd sire

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The black-eyed damsel be resign’d; no rédemptory hire

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Took for her freedom,-not a gift, but all the ransom quit,

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And she convey’d, with sacrifice, till her enfranchis’d feet

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Tread Chrysa under; then the God, so pleas’d, perhaps we may

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Move to remission.” Thus, he sate; and up, the great in sway,

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Heroic Agamemnon rose, eagérly bearing all;

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His mind’s seat overcast with fumes; an anger general

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Fill’d all his faculties; his eyes sparkled like kindling fire,

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Which sternly cast upon the priest, thus vented he his ire:

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“Prophet of ill! for never good came from thee towards me

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Not to a word’s worth; evermore thou took’st delight to be

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Offensive in thy auguries, which thou continu’st still,

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Now casting thy prophetic gall, and vouching all our ill,

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Shot from Apollo, is impos’d since I refus’d the price

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Of fair Chryseis’ liberty; which would in no worth rise

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To my rate of herself, which moves my vows to have her home,

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Past Clytemnestra loving her, that grac’d my nuptial room

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With her virginity and flow’r. Nor ask her merits less

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For person, disposition, wit, and skill in housewif’ries.

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And yet, for all this, she shall go, if more conducible

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That course be than her holding here. I rather wish the weal

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Of my lov’d army than the death. Provide yet instantly

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Supply for her, that I alone of all our royalty

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Lose not my winnings. ’Tis not fit. Ye see all I lose mine

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Forc’d by another, see as well some other may resign

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His prise to me.” To this replied the swift-foot, god-like, son

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Of Thetis, thus: “King of us all, in all ambition

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Most covetous of all that breathe, why should the great-soul’d Greeks

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Supply thy lost prise out of theirs? Nor what thy av’rice seeks

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Our common treasury can find; so little it doth guard

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Of what our ras’d towns yielded us; of all which most is shar’d,

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And giv’n our soldiers; which again to take into our hands

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Were ignominious and base. Now then, since God commands,

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Part with thy most-lov’d prise to him; not any one of us

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Exacts it of thee, yet we all, all loss thou suffer’st thus,

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Will treble, quadruple, in gain, when Jupiter bestows

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The sack of well-wall’d Troy on us; which by his word he owes.”

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“Do not deceive yourself with wit,” he answer’d, “god-like man,

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Though your good name may colour it; ’tis not your swift foot can

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Outrun me here; nor shall the gloss, set on it with the God,

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Persuade me to my wrong. Wouldst thou maintain in sure abode

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Thine own prise, and slight me of mine? Resolve this: if our friends,

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As fits in equity my worth, will right me with amends,

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So rest it; otherwise, myself will enter personally

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On thy prise, that of Ithacus, or Ajax, for supply;

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Let him on whom I enter rage. But come, we’ll order these

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Hereafter, and in other place. Now put to sacred seas

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Our black sail; in it rowers put, in it fit sacrifice;

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And to these I will make ascend my so much envied prise,

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Bright-cheek’d Chryseis. For conduct of all which, we must choose

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A chief out of our counsellors. Thy service we must use,

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Idomenëus; Ajax, thine; or thine, wise Ithacus;

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Or thine, thou terriblest of men, thou son of Peleüs,

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Which fittest were, that thou might’st see these holy acts perform’d

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For which thy cunning zeal so pleads; and he, whose bow thus storm’d

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For our offences, may be calm’d.” Achilles, with a frown,

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Thus answer’d: “O thou impudent! of no good but thine own

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Ever respectful, but of that with all craft covetous,

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With what heart can a man attempt a service dangerous,

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Or at thy voice be spirited to fly upon a foe,

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Thy mind thus wretched? For myself, I was not injur’d so

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By any Trojan, that my pow’rs should bid them any blows;

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In nothing bear they blame of me; Phthia, whose bosom flows

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With corn and people, never felt impair of her increase

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By their invasion; hills enow, and far-resounding seas,

