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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,

      

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