Part 3

Achilles’ baneful wrath resound, O Goddess, that impos’d Infinite sorrows on the Greeks, and many brave souls los’d. From breasts heroic; sent them far to that invisible cave That no light comforts; and their limbs to dogs and vultures gave; To all which Jove’s will gave effect; from whom first strife begun Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and Thetis’ godlike son. What god gave Eris their command, and op’d that fighting vein? Jove’s and Latona’s son: who fir’d against the king of men, For contumély shown his priest, infectious sickness sent To plague the army, and to death by troops the soldiers went. Occasion’d thus: Chryses, the priest, came to the fleet to buy, For presents of unvalu’d price, his daughter’s liberty; The golden sceptre and the crown of Phœbus in his hands Proposing; and made suit to all, but most to the commands Of both th’ Atrides, who most rul’d. “Great Atreus’ sons,” said he, “And all ye well-greav’d Greeks, the gods, whose habitations be In heav’nly houses, grace your pow’rs with Priam’s razéd town, And grant ye happy conduct home! To win which wish’d renown Of Jove, by honouring his son, far-shooting Phœbus, deign For these fit presents to dissolve the ransomable chain Of my lov’d daughter’s servitude.” The Greeks entirely gave Glad acclamations, for sign that their desires would have The grave priest reverenc’d, and his gifts of so much price embrac’d. The Gen’ral yet bore no such mind, but viciously disgrac’d With violent terms the priest, and said:—“Dotard! avoid our fleet, Where ling’ring be not found by me; nor thy returning feet Let ever visit us again; lest nor thy godhead’s crown, Nor sceptre, save thee! Her thou seek’st I still will hold mine own, Till age deflow’r her. In our court at Argos, far transferr’d From her lov’d country, she shall ply her web, and see prepar’d[1] With all fit ornaments my bed. Incense me then no more, But, if thou wilt be safe, be gone.” This said, the sea-beat shore, Obeying his high will, the priest trod off with haste and fear; And, walking silent, till he left far off his enemies’ ear, Phœbus, fair hair’d Latona’s son, he stirr’d up with a vow, To this stern purpose: “Hear, thou God that bear’st the silver bow, That Chrysa guard’st, rul’st Tenedos with strong hand, and the round Of Cilia most divine dost walk! O Sminthëus! if crown’d With thankful off’rings thy rich fane I ever saw, or fir’d Fat thighs of oxen and of goats to thee, this grace desir’d Vouchsafe to me: pains for my tears let these rude Greeks repay, Forc’d with thy arrows.” Thus he pray’d, and Phœebus heard him pray, And, vex’d at heart, down from the tops of steep heav’n stoop’d; his bow, And quiver cover’d round, his hands did on his shoulders throw; And of the angry Deity the arrows as he mov’d Rattled about him. Like the night he rang’d the host, and rov’d (Apart the fleet set) terribly; with his hard-loosing hand His silver bow twang’d; and his shafts did first the mules command, And swift hounds; then the Greeks themselves his deadly arrows shot. The fires of death went never out; nine days his shafts flew hot About the army; and the tenth, Achilles called a court Of all the Greeks; heav’n’s white-arm’d Queen (who, ev’rywhere cut short, Beholding her lov’d Greeks, by death) suggested it; and he (All met in one) arose, and said: “Atrides, now I see We must be wandering again, flight must be still our stay, If flight can save us now, at once sickness and battle lay Such strong hand on us. Let us ask some prophet, priest, or prove Some dream-interpreter (for dreams are often sent from Jove) Why Phœbus is so much incens’d; if unperformed vows He blames in us, or hecatombs; and if these knees he bows To death may yield his graves no more, but off’ring all supply Of savours burnt from lambs and goats, avert his fervent eye, And turn his temp’rate.” Thus, he sat; and then stood up to them Calchas, surnam’d Thestorides, of augurs the supreme; He knew things present, past, to come, and rul’d the equipage Of th’ Argive fleet to Ilion, for his prophetic rage Giv’n by Apollo; who, well-seen in th’ ill they felt, propos’d This to Achilles: “Jove’s belov’d, would thy charge see disclos’d The secret of Apollo’s wrath? then cov’nant and take oath To my discov’ry, that, with words and pow’rful actions both, Thy strength will guard the truth in me; because I well conceive That he whose empire governs all, whom all the Grecians give Confirm’d obedience, will be mov’d; and then you know the state Of him