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Pour out their shades and deeps between; but thee, thou frontless man,

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We follow, and thy triumphs make with bonfires of our bane;

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Thine, and thy brother’s, vengeance sought, thou dog’s eyes, of this

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Troy

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By our expos’d lives; whose deserts thou neither dost employ

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With honour nor with care. And now, thou threat’st to force from me

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The fruit of my sweat, which the Greeks gave all; and though it be,

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Compar’d with thy part, then snatch’d up, nothing; nor ever is

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At any sack’d town; but of fight, the fetcher in of this,

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My hands have most share; in whose toils when I have emptied me

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Of all my forces, my amends in liberality,

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Though it be little, I accept, and turn pleas’d to my tent;

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And yet that little thou esteem’st too great a continent

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In thy incontinent avarice. For Phthia therefore now

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My course is; since ’tis better far, than here t’ endure that thou

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Should’st still be ravishing my right, draw my whole treasure dry,

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And add dishonour.” He replied: “If thy heart serve thee, fly;

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Stay not for my cause; others here will aid and honour me;

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If not, yet Jove I know is sure; that counsellor is he

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That I depend on. As for thee, of all our Jove-kept kings

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Thou still art most my enemy; strifes, battles, bloody things,

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Make thy blood-feasts still. But if strength, that these moods build

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upon,

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Flow in thy nerves, God gave thee it; and so ’tis not thine own,

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But in his hands still. What then lifts thy pride in this so high?

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Home with thy fleet, and Myrmidons; use there their empery;

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Command not here. I weigh thee not, nor mean to magnify

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Thy rough-hewn rages, but, instead, I thus far threaten thee:

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Since Phœbus needs will force from me Chryseis, she shall go;

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My ships and friends shall waft her home; but I will imitate so

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His pleasure, that mine own shall take, in person, from thy tent

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Bright-cheek’d Briseis; and so tell thy strength how eminent

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My pow’r is, being compar’d with thine; all other making fear

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To vaunt equality with me, or in this proud kind bear

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Their beards against me.” Thetis’ son at this stood vex’d, his heart

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Bristled his bosom, and two ways drew his discursive part;

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If, from his thigh his sharp sword drawn, he should make room about

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Atrides’ person, slaught’ring him, or sit his anger out,

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And curb his spirit. While these thoughts striv’d in his blood and

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mind,

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And he his sword drew, down from heav’n Athenia stoop’d, and shin’d

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About his temples, being sent by th’ ivory-wristed Queen,

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Saturnia, who out of her heart had ever loving been,

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And careful for the good of both. She stood behind, and took

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Achilles by the yellow curls, and only gave her look

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To him appearance; not a man of all the rest could see.

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He turning back his eye, amaze strook every faculty;

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Yet straight he knew her by her eyes, so terrible they were,

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Sparkling with ardour, and thus spake: “Thou seed of Jupiter,

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Why com’st thou? To behold his pride, that boasts our empery?

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Then witness with it my revenge, and see that insolence die

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That lives to wrong me.” She replied: “I come from heav’n to see

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Thy anger settled, if thy soul will use her sov’reignty

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In fit reflection. I am sent from Juno, whose affects

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Stand heartily inclin’d to both. Come, give us both respects,

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And cease contention; draw no sword; use words, and such as may

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Be bitter to his pride, but just; for, trust in what I say,

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A time shall come, when, thrice the worth of that he forceth now,

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He shall propose for recompense of these wrongs; therefore throw

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Reins on thy passions, and serve us.” He answer’d “Though my heart

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Burn in just anger, yet my soul must conquer th’ angry part,

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And yield you conquest. Who subdues his earthly part for heav’n,

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Heav’n to his pray’rs subdues his wish.” This said, her charge was

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given

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Fit honour; in his silver hilt he held his able hand,

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And forc’d his broad sword up; and up to heav’n did re-ascend

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Minerva, who, in Jove’s high roof that bears the rough shield, took

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Her place with other deities. She gone, again forsook

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Patience his passion, and no more his silence could confine

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His wrath, that this broad language gave: “Thou ever steep’d in wine,

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Dog’s face, with heart but of a hart, that nor in th’ open eye

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Of fight dar’st thrust into a prease, nor with our noblest lie

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In secret ambush! These works seem too full of death for thee;

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’Tis safer far in the open host to dare an injury

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To any crosser of thy lust. Thou subject-eating king!

