Book I: The Contention of Achilles and Agamemnon

O Goddess! Sing the wrath of Peleus’ son,Achilles; sing the deadly wrath that broughtWoes numberless upon the Greeks, and sweptTo Hades many a valiant soul, and gaveTheir limbs a prey to dogs and birds of air—For so had Jove appointed—from the timeWhen the two chiefs, Atrides, king of men,And great Achilles, parted first as foes.

Which of the gods put strife between the chiefs,That they should thus contend? Latona’s sonAnd Jove’s. Incensed against the king, he badeA deadly pestilence appear amongThe army, and the men were perishing.For Atreus’ son with insult had receivedChryses the priest, who to the Grecian fleetCame to redeem his daughter, offeringUncounted ransom. In his hand he boreThe fillets of Apollo, archer-god,Upon the golden sceptre, and he suedTo all the Greeks, but chiefly to the sonsOf Atreus, the two leaders of the host:—

“Ye sons of Atreus, and ye other chiefs,Well-greaved Achaians, may the gods who dwellUpon Olympus give you to o’erthrowThe city of Priam, and in safety reachYour homes; but give me my beloved child,And take her ransom, honoring him who sendsHis arrows far, Apollo, son of Jove.”

Then all the other Greeks, applauding, badeRevere the priest and take the liberal giftsHe offered, but the counsel did not pleaseAtrides Agamemnon; he dismissedThe priest with scorn, and added threatening words:—

“Old man, let me not find thee loitering here,Beside the roomy ships, or coming backHereafter, lest the fillet thou dost bearAnd sceptre of thy god protect thee not.This maiden I release not till old ageShall overtake her in my Argive home,Far from her native country, where her handShall throw the shuttle and shall dress my couch.Go, chafe me not, if thou wouldst safely go.”

He spake; the aged man in fear obeyedThe mandate, and in silence walked apart,Along the many-sounding ocean-side,And fervently he prayed the monarch-god,Apollo, golden-haired Latona’s son:—

“Hear me, thou bearer of the silver bow,Who guardest Chrysa, and the holy isleOf Cilia, and art lord in Tenedos,O Smintheus! If I ever helped to deckThy glorious temple, if I ever burnedUpon thy altar the fat thighs of goatsAnd bullocks, grant my prayer, and let thy shaftsAvenge upon the Greeks the tears I shed.”

So spake he supplicating, and to himPhoebus Apollo hearkened. Down he came,Down from the summit of the Olympian mount,Wrathful in heart; his shoulders bore the bowAnd hollow quiver; there the arrows rangUpon the shoulders of the angry god,As on he moved. He came as comes the night,And, seated from the ships aloof, sent forthAn arrow; terrible was heard the clangOf that resplendent bow. At first he smoteThe mules and the swift dogs, and then on manHe turned the deadly arrow. All aroundGlared evermore the frequent funeral piles.Nine days already had his shafts been showeredAmong the host, and now, upon the tenth,Achilles called the people of the campTo council. Juno, of the snow-white arms,Had moved his mind to this, for she beheldWith sorrow that the men were perishing.And when the assembly met and now was full,Stood swift Achilles in the midst and said:—

“To me it seems, Atrides, that ’twere well,Since now our aim is baffled, to returnHomeward, if death o’ertake us not; for warAnd pestilence at once destroy the Greeks.But let us first consult some seer or priest,Or dream-interpreter—for even dreamsAre sent by Jove—and ask him by what causePhoebus Apollo has been angered thus;If by neglected vows or hecatombs,And whether savor of fat bulls and goatsMay move the god to stay the pestilence.”

