On naught shalt thou, unpunish'd, lay thy hand.
Make trial if thou wilt, that these may know;
Thy life-blood soon should reek upon my spear."
After this conflict keen of angry speech,

The chiefs arose, and broke the council up.

With his own followers, and Menatius' son, Achilles to his tents and ships withdrew.

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But Atreus' son launch'd a swift-sailing bark,

With twenty rowers mann'd, and plac'd on board

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The sacred hecatomb; then last embark'd

The fair Chryseis, and in chief command

The wise Ulysses, sage in counsel, plac'd.

They swiftly sped along the liquid way.

Next, proclamation through the camp was made

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To purify the host; and in the sea,

Obedient to the word, they purified.

Then to Apollo solemn rites perform'd

With faultless hecatombs of bulls and goats,

Upon the margin of the watery waste;

And wreath'd in smoke the savour rose to heav'n.
The camp thus occupied, the King pursued

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His threaten'd plan of vengeance; to his side
Calling Talthibius and Eurybates,

Heralds, and faithful followers, thus he spoke :

"Haste to Achilles' tent, and in your hand Back with you thence the fair Briseis bring: If he refuse to send her, I myself

With a sufficient force will bear her thence,

Which he may find, perchance, the worse for him.”
So spake the monarch, and with stern command
Dismiss'd them; with reluctant steps they pass'd
Along the margin of the watery waste,

Till to the tents and ships they came, where lay
The warlike Myrmidons. Their chief they found
Sitting beside his tent and dark-ribb'd ship.
Achilles mark'd their coming, not well pleas'd:
With troubled mien, and awe-struck by the King,
They stood, nor dar'd accost him; but himself
Divin'd their errand, and address'd them thus:
"Welcome, ye messengers of Gods and men,

Heralds! approach in safety; not with you,
But with Atrides, is my just offence,

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Who for the fair Briseis sends you here.
Go, then, Patroclus, bring the maiden forth,
And give her to their hands; but witness ye,
Before the blessed Gods and mortal men,
And to the face of that injurious king,

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When he shall need my arm, from shameful rout

To save his followers; blinded by his rage,

He neither heeds experience of the past,

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Nor for the future calculates, how best

To guard his fleet and army from the foe."

:

He spoke obedient to his friend and chief,
Patroclus led the fair Briseis forth,

And gave her to their hands; they to the ships
Retrac'd their steps, and with them the fair girl
Reluctant went: meanwhile Achilles, plung'd

In bitter grief, from all the band apart,

Upon the margin of the hoary sea

Sat idly gazing on the dark-blue waves;

And to his Goddess-mother long he pray'd,

With outstretch'd hands, "Oh, mother! since thy son
To early death by destiny was doom'd,

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I might have hop'd the Thunderer on high,

Olympian Jove, with honour would have crown'd

My little space; but now disgrace is mine;
Since Agamemnon, the wide-ruling king,
Hath wrested from me, and still holds, my prize."
Weeping, he spoke; his Goddess-mother heard,
Beside her aged father where she sat

In the deep ocean-caves: ascending quick
Through the dark waves, like to a misty cloud,
Beside her son she stood; and as he wept,

She gently touch'd him with her hand, and said,
"Why weeps my son? and whence his cause of grief?

Speak out, that I may hear, and share thy pain.'
To whom Achilles, swift of foot, replied,
Groaning, "Thou know'st; what boots to tell thee all?

On Thebes we march'd, Eetion's sacred town,

And storm'd the walls, and hither bore the spoil.
The spoils were fairly by the sons of Greece
Apportion'd out; and to Atrides' share
The dark-ey'd daughter of old Chryses fell.
Chryses, Apollo's priest, to free his child,

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Came to th' encampment of the steel-clad Greeks,
With costly ransom charg'd; and in his hand
The sacred fillet of his God he bore,

And golden staff; to all he sued, but chief
To Atreus' sons, twin captains of the host.
Then through the ranks assenting murmurs ran,
The priest to rev'rence, and the ransom take :
Not so Atrides; he, with haughty mien
And bitter words, the trembling sire dismiss'd.
The old man turn'd in sorrow; but his pray'r

Phoebus Apollo heard, who lov'd him well.

Against the Greeks he bent his fatal bow,
And fast the people fell; on ev'ry side
Throughout the camp the heav'nly arrows flew ;

A skilful seer at length the cause reveal'd
Which thus incens'd the archer-God; I then,

The first, gave counsel to appease his wrath.
Whereat Atrides, full of fury, rose,

And utter'd threats, which he hath now fulfill❜d.

For Chryses' daughter to her native isle

In a swift-sailing ship the black-ey'd Greeks

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