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Base spirits thou govern’st, or this wrong had been the last foul thing

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Thou ever author’dst; yet I vow, and by a great oath swear,

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Ev’n by this sceptre, that, as this never again shall bear[2]

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Green leaves or branches, nor increase with any growth his size,

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Nor did since first it left the hills, and had his faculties

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And ornaments bereft with iron; which now to other end

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Judges of Greece bear, and their laws, receiv’d from Jove, defend;

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(For which my oath to thee is great); so, whensoever need

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Shall burn with thirst of me thy host, no pray’rs shall ever breed

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Affection in me to their aid, though well-deserved woes

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Afflict thee for them, when to death man-slaught’ring Hector throws

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Whole troops of them, and thou torment’st thy vex’d mind with conceit

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Of thy rude rage now, and his wrong that most deserv’d the right

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Of all thy army.” Thus, he threw his sceptre ’gainst the ground,

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With golden studs stuck, and took seat. Atrides’ breast was drown’d

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In rising choler. Up to both sweet-spoken Nestor stood,

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The cunning Pylian orator, whose tongue pour’d forth a flood

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Of more-than-honey-sweet discourse; two ages were increas’d

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Of divers-languag’d men, all born in his time and deceas’d,

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In sacred Pylos, where he reign’d amongst the third-ag’d men

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He, well-seen in the world, advis’d, and thus express’d it then:

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“O Gods! Our Greek earth will be drown’d in just tears; rapeful Troy,

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Her king, and all his sons, will make as just a mock, and joy,

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Of these disjunctions; if of you, that all our host excel

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In counsel and in skill of fight, they hear this. Come, repel

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These young men’s passions. Y’ are not both, put both your years in

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one,

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So old as I. I liv’d long since, and was companion

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With men superior to you both, who yet would ever hear

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My counsels with respect. My eyes yet never witness were,

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Nor ever will be, of such men as then delighted them;

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Pirithous, Exadius, and god-like Polypheme,

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Cæneus, and Dryas prince of men, Ægean Theseüs,

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A man like heav’n’s immortals form’d; all, all most vigorous,

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Of all men that ev’n those days: bred; most vig’rous men, and fought

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With beasts most vig’rous, mountain beasts, (for men in strength were

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nought

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Match’d with their forces) fought with them, and bravely fought them

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down

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Yet ev’n with these men I convers’d, being call’d to the renown

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Of their societies, by their suits, from Pylos far, to fight

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In th’ Apian kingdom; and I fought, to a degree of might

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That help’d ev’n their mights, against such as no man now would dare

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To meet in conflict; yet ev’n these my counsels still would hear,

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And with obedience crown my words. Give you such palm to them;

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’Tis better than to wreath your wraths. Atrides, give not stream

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To all thy pow’r, nor force his prise, but yield her still his own,

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As all men else do. Nor do thou encounter with thy crown,

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Great son of Peleus, since no king that ever Jove allow’d

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Grace of a sceptre equals him. Suppose thy nerves endow’d

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With strength superior, and thy birth a very goddess gave,

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Yet he of force is mightier, since what his own nerves have

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Is amplified with just command of many other. King of men,

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Command thou then thyself; and I with my pray’rs will obtain

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Grace of Achilles to subdue his fury; whose parts are

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Worth our entreaty, being chief check to all our ill in war.”