He spake, and took again his seat; and nextRose Calchas, son of Thestor, and the chiefOf augurs, one to whom were known things pastAnd present and to come. He, through the artOf divination, which Apollo gave,Had guided Iliumward the ships of Greece.With words well ordered courteously he spake:—

“Achilles, loved of Jove, thou biddest meExplain the wrath of Phoebus, monarch-god,Who sends afar his arrows. WillinglyWill I make known the cause; but covenant thou,And swear to stand prepared, by word and hand,To bring me succor. For my mind misgivesThat he who rules the Argives, and to whomThe Achaian race are subject, will be wroth.A sovereign is too strong for humbler men,And though he keep his choler down awhile,It rankles, till he sate it, in his heart.And now consider: wilt thou hold me safe?”

Achilles, the swift-footed, answered thus:—“Fear nothing, but speak boldly out whate’erThou knowest, and declare the will of Heaven.For by Apollo, dear to Jove, whom thou,Calchas, dost pray to, when thou givest forthThe sacred oracles to men of Greece,No man, while yet I live, and see the lightOf day, shall lay a violent hand on theeAmong our roomy ships; no man of allThe Grecian armies, though thou name the nameOf Agamemnon, whose high boast it isTo stand in power and rank above them all.”

Encouraged thus, the blameless seer went on:—“ ’Tis not neglected vows or hecatombsThat move him, but the insult shown his priest,Whom Agamemnon spurned, when he refusedTo set his daughter free, and to receiveHer ransom. Therefore sends the archer-godThese woes, and still will send them on the Greeks,Nor ever will withdraw his heavy handFrom our destruction, till the dark-eyed maidFreely, and without ransom, be restoredTo her beloved father, and with herA sacred hecatomb to Chrysa sent.So may we haply pacify the god.”

Thus having said, the augur took his seat.And then the hero-son of Atreus rose,Wide-ruling Agamemnon, greatly chafed.His gloomy heart was full of wrath, his eyesSparkled like fire; he fixed a menacing lookFull on the augur Calchas, and began:—

“Prophet of evil! Never hadst thou yetA cheerful word for me. To mark the signsOf coming mischief is thy great delight.Good dost thou ne’er foretell nor bring to pass.And now thou pratest, in thine auguries,Before the Greeks, how that the archer-godAfflicts us thus, because I would not takeThe costly ransom offered to redeemThe virgin child of Chryses. ’Twas my choiceTo keep her with me, for I prize her moreThan Clytemnestra, bride of my young years,And deem her not less nobly graced than she,In form and feature, mind and pleasing arts.Yet will I give her back, if that be best;For gladly would I see my people savedFrom this destruction. Let meet recompense,Meantime, be ready, that I be not left,Alone of all the Greeks, without my prize.That were not seemly. All of you perceiveThat now my share of spoil has passed from me.”

To him the great Achilles, swift of foot,Replied: “Renowned Atrides, greediestOf men, where wilt thou that our noble GreeksFind other spoil for thee, since none is setApart, a common store? The trophies broughtFrom towns which we have sacked have all been sharedAmong us, and we could not without shameBid every warrior bring his portion back.Yield, then, the maiden to the god, and we,The Achaians, freely will appoint for theeThreefold and fourfold recompense, should JoveGive up to sack this well-defended Troy.”

Then the king Agamemnon answered thus:—“Nay, use no craft, all valiant as thou art,Godlike Achilles; thou hast not the powerTo circumvent nor to persuade me thus.Think’st thou that, while thou keepest safe thy prize,I shall sit idly down, deprived of mine?Thou bid’st me give the maiden back. ’Tis well,If to my hands the noble Greeks shall bringThe worth of what I lose, and in a shapeThat pleases me. Else will I come myself,And seize and bear away thy prize, or thatOf Ajax or Ulysses, leaving himFrom whom I take his share with cause for rage.Another time we will confer of this.Now come, and forth into the great salt seaLaunch a black ship, and muster on the deckMen skilled to row, and put a hecatombOn board, and let the fair-cheeked maid embark,Chryseis. Send a prince to bear command—Ajax, Idomeneus, or the divineUlysses;—or thyself, Pelides, thouMost terrible of men, that with due ritesThou soothe the anger of the archer-god.”

