FROM HOMER.

N. I.

SING, O daughter of heaven, of Peleus' son, of

Achilles,

Him whose terrible wrath brought thousand woes

on Achaia.

Many a stalwart soul did it hurl untimely to Hades, Souls of the heroes of old: and their bones lay strown on the sea-sands,

Prey to the vulture and dog. Yet was Zeus ful

filling a purpose;

Since that far-off day, when in hot strife parted

asunder

Atreus' sceptred son, and the chos'n of heaven,

Achilles.

Say then, which of the Gods bid arise up battle

between them?

Zeus's and Leto's son. With the king was kindled

his anger:

Then went sickness abroad, and the people died

of the sickness :

For that of Atreus' son had his priest been lightly

entreated,

Chryses, Apollo's priest. For he came to the ships

of Achaia,

Bearing a daughter's ransom, a sum not easy to

number:

And in his hand was the emblem of Him, fardarting Apollo,

High on a sceptre of gold: and he made his prayer to the Grecians;

Chiefly to Atreus' sons, twin chieftains, ordering

armies

"Chiefs sprung of Atreus' loins; and ye,

greaved Achaians!

brazen

So may the Gods this day, the Olympus-palaced,

grant you

Priam's city to raze, and return unscathed to your

homesteads :

Only my own dear daughter I ask; take ransom

and yield her,

Rev'rencing His great name, son of Zeus, fardarting Apollo."

Then from the host of Achaians arose tumultuous

answer:

"Due to the priest is his honour; accept rich

ransom and yield her."

But there was war in the spirit of Atreus' son,

Agamemnon;

Disdainful he dismissed him, a right stern fiat

appending :

"Woe be to thee, old man, if I find thee lingering

longer,

Yea or returning again, by the hollow ships of

Achaians!

Scarce much then will avail thee the great god's

sceptre and emblem.

Her will I never release. Old age must first come

upon her,

In my own home, yea in Argos, afar from the land

of her fathers,

Following the loom and attending upon my bed. But avaunt thee!

Go, and provoke not me, that thy way may be haply securer."

These were the words of the king, and the old

man feared and obeyed him:

Voiceless he went by the shore of the great dull

echoing ocean,

Thither he got him apart, that ancient man; and a

long prayer

Prayed to Apollo his Lord, son of golden-ringleted

Leto.

"Lord of the silver bow, whose arm girds Chryse

and Cilla,

Cilla, loved of the Gods,-and in might sways

Tenedos, hearken!

Oh! if, in days gone by, I have built from floor

unto cornice,

Smintheus, a fair shrine for thee; or burned in the

flames of the altar

Fat flesh of bulls and of goats; then do this thing that I ask thee:

Hurl on the Greeks thy shafts, that thy servant's tears be avengèd!"

So did he pray, and his prayer reached the ears

of Phoebus Apollo.

Dark was the soul of the god as he moved from the heights of Olympus,

Shouldering a bow, and a quiver on this side fast

and on that side.

Onward in anger he moved.

stirred by the motion,

And the arrows,

Rattled and rang on his shoulder: he came, as

cometh the midnight.