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“All this, good father,” said the king, “is comely and good right;

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But this man breaks all such bounds; he affects, past all men, height;

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All would in his pow’r hold, all make his subjects, give to all

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His hot will for their temp’rate law; all which he never shall

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Persuade at my hands. If the gods have giv’n him the great style

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Of ablest soldier, made they that his licence to revile

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Men with vile language?” Thetis’ son prevented him, and said:

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“Fearful and vile I might be thought, if the exactions laid

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By all means on me I should bear. Others command to this,

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Thou shalt not me; or if thou dost, far my free spirit is

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From serving thy command. Beside, this I affirm (afford

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Impression of it in thy soul): will not use my sword

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On thee or any for a wench, unjustly though thou tak’st

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The thing thou gav’st; but all things else, that in my ship thou mak’st

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Greedy survey of, do not touch without my leave; or do,—

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Add that act’s wrong to this, that these may see that outrage too,—

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And then comes my part; then be sure, thy blood upon my lance

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Shall flow in vengeance.” These high terms these two at variance

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Us’d to each other; left their seats; and after them arose

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The whole court. To his tents and ships, with friends and soldiers,

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goes

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Angry Achilles. Atreus’ son the swift ship launch’d, and put

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Within it twenty chosen row’rs, within it likewise shut

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The hecatomb t’ appease the God; then caus’d to come aboard

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Fair-cheek’d Chryseis; for the chief, he in whom Pallas pour’d

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Her store of counsels, Ithacus, aboard went last; and then

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The moist ways of the sea they sail’d. And now the king of men

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Bade all the host to sacrifice. They sacrific’d, and cast

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The offal of all to the deeps; the angry God they grac’d

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With perfect hecatombs; some bulls, some goats, along the shore

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Of the unfruitful sea, inflam’d. To heav’n the thick fumes bore

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Enwrapped savours. Thus, though all the politic king made shew

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Respects to heav’n, yet he himself all that time did pursue

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His own affections; the late jar, in which he thunder’d threats

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Against Achilles, still he fed, and his affections’ heats

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Thus vented to Talthybius, and grave Eurybates,

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Heralds, and ministers of trust, to all his messages.

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“Haste to Achilles’ tent; where take Briseis’ hand, and bring

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Her beauties to us. If he fail to yield her, say your king

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Will come himself, with multitudes that shall the horribler

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Make both his presence, and your charge, that so he dares defer.”

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This said, he sent them with a charge of hard condition.

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They went unwillingly, and trod the fruitless sea’s shore; soon

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They reach’d the navy and the tents, in which the quarter lay

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Of all the Myrmidons, and found the chief Chief in their sway

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Set at his black bark in his tent. Nor was Achilles glad

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To see their presence; nor themselves in any glory had

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Their message, but with rev’rence stood, and fear’d th’ offended king,

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Ask’d not the dame, nor spake a word. He yet, well knowing the thing

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That caus’d their coming, grac’d them thus: “Heralds, ye men that bear

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The messages of men and gods, y’ are welcome, come ye near.

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I nothing blame you, but your king; ’tis he I know doth send

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You for Briseis; she is his. Patroclus, honour’d friend,

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Bring forth the damsel, and these men let lead her to their lord.

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But, heralds, be you witnesses, before the most ador’d,

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Before us mortals, and before your most ungentle king,

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Of what I suffer, that, if war ever hereafter bring

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My aid in question, to avert any severest bane

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It brings on others, I am ’scus’d to keep mine aid in wane,

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Since they mine honour. But your king, in tempting mischief, raves,

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Nor sees at once by present things the future; how like waves

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Ills follow ills; injustices being never so secure

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In present times, but after-plagues ev’n then are seen as sure;

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Which yet he sees not, and so soothes his present lust, which, check’d,

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Would check plagues future; and he might, in succouring right, protect

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Such as fight for his right at fleet. They still in safety fight,

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That fight still justly.” This speech us’d, Patroclus did the rite

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His friend commanded, and brought forth Briseis from her tent,

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Gave her the heralds, and away to th’ Achive ships they went.

