Then the good prophet took him heart and spake. "Not of a prayer or of a sacrifice
Doth he rebuke: but for his servant's sake, 115
Whom Agamemnon did disdain, nor gave
His child, nor took her price for this, I ween,
The Smiter deals us, and shall deal us, woe.
And heavy still shall be his wasting hand,
Till to her father dear the bright-eyed maid
Be giv'n, unbought, unransomed; and we bear
To Chryse holy sacrifice. This done,
It may be he will hear us and repent."
He spake, and sate him down, Then rose to
Broad-realmèd Agamemnon, Atreus' son,
A mighty man, sore angered. Fury filled
His heart's dark places: gleamed his eyes like fires. First Calchas, boding mischief, he bespake.
"Prophet of ill! Thou spak'st me never yet
A fair word. For thy soul loves evil still,
Nor aught good spak'st thou e'er, or brought'st to
What prophesiest thou now before the host?
Sooth, that for this the Smiter works them
Because I would not for rich ransom loose
The girl Chryseis. No! at home would I 135
Possess her: I prefer her to my wife,
My first-wed wife: she is Clytemnestra's match
In stature, shape, and mind, and handicraft.
Yet will I yield her up, if this be best.
I'd liefer see my people live than die.
Ye deck me straight a gift, lest I alone
Of Greeks ungifted be. That were not meet.
For see all men, my gift goes otherwhere."
And then the swift Achilles answered him.
"Most honoured, most gain-greedy of mankind! 145
How may the generous Greeks find gifts for thee?
We wot not yet of public treasury :
The spoils of cities sacked we've parted all,
And should do ill re-levying these anew.
Now yield her to the god-and threefold we 150
And fourfold will repay thee, let but Zeus
Grant us to level yon fair walls of Troy."
And royal Agamemnon made reply.
"Brave though thou art, great chief, yet play not
The knave: thou shalt not dupe me nor cajole. 155
Would'st thou so thou have honour-that I sit
With empty hands? and bidd'st me yield her up?
Now if the generous Greeks will grant a gift-
One my soul loves, a meet equivalent—
Well but if not, I'll take with mine own arm
Thine, or thine, Aias, or, Odysseus, thine,
And bear it off: and wrath mayhap he'll be
Whom I shall visit.-But of this anon.-
Launch we a dark ship on the great sea now,
Give her her tale of oars, and place on board
A hundred oxen, and embark therein
Fair-cheeked Briseis. And be one, a king,
Her captain; Aias, or Idomeneus,
Or great Odysseus, or, Achilles, thou
Most terrible of men; that thou mayest win 170 Back with thy rites the god who smites from far."
Answered the swiftfoot chief with lowering brow: "Oh clothed with shamelessness! oh selfish-souled!
What Greek will do ungrudging thy behests,
Speed on thy missions, bear the brunt of war?
I came not for the warrior Trojans' sake
Hither to fight. They owe no debt to me;
Ne'er in rich Phthia, nurse of mighty men,
Spoiled they my orchards :-for betwixt us lay
Long tracts of shadowy fell and sounding sea.
Shameless! 'Twas thou, thy pleasure, brought us
For Menelaüs, and thee, dog, to wreak
Vengeance on Troy-which things thou heedest not
Nor reck'st of. Lo! thou boast'st that thou wilt seize
With thine own arm my meed, my hardwon meed,
Assigned me by the children of the Greeks! 186
My gifts are not as thy gifts, when the Greeks
Lay low some goodly-peopled town of Troy:
My hands the burden of the weary war
Must bear; but thy share, when we part the spoil
Is greatest; I some small sweet morsel take 191
Back to my ships, when I am faint with strife.
But now I go to Phthia. Best to wend
Home with my beaked ships. And scarce wilt
Say I, disdainèd I-fill high thy cup
With treasure and with wealth, abiding here."
Then answered Agamemnon, King of men.
"Go, if thy soul so prompts thee. I shall not
Say 'Stay' for my sake. I have others near
To prize me: first of all the all-wise Zeus.
Of Kings, the sons of heaven, I hate thee most.
Dear to thee aye are feuds and wars and strifes.
Strong art thou? Then 'twas heaven that gave
thy strength.
Go with thy ships and with thy followers home,
Rule Myrmidons. I care not aught for thee 205
Nor for thy wrath. And I will tell thee this.
Chryseis Phoebus takes from me: and her
I'll send, with my ships and my followers, back.
But to thy tent I'll go, ev'n I, and take
Thy prize, the fair Briseis: that thou learn 210
How I am thy better: and that others shrink
To deem themselves my mates and cope with me."
He spake. And moved was Peleus' son: his
|