Book I

THE wrath of Achilles the Peleus-begotten, O Song-queen, sing,
Fell wrath, that dealt the Achaians woes past numbering;
Yea, many a valiant spirit to Hades’ halls did it send,
Spirits of heroes, and cast their bodies to dogs to rend,
And to fowls of ravin,—yet aye Zeus’ will wrought on to its end
Even from the hour when first that feud of the mighty began,
Of Atreides, King of Men, and Achilles the godlike man.
Which of the Gods into hate and contention drave these twain?
The son of Latona and Zeus, for his wrath was the war-king’s bane,
That he sent forth a plague through the host, and the people were smitten and died;
For Atreides rejected the prayer of his priest when Chryses cried,
When bereft of his daughter the sea-swift ships of Achaia he sought,
To deliver from thraldom his child, and a countless ransom he brought;
And the wreaths of Far-smiter Apollo in holy hands he bare
On a golden sceptre, and cried unto all the Achaians there,
And to Atreus’ sons, the arrayers of war-folk, uttered his prayer:
“Ye sons of Atreus, Achaians battle-harness-dight,
May the Gods vouchsafe you, which dwell in the halls of Olympus’ height,
To smite Troy-town, and to win safe home from your war-toils done:
But take ye my ransom, give back my child, my darling one,
For dread of Far-smiter Apollo, Zeus Allfather’s son.”
Then shouted the other Achaians thereto in favouring wise
To have respect to the priest, and to take the ransom-price.
But it pleased not the spirit of Atreus’ son, Agamemnon their lord,
For he shamefully drave him forth, with a stern and a masterful word:
Let me not find thee, old man, by the hollow galleys more,
Neither tarrying now, neither wending again to the ship-fringed shore,
Lest of the wreath of the God and his sceptre thy help be small!
I will not give her up:—nay, sooner shall old age find my thrall
In Argos, afar from her fatherland-home, in our palace hall,
While yet at the loom she doth pace, and arrayeth her lord’s bed there.
Begone, and provoke me not—that thy feet safe homeward may fare!”
And the old man quailed at his eyes, and shrank from the threat half-spoken,
By the shore of the thunderous-tumbling sea he went heart-broken:
Far thence he went, and alone that old man cried in prayer,
Cried to Apollo the King, whom Léto the fair-tressed bare:
“Hear, Silverbow, who art warder of Chrysé and Killa’s fane,
Hear, thou who in might of thy godhead o’er Tenedos’ isle dost reign!
Smintheus! if ever I wreathed thy temple in lovely wise,
If ever burnt unto thee on thine altar goodly thighs
Of bulls and of goats, vouchsafe this boon to the stricken in years—
May thine arrows requite the Danaan men for these my tears!”
So spake he with prayer and strong crying, and Phoebus Apollo heard;
And adown from the crest of Olympus he swept with soul wrath-stirred.
His bow on his shoulders he bare, and his quiver, the doom-enfolder:
Clashed they and clanged they, the shafts on the wrathful Archer’s shoulder,
At the swoop of him earthward: his coming was like to the onrush of night.
Down sat he aloof from the galleys; he sped forth a shaft on its flight:
Terribly rang the twang of the silver lightning-bright.
First on the mules of the host and the fleetfoot hounds it came,
Thereafter his bitter-keen dart at the Danaan men did he aim,
Smiting them: flared evermore the close-thronged death-pyres’ flame.
Nine days up and down through the host were the God’s wrath-arrows sped:
On the tenth by Achilles the people were called to the folkmote-stead;
For Héré the white-armed Goddess moved him to do this thing,
For her heart yearned over the Danaans, seeing them perishing.
And so soon as the place was thronged with the host of the gathering folk,
Arose swift-footed Achilles amidst of the people, and spoke:
“Atreides, now must we wander aback overseas, I trow,
And again get us home, if perchance we may scape from the death-stroke so,
If battle and plague together shall lay the Achaians low.
Go to now, let us enquire of a prophet or priest touching this,
Or a dream-arreder,—for dreams be sent of Zeus, I wis,—
Who shall tell us why Phoebus Apollo’s anger burneth so hot,
Whether for vow or for hecatomb-gift remembered not;
If so be that his heart may be moved to accept the sacrifice-smoke
Of lambs and of goats, and to turn from the people his pestilence-stroke.”
So spake he, and sat him down, and the great bird-seer rose there,
Kalchas, Thestor’s son, who had knowledge of things that were,
And of things that were yet for to be, and the things that had been before,
And who guided the galleys Achaian safe to the Troyland shore
By the gift of Phoebus Apollo, the matchless augury-skill.
And he lifted his voice, and he uttered his rede of his heart’s good will:
“O Achilles the Zeus-beloved, thou biddest me tell the tale
Of the wrath of Far-smiter Apollo, the king of the arrows of bale.