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She sad, and scarce for grief could go. Her love all friends forsook,

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And wept for anger. To the shore of th’ old sea he betook

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Himself alone, and casting forth upon the purple sea

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His wet eyes, and his hands to heav’n advancing, this sad plea

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Made to his mother; “Mother! Since you brought me forth to breathe

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So short a life, Olympius had good right to bequeath

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My short life honour; yet that right he doth in no degree,

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But lets Atrides do me shame, and force that prise from me

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That all the Greeks gave.” This with tears he utter’d, and she heard,

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Set with her old sire in his deeps, and instantly appear’d

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Up from the grey sea like a cloud, sate by his side, and said:

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“Why weeps my son? What grieves thee?

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Speak, conceal not what hath laid

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Such hard hand on thee, let both know.” He, sighing like a storm,

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Replied: “Thou dost know. Why should I things known again inform?

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We march’d to Thebes, the sacred town of king Eëtion,

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Sack’d it, and brought to fleet the spoil, which every valiant son

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Of Greece indifferently shar’d. Atrides had for share

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Fair-cheek’d Chryseis. After which, his priest that shoots so far,

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Chryses, the fair Chryseis’ sire, arriv’d at th’ Achive fleet,

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With infinite ransom, to redeem the dear imprison’d feet

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Of his fair daughter. In his hands he held Apollo’s crown,

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And golden sceptre; making suit to ev’ry Grecian son,

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But most the sons of Atreüs, the others’ orderers,

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Yet they least heard him; all the rest receiv’d with rev’rend ears

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The motion, both the priest and gifts gracing, and holding worth

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His wish’d acceptance. Atreus’ son yet (vex’d) commanded forth

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With rude terms Phœbus’ rev’rend priest; who, angry, made retreat,

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And pray’d to Phœbus, in whose grace he standing passing great

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Got his petitión. The God an ill shaft sent abroad

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That tumbled down the Greeks in heaps. The host had no abode

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That was not visited. We ask’d a prophet that well knew

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The cause of all; and from his lips Apollo’s prophecies flew,

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Telling his anger. First myself exhorted to appease

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The anger’d God; which Atreus’ son did at the heart displease,

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And up he stood, us’d threats, perform’d. The black-eyed Greeks sent

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home

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Chryseis to her sire, and gave his God a hecatomb.

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Then, for Briseis, to my tents Atrides’ heralds came,

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And took her that the Greeks gave all. If then thy pow’rs can frame

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Wreak for thy son, afford it. Scale Olympus, and implore

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Jove (if by either word, or fact, thou ever didst restore

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Joy to his griev’d heart) now to help. I oft have heard thee vaunt,

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In court of Peleus, that alone thy hand was conversant

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In rescue from a cruel spoil the black-cloud-gath’ring Jove,

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Whom other Godheads would have bound (the Pow’r whose pace doth move

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The round earth, heav’n’s great Queen, and Pallas); to whose bands

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Thou cam’st with rescue, bringing up him with the hundred hands

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To great Olympus, whom the Gods call Briarëus, men

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Ægæon, who his sire surpass’d, and was as strong again,

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And in that grace sat glad by Jove. Th’ immortals stood dismay’d

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At his ascension, and gave free passage to his aid.

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Of all this tell Jove; kneel to him, embrace his knee, and pray,

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If Troy’s aid he will ever deign, that now their forces may

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Beat home the Greeks to fleet and sea; embruing their retreat

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In slaughter; their pains pay’ng the wreak of their proud sov’reign’s

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heat;

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And that far-ruling king may know, from his poor soldier’s harms

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His own harm falls; his own and all in mine, his best in arms.”

