Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/38

36 Speak what thou knowest, and speak without control.

Even by that god I swear, who rules the day,

To whom thy hands the vows of Greece convey,

And whose blest oracles thy lips declare;

Long as Achilles breathes this vital air,

No daring Greek, of all the numerous band,

Against his priest shall lift an impious hand:

Not even the chief by whom our hosts are led,

The king of kings, shall touch that sacred head."

Encouraged thus, the blameless man replies:

"Nor vows unpaid, nor slighted sacrifice,

But he, our chief, provoked the raging pest,

Apollo's vengeance for his injured priest;

Nor will the god's awakened fury cease,

But plagues shall spread and funeral fires increase,

Till the great king, without a ransom paid,

To her own Chrysa send the black-eyed maid.

Perhaps, with added sacrifice and prayer,

The priest may pardon, and the god may spare."

The prophet spoke; when, with a gloomy frown,

The monarch started from his shining throne;

Black choler filled his breast that boiled with ire,

And from his eyeballs flashed the living fire.

"Augur accursed! denouncing mischief still,

Prophet of plagues, for ever boding ill!

Still must that tongue some wounding message bring,

And still thy priestly pride provoke thy king?

For this are Phœbus' oracles explored,

To teach the Greeks to murmur at their lord?

For this with falsehoods is my honour stained;

Is heaven offended, and a priest profaned,

Because my prize, my beauteous maid, I hold,

And heavenly charms prefer to proffered gold?

A maid, unmatched in manners as in face,

Skilled in each art, and crowned with every grace:

Not half so dear were Clytæmnestra's charms,

When first her blooming beauties blessed my arms.

Yet, if the gods demand her, let her sail;

Our cares are only for the public weal:

Let me be deemed the hateful cause of all,

And suffer, rather than my people fall.

The prize, the beauteous prize, I will resign,

So dearly valued, and so justly mine.

But since for common good I yield the fair,

My private loss let grateful Greece repair;

Nor unrewarded let your prince complain,

That he alone has fought and bled in vain."

"Insatiate king!" Achilles thus replies,

"Fond of the power, but fonder of the prize!