Within my walls, in Argos, far from home,
Her lot is cast, domestic cares to ply,
And share a master's bed. For thee, begone!
Incense me not, lest ill betide thee now."
He said the old man trembled, and obey'd;
Beside the many-dashing Ocean's shore
Silent he pass'd; and all apart, he pray'd
To great Apollo, fair Latona's son:
"Hear me, God of the silver bow! whose care
Chrysa surrounds, and Cilla's lovely isle;
Whose sov❜reign sway o'er Tenedos extends;
O Smintheus, hear! if e'er my offer'd gifts
Found favour in thy sight; if e'er to thee
I burn'd the fat of bulls and choicest goats,
Grant me this boon-upon the Grecian host
Let thine unerring darts avenge my tears."
Thus as he pray'd, his pray'r Apollo heard:
Along Olympus' heights he pass'd, his heart
Burning with wrath; behind his shoulders hung
His bow, and ample quiver; at his back
Rattled the fateful arrows as he mov'd;
Like the night-cloud he pass'd; and from afar
He bent against the ships, and sped the bolt;
And fierce and deadly twang'd the silver bow.
First on the mules and dogs, on man the last,
Was pour'd the arrowy storm; and through the camp,
Constant and num'rous, blaz'd the funeral fires.
Nine days the heav'nly Archer on the troops
Hurl'd his dread shafts; the tenth, th' assembled Greeks 65
Achilles call'd to council; so inspir'd
By Juno, white-arm'd goddess, who beheld
With pitying eyes, the wasting hosts of Greece.
When all were met, and closely throng'd around,
Rose the swift-footed chief, and thus began:
"Ye sons of Atreus, to my mind there seems,
If we would 'scape from death, one only course,
Home to retrace our steps: since here at once
By war and pestilence our forces waste.
But seek we first some prophet, or some priest,
Or some wise vision-seer (since visions too
From Heav'n are sent), who may the cause explain,
Which with such deadly wrath Apollo fires.
If for neglected hecatombs or pray'rs
He blame us; or if fat of lambs and goats
May soothe his anger and the plague assuage."
This said, he sat; and Thestor's son arose,
Calchas, the chief of seers, to whom were known.
The present, and the future, and the past;
Who, by his mystic art, Apollo's gift,
Guided to Ilion's shore the Grecian fleet.
Who thus with cautious speech replied, and said:
"Achilles, lov'd of Heav'n, thou bidst me say
Why thus incens'd the far-destroying King:
Therefore I speak; but promise thou, and swear,
By word and hand, to bear me harmless through.
For well I know my speech must one offend,
One mighty chief, whom all our hosts obey;
And terrible to men of low estate
The anger of a king; for though awhile
He veil his wrath, yet in his bosom pent
It still is nurst, until the time arrive;
Say, then, wilt thou protect me, if I speak?"
Him answer'd thus Achilles, swift of foot :
"Speak boldly out whate'er thine art can tell;
For by Apollo's self I swear, whom thou,
O Calchas, serv'st, and who thy words inspires,
That, while I live, and see the light of heav'n,
Not one of all the Greeks shall dare on thee,
Beside our ships, injurious hands to lay:
No, not if Agamemnon's self were he,
Who 'mid our warriors boasts the foremost place."
Embolden'd thus, th' unerring prophet spoke:
"Not for neglected hecatombs or pray'rs,
But for his priest, whom Agamemnon scorn'd,
Nor took his ransom, nor his child restor❜'d;
On his account the Far-destroyer sends
This scourge of pestilence, and yet will send ;
Nor shall we cease his heavy hand to feel,
Till to her sire we give the dark-ey'd girl,
Unbought, unransom'd, and to Chrysa's Isle
A solemn hecatomb despatch; this done,
We may at length the angry God appease."
This said, he sat; and Atreus' godlike son,
The mighty monarch, Agamemnon, rose,
His dark soul fill'd with fury, and his eyes
Flashing like flames of fire; on Calchas first
A with'ring glance he cast, and thus he spoke :
"Prophet of ill! thou never speak'st to me
But words of evil omen; for thy soul
Delights to augur ill, but aught of good
Thou never yet hast promis'd, nor perform❜d.
And now among the Greeks thou spread'st abroad
Thy lying prophecies, that all these ills
Come from the Far-destroyer, for that I
Refus'd the ransom of my lovely prize,
And that I rather chose herself to keep,
To me not less than Clytemnestra dear,
My virgin-wedded wife; nor less adorn'd
In gifts of form, of feature, or of mind.
Yet, if it must be so, I give her back;
I wish my people's safety, not their death.
But seek me out forthwith some other spoil,
Lest empty-handed I alone appear
Of all the Greeks; for this would ill beseem;
And how I lose my present share, ye see."
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