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Her answer she pour’d out in tears: “O me, my son,” said she,

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“Why brought I up thy being at all, that brought thee forth to be

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Sad subject of so hard a fate? O would to heav’n, that since

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Thy fate is little, and not long, thou might’st without offence

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And tears perform it! But to live, thrall to so stern a fate

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As grants thee least life, and that least so most unfortunate,

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Grieves me t’ have giv’n thee any life. But what thou wishest now,

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If Jove will grant, I’ll up and ask; Olympus crown’d with snow

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I’ll climb; but sit thou fast at fleet, renounce all war, and feed

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Thy heart with wrath, and hope of wreak; till which come, thou shalt

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need

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A little patience. Jupiter went yesterday to feast

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Amongst the blameless Æthiops, in th’ ocean’s deepen’d breast,

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All Gods attending him; the twelfth, high heav’n again he sees,

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And then his brass-paved court I’ll scale, cling to his pow’rful knees,

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And doubt not but to win thy wish.” Thus, made she her remove,

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And left wrath tyring on her son, for his enforcèd love.

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Ulysses, with the hecatomb, arriv’d at Chrysa’s shore;

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And when amidst the hav’n’s deep mouth, they came to use the oar,

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They straight strook sail, then roll’d them up, and on the hatches

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threw;

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The top-mast to the kelsine then, with halyards down they drew;

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Then brought the ship to port with oars; then forked anchor cast;

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And, ’gainst the violence of storm, for drifting made her fast.

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All come ashore, they all expos’d the holy hecatomb

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To angry Phœbus, and, with it, Chryseis welcom’d home;

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Whom to her sire, wise Ithacus, that did at th’ altar stand,

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For honour led, and, spoken thus, resign’d her to his hand:

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“Chryses, the mighty king of men, great Agamemnon, sends

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Thy lov’d seed by my hands to thine; and to thy God commends

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A hecatomb, which my charge is to sacrifice, and seek

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Our much-sigh-mix’d woe his recure, invok’d by ev’ry Greek.”

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Thus he resign’d her, and her sire receiv’d her highly joy’d.

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About the well-built altar, then, they orderly employ’d

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The sacred off’ring, wash’d their hands, took salt cakes; and the

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priest,

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With hands held up to heav’n, thus pray’d: “O thou that all things

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seest,

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Fautour of Chrysa, whose fair hand doth guard fully dispose

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Celestial Cilia, governing in all pow’r Tenedos,

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O hear thy priest, and as thy hand, in free grace to my pray’rs,

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Shot fervent plague-shafts through the Greeks, now hearten their

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affairs

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With health renew’d, and quite remove th’ infection from their blood.”

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He pray’d; and to his pray’rs again the God propitious stood.

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All, after pray’r, cast on salt cakes, drew back, kill’d, flay’d the

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beeves,

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Cut out and dubb’d with fat their thighs, fair dress’d with doubled

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leaves,

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And on them all the sweetbreads’ prick’d, The priest, with small sere

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wood,

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Did sacrifice, pour’d on red wine; by whom the young men stood,

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And turn’d, in five ranks, spits; on which (the legs enough) they eat

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The inwards; then in giggots cut the other fit for meat,

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And put to fire; which roasted well they drew. The labour done,

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They serv’d the feast in, that fed all to satisfaction.

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Desire of meat and wine thus quench’d, the youths crown’d cups of wine

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Drunk off, and fill’d again to all. That day was held divine,

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And spent in pæans to the Sun, who heard with pleaséd ear;

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When whose bright chariot stoop’d to sea, and twilight hid the clear,

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All soundly on their cables slept, ev’n till the night was worn.

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And when the lady of the light, the rosy-finger’d Morn,

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Rose from the hills, all fresh arose, and to the camp retir’d.

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Apollo with a fore-right wind their swelling bark inspir’d.

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The top-mast hoisted, milk-white sails on his round breast they put,

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The mizens strooted with the gale, the ship her course did cut

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So swiftly that the parted waves against her ribs did roar;

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Which, coming to the camp, they drew aloft the sandy shore,

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Where, laid on stocks, each soldier kept his quarter as before.

