The Iliad. Homer

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       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, the assembly was dispers'd.

      With his own followers, and Menoetius' son,

       Achilles to his tents and ships withdrew.

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

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

       The sacred hecatomb; then last embark'd

       The fair Chryseis, and in chief command

       Laertes' son, the sage Ulysses, plac'd.

       They swiftly sped along the wat'ry way.

      Next, proclamation through the camp was made

       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 wat'ry waste;

       And, wreath'd in smoke, the savour rose to Heav'n.

      The camp thus occupied, the King pursued

       His threaten'd plan of vengeance; to his side

       Calling Talthybius 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 wat'ry 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,

       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,

       When he shall need my arm, from shameful rout

       To save his followers; blinded by his rage,

       He neither heeds experience of the past

       Nor scans the future, provident 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 is doom'd,

       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 beauteous daughter of old Chryses fell.

       Chryses, Apollo's priest, to free his child,

       Came to th' encampment of the brass-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,

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