Achilles the swift-footed, with stern look,Thus answered: “Ha, thou mailed in impudenceAnd bent on lucre! Who of all the GreeksCan willingly obey thee, on the march,Or bravely battling with the enemy?I came not to this war because of wrongDone to me by the valiant sons of Troy.No feud had I with them; they never tookMy beeves or horses, nor, in Phthia’s realm,Deep-soiled and populous, spoiled my harvest fields.For many a shadowy mount between us lies,And waters of the wide-resounding sea.Man unabashed! We follow thee that thouMayst glory in avenging upon TroyThe grudge of Menelaus and thy own,Thou shameless one! And yet thou hast for thisNor thanks nor care. Thou threatenest now to takeFrom me the prize for which I bore long toilsIn battle; and the Greeks decreed it mine.I never take an equal share with theeOf booty when the Grecian host has sackedSome populous Trojan town. My hands performThe harder labors of the field in allThe tumult of the fight; but when the spoilIs shared, the largest share of all is thine,While I, content with little, seek my ships,Weary with combat. I shall now go homeTo Phthia; better were it to returnWith my beaked ships; but here, where I am heldIn little honor, thou wilt fail, I think,To gather, in large measure, spoil and wealth.”

Him answered Agamemnon, king of men:—“Desert, then, if thou wilt; I ask thee notTo stay for me; there will be others leftTo do me honor yet, and, best of all,The all-providing Jove is with me still.Thee I detest the most of all the menOrdained by him to govern; thy delightIs in contention, war, and bloody frays.If thou art brave, some deity, no doubt,Hath thus endowed thee. Hence, then, to thy home,With all thy ships and men! There domineerOver thy Myrmidons; I heed thee not,Nor care I for thy fury. Thus, in turn,I threaten thee; since Phoebus takes awayChryseis, I will send her in my shipAnd with my friends, and, coming to thy tent,Will bear away the fair-cheeked maid, thy prize,Briseis, that thou learn how far I standAbove thee, and that other chiefs may fearTo measure strength with me, and brave my power.”

The rage of Peleus’ son, as thus he spake,Grew fiercer; in that shaggy breast his heartTook counsel, whether from his thigh to drawThe trenchant sword, and, thrusting back the rest,Smite down Atrides, or subdue his wrathAnd master his own spirit. While he thusDebated with himself, and half unsheathedThe ponderous blade, Pallas Athene came,Sent from on high by Juno, the white-armèd,Who loved both warriors and made both her care.She came behind him, seen by him alone,And plucked his yellow hair. The hero turnedIn wonder, and at once he knew the lookOf Pallas and the awful-gleaming eye,And thus accosted her with wingèd words:—“Why com’st thou hither, daughter of the godWho bears the aegis? Art thou here to seeThe insolence of Agamemnon, sonOf Atreus? Let me tell thee what I deemWill be the event. That man may lose his life,And quickly too, for arrogance like this.”

Then thus the goddess, blue-eyed Pallas, spake:—“I came from heaven to pacify thy wrath,If thou wilt heed my counsel. I am sentBy Juno the white-armed, to whom ye bothAre dear, who ever watches o’er you both.Refrain from violence; let not thy handUnsheathe the sword, but utter with thy tongueReproaches, as occasion may arise,For I declare what time shall bring to pass;Threefold amends shall yet be offered thee,In gifts of princely cost, for this day’s wrong.Now calm thy angry spirit, and obey.”

Achilles, the swift-footed, answered thus:—“O goddess, be the word thou bring’st obeyed,However fierce my anger; for to himWho hearkens to the gods, the gods give ear.”