Yea, I will speak, but with covenant-plight swear thou to stand
By my side with all thine heart to defend me with speech and with hand;
For I trow I shall kindle the wrath of a man that with mighty sway
Ruleth the Argive folk, and him the Achaians obey.
For what is a vassal’s strength when the wrath of a king is afire?
Though he quell for a season his fury, and bridle his grim desire,
Yet he layeth up malice against him for days to be in his heart,
That the flame of his wrath may consume him:—but thou, wilt thou take my part?”
Answered and spake to him fleetfoot Achilles, Peleus’ son:
‘Fear not, whatsoever thou knowest of prophecy-lore, say on.
For I swear by Apollo the Zeus-beloved, O Kalchas, to whom
Thou prayest, and showest the Danaan folk the high Gods’ doom,
No man, while I live, while the light of the sun on the earth I see,
By the hollow galleys shall e’er lay violent hands on thee;
No man of the Danaans all, not though that name should be
Agamemnon—mightiest far this day of Achaians is he.”
Then of good heart was the seer, and the peerless prophet spake:
“Not for a vow he condemneth you, not for a hecatomb’s sake;
But because of his priest, whom king Agamemnon in shameful wise
Drave hence, and restored not his daughter, nor took the ransom-price:
Wherefore Far-smiter hath given us woes, and yet shall give.
He shall turn not the pestilence-horror away, that the people may live,
Or ever we give back the flashing-eyed maid without ransom or price
To her dear-loved father, and bring a hecatomb-sacrifice
Unto Chrysé: so shall we bend him, our prayers find grace in his eyes.”
So spake he, and sat him down in his place, and arose thereupon
Agamemnon the hero-king, wide-ruling Atreus’ son,
In anguish of wrath, and his passion-beclouded spirit with ire
Was filled, and the light in his eyes was a blaze as of flaming fire.
Unto Kalchas first, with an evil glare in his eyes, spake he:
“Prophet of ill! never yet hast thou spoken good unto me!
Evermore is it dear to thy soul to be boding the evil doom:
Never yet hast thou spoken a blessing, or caused that a blessing should come.
And now mid the Danaan folk art thou prating thy prophet’s tale,
How that for this, good sooth, Far-smiter is working their bale,
Because that I would not accept the splendid ransom-store
For Chryséis the maiden, seeing my spirit desireth sore
Within my pavilion to keep her, who dearer is grown unto me
Than the lady my wife Klytemnestra, for nowise worser is she,
Not in stature, nor loveliness, nor in wisdom, nor skill of the loom.
Yet even so will I yield her, if this be the high Gods’ doom:
Rather I would that the soul of the people should live than die.
But prepare ye a prize for me straightway, lest I, and only I
Of the Argives, abide without honour, for this were a shame to be said:
For to this are ye witnesses all, that my prize from mine hands hath fled.”
Out spake swift-footed Achilles the godlike, and answered him then:
“Atreides renowned above all—gain-grasping above all men!
How shall the mighty-hearted Achaians give thee a prize?
We wot not of any abundant store that treasured lies;
But the spoil that from cities we took hath been parted, and naught doth remain:
’Twere unmeet that the people should bring it together, to share it again.
But thou, yield her up to the God, and so shall the host repay
Threefold and fourfold the loss of the king in the triumphing day,
When Zeus shall give us the strong-walled city of Troy for a prey.”
Then out spake lord Agamemnon, and grimly answered he:
“Not thus, O Achilles the godlike, how valiant soever thou be,
Essay thou to cozen: thou shalt not persuade me, nor catch me with guile.
Ha! wouldst thou that thou shouldest keep thy prize, and that I the while
Should be sitting with empty hands?—‘Restore yon maid,’ saidst thou?
Ay, if the mighty-hearted Achaians will find for me now
A guerdon of no less worth, that mine heart may be satisfied so—
But and if they shall not give, I, even I, will not spare to go
And choose thy prize, or the meed that Odysseus or Aias hath.
I will have it: to whomso I come, he shall chafe in his helpless wrath.
But for this my pleasure another season shall serve full well:
But now will we drag us a black ship down to the vast sea-swell;
And therein will we gather us oarsmen enow, and therein will we place
The hecatomb: thither Chryséis, the maid of the lovely face,
Will we bring, and let one man mighty in counsel be leader of these;
Let Idomeneus, Aias, or godlike Odysseus fare overseas,
Or thou, O Peleus’ son, terror-clad above all men that live,
To offer our sacrifice, that the Smiter from far may forgive.”
Darkened the brow of Achilles, loud did the scorn of him ring:
“Ah me!—O shamelessness-clad! O heart of greed in a king!
