Sing,
           O goddess,
         the anger
               of Achilles son of Peleus,
           that brought countless ills
               upon the Achaeans.

    Many a brave soul
        did it send
             hurrying down to Hades,
           and many a hero
            did it
                  yield a prey
                       to dogs and vultures,
         for so
            were the
                counsels of Jove
                      fulfilled from the day
             on which the son
                   of Atreus,
           king of men,
         and great Achilles,
           first fell
               out with one another.

    And which of the gods
        was it
         that set them
               on to quarrel?

    It was the son
           of Jove
         and Leto;
        for he
            was angry
                   with the king and
                  sent a pestilence
                       upon the host
                      to plague the people,
           because the son of Atreus
            had dishonoured Chryses his priest.

    Now Chryses
        had come
               to the ships
                   of the Achaeans
              to free his daughter,
           and had
              brought with
                   him a great ransom:
        moreover he bore
               in his hand the sceptre
                   of Apollo
                  wreathed with
                       a suppliant's wreath and
             he besought the Achaeans,
           but most of
               all the two sons
                   of Atreus,
         who were their chiefs.

    "Sons of Atreus,"
          he cried,
               "and all other Achaeans,
             may the gods
                 who dwell in Olympus
                      grant you
                           to sack the city
                               of Priam,
               and to reach your homes
                   in safety;
            but free my daughter,
               and accept a ransom
                   for her,
             in reverence to Apollo,
               son of Jove."

    On this the rest
           of the Achaeans
         with one voice
        were for
              respecting the priest and
                  taking the ransom
         that he offered;
        but not so Agamemnon,
           who spoke fiercely
               to him and
              sent him roughly away.

    "Old man,"
          said he,
               "let me not
                  find you
                      tarrying about our ships,
             nor yet coming hereafter.

    Your sceptre of the god
           and your wreath
        shall profit you nothing.

    I will not free her.

    She shall grow old
           in my house
         at Argos far
           from her own home,
         busying herself with her
              loom and visiting my couch;
        so go,
           and do not
              provoke me or
             it shall be
                   the worse for you."

    The old man
          feared him and obeyed.

    Not a word he spoke,
           but went
               by the shore
                   of the sounding sea and
             prayed apart to King Apollo
                  whom lovely Leto
            had borne.

    "Hear me,"
          he cried,
               "O god
                   of the silver bow,
             that protectest Chryse
                   and holy Cilla
                and rulest Tenedos
                       with thy might,
               hear me oh
                 thou of Sminthe.

    If I
          have ever
              decked your temple with garlands,
           or burned your thigh-bones
               in fat of bulls
              or goats,
         grant my prayer,
           and let your arrows
              avenge these my tears
                   upon the Danaans."

    Thus did he pray,
           and Apollo heard his prayer.

    He came
           down furious
               from the summits of Olympus,
           with his bow
               and his quiver
             upon his shoulder,
         and the arrows
              rattled on his back
                   with the rage
             that trembled within him.

    He sat himself down
          away from the ships
               with a face
             as dark as night,
           and his silver bow
            rang death as
             he shot his arrow
                   in the midst of them.

    First he
        smote their mules
               and their hounds,
           but presently
             he aimed his shafts
                   at the people themselves,
         and all day long
               the pyres
             of the dead
            were burning.

    For nine whole days
         he shot his arrows
               among the people,
           but upon
               the tenth day Achilles
              called them in assembly-
                  moved thereto by Juno,
         who saw the Achaeans
               in their death-throes
            and had compassion upon them.

    Then,