So speaking, on the silver hilt he stayedHis strong right hand, and back into its sheathThrust his good sword, obeying. She, meantime,Returned to heaven, where aegis-bearing JoveDwells with the other gods. And now againPelides, with opprobrious words, bespakeThe son of Atreus, venting thus his wrath:—

“Wine-bibber, with the forehead of a dogAnd a deer’s heart! Thou never yet hast daredTo arm thyself for battle with the rest,Nor join the other chiefs prepared to lieIn ambush—such thy craven fear of death.Better it suits thee, midst the mighty hostOf Greeks, to rob some warrior of his prizeWho dares withstand thee. King thou art, and yetDevourer of thy people. Thou dost ruleA spiritless race, else this day’s insolence,Atrides, were thy last. And now I say,And bind my saying with a mighty oath:By this my sceptre, which can never bearA leaf or twig, since first it left its stemAmong the mountains—for the steel has paredIts boughs and bark away, to sprout no more—And now the Achaian judges bear it—theyWho guard the laws received from Jupiter,Such is my oath—the time shall come when allThe Greeks shall long to see Achilles back,While multitudes are perishing by the handOf Hector, the man-queller; thou, meanwhile,Though thou lament, shalt have no power to help,And thou shalt rage against thyself to thinkThat thou hast scorned the bravest of the Greeks.

As thus he spake, Pelides to the groundFlung the gold-studded wand, and took his seat.Fiercely Atrides raged; but now uproseNestor, the master of persuasive speech,The clear-toned Pylian orator, whose tongueDropped words more sweet than honey. He had seenTwo generations that grew up and livedWith him on sacred Pylos pass away,And now he ruled the third. With prudent wordsHe thus addressed the assembly of the chiefs:—

“Ye gods! What new misfortunes threaten Greece!How Priam would exult and Priam’s sons,And how would all the Trojan race rejoice,Were they to know how furiously ye strive—Ye who in council and in fight surpassThe other Greeks. Now hearken to my words—Ye who are younger than myself—for IHave lived with braver men than you, and yetThey held me not in light esteem. Such menI never saw, nor shall I see again—Men like Pirithoüs and like Druas, lordOf nations, Caeneus and Exadius,And the great Polypheme, and Theseus, sonOf Aegeus, likest to the immortal gods.Strongest of all the earth-born race they fought—The strongest with the strongest of their time—With Centaurs, the wild dwellers of the hills,And fearfully destroyed them. With these menDid I hold converse, coming to their campFrom Pylos in a distant land. They sentTo bid me join the war, and by their sideI fought my best, but no man living nowOn the wide earth would dare to fight with them.Great as they were, they listened to my wordsAnd took my counsel. Hearken also ye,And let my words persuade you for the best.Thou, powerful as thou art, take not from himThe maiden; suffer him to keep the prizeDecreed him by the sons of Greece; and thou,Pelides, strive no longer with the king,Since never Jove on sceptred prince bestowedLike eminence to his. Though braver thou,And goddess-born, yet hath he greater powerAnd wider sway. Atrides, calm thy wrath—’Tis I who ask—against the chief who standsThe bulwark of the Greeks in this fierce war.”

To him the sovereign Agamemnon said:—“The things which thou hast uttered, aged chief,Are fitly spoken; but this man would standAbove all others; he aspires to beThe master, over all to domineer,And to direct in all things; yet, I think,There may be one who will not suffer this.For if by favor of the immortal godsHe was made brave, have they for such a causeGiven him the liberty of insolent speech?”

Hereat the great Achilles, breaking in,Answered: “Yea, well might I deserve the nameOf coward and of wretch, should I submitIn all things to thy bidding. Such commandsLay thou on others, not on me; nor thinkI shall obey thee longer. This I say—And bear it well in mind—I shall not liftMy hand to keep the maiden whom ye gaveAnd now take from me; but whatever elseMay be on board that swift black ship of mine,Beware thou carry not away the leastWithout my leave. Come, make the trial now,That these may see thy black blood bathe my spear.