How shall Achaian hereafter thine hest glad-hearted obey,
Or to go on a foray, or strive with his might against men in the fray!
I came not, I, for hate of the spearmen of Troy oversea
Hither, in battle to smite them, for what have they done unto me?
Never they drave my kine or my steeds to their ships for a spoil;
Never on hero-fostering Phthia’s deep-loamed soil
Did they harry my harvests, seeing betwixt their land and mine
Is many a shadow-ribbed mountain, and leagues of loud sea-brine.
But we followed thee, king without honour or shame, that thine heart might joy,
To avenge Menelaus and thee, O frontless hound, upon Troy!
But thou carest not, thou, for that; it is naught in thy thankless eyes!
Yea, thou dost threaten to snatch from me my guerdon-prize,
For the which I have striven and toiled, fair gift of Achaia’s sons.
Never my guerdon is like unto thine, when our mighty ones
Have smitten a fenced city of Trojans, a fair-built keep:
Yet ever the brunt of the fight do I bear; the battle-tide-sweep
Is stemmed by mine hands: yet whensoever they share the prey
Greater by far is thy guerdon, and I to my ships must away
With a scanty meed, yet dear, when fainteth my strength in the war.
—Now will I hence unto Phthia, for better I count it by far
Homeward to speed with my galleys: Achilles, I trow, no more
Here biding dishonoured, for thee shall gather treasure-store.”
Unto him Agamemnon, King of Men, made scoffing reply:
“Ay, turn thou and flee, if thy soul so craveth!—it is not I
Will beseech thee to tarry: there yet shall be found a faithful band
Who shall honour the king; yea, Counsellor Zeus on my side shall stand.
But for thee—of kings Zeus-fostered I hate thee most of all,
For dear evermore to thine heart are battle and war and brawl.
What though thou be never so strong, God-given thy strength is, I trow.
Go with those galleys of thine and thy vassals homeward,—go!
Be a tyrant of Myrmidon slaves!—Tush, naught care I for thee,
Neither quail at thy fury!—List to my threat, who threatenest me:—
Since Chryséis is reft from me by Phoebus Apollo’s hand,
Her will I send away with my ship and my comrade-band:
But I will take Briséis the lovely-cheeked; I will go,
Even I, to thy tent; I will take thy guerdon, and so shalt thou know
How much above thine is my might, and all other shall dread henceforth
To exalt himself against me, and to measure with mine his worth.”
Stung was the soul of Peleides: his heart in his lion-breast
Wavered in madness of anguish, and wist not which were best—
Or to snatch from beside his thigh his sword whetted keen for the fray,
And to dash the others aside, and to leap on Atreides, and slay,
Or to hush the storm of his wrath, and to bridle his furious mood.
While tossed to and fro in the thoughts and intents of his spirit he stood,
And forth of the scabbard was drawing the great sword’s battle-flame,
Sent down by Héré the white-armed from Heaven Athéné came,—
Seeing Héré looked upon both alike with loving care:-—
Behind him she stood, and she grasped Peleides’ golden hair,
Seen only by him,—was none of the rest that beheld that sight:—
Astonied sore was Achilles, and turned him, and knew forthright
Pallas Athéné, and flamed her eyes with awful light.
And the hero spake to the Goddess, and sped the winged word-flight:
“Why art thou come, O child of Zeus the Aegis-lord?
To behold Agamemnon Atreides’ despiteful deed and word?
Nay, but I tell thee—and this shall, I trow, be the end of our strife—
Himself by his tyrannous dealing ere long shall spill his life.”
Then unto him did Athéné the grey-eyed Goddess say:
“I have come with intent to assuage thy fury, if thou wilt obey,
From Heaven,—it was Héré that sent me, the Goddess of arms snow-fair.
Who looketh on thee and the king alike with loving care.
Go to now, refrain thee from strife, and draw back thine hand from the hilt;
But smite him with words, and reproach him for evils to come of his guilt
For this will I tell thee, and surely fulfilled shall the promise be:—
Fair gifts three times so many ere long shall be brought unto thee
For this tyrannous wrong:—refrain thee, and hearken to her and to me.”
Answered swift-footed Achilles, and spake to the presence divine
O Goddess, I cannot choose but regard her hest and thine,
How angered soever in spirit; yea, this is the better deed.
Whoso obeyeth the Gods, him hear they in time of need.”
Then on the hilt of silver he stayed his brawny hand;
He hath thrust back into the scabbard the mighty battle-brand,
Obeying the hest of Athéné;—but she to Olympus had fled;
To the throng of the Gods in the halls of the Aegis-lord had she sped.
But Peleides turned yet again upon Atreus’ son, and raged
With words of defiance: not yet would the storm of his wrath be assuaged:
“Wine-overcome, with the eyes of a dog, and the heart of a deer!
Never for fight hast thou dared to array thee with buckler and spear
With the warfolk; with heroes Achaian to go to the ambush by night
Never hast dared in thy spirit; not thou!—it were death in thy sight!
Better it is that thou prowl through Achaia’s war-host wide,
Robbing of gifts whosoever shall speak against thee and thy pride!
King that devourest the folk!—over nidderings rulest thou;
Else had thine outrage, Atreides, been wrought for the last time now.
But I tell thee,—and this great oath shall confirm the words that I say:—
By this my sceptre, which never shall bourgeon with leaf or spray,
Now that it once hath left the stock on the hills forlorn,
Never shall break into green, for the knife from around it hath shorn
Leaflet and bark, and now by Achaia’s sons is it borne,
By the princes that sit in judgment, and aye defend the right
By appointment of Zeus: and this shalt thou know for an oath of might:—
Verily soon for Achilles the sons of Achaia shall languish
Sore yearning; and thou shalt be helpless to help them, for all thine anguish,
What time beneath Hector the manslayer’s feet by hosts they shall bow
Dying; and thou with the shame of it—tear thine heart shalt thou
In thy wrath and thy ruth for thy scorn of Achaia’s champion now!”
Wrathful he spake in their ears, and he dashed to the ground at his feet
His sceptre bestudded with gold, and he sat him adown in his seat;
While Atreides overagainst him raged. Rose Nestor the old
Of the winsome, the clear-ringing voice, the shepherd of Pylos’ fold:
More sweetly the speech from his lips than the rills from the honeycomb rolled:
And two generations by this had he seen that had lived and were dead,
Men that with him in the days overpast had been born and bred
In Pylos the hallowed, and he of the third generation was king.
So with kindly intent he spake in the midst of the stormy ring:
“Alas and alas! on Achaia-land cometh bitter annoy,
And Priam and Priam’s sons shall rejoice with exceeding joy;
And for this shall the hearts of the rest of the Trojan folk be fain,
For the tidings of all this strife that is kindled betwixt you twain,
You that in counsel be first of the Danaans, foremost in war!
Nay, hearken the rede of the old man: younger than Nestor ye are.
For in sooth in the days overpast with mightier men than ye
Have I gone in and out, yet never did these make light of me.
For never such men to this day have I seen, and I shall not see,
Even such as Peirithous, Dryas,—a strong folk-shepherd was he,—
Kaineus, and Exadius, Polyphemus the god-strong one,
And Theseus glorious to see as the Deathless, Aegeus’ son.
Mightiest of all menfolk ever fostered on earth were they;
Mightiest they were, and they grappled with mightiest foes in the fray,
With the Centaurs, the mountain-haunters, and terrible slaughter they wrought.
I went forth out of Pylos, I joined me to these, in their battle I fought;
For they called me themselves, and I hied me afar, from a distant land.
So there in the fight did I play my part;—no man might stand
Before these in the battle, none that abideth on earth this day.
Even they gave ear to my counsel, my rede were they wont to obey.
Hearken ye also to me, for this were the better part:
Thou, take not away from the hero the maiden, king though thou art,
But leave her even as at first the sons of Achaia gave.
And thou, O Achilles, consent not in deadly defiance to brave
The king, for the honour that falleth to him is not as thine.
For to him that beareth the sceptre hath Zeus given glory divine.
And if thou be the greater in strength, whom a Goddess-mother bore,
Yet he is the greater in power, who ruleth o’er many more.
Atreides, O bridle thine anger!—yield to me now when I pray!
Refrain from Achilles thy wrath, for that he is the one great stay
Of all the host of Achaians in battle’s evil day.”
Answered and spake to the ancient of days Agamemnon the king:
“Yea, fitly and well, old sire, hast thou spoken everything.
But this man would fain be exalted above all others beside;
Over all would he fain have the mastery, all men as king override,
And give the word unto all,—there be some will not brook it, I doubt.
What if the Gods everlasting have made him a spearman stout?
Is it they that exalt him a brawler, a prince of taunt and flout?”
Brake forth Achilles the godlike, in mid-speech taking the king:
“Good sooth, and a byword were I for a dastard and niddering,
If in all things to thee I should cringe, whatsoever thy word may be!
Unto others give suchlike commands, but not—for thou shalt not—to me.
Give the word, an thou wilt: ’tis not I that will longer brook thy behest.
This will I tell thee moreover; thou treasure it up in thy breast:
Not I for the sake of a girl will in battle mine hands uplift,
Nor with thee nor another: ye gave and repent,—take back your gift!
But of all things else that be mine by my swift black ship on the strand,
No whit shalt thou take an I will not, nor wrest it out of mine hand.
Try, if it please thee, try, that these which be here may know:
In a moment about my spear shall thy very heart’s blood flow!”
So strove they twain, and with words of defiance hot on their lips
Arose, and dispersed the assembly beside the Achaian ships.
And Peleides away to the shapely galleys, and on to his tent
Along with Menoitius’ son and his battle-fellows went.
But Atreus’ son ran down a swift ship into the sea,
And he chose for her oarsmen a score, and the hecatomb there placed he
For the God, and the fair-cheeked maid Chryséis aboard did he bring,
And he seated her there: and Odysseus was captain, the counsel-king.
So went they aboard, and over the watery ways sailed they.
But Atreides commanded the people to cleanse their defilement away.
So they cleansed their pollution, and into the sea the offscourings they threw;
And unto Apollo a perfect hecatomb they slew
Of lambs and of goats, on the shore, where the furrows unharvested are;
And the savour enwreathed with the smoke streamed up to the heavens afar.
So wrought they throughout the host; but Atreides forgat not yet
His feud with Achilles, and spared not to do even after his threat.
To Talthybius then and Eurybates straight did he turn him and say—
Heralds they were of the king, and his henchmen swift to obey:—
“Unto the tent of Achilles Peleus’ son go ye:
Briséis the lovely-cheeked shall ye lead by the hand unto me,
But and if he shall yield her not, myself will come with more,
And take her by force, and so shall his plight be worse than before.”
So speaking, he sped them thence, and with stern behest he sent.
By the shore of the harvestless sea exceeding loth they went.
To the Myrmidon tents they came, and on to the galleys they hied;
And the hero sitting they found by his tent and his black ship’s side.
Little, 1 ween, did Achilles rejoice when their faces he saw.
There stood they twain, in dread of the king, and in shame-stricken awe:
No word did they speak unto him, neither any request made they:
But he knew it within his heart, and thus did the hero say:
“Hail, messenger-heralds of men and of Zeus the king of the skies!
Draw near; Agamemnon only is guilty of this in mine eyes,
Not ye, whom he for Briséis the maiden hath hitherward sent.
Come hither, Patroclus the Zeus-born: lead her forth of my tent,
And deliver her into their hands, and they shall be witnesses then
In the sight of the blessed Gods, in the sight of mortal men,
And before yon ruthless king, if ever all else shall fail,
And they have sore need of me to defend them from shameful bale.
For verily onward he rusheth with spirit destruction-blind,
And he hath no wit to discern what lieth before and behind,
Lest in fight by the ships his Achaians the gates of death might find.”
So spake he, Patroclus thereafter the hest of his dear friend wrought,
And from out the pavilion Briséis the lovely-cheeked he brought,
And gave to their hands, and again to the galleys Achaian they passed:
Sore loth that lady departed with them. And Achilles at last
Brake suddenly forth into weeping, and turned from his comrades aside,
And sat by the cold grey sea, looking forth o’er the harvestless tide:
And outstretching his hands to his mother in passionate prayer he cried:
“Mother mine, since thou barest me doomed to a little span of days,
Well might the Olympian King have vouchsafed to me glory and praise,
High-thundering Zeus: but now small honour have I in his sight;
For Atreus’ son wide-ruling hath done me foul despite:
Agamemnon himself hath gotten my guerdon, hath taken my right.”
So spake he with tears fast-falling: his mother heard when he cried,
As she sat by the Ancient her sire in the depths of the moaning tide.
Swift from the cold grey sea like a still sea-mist did she rise,
And in front of her son she sat as the tears ran down from his eyes;
With her hand she softly caressed him, and spake, and uttered the word:
“Why weepest thou, son? with what grief is thy spirit within thee stirred?
Speak out, hide it not in thine heart, that we both may know thy pain.”
Heavily groaning swift-footed Achilles made answer again:
“Thou knowest; and why should I tell thee, who knowest all full well?
Unto Thébé we went, on Eetion’s hallowed city we fell;
And we sacked it, and hitherward brought we all the spoil away;
And fairly the sons of Achaia divided amongst them the prey.
And they chose out Chryséis the fair for Atreides’ prize of war.
But it was so, that Chryses, the priest of Apollo the Smiter from far,
Came where the brass-clad Achaians’ swift ships darken the shore,
To deliver from thraldom his child, with a countless ransom-store;
And the wreaths of Far-smiter Apollo in holy hands he bare
On a golden sceptre, and cried unto all the Achaians there,
And to Atreus’ sons, the arrayers of war-folk, uttered his prayer.
Then shouted the other Achaians thereto in favouring wise
To have respect to the priest, and to take the ransom-price.
But it pleased not the spirit of Atreus’ son, Agamemnon their lord,
For he shamefully drave him forth, with a stern and a masterful word.
And the old man turned and departed in anger fierce and fell:
And Apollo gave ear to his prayer, for he loved him passing well;
And he sent on the Argives the arrow of bale, and the people died
One after other: the shafts of the God upon every side
Sped through the wide war-host of Achaians. The seer unto whom
Dark things were revealed made known unto us Far-smiter’s doom.
Straightway I counselled to turn the God from his anger, and yield.
Then wrath seized Atreus’ son, and he rose forthright fierce-willed,
And he spake and he uttered a threat, which is even now fulfilled.
For her are the keen-eyed Achaians this day in a ship fleet-faring
Bringing to Chrysé, and gifts to the Archer-king are they bearing:
But that other a little agone from my tent did heralds lead,
The daughter of Briseus, given by Achaia’s sons for my meed.
But thou, if thou canst, be a champion now of thy hero-son.
Go to Olympus, and pray unto Zeus, if thou ever hast done
Any kindness to strengthen the heart of Zeus, when need was most.
For many a time in my father’s halls have I heard thee boast
How thou savedst Kronion the cloudrack-shrouded long ago—
Thou only of all the Immortals—from shameful overthrow,
When the other Olympians were fain to have put him in chains, when his foes
Were Héré, Poseidon, when Pallas Athéné against him rose.
But thou camest, O Goddess, and thou didst break in sunder his bands,
Swift-calling to far Olympus him of the hundred hands,
Whom the Gods Briareos name, but all men on earth that be
Aigaion: stronger is he than his father, the Lord of the Sea.
And he came, and he sat by the side of Kronion in pride of his might.
Then nowise the Gods bound Zeus, for they shrank from his face in affright.
Of these things put him in mind; sit thou at his feet, and embrace
His knees, if perchance he will deign to help Troy’s war for a space,
And cause the Achaians ’twixt galleys and-sea to be hemmed, and to fall
Slain, and to know their king for the joy and defence of them all.
That Atreides also may know, Agamemnon of far-stretching rule,
How he scorned Achaia’s best with the ruin-spite of the fool.”
Then fast fell Thetis’ tears, and low to her son moaned she:
“Ah me, child, why did I nurse thee!—what horrors were born with thee!
Ah couldst thou have sat by the galleys unvexed by tears or grief,
Seeing thy weird is not for long, but all too brief—
But now art thou swift of doom and wretched of days above all:
Wherefore in evil hour did I bring thee forth in mine hall.
I will hie me with this thy tale to Olympus’ snow-heaped crest,
Unto Thunder-lover Zeus, if perchance he will grant my request.
But thou by the ships fleet-faring abide, and nurse alway
Thine anger against the Achaians, and utterly hold from the fray.
For Zeus to the Ocean-stream departed yesterday
To the Aethiops’ holy banquet: the Gods all went in his train.
Not till the twelfth day dawn will he come to Olympus again.
Then to his palace upreared on foundations of brass will I go:
Then will I kneel at his feet; he will hearken my prayer, I trow.”
So spake she, and hasted away, and she left him there alone
Raging his heart within for the maid of the lovely zone,
Whom they took from his hands by force.
Now Odysseus by this was come
To the haven of Chrysé, bearing the sacred hecatomb.
And so soon as the galley had gotten within the deep-channelled bay,
They furled the sail, and down in the black hull stowed it away;
And the mast to the trestle they lowered by loosening either stay
With haste, and the oars they plied to gain the mooring-ground.
And forth did they cast the sleepers, and fast the hawsers they bound.
And forth of the galley adown to the sea-beach sprang the men,
And forth for Far-smiter Apollo the hecatomb brought they then.
And forth did Chryséis step from the ship overseas that had sped.
And her many-counselled Odysseus thence to the altar led:
To the hands of her father he gave her, and thus to the priest spake he:
“Chryses, the King of Men Agamemnon hath sent me to thee
To bring thee thy child, and to offer to Phoebus a sacrifice
For the Danaans’ sake, to the end we may yet find grace in his eyes
Who hath sent on the Argives affliction of moan and anguished cries.”
Then into the hands of her father he gave her: with joy he embraced
His darling; and they for the God full orderly ranged in haste
The glorious hecatomb, that fair-built altar around;
And they washed their hands, and they sprinkled the barley-grains unground;
And for them did Chryses earnestly pray, uplifting his hands:
“Give ear to me, Silverbow, in whose strength Chrysé stands,
And Killa the hallowed, who rulest in might over Tenedos’ isle!
Hear, of a surety thou heardest my prayer when I cried erewhile,
And didst honour thy priest, and didst smite Achaia’s folk full sore.
Now therefore give ear to me now, and vouchsafe me this one boon more:
Turn from the Danaan folk thy ghastly plague this day.”
So spake he, and Phoebus Apollo heard that suppliant pray.
