The sacred soil of Ilios is rent With shaft and pit; foiled waters wander slow Through plains where Simois and Scamander went To war with gods and heroes long ago. Not yet to dark Cassandra lying low In rich Mycenae do the Fates relent; The bones of Agamemnon are a show, And ruined is his royal monument. The dust and awful treasures of the dead Hath learning scattered wide; but vainly thee, Homer, she meteth with her Lesbian lead, And strives to rend thy songs, too blind is she To know the crown on thine immortal head Of indivisible supremacy. A.L. Athwart the sunrise of our western day The form of great Achilles, high and clear, Stands forth in arms, wielding the Pelian spear. The sanguine tides of that immortal fray, Swept on by gods, around him surge and sway, Wherethrough the helms of many a warrior peer, Strong men and swift, their tossing plumes uprear. But stronger, swifter, goodlier he than they, More awful, more divine. Yet mark anigh; Some fiery pang hath rent his soul within, Some hovering shade his brows encompasseth. What gifts hath Fate for all his chivalry? Even such as hearts heroic oftenest win; Honour, a friend, