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,