Then after the prayer they sprinkled the barley-grains unbrayed,
And they drew back the necks of the beasts, and they severed their throats, and flayed:
And the bones of the thighs they cut out, and, doubly folding it over,
With the fat they wrapped them about, and with pieces of flesh did they cover.
And the sire laid all on the wood, and he poured bright wine on the brands;
While beside him the young men stood with the altar-forks in their hands.
And after the sacrifice, and the tasting of entrails due,
The rest into pieces they sliced, and they ran the long spits through,
And they heedfully roasted the same, and the roast from the flames they withdrew.
So when they had ceased from their toil, and the banquet was all prepared,
They feasted, and none lacked aught of the banquet equal-shared.
And when craving for meat and for drink no more in their breasts was found,
The boys filled up the bowls, and with flame-flushed wine they crowned,
And they bare to the feasters, and spilled the sacrifice-drops all round.
And all day long they sang the wrath of the God away;
Fair sons of Achaia, the Healer in sweet strains chanted they,
Hymning the Smiter from far; soul-gladdened he hearkened their lay.
And the sun went down in the sea, and the darkness covered the land;
And beside the ship’s stern-hawsers they lay, and they slept on the strand.
And so soon as the Dawn rose-fingered through folds of her mist-veil broke,
They sailed oversea for the wide war-host of Achaian folk.
And Apollo sent them a breeze fast-following over the tide,
And they set up the mast in the ship, and they spread the white sail wide.
And the sail bellied out with the blast, and the cutwater plunged, as she drave
The foam from her bows with the hiss and the roar of the sundering wave:
And over the dash of the surges running her race she flew.
So when they were come to the wide war-host of Achaia, the crew
High up on the shelving sands the black-hulled galley drew.
Then laid they the long-stretching lane of the underprops below;
And this way and that way thereafter by galley and tent did they go.
And all this while by the galleys sat that mighty one
In his wrath, Zeus-born fleet-footed Achilles, Peleus’ son.
Never he went to the folkmote, the praise of the wise to win,
Never to war; but he wearied and pined his heart within,
There biding, and longed for the onset-shout and the battle-din.
But at last it befell, when the twelfth morn dawned from that ill day,
That back to Olympus returned the Gods that abide for aye,
Even all: Zeus led them. And Thetis forgat not now the request
Of her son, but she floated up from the sea’s broad-heaving breast,
And dawn-mist-veiled to the mighty Heaven and Olympus she soared:
And sitting apart from the rest she found the Thunder-lord,
On the topmost crest of Olympus’ ridges dizzy-hung.
And before him she sat her down, and around his knees she clung
With her left hand, the while she stretched her right hand forth to his chin;
And to Zeus Kronion the King did she her petition begin:
O Zeus Allfather, if ever I helped thee by word or deed
In strife with the Deathless Ones, O grant me this boon in my need:—
Honour my son; swift-doomed above all his fellows is he;
And lo, Agamemnon the king hath entreated him shamefully.
He hath gotten his guerdon, hath reft it away in his kingly might.
O Counsellor Zeus, Olympian, do thou maintain his right,
And grant to the Trojans victory-triumph, till right be done
By Achaia’s host for the wrong, and honour be paid to my son.”
So spake she, and Zeus the Cloudrack-sweeper answered her naught,
But long sat silent: and Thetis, even as erst she had caught
His knees, so clung she and clave she, and prayed yet again to the God:
“O promise me this, and confirm the same by the seal of thy nod,
Or refuse it, and so shall I know—for thou art not fear-overborne—
How that I, among all the Gods, am held in deepest scorn.”’
Sorely disquieted Zeus the Cloudrack-sweeper spake:
“There shall surely come mischief of this, that thou biddest contention awake
’Twixt Héré and me, when her railing words shall provoke me sore.
Even now mid the Deathless she brawleth against me evermore,
And saith that still in the battle I fight for Troy, her foe.
Now hie thee back again, that nothing Héré may know.
And for this that thou askest will I take thought, to bring it about.
Behold, I will give thee the seal of my nod, that thou mayest not doubt:
For this is the mightiest pledge that the Deathless win from me;
For it goeth not back, nor deceiveth; fulfilled without fail shall it be,
Whatsoever I seal with the nod of the head of my majesty.”
He spake, and the dark brows bent for the mighty promise sealed.
Waved round the deathless head of his majesty full-revealed
The ambrosial locks, and mighty Olympus rocked and reeled.
So when they had thus taken counsel, they parted: thereafter she
From the far-flashing height of Olympus plunged to the fathomless sea.
And Zeus passed on to his hall; and the Gods all rose up there
Out of their thrones in their Father’s presence: was none would dare
To await him as onward he came; rose all before their king.
There sat he adown on his throne. Howbeit ware of the thing
Was Heéré, for she had beheld how Thetis the Silver-shod,
The child of the hoar Sea-ancient, in counsel had sat with the God.