that moves him. When a king hath once mark’d for his hate A man inferior, though that day his wrath seems to digest Th’ offence he takes, yet evermore he rakes up in his breast Brands of quick anger, till revenge hath quench’d to his desire The fire reservéd. Tell me, then, if, whatsoever ire Suggests in hurt of me to him, thy valour will prevent?” Achilles answer’d: “All thou know’st speak, and be confident; For by Apollo, Jove’s belov’d, (to whom performing vows, O Calchas, for the state of Greece, thy spirit prophetic shows Skills that direct us) not a man of all these Grecians here, I living, and enjoy’ng the light shot through this flow’ry sphere, Shall touch thee with offensive hands; though Agamemnon be The man in question, that doth boast the mightiest empery Of all our army.” Then took heart the prophet unreprov’d, And said: “They are not unpaid vows, nor hecatombs, that mov’d The God against us; his offence is for his priest impair’d By Agamemnon, that refus’d the present he preferr’d, And kept his daughter. This is cause why heav’n’s Far-darter darts These plagues amongst us; and this still will empty in our hearts His deathful quiver, uncontain’d till to her lovéd sire The black-eyed damsel be resign’d; no rédemptory hire Took for her freedom,-not a gift, but all the ransom quit, And she convey’d, with sacrifice, till her enfranchis’d feet Tread Chrysa under; then the God, so pleas’d, perhaps we may Move to remission.” Thus, he sate; and up, the great in sway, Heroic Agamemnon rose, eagérly bearing all; His mind’s seat overcast with fumes; an anger general Fill’d all his faculties; his eyes sparkled like kindling fire, Which sternly cast upon the priest, thus vented he his ire: “Prophet of ill! for never good came from thee towards me Not to a word’s worth; evermore thou took’st delight to be Offensive in thy auguries, which thou continu’st still, Now casting thy prophetic gall, and vouching all our ill, Shot from Apollo, is impos’d since I refus’d the price Of fair Chryseis’ liberty; which would in no worth rise To my rate of herself, which moves my vows to have her home, Past Clytemnestra loving her, that grac’d my nuptial room With her virginity and flow’r. Nor ask her merits less For person, disposition, wit, and skill in housewif’ries. And yet, for all this, she shall go, if more conducible That course be than her holding here. I rather wish the weal Of my lov’d army than the death. Provide yet instantly Supply for her, that I alone of all our royalty Lose not my winnings. ’Tis not fit. Ye see all I lose mine Forc’d by another, see as well some other may resign His prise to me.” To this replied the swift-foot, god-like, son Of Thetis, thus: “King of us all, in all ambition Most covetous of all that breathe, why should the great-soul’d Greeks Supply thy lost prise out of theirs? Nor what thy av’rice seeks Our common treasury can find; so little it doth guard Of what our ras’d towns yielded us; of all which most is shar’d, And giv’n our soldiers; which again to take into our hands Were ignominious and base. Now then, since God commands, Part with thy most-lov’d prise to him; not any one of us Exacts it of thee, yet we all, all loss thou suffer’st thus, Will treble, quadruple, in gain, when Jupiter bestows The sack of well-wall’d Troy on us; which by his word he owes.” “Do not deceive yourself with wit,” he answer’d, “god-like man, Though your good name may colour it; ’tis not your swift foot can Outrun me here; nor shall the gloss, set on it with the God, Persuade me to my wrong. Wouldst thou maintain in sure abode Thine own prise, and slight me of mine? Resolve this: if our friends, As fits in equity my worth, will right me with amends, So rest it; otherwise, myself will enter personally On thy prise, that of Ithacus, or Ajax, for supply; Let him on whom I enter rage. But come, we’ll order these Hereafter, and in other place. Now put to sacred seas Our black sail; in it rowers put, in it fit sacrifice; And to these I will make ascend my so much envied prise, Bright-cheek’d Chryseis. For conduct of all which, we must choose A chief out of our counsellors. Thy service we must use, Idomenëus; Ajax, thine; or thine, wise Ithacus; Or thine, thou terriblest of men, thou son of Peleüs, Which fittest were, that thou might’st see these holy acts perform’d For which thy cunning zeal so pleads; and he, whose bow thus storm’d For our offences, may be calm’d.” Achilles, with a frown, Thus answer’d: “O thou impudent! of no good but thine own Ever respectful, but of that with all craft covetous, With what heart can a man attempt a service dangerous, Or at thy voice be spirited to fly upon a foe, Thy mind thus wretched? For myself, I was not injur’d so By any Trojan, that my pow’rs should bid them any blows; In nothing bear they blame of me; Phthia, whose bosom flows With corn and people, never felt impair of her increase By their invasion; hills enow, and far-resounding seas, Pour out their shades and deeps between; but thee, thou frontless man, We follow, and thy triumphs make with bonfires of our bane; Thine, and thy brother’s, vengeance sought, thou dog’s eyes, of this Troy By our expos’d lives; whose deserts thou neither dost employ With honour nor with care. And now, thou threat’st to force from me The fruit of my sweat, which the Greeks gave all; and though it be, Compar’d with thy part, then snatch’d up, nothing; nor ever is At any sack’d town; but of fight, the fetcher in of this, My hands have most share; in whose toils when I have emptied me Of all my forces, my amends in liberality, Though it be little, I accept, and turn pleas’d to my tent; And yet that little thou esteem’st too great a continent In thy incontinent avarice. For Phthia therefore now My course is; since ’tis better far, than here t’ endure that thou Should’st still be ravishing my right, draw my whole treasure dry, And add dishonour.” He replied: “If thy heart serve thee, fly; Stay not for my cause; others here will aid and honour me; If not, yet Jove I know is sure; that counsellor is he That I depend on. As for thee, of all our Jove-kept kings Thou still art most my enemy; strifes, battles, bloody things, Make thy blood-feasts still. But if strength, that these moods build upon, Flow in thy nerves, God gave thee it; and so ’tis not thine own, But in his hands still. What then lifts thy pride in this so high? Home with thy fleet, and Myrmidons; use there their empery; Command not here. I weigh thee not, nor mean to magnify Thy rough-hewn rages, but, instead, I thus far threaten thee: Since Phœbus needs will force from me Chryseis, she shall go; My ships and friends shall waft her home; but I will imitate so His pleasure, that mine own shall take, in person, from thy tent Bright-cheek’d Briseis; and so tell thy strength how eminent My pow’r is, being compar’d with thine; all other making fear To vaunt equality with me, or in this proud kind bear Their beards against me.” Thetis’ son at this stood vex’d, his heart Bristled his bosom, and two ways drew his discursive part; If, from his thigh his sharp sword drawn, he should make room about Atrides’ person, slaught’ring him, or sit his anger out, And curb his spirit. While these thoughts striv’d in his blood and mind, And he his sword drew, down from heav’n Athenia stoop’d, and shin’d About his temples, being sent by th’ ivory-wristed Queen, Saturnia, who out of her heart had ever loving been, And careful for the good of both. She stood behind, and took Achilles by the yellow curls, and only gave her look To him appearance; not a man of all the rest could see. He turning back his eye, amaze strook every faculty; Yet straight he knew her by her eyes, so terrible they were, Sparkling with ardour, and thus spake: “Thou seed of Jupiter, Why com’st thou? To behold his pride, that boasts our empery? Then witness with it my revenge, and see that insolence die That lives to wrong me.” She replied: “I come from heav’n to see Thy anger settled, if thy soul will use her sov’reignty In fit reflection. I am sent from Juno, whose affects Stand heartily inclin’d to both. Come, give us both respects, And cease contention; draw no sword; use words, and such as may Be bitter to his pride, but just; for, trust in what I say, A time shall come, when, thrice the worth of that he forceth now, He shall propose for recompense of these wrongs; therefore throw Reins on thy passions, and serve us.” He answer’d “Though my heart Burn in just anger, yet my soul must conquer th’ angry part, And yield you conquest. Who subdues his earthly part for heav’n, Heav’n to his pray’rs subdues his wish.” This said, her charge was given Fit honour; in his silver hilt he held his able hand, And forc’d his broad sword up; and up to heav’n did re-ascend Minerva, who, in Jove’s high roof that bears the rough shield, took Her place with other deities. She gone, again forsook Patience his passion, and no more his silence could confine His wrath, that this broad language gave: “Thou ever steep’d in wine, Dog’s face, with heart but of a hart, that nor in th’ open eye Of fight dar’st thrust into a prease, nor with our noblest lie In secret ambush! These works seem too full of death for thee; ’Tis safer far in the open host to dare an injury To any crosser of thy lust. Thou subject-eating king! Base spirits thou govern’st, or this wrong had been the last foul thing Thou ever author’dst; yet I vow, and by a great oath swear, Ev’n by this sceptre, that, as this never again shall bear[2] Green leaves or branches, nor increase with any growth his size, Nor did since first it left the hills, and had his faculties And ornaments bereft with iron; which now to other end Judges of Greece bear, and their laws, receiv’d from Jove, defend; (For which my oath to thee is great); so, whensoever need Shall burn with thirst of me thy host, no pray’rs shall ever breed Affection in me to their aid, though well-deserved woes Afflict thee for them, when to death man-slaught’ring Hector throws Whole troops of them, and thou torment’st thy vex’d mind with conceit Of thy rude rage now, and his wrong that most deserv’d the right Of all thy army.” Thus, he threw his sceptre ’gainst the ground, With golden studs stuck, and took seat. Atrides’ breast was drown’d In rising choler. Up to both sweet-spoken Nestor stood, The cunning Pylian orator, whose tongue pour’d forth a flood Of more-than-honey-sweet discourse; two ages were increas’d Of divers-languag’d men, all born in his time and deceas’d, In sacred Pylos, where he reign’d amongst the third-ag’d men He, well-seen in the world, advis’d, and thus express’d it then: “O Gods! Our Greek earth will be drown’d in just tears; rapeful Troy, Her king, and all his sons, will make as just a mock, and joy, Of these disjunctions; if of you, that all our host excel In counsel and in skill of fight, they hear this. Come, repel These young men’s passions. Y’ are not both, put both your years in one, So old as I. I liv’d long since, and was companion With men superior to you both, who yet would ever hear My counsels with respect. My eyes yet never witness were, Nor ever will be, of such men as then delighted them; Pirithous, Exadius, and god-like Polypheme, Cæneus, and Dryas prince of men, Ægean Theseüs, A man like heav’n’s immortals form’d; all, all most vigorous, Of all men that ev’n those days: bred; most vig’rous men, and fought With beasts most vig’rous, mountain beasts, (for men in strength were nought Match’d with their forces) fought with them, and bravely fought them down Yet ev’n with these men I convers’d, being call’d to the renown Of their societies, by their suits, from Pylos far, to fight In th’ Apian kingdom; and I fought, to a degree of might That help’d ev’n their mights, against such as no man now would dare To meet in conflict; yet ev’n these my counsels still would hear, And with obedience crown my words. Give you such palm to them; ’Tis better than to wreath your wraths. Atrides, give not stream To all thy pow’r, nor force his prise, but yield her still his own, As all men else do. Nor do thou encounter with thy crown, Great son of Peleus, since no king that ever Jove allow’d Grace of a sceptre equals him. Suppose thy nerves endow’d With strength superior, and thy birth a very goddess gave, Yet he of force is mightier, since what his own nerves have Is amplified with just command of many other. King of men, Command thou then thyself; and I with my pray’rs will obtain Grace of Achilles to subdue his fury; whose parts are Worth our entreaty, being chief check to all our ill in war.” “All this, good father,” said the king, “is comely and good right; But this man breaks all such bounds; he affects, past all men, height; All would in his pow’r hold, all make his subjects, give to all His hot will for their temp’rate law; all which he never shall Persuade at my hands. If the gods have giv’n him the great style Of ablest soldier, made they that his licence to revile Men with vile language?” Thetis’ son prevented him, and said: “Fearful and vile I might be thought, if the exactions laid By all means on me I should bear. Others command to this, Thou shalt not me; or if thou dost, far my free spirit is From serving thy command. Beside, this I affirm (afford Impression of it in thy soul): will not use my sword On thee or any for a wench, unjustly though thou tak’st The thing thou gav’st; but all things else, that in my ship thou mak’st Greedy survey of, do not touch without my leave; or do,— Add that act’s wrong to this, that these may see that outrage too,— And then comes my part; then be sure, thy blood upon my lance Shall flow in vengeance.” These high terms these two at variance Us’d to each other; left their seats; and after them arose The whole court. To his tents and ships, with friends and soldiers, goes Angry Achilles. Atreus’ son the swift ship launch’d, and put Within it twenty chosen row’rs, within it likewise shut The hecatomb t’ appease the God; then caus’d to come aboard Fair-cheek’d Chryseis; for the chief, he in whom Pallas pour’d Her store of counsels, Ithacus, aboard went last; and then The moist ways of the sea they sail’d. And now the king of men Bade all the host to sacrifice. They sacrific’d, and cast The offal of all to the deeps; the angry God they grac’d With perfect hecatombs; some bulls, some goats, along the shore Of the unfruitful sea, inflam’d. To heav’n the thick fumes bore Enwrapped savours. Thus, though all the politic king made shew Respects to heav’n, yet he himself all that time did pursue His own affections; the late jar, in which he thunder’d threats Against Achilles, still he fed, and his affections’ heats Thus vented to Talthybius, and grave Eurybates, Heralds, and ministers of trust, to all his messages. “Haste to Achilles’ tent; where take Briseis’ hand, and bring Her beauties to us. If he fail to yield her, say your king Will come himself, with multitudes that shall the horribler Make both his presence, and your charge, that so he dares defer.” This said, he sent them with a charge of hard condition. They went unwillingly, and trod the fruitless sea’s shore; soon They reach’d the navy and the tents, in which the quarter lay Of all the Myrmidons, and found the chief Chief in their sway Set at his black bark in his tent. Nor was Achilles glad To see their presence; nor themselves in any glory had Their message, but with rev’rence stood, and fear’d th’ offended king, Ask’d not the dame, nor spake a word. He yet, well knowing the thing That caus’d their coming, grac’d them thus: “Heralds, ye men that bear The messages of men and gods, y’ are welcome, come ye near. I nothing blame you, but your king; ’tis he I know doth send You for Briseis; she is his. Patroclus, honour’d friend, Bring forth the damsel, and these men let lead her to their lord. But, heralds, be you witnesses, before the most ador’d, Before us mortals, and before your most ungentle king, Of what I suffer, that, if war ever hereafter bring My aid in question, to avert any severest bane It brings on others, I am ’scus’d to keep mine aid in wane, Since they mine honour. But your king, in tempting mischief, raves, Nor sees at once by present things the future; how like waves Ills follow ills; injustices being never so secure In present times, but after-plagues ev’n then are seen as sure; Which yet he sees not, and so soothes his present lust, which, check’d, Would check plagues future; and he might, in succouring right, protect Such as fight for his right at fleet. They still in safety fight, That fight still justly.” This speech us’d, Patroclus did the rite His friend commanded, and brought forth Briseis from her tent, Gave her the heralds, and away to th’ Achive ships they went. She sad, and scarce for grief could go. Her love all friends forsook, And wept for anger. To the shore of th’ old sea he betook Himself alone, and casting forth upon the purple sea His wet eyes, and his hands to heav’n advancing, this sad plea Made to his mother; “Mother! Since you brought me forth to breathe So short a life, Olympius had good right to bequeath My short life honour; yet that right he doth in no degree, But lets Atrides do me shame, and force that prise from me That all the Greeks gave.” This with tears he utter’d, and she heard, Set with her old sire in his deeps, and instantly appear’d Up from the grey sea like a cloud, sate by his side, and said: “Why weeps my son? What grieves thee? Speak, conceal not what hath laid Such hard hand on thee, let both know.” He, sighing like a storm, Replied: “Thou dost know. Why should I things known again inform? We march’d to Thebes, the sacred town of king Eëtion, Sack’d it, and brought to fleet the spoil, which every valiant son Of Greece indifferently shar’d. Atrides had for share Fair-cheek’d Chryseis. After which, his priest that shoots so far, Chryses, the fair Chryseis’ sire, arriv’d at th’ Achive fleet, With infinite ransom, to redeem the dear imprison’d feet Of his fair daughter. In his hands he held Apollo’s crown, And golden