The Contention of Achilles and Agamemnon.

IN the war of Troy, the Greeks, having facked some of the neighbouring towns, and taken from thence two beautiful captives, Chryfeïs and Bryfeïs, allotted the first to Agamemnon, and the laft to Achilles. Chryfes, the father of Chryfeïs and priest of Apollo, comes to the Grecian camp to ranfom her; with which the action of the poem opens, in the tenth year of the fiege. The priest being refused, and infolently difmiffed by Agamemnon, intreats for vengeance from his God, who inflicts a peftilence on the Greeks. Achilles calls a council, and encourages Chalcas to declare the cause of it, who attributes it to the refufal of Chryfeis. The king being obliged to fend back his captive, enters into a furious conteft with Achilles, which Neftor pacifies; however, as he had the abfolute command of the army, he feizes on Brifeis in revenge. Achilles in difcontent withdraws himself and his forces from the rest of the Greeks; and complaining to Thetis, the fupplicates Jupiter to render them fenfible of the wrong done to her fon, by giving victory to the Trojans. Jupiter granting her fuit incenfes Juno, between whom the debate runs high, till they are reconciled by the addrefs of Vulcan.

The time of two and twenty days is taken up in this book; nine during the plague, one in the council and quarrel of the princes, and twelve for Jupiter's ftay with the Ethiopians, at whofe return Thetis prefers her petition. The fcene lies in the Grecian camp, then changes to Chryfa, and laftly to Olympus.

THE

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BOOK I.

CHILLES' wrath, to Greece the direful spring

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That wrath which hurl'd to Pluto's gloomy reign
The fouls of mighty Chiefs untimely flain;
Whose limbs unbury'd on the naked shore,
Devouring dogs and hungry vultures tore;
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great Achilles and Atrides ftrove,

Such was the fovereign doom, and such the will of Jove!
Declare, O Mufe! in what ill-fated hour

Sprung the fierce ftrife, from what offended power? 10
Latona's fon a dire contagion spread,

And heap'd the camp with mountains of the dead;
The king of men his reverend priest defy'd,
And for the king's offence the people dy'd.

For Chryfes fought with coftly gifts to gain
His captive daughter from the victor's chain.
Suppliant the venerable father stands,
Apollo's awful enfigns grace his hands:
By these he begs; and lowly bending down,
Extends the fceptre and the laurel crown.

He fued to all, but chief implor'd for grace

The brother-kings, of Atreus' royal race.

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Ye kings and warriors! may your vows be crown'd,
And Troy's proud walls lie level with the ground.
May Jove restore you, when your toils are o'er,
Safe to the pleasures of your native shore.
But oh! relieve a wretched parent's pain,
And give Chryfeïs to these arms again;
If mercy fail, yet let my prefents move,
And dread avenging Phœbus, son of Jove.

The Greeks in shouts their joint affent declare,
The priest to reverence, and release the fair.
Not fo Atrides: he, with kingly pride,
Repuls'd the facred fire, and thus reply'd:

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Hence on thy life, and fly these hostile plains,
Nor afk, presumptuous, what the king detains ;
Hence, with thy laurel crown, and golden rod,
Nor trust too far thofe enfigns of thy God.
Mine is thy daughter, priest, and shall remain;
And prayers, and tears, and bribes, fhall plead in vain j
Till time shall rifle every youthful grace,

And age difmifs her from my cold embrace,
In daily labours of the loom employ'd,
Or doom'd to deck the bed the once enjoy'd.
Hence then, to Argos fhall the maid retire,
Far from her native foil, and weeping fire.
The trembling priest along the shore return'd,
And in the anguish of a father mourn'd.
fconfolate, not daring to complain,

nt he wander'd by the founding main :

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Till, fafe at diftance, to his God he prays,
The God who darts around the world his rays.

O Smintheus! fprung from fair Latona's line,
Thou guardian power of Cilla the divine,
Thou source of light! whoTenedos adores,

And whose bright presence gilds thy Chryfa's shore :
If e'er with wreaths I hung thy facred fane,

Or fed the flames with fat of oxen flain;

God of the filver bow! thy fhafts employ,
Avenge thy fervant, and the Greeks destroy.

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Thus Chryfes pray'd: The favouring power attends, And from Olympus' lofty tops descends.

Bent was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound;
Fierce as he mov'd, his filver shafts refound.
Breathing revenge, a fudden night he spread,
And gloomy darkness roll'd about his head.
The fleet in view, he twang'd his deadly bow,
And hiffing fly the feather'd fates below,
On mules and dogs th' infection first began ;
And last, the vengeful arrows fix'd in man.
For nine long nights through all the dusky air
The pyres thick-flaming shot a dismal glare.
But ere the tenth revolving day was run,
Infpir'd by Juno, Thetis' god-like fon

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Conven'd to council all the Grecian train ;

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For much the Goddefs mourn'd her heroes flain.

Th' affembly feated, rising o'er the rest,

Achilles thus the king of men addrest:

Why leave we not the fatal Trojan shore, And measure back the feas we croft before?

The plague destroying whom the fword would spare, 'Tis time to fave the few remains of war.

But let fomé prophet, or fome facred fage,
Explore the caufe of great Apollo's rage;
Or learn the wafteful vengeance to remove,

By mystic dreams, for dreams descend from Jove.
If broken vows this heavy curfe have laid,
Let altars fmoke, and hecatombs be paid.
So Heaven aton'd fhall dying Greece restore,
And Phoebus dart his burning shafts no more.

He said, and fat: when Chalcas thus reply'd :
Chalcas the wife, the Grecian priest and guide,
That facred feer, whofe comprehenfive view
The paft, the present, and the future knew:
Uprising flow, the venerable fage

Thus spoke the prudence and the fears of age.
Belov'd of Jove, Achilles! would'st thou know
Why angry Phoebus bends his fatal bow ?

First give thy faith, and plight a prince's word
Of fure protection, by thy power and sword.
For I must speak what wisdom would conceal,
And truths, invidious to the great, reveal.
Bold is the task, when subjects, grown too wise,.
Inftruct a monarch where his error lies;
For though we deem the fhort-liv'd fury past,

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'Tis fure, the Mighty will revenge at last.

To whom Pelides: From thy inmost foul Speak what thou know'st, and speak without control. Ev'n by that God I swear, who rules the day, To whom thy hands the vows of Greece convey,

And