And she chode with Kronion Zeus, and she cried right bitterly:
“What God, O guileful-hearted, hath taken counsel with thee?
Dear is it ever to thee, in secret from me and apart
To devise and ordain dark counsels: never with willing heart
Hast thou deigned to declare it to me, whatsoever thy purpose hath been!”
Answered the Father of Gods and men unto Heaven’s Queen:
“Look not, O Héré, to know each word that proceedeth from me,
My wife though thou art; thou shalt find it all too hard for thee.
But whatso it fits that thou hear, of all the high Gods then
None shall before thee know it, and no.ie of the children of men.
But whatso I will shall be kept from the Gods of mine heart’s good pleasure,
Question not thou thereof, neither search for my counsel-treasure.”
Queen Héré the lovely-eyed made answer to him, and she said:
“What manner of word hast thou spoken, O Kronos’ son most dread
Wherein have I searched out thy counsel in days overpast, or enquired?
Nay, ever at quiet thou framest all things that thy soul hath desired.
But now am I sorely afraid in mine heart lest the Silver-shod
Shall overpersuade thee—Thetis, the child of the hoar Sea-god.
For she sat by thy side in the dawn-mist; thy knees did she there embrace:
Unto her hast thou pledge thee, I think, by thy nod, unto honour to raise
Achilles, and many Achaians in fight by the galleys to slay.”
Answering her did Zeus the Cloudrack-sweeper say:
“Ha! thinkest thou?—ever thou thinkest!—thou spiest on me evermore!
But for all this naught shalt thou compass, but farther than ever before
Shalt thou be from mine heart: more bitter thy lot shall be in this.
And what if it be as thou think’st?—be thou sure that my pleasure it is.
Nay, sit thou still, and be silent, and render obedience to me;
Lest nothing the Gods avail thee, not all in Olympus that be,
If in wrath I draw nigh thee, and lay my resistless hands upon thee.”
So spake he, and quailed Queen Héré, the Goddess lovely-eyed:
Silent she sat, hard-curbing the heart of tameless pride:
But wroth were the Heaven-abiders in Zeus’s hall as they heard.
Then Hephaestus the God-smith craft-renowned took up the word,
To comfort his dear-loved mother, Héré of arms snow-fair:
“Ah sure ’twere a bitter chance, and a thing no heart could bear,
If thus for the deathlings’ sake ye twain have strife and jar,
And stir up a brawl ’twixt God and God: it shall surely mar
All joy of the glorious feast if triumphant the evil shall be.
Now my mother in love I entreat—yea, her own heart pleadeth with me—
To speak Allfather fair, lest the wrath and the might of our sire
Break forth, and the feast be a storm of confusion because of his ire.
For, were this the Olympian’s pleasure, the hurler of the levin
From our thrones could dash us: stronger is he than the host of heaven.
But thou with unangry breath draw near, and with winsome word;
So shall we soon find grace in the sight of Olympus’ Lord”
He spake, and he sprang to his feet, and the double-chalice cup
Did he place in the hands of his mother, and spake, as he lifted it up:
“Be strong, mother mine, to endure the grief on thine heart that lies,
Lest, O my belovéd, I see thee smitten before mine eyes.
And for all mine anguish then no help couldst thou have of mine hand,
For a terrible foe is the Lord of Olympus, if one should withstand.
Yea, I mind me how once on a day, when I rushed to thine help in thy strait,
By the foot did he grasp me, and hurl from the threshold of Heaven’s gate.
All day long was I falling, and low as the red sun hung,
Into Lemnos was hurled: scant breath in my fainting breast yet clung:
But gently the Sintians lifted and tended the whirlwind-flung.”
So did he speak, and the Goddess the white-armed Héré smiled,
And smiling received the chalice out of the hand of her child.
And he set him to pour to the rest of the Gods from the left to the right,
For all drawing forth of the bowl sweet nectar rosy-bright.
And loud from the Gods ever-blest did the quenchless laughter rise,
As they saw Hephaestus strain and pant through the halls of the skies.
So through the livelong day, till the sun’s down-going, there
They feasted, and nothing they lacked of the banquet’s equal share.
Neither lacked they delight of the lovely lyre, which Apollo bore,
And the Muses who chanted with sweet voice changing about evermore.
But at last, when the sun went down, and the light of his splendour was gone,
Homeward they hied them, and laid them down to rest, each one
In the place where his palace stood, which Hephaestus the craft-renowned
The twin-right-armed, had fashioned with cunning marvel-crowned.
And Olympian Zeus the Lightning-hurler couchward hath hied,
Where erst he had lain, when over him rippled the slumber-tide.
So he went up and slept, and Héré the gold-throned lay by his side.