sceptre; making suit to ev’ry Grecian son, But most the sons of Atreüs, the others’ orderers, Yet they least heard him; all the rest receiv’d with rev’rend ears The motion, both the priest and gifts gracing, and holding worth His wish’d acceptance. Atreus’ son yet (vex’d) commanded forth With rude terms Phœbus’ rev’rend priest; who, angry, made retreat, And pray’d to Phœbus, in whose grace he standing passing great Got his petitión. The God an ill shaft sent abroad That tumbled down the Greeks in heaps. The host had no abode That was not visited. We ask’d a prophet that well knew The cause of all; and from his lips Apollo’s prophecies flew, Telling his anger. First myself exhorted to appease The anger’d God; which Atreus’ son did at the heart displease, And up he stood, us’d threats, perform’d. The black-eyed Greeks sent home Chryseis to her sire, and gave his God a hecatomb. Then, for Briseis, to my tents Atrides’ heralds came, And took her that the Greeks gave all. If then thy pow’rs can frame Wreak for thy son, afford it. Scale Olympus, and implore Jove (if by either word, or fact, thou ever didst restore Joy to his griev’d heart) now to help. I oft have heard thee vaunt, In court of Peleus, that alone thy hand was conversant In rescue from a cruel spoil the black-cloud-gath’ring Jove, Whom other Godheads would have bound (the Pow’r whose pace doth move The round earth, heav’n’s great Queen, and Pallas); to whose bands Thou cam’st with rescue, bringing up him with the hundred hands To great Olympus, whom the Gods call Briarëus, men Ægæon, who his sire surpass’d, and was as strong again, And in that grace sat glad by Jove. Th’ immortals stood dismay’d At his ascension, and gave free passage to his aid. Of all this tell Jove; kneel to him, embrace his knee, and pray, If Troy’s aid he will ever deign, that now their forces may Beat home the Greeks to fleet and sea; embruing their retreat In slaughter; their pains pay’ng the wreak of their proud sov’reign’s heat; And that far-ruling king may know, from his poor soldier’s harms His own harm falls; his own and all in mine, his best in arms.” Her answer she pour’d out in tears: “O me, my son,” said she, “Why brought I up thy being at all, that brought thee forth to be Sad subject of so hard a fate? O would to heav’n, that since Thy fate is little, and not long, thou might’st without offence And tears perform it! But to live, thrall to so stern a fate As grants thee least life, and that least so most unfortunate, Grieves me t’ have giv’n thee any life. But what thou wishest now, If Jove will grant, I’ll up and ask; Olympus crown’d with snow I’ll climb; but sit thou fast at fleet, renounce all war, and feed Thy heart with wrath, and hope of wreak; till which come, thou shalt need A little patience. Jupiter went yesterday to feast Amongst the blameless Æthiops, in th’ ocean’s deepen’d breast, All Gods attending him; the twelfth, high heav’n again he sees, And then his brass-paved court I’ll scale, cling to his pow’rful knees, And doubt not but to win thy wish.” Thus, made she her remove, And left wrath tyring on her son, for his enforcèd love. Ulysses, with the hecatomb, arriv’d at Chrysa’s shore; And when amidst the hav’n’s deep mouth, they came to use the oar, They straight strook sail, then roll’d them up, and on the hatches threw; The top-mast to the kelsine then, with halyards down they drew; Then brought the ship to port with oars; then forked anchor cast; And, ’gainst the violence of storm, for drifting made her fast. All come ashore, they all expos’d the holy hecatomb To angry Phœbus, and, with it, Chryseis welcom’d home; Whom to her sire, wise Ithacus, that did at th’ altar stand, For honour led, and, spoken thus, resign’d her to his hand: “Chryses, the mighty king of men, great Agamemnon, sends Thy lov’d seed by my hands to thine; and to thy God commends A hecatomb, which my charge is to sacrifice, and seek Our much-sigh-mix’d woe his recure, invok’d by ev’ry Greek.” Thus he resign’d her, and her sire receiv’d her highly joy’d. About the well-built altar, then, they orderly employ’d The sacred off’ring, wash’d their hands, took salt cakes; and the priest, With hands held up to heav’n, thus pray’d: “O thou that all things seest, Fautour of Chrysa, whose fair hand doth guard fully dispose Celestial Cilia, governing in all pow’r Tenedos, O hear thy priest, and as thy hand, in free grace to my pray’rs, Shot fervent plague-shafts through the Greeks, now hearten their affairs With health renew’d, and quite remove th’ infection from their blood.” He pray’d; and to his pray’rs again the God propitious stood. All, after pray’r, cast on salt cakes, drew back, kill’d, flay’d the beeves, Cut out and dubb’d with fat their thighs, fair dress’d with doubled leaves, And on them all the sweetbreads’ prick’d, The priest, with small sere wood, Did sacrifice, pour’d on red wine; by whom the young men stood, And turn’d, in five ranks, spits; on which (the legs enough) they eat The inwards; then in giggots cut the other fit for meat, And put to fire; which roasted well they drew. The labour done, They serv’d the feast in, that fed all to satisfaction. Desire of meat and wine thus quench’d, the youths crown’d cups of wine Drunk off, and fill’d again to all. That day was held divine, And spent in pæans to the Sun, who heard with pleaséd ear; When whose bright chariot stoop’d to sea, and twilight hid the clear, All soundly on their cables slept, ev’n till the night was worn. And when the lady of the light, the rosy-finger’d Morn, Rose from the hills, all fresh arose, and to the camp retir’d. Apollo with a fore-right wind their swelling bark inspir’d. The top-mast hoisted, milk-white sails on his round breast they put, The mizens strooted with the gale, the ship her course did cut So swiftly that the parted waves against her ribs did roar; Which, coming to the camp, they drew aloft the sandy shore, Where, laid on stocks, each soldier kept his quarter as before. But Peleus’ son, swift-foot Achilles, at his swift ships sate, Burning in wrath, nor ever came to councils of estate That make men honour’d, never trod the fierce embattled field, But kept close, and his lov’d heart pin’d, what fight and cries could yield Thirsting at all parts to the host, And now, since first he told His wrongs to Thetis, twelve fair morns their ensigns did unfold, And then the ever-living gods mounted Olympus, Jove First in ascension. Thetis then, remember’d well to move Achilles’ motion, rose from sea, and, by the morn’s first light, The great heav’n and Olympus climb’d; where, in supremest height Of all that many-headed hill, she saw the far-seen son Of Saturn, set from all the rest, in his free seat alone. Before whom, on her own knees fall’n, the knees of Jupiter Her left hand held, her right his chin, and thus she did prefer Her son’s petition: “Father Jove! If ever I have stood Aidful to thee in word or work, with this imploréd good, Requite my aid, renown my son, since in so short a race (Past others) thou confin’st his life. An insolent disgrace Is done him by the king of men; he forc’d from him a prise Won with his sword. But thou, O Jove, that art most strong, most wise, Honour my son for my sake; add strength to the Trojans’ side By his side’s weakness in his want; and see Troy amplified In conquest, so much, and so long, till Greece may give again The glory reft him, and the more illustrate the free reign Of his wrong’d honour.” Jove at this sate silent; not a word In long space pass’d him. Thetis still hung on his knee, implor’d The second time his help, and said: “Grant, or deny my suit, Be free in what thou dost; I know, thou canst not sit thus mute For fear of any; speak, deny, that so I may be sure, Of all heav’n’s Goddesses ’tis I, that only must endure Dishonour by thee.” Jupiter, the great cloud-gath’rer, griev’d With thought of what a world of griefs this suit ask’d, being achiev’d, Swell’d, sigh’d, and answer’d: “Works of death thou urgest. O, at this Juno will storm, and all my pow’rs inflame with contumelies. Ever she wrangles, charging me in ear of all the Gods That I am partial still, that I add the displeasing odds Of my aid to the Ilians. Begone then, lest she see; Leave thy request to my care; yet, that trust may hearten thee With thy desire’s grant, and my pow’r to give it act approve How vain her strife is, to thy pray’r my eminent head shall move; Which is the great sign of my will with all th’ immortal states; Irrevocable; never fails; never without the rates Of all pow’rs else; when my head bows, all heads bow with it still As their first mover; and gives pow’r to any work I will.” He said; and his black eyebrows bent; above his deathless head Th’ ambrosian curls flow’d; great heav’n shook: and both were severéd, Their counsels broken. To the depth of Neptune’s kingdom div’d Thetis from heav’n’s height; Jove arose; and all the Gods receiv’d (All rising from their thrones) their Sire, attending to his court. None sate when he rose, none delay’d the