Then, rising from that strife of words, the twainDissolved the assembly at the Grecian fleet.Pelides to his tents and well manned shipsWent with Patroclus and his warrior friends,While Agamemnon bade upon the seaLaunch a swift barque with twenty chosen menTo ply the oar, and put a hecatombUpon it for the god. He thither ledThe fair-cheeked maid Chryseis; the commandHe gave to wise Ulysses; forth they went,Leader and crew, upon their watery path.Meanwhile, he bade the camp be purified;And straight the warriors purified the camp,And, casting the pollutions to the waves,They burned to Phoebus chosen hecatombsOf bulls and goats beside the barren main,From which the savor rose in smoke to heaven.

So was the host employed. But not the lessDid Agamemnon persevere to urgeHis quarrel with Pelides; and he thusAddressed Talthybius and Eurybates.His heralds and his faithful ministers:—

“Go ye to where Achilles holds his tent,And take the fair Briseis by the hand,And bring her hither. If he yield her not,I shall come forth to claim her with a bandOf warriors, and it shall be worse for him.”

He spake, and sent them forth with added wordsOf menace. With unwilling steps they wentBeside the barren deep, until they reachedThe tents and vessels of the Myrmidons,And found Achilles seated by his tentAnd his black ship; their coming pleased him not.They, moved by fear and reverence of the king,Stopped, and bespake him not, nor signifiedTheir errand; he perceived their thought and said:—

“Hail, heralds, messengers of Jove and men!Draw near; I blame you not. I only blameAtrides, who hath sent you for the maid.Noble Patroclus! Bring the damsel forth,And let them lead her hence. My witnessesAre ye, before the blessed deities,And mortal men, and this remorseless king,If ever he shall need me to avertThe doom of utter ruin from his host.Most sure it is, he madly yields himselfTo fatal counsels, thoughtless of the pastAnd of the future, nor forecasting howThe Greeks may fight, unvanquished, by their fleet.”

He spake. Meantime Patroclus had obeyedThe word of his beloved friend. He broughtThe fair-cheeked maid Briseis from the tent,And she was led away. The messengersReturned to where their barques were moored, and sheUnwillingly went with them. Then in tearsAchilles, from his friends withdrawing, satBeside the hoary ocean-marge, and gazedOn the black deep beyond, and stretched his hands,And prayed to his dear mother, earnestly:—

“Mother! Since thou didst bring me forth to dwellBrief space on earth, Olympian Jupiter,Who thunders in the highest, should have filledThat space with honors, but he grants them not.Wide-ruling Agamemnon takes and holdsThe prize I won, and thus dishonors me.”

Thus, shedding tears, he spake. His mother heard,Sitting within the ocean deeps, besideHer aged father. Swiftly from the wavesOf the gray deep emerging like a cloud,She sat before him as he wept, and smoothedHis brow with her soft hand, and kindly said:—

“My child, why weepest thou? What grief is this?Speak, and hide nothing, so that both may know.”

Achilles, swift of foot, sighed heavily,And said: “Thou know’st already. Why relateThese things to thee, who art apprised of all?

“To Thebé, to Eëtion’s sacred town,We marched, and plundered it, and hither broughtThe booty, which was fairly shared amongThe sons of Greece, and Agamemnon tookThe fair-cheeked maid Chryseis as his prize.But Chryses, priest of Phoebus, to the fleetOf the Achaian warriors, brazen-mailed,Came, to redeem his daughter, offeringRansom uncounted. In his hand he boreThe fillets of Apollo, archer-god,Upon the golden sceptre, and he suedTo all the Greeks, but chiefly to the sonsOf Atreus, the two leaders of the host.Then all the other chiefs, applauding, badeRevere the priest and take the liberal giftsHe offered; but the counsel did not pleaseAtrides Agamemnon: he dismissedThe priest with scorn, and added threatening words.The aged man indignantly withdrew;And Phoebus—for the priest was dear to him—Granted his prayer and sent among the GreeksA deadly shaft. The people of the campWere perishing in heaps. His arrows flewAmong the Grecian army, far and wide.A seer expert in oracles revealedThe will of Phoebus, and I was the firstTo counsel that the god should be appeased.But Agamemnon rose in sudden wrath,Uttering a threat, which he has since fulfilled.And now the dark-eyed Greeks are taking backHis child to Chryses, and with her they bearGifts to the monarch-god; while to my tentHeralds have come, and borne away the maidBriseis, given me by the sons of Greece.But succor thou thy son, if thou hast power;Ascend to heaven and bring thy prayer to Jove,If e’er by word or act thou gav’st him aid.For I remember, in my father’s hallsI often heard thee, glorying, tell how thou,Alone of all the gods, didst interposeTo save the cloud-compeller, Saturn’s son,From shameful overthrow, when all the restWho dwell upon Olympus had conspiredTo bind him—Juno, Neptune, and with themPallas Athene. Thou didst come and looseHis bonds, and call up to the Olympian heightsThe hundred-handed, whom the immortal godsHave named Briareus, but the sons of menAegeon, mightier than his sire in strength;And he, rejoicing in the honor, tookHis seat by Jove, and all the immortals shrankAghast before him, and let fall the chains.Remind him of all this, and, sitting down,Embrace his knees, and pray him to befriendThe Trojans, that the Greeks, hemmed in and slainBeside their ships and by the shore, may learnTo glory in their king, and even he,Wide-ruling Agamemnon, may perceiveHow grievous was his folly when he daredTo treat with scorn the bravest of the Greeks.”

And Thetis answered, weeping as she spake:—“Alas, my son, why did I rear thee, bornTo sorrow as thou wert? O would that thouUnwronged, and with no cause for tears, couldst dwellBeside thy ships, since thou must die so soon.I brought thee forth in an unhappy hour,Short-lived and wronged beyond all other men.Yet will I climb the Olympian height amongIts snows and make my suit to JupiterThe Thunderer, if haply he may yieldTo my entreaties. Thou, meanwhile, abideBy thy swift ships, incensed against the Greeks,And take no part in all their battles more.But yesterday did Jove depart to holdA banquet far in Ocean’s realm, amongThe blameless Ethiopians, and with himWent all the train of gods. Twelve days must passEre he return to heaven, and I will thenEnter his brazen palace, clasp his knees,And hope to move his purpose by my prayers.”

So saying, she departed, leaving himIn anger for the shapely damsel’s sake,Whom forcibly they took away. MeantimeUlysses, with the sacred hecatomb,Arrived at Chrysa. Entering the deep port,They folded up the sails and laid them downIn the black ship, and lowering the mast,With all its shrouds, they brought it to its place,Then to the shore they urged the barque with oars,And cast the anchors and secured the prowWith fastenings. Next, they disembarked and stoodUpon the beach and placed the hecatombIn sight of Phoebus, the great archer. Last,Chryseis left the deck, and, leading herUp to the altar, wise Ulysses gaveThe maid to her dear father, speaking thus:—

“O Chryses! Agamemnon, king of men,Sends me in haste to bring this maid to theeAnd offer up this hallowed hecatombTo Phoebus, for the Greeks: that so the god,Whose wrath afflicts us sore, may be appeased.

So speaking, to her father’s hands he gaveThe maiden; joyfully the priest receivedThe child he loved. Then did the Greeks arrayThe noble hecatomb in order roundThe sculptured altar, and with washen handsThey took the salted meal, while Chryses stoodAnd spread abroad his hands and prayed aloud:—

“Hear me, thou bearer of the glittering bow,Who guardest Chrysa and the pleasant isleOf Cilia and art lord in Tenedos!Already hast thou listened to my prayerAnd honored me, and terribly hast scourgedThe Achaian people. Hear me yet again,And cause the plague that wastes the Greeks to cease.”

So spake he, supplicating, and to himPhoebus Apollo hearkened. When the prayersWere ended, and the salted meal was flung,Backward they turned the necks of the fat beeves,And cut their throats, and flayed the carcasses,And hewed away the thighs, and covered themWith caul in double folds; and over thisThey laid raw fragments of the other parts.O’er all the aged priest poured dark red wine,And burned them on dry wood. A band of youthsWith five-pronged spits, beside him, thrust these throughThe entrails, which they laid among the flames.And when the thighs were all consumed, and nextThe entrails tasted, all the rest was carvedInto small portions and transfixed with spitsAnd roasted with nice care and then withdrawnFrom the hot coals. This task performed, they madeThe banquet ready. All became its guestsAnd all were welcome to the equal feast.And when their thirst and hunger were allayed,Boys crowned the ample urns with wreaths, and servedThe wine to all, and poured libations forth. Meantime theArgive youths, that whole day long,Sang to appease the god; they chanted forthHigh anthems to the archer of the skies.He listened to the strain, and his stern moodWas softened. When, at length, the sun went downAnd darkness fell, they gave themselves to sleepBeside the fastenings of their ships, and whenAppeared the rosy-fingered Dawn, the childOf Morning, they returned to the great hostOf the Achaians. Phoebus deigned to sendA favoring breeze; at once they reared the mastAnd opened the white sails; the canvas swelledBefore the wind, and hoarsely round the keelThe dark waves murmured as the ship flew on.So ran she, cutting through the sea her way.But when they reached the great Achaian host,They drew their vessel high upon the shoreAmong the sands, and underneath its sidesThey laid long beams to prop the keel, and straightDispersed themselves among the tents and ships.

The goddess-born Achilles, swift of foot,Beside his ships still brooded o’er his wrath,Nor came to council with the illustrious chiefs,Nor to the war, but suffered idlenessTo eat his heart away; for well he lovedClamor and combat. But when now, at length,The twelfth day came, the ever-living godsReturned together to the Olympian mountWith Jove, their leader. Thetis kept in mindHer son’s desire, and, with the early morn,Emerging from the depths of ocean, climbedTo the great heaven and the high mount, and foundAll-seeing Jove, who, from the rest apart,Was seated on the loftiest pinnacleOf many-peaked Olympus. She sat downBefore the son of Saturn, clasped his kneesWith her left arm, and lifted up her rightIn supplication to the Sovereign One:—

“O Jupiter, my father, if amongThe immortals I have ever given thee aidBy word or act, deny not my request.Honor my son, whose life is doomed to endSo soon; for Agamemnon, king of men,Hath done him shameful wrong: he takes from himAnd keeps the prize he won in war. But thou,Olympian Jupiter, supremely wise,Honor him thou, and give the Trojan hostThe victory, until the humbled GreeksHeap large increase of honors on my son.”

She spake, but cloud-compelling JupiterAnswered her not; in silence long he sat.But Thetis, who had clasped his knees at first,Clung to them still, and prayed him yet again:—

“O promise me, and grant my suit; or elseDeny it—for thou need’st not fear—and IShall know how far below the other godsThou holdest me in honor.” As she spake,The Cloud-compeller, sighing heavily,Answered her thus: “Hard things dost thou require,And thou wilt force me into new disputesWith Juno, who will anger me againWith contumelious words; forever thus,In presence of the immortals, doth she seekCause of contention, charging that I aidThe Trojans in their battles. Now depart,And let her not perceive thee. Leave the restTo be by me accomplished; and that thouMayst be assured, behold, I give the nod;For this, with me, the immortals know, portendsThe highest certainty: no word of mineWhich once my nod confirms can be revoked,Or prove untrue, or fail to be fulfilled.”

As thus he spake, the son of Saturn gaveThe nod with his dark brows. The ambrosial curlsUpon the Sovereign One’s immortal headWere shaken, and with them the mighty mountOlympus trembled. Then they parted, shePlunging from bright Olympus to the deep,And Jove returning to his palace home;Where all the gods, uprising from their thrones,At sight of the Great Father, waited notFor his approach, but met him as he came.