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But Peleus’ son, swift-foot Achilles, at his swift ships sate,

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Burning in wrath, nor ever came to councils of estate

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That make men honour’d, never trod the fierce embattled field,

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But kept close, and his lov’d heart pin’d, what fight and cries could

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yield

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Thirsting at all parts to the host, And now, since first he told

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His wrongs to Thetis, twelve fair morns their ensigns did unfold,

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And then the ever-living gods mounted Olympus, Jove

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First in ascension. Thetis then, remember’d well to move

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Achilles’ motion, rose from sea, and, by the morn’s first light,

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The great heav’n and Olympus climb’d; where, in supremest height

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Of all that many-headed hill, she saw the far-seen son

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Of Saturn, set from all the rest, in his free seat alone.

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Before whom, on her own knees fall’n, the knees of Jupiter

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Her left hand held, her right his chin, and thus she did prefer

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Her son’s petition: “Father Jove! If ever I have stood

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Aidful to thee in word or work, with this imploréd good,

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Requite my aid, renown my son, since in so short a race

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(Past others) thou confin’st his life. An insolent disgrace

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Is done him by the king of men; he forc’d from him a prise

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Won with his sword. But thou, O Jove, that art most strong, most wise,

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Honour my son for my sake; add strength to the Trojans’ side

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By his side’s weakness in his want; and see Troy amplified

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In conquest, so much, and so long, till Greece may give again

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The glory reft him, and the more illustrate the free reign

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Of his wrong’d honour.” Jove at this sate silent; not a word

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In long space pass’d him. Thetis still hung on his knee, implor’d

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The second time his help, and said: “Grant, or deny my suit,

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Be free in what thou dost; I know, thou canst not sit thus mute

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For fear of any; speak, deny, that so I may be sure,

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Of all heav’n’s Goddesses ’tis I, that only must endure

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Dishonour by thee.” Jupiter, the great cloud-gath’rer, griev’d

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With thought of what a world of griefs this suit ask’d, being achiev’d,

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Swell’d, sigh’d, and answer’d: “Works of death thou urgest. O, at this

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Juno will storm, and all my pow’rs inflame with contumelies.

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Ever she wrangles, charging me in ear of all the Gods

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That I am partial still, that I add the displeasing odds

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Of my aid to the Ilians. Begone then, lest she see;

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Leave thy request to my care; yet, that trust may hearten thee

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With thy desire’s grant, and my pow’r to give it act approve

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How vain her strife is, to thy pray’r my eminent head shall move;

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Which is the great sign of my will with all th’ immortal states;

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Irrevocable; never fails; never without the rates

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Of all pow’rs else; when my head bows, all heads bow with it still

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As their first mover; and gives pow’r to any work I will.”

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He said; and his black eyebrows bent; above his deathless head

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Th’ ambrosian curls flow’d; great heav’n shook: and both were severéd,

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Their counsels broken. To the depth of Neptune’s kingdom div’d

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Thetis from heav’n’s height; Jove arose; and all the Gods receiv’d

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(All rising from their thrones) their Sire, attending to his court.

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None sate when he rose, none delay’d the furnishing his port

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Till he came near; all met with him, and brought him to his throne.

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Nor sate great Juno ignorant, when she beheld alone

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Old Nereus’ silver-footed seed with Jove, that she had brought

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Counsels to heav’n; and straight her tongue had teeth in it, that

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wrought

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This sharp invective: “Who was that (thou craftiest counsellor

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Of all the Gods) that so apart some secret did implore?

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Ever, apart from me, thou lov’st to counsel and decree

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Things of more close trust than thou think’st are fit t’ impart to me.

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Whatever thou determin’st, I must ever be denied

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The knowledge of it by thy will.” To her speech thus replied

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The Father both of men and Gods: “Have never hope to know

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My whole intentions, though my wife; it fits not, nor would show

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Well to thine own thoughts; but what fits thy woman’s ear to hear,

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Woman, nor man, nor God, shall know before it grace thine ear.