furnishing his port Till he came near; all met with him, and brought him to his throne. Nor sate great Juno ignorant, when she beheld alone Old Nereus’ silver-footed seed with Jove, that she had brought Counsels to heav’n; and straight her tongue had teeth in it, that wrought This sharp invective: “Who was that (thou craftiest counsellor Of all the Gods) that so apart some secret did implore? Ever, apart from me, thou lov’st to counsel and decree Things of more close trust than thou think’st are fit t’ impart to me. Whatever thou determin’st, I must ever be denied The knowledge of it by thy will.” To her speech thus replied The Father both of men and Gods: “Have never hope to know My whole intentions, though my wife; it fits not, nor would show Well to thine own thoughts; but what fits thy woman’s ear to hear, Woman, nor man, nor God, shall know before it grace thine ear. Yet what, apart from men and Gods, I please to know, forbear T’ examine, or inquire of that.” She with the cow’s fair eyes, Respected Juno, this return’d: “Austere king of the skies, What hast thou utter’d? When did I before this time inquire, Or sift thy counsels? Passing close you are still. Your desire Is serv’d with such care, that I fear you can scarce vouch the deed That makes it public, being seduc’d by this old sea-god’s seed, That could so early use her knees, embracing thine. I doubt, The late act of thy bowéd head was for the working out Of some boon she ask’d; that her son thy partial hand would please With plaguing others.” “Wretch!” said he, “thy subtle jealousies Are still exploring; my designs can never ’scape thine eye, Which yet thou never canst prevent. Thy curiosity Makes thee less car’d for at my hands, and horrible the end Shall make thy humour. If it be what thy suspects intend, What then? ’Tis my free will it should; to which let way be giv’n With silence. Curb your tongue in time; lest all the Gods in heav’n Too few be and too weak to help thy punish’d insolence, When my inaccessible hands shall fall on thee.” The sense Of this high threat’ning made her fear, and silent she sate down, Humbling her great heart. All the Gods in court of Jove did frown At this offence giv’n; amongst whom heav’n’s famous artizan, Ephaistus, in his mother’s care, this comely speech began: “Believe it, these words will breed wounds, beyond our pow’rs to bear, If thus for mortals ye fall out. Ye make a tumult here That spoils our banquet. Evermore worst matters put down best. But, mother, though yourself be wise, yet let your son request His wisdom audience. Give good terms to our lov’d father Jove, For fear he take offence again, and our kind banquet prove A wrathful battle. If he will, the heav’nly Light’ner can Take you and toss you from your throne; his pow’r Olympian Is so surpassing. Soften then with gentle speech his spleen, And drink to him; I know his heart will quickly down again.” This said, arising from his throne, in his lov’d mother’s hand He put the double-handed cup, and said: “Come, do not stand On these cross humours, suffer, bear, though your great bosom grieve, And lest blows force you; all my aid not able to relieve Your hard condition, though these eyes behold it, and this heart Sorrow to think it. ’Tis a task too dang’rous to take part Against Olympius. I myself the proof of this still feel. When other Gods would fain have help’d, he took me by the heel, And hurl’d me out of heav’n. All day I was in falling down; At length in Lemnos I strook earth. The likewise-falling sun And I, together, set; my life almost set too; yet there The Sintii cheer’d and took me up.” This did to laughter cheer White-wristed Juno, who now took the cup of him, and smil’d. The sweet peace-making draught went round, and lame Ephaistus fill’d Nectar to all the other Gods. A laughter never left Shook all the blesséd deities, to see the lame so deft At that cup service. All that day, ev’n till the sun went down, They banqueted, and had such cheer as did their wishes crown. Nor had they music less divine; Apollo there did touch His most sweet harp, to which, with voice, the Muses pleas’d as much. But when the sun’s fair light was set, each Godhead to his house Address’d for sleep, where ev’ry one, with art most curious, By heav’n’s great both-foot-halting God a sev’ral roof had built. Ev’n he to sleep went, by whose hand heav’n is with lightning gilt, High Jove, where he had us’d to rest when sweet sleep seiz’d his eyes; By him the golden-thron’d Queen slept, the Queen of deities.