And now upon his throne the Godhead tookHis seat, but Juno knew—for she had seen—That Thetis of the silver feet, and childOf the gray Ancient of the Deep, had heldClose council with her consort. Therefore sheBespake the son of Saturn harshly, thus:—

“O crafty one, with whom, among the gods,Plottest thou now? Thus hath it ever beenThy pleasure to devise, apart from me,Thy plans in secret; never willinglyDost thou reveal to me thy purposes.”

Then thus replied the Father of the godsAnd mortals: “Juno, do not think to knowAll my designs, for thou wilt find the taskToo hard for thee, although thou be my spouse.What fitting is to be revealed, no oneOf all the immortals or of men shall knowSooner than thou; but when I form designsApart from all the gods, presume thou notTo question me or pry into my plans.”

Juno, the large-eyed and august, rejoined:—“What words, stern son of Saturn, hast thou said!It never was my wont to question theeOr pry into thy plans, and thou art leftTo form them as thou wilt; yet now I fearThe silver-footed Thetis has contrived—That daughter of the Ancient of the Deep—To o’erpersuade thee, for, at early prime,She sat before thee and embraced thy knees;And thou hast promised her, I cannot doubt,To give Achilles honor and to causeMyriads of Greeks to perish by their fleet.”

Then Jove, the cloud-compeller, spake again:—“Harsh-tongued! thou ever dost suspect me thus,Nor can I act unwatched; and yet all thisProfits thee nothing, for it only servesTo breed dislike, and is the worse for thee.But were it as thou deemest, ’tis enoughThat such has been my pleasure. Sit thou downIn silence, and obey, lest all the godsUpon Olympus, when I come and layThese potent hands on thee, protect thee not.”

He spake, and Juno, large-eyed and august,O’erawed, and curbing her high spirit, satIn silence; meanwhile all the gods of heavenWithin the halls of Jove were inly grieved.But Vulcan, the renowned artificer,Sought to console his mother in her grief—The white-armed Juno—and thus interposed:—

“Great will the evil be and hard to bear,If, for the sake of mortals, ye are movedTo such contention and the assembled godsDisturbed with discord. Even the pleasant feastWill lose its flavor when embittered thus.And let me warn my mother while I speak,Wise as she is, that she defer to Jove,Lest the All-Father angrily againReply, and spoil the banquet of the day.The Thunderer of Olympus, if he chooseTo make a wreck of all things, wields a powerFar greater than we all. Accost him thouWith gentle speeches, and the Lord of heavenWill then regard us in a kindly mood.”

As thus he spake, he gave into the handsOf his beloved mother the round cupOf double form, and thus he spake again:—

“Mother, be patient and submit, althoughIn sadness, lest these eyes behold thee yetBeaten with stripes, and though I hold thee dearAnd grieve for thee, I cannot bring thee help;For hard it is to strive with Jupiter.Already once, when I took part with thee,He seized me by the foot and flung me o’erThe battlements of heaven. All day I fell,And with the setting sun I struck the earthIn Lemnos. Little life was left in me,What time the Sintians took me from the ground.”

He spake, and Juno, the white-shouldered, smiled,And smiling took the cup her son had brought;And next he poured to all the other godsSweet nectar from the jar, beginning firstWith those at the right hand. As they beheldLame Vulcan laboring o’er the palace-floor,An inextinguishable laughter brokeFrom all the blessed gods. So feasted theyAll day till sunset. From that equal feastNone stood aloof, nor from the pleasant soundOf harp, which Phoebus touched, nor from the voiceOf Muses singing sweetly in their turn.

But when the sun’s all-glorious light was down,Each to his sleeping-place betook himself;For Vulcan, the lame god, with marvellous art,Had framed for each the chamber of his rest.

And Jupiter, the Olympian Thunderer,Went also to his couch, where ’twas his wont,When slumber overtook him, to recline.And there, beside him, slept the white-armed queenJuno, the mistress of the golden throne.