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Yet what, apart from men and Gods, I please to know, forbear

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T’ examine, or inquire of that.” She with the cow’s fair eyes,

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Respected Juno, this return’d: “Austere king of the skies,

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What hast thou utter’d? When did I before this time inquire,

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Or sift thy counsels? Passing close you are still. Your desire

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Is serv’d with such care, that I fear you can scarce vouch the deed

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That makes it public, being seduc’d by this old sea-god’s seed,

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That could so early use her knees, embracing thine. I doubt,

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The late act of thy bowéd head was for the working out

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Of some boon she ask’d; that her son thy partial hand would please

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With plaguing others.” “Wretch!” said he, “thy subtle jealousies

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Are still exploring; my designs can never ’scape thine eye,

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Which yet thou never canst prevent. Thy curiosity

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Makes thee less car’d for at my hands, and horrible the end

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Shall make thy humour. If it be what thy suspects intend,

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What then? ’Tis my free will it should; to which let way be giv’n

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With silence. Curb your tongue in time; lest all the Gods in heav’n

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Too few be and too weak to help thy punish’d insolence,

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When my inaccessible hands shall fall on thee.” The sense

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Of this high threat’ning made her fear, and silent she sate down,

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Humbling her great heart. All the Gods in court of Jove did frown

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At this offence giv’n; amongst whom heav’n’s famous artizan,

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Ephaistus, in his mother’s care, this comely speech began:

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“Believe it, these words will breed wounds, beyond our pow’rs to bear,

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If thus for mortals ye fall out. Ye make a tumult here

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That spoils our banquet. Evermore worst matters put down best.

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But, mother, though yourself be wise, yet let your son request

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His wisdom audience. Give good terms to our lov’d father Jove,

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For fear he take offence again, and our kind banquet prove

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A wrathful battle. If he will, the heav’nly Light’ner can

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Take you and toss you from your throne; his pow’r Olympian

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Is so surpassing. Soften then with gentle speech his spleen,

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And drink to him; I know his heart will quickly down again.”

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This said, arising from his throne, in his lov’d mother’s hand

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He put the double-handed cup, and said: “Come, do not stand

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On these cross humours, suffer, bear, though your great bosom grieve,

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And lest blows force you; all my aid not able to relieve

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Your hard condition, though these eyes behold it, and this heart

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Sorrow to think it. ’Tis a task too dang’rous to take part

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Against Olympius. I myself the proof of this still feel.

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When other Gods would fain have help’d, he took me by the heel,

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And hurl’d me out of heav’n. All day I was in falling down;

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At length in Lemnos I strook earth. The likewise-falling sun

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And I, together, set; my life almost set too; yet there

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The Sintii cheer’d and took me up.” This did to laughter cheer

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White-wristed Juno, who now took the cup of him, and smil’d.

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The sweet peace-making draught went round, and lame Ephaistus fill’d

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Nectar to all the other Gods. A laughter never left

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Shook all the blesséd deities, to see the lame so deft

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At that cup service. All that day, ev’n till the sun went down,

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They banqueted, and had such cheer as did their wishes crown.

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Nor had they music less divine; Apollo there did touch

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His most sweet harp, to which, with voice, the Muses pleas’d as much.

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But when the sun’s fair light was set, each Godhead to his house

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Address’d for sleep, where ev’ry one, with art most curious,

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By heav’n’s great both-foot-halting God a sev’ral roof had built.

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Ev’n he to sleep went, by whose hand heav’n is with lightning gilt,

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High Jove, where he had us’d to rest when sweet sleep seiz’d his eyes;

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By him the golden-thron’d Queen slept, the Queen of deities.

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THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

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which signifies _contra stantem_ as _standing of one side opposite to

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another on the other side_; which yet others translate _capessentem et

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adornantem_; which since it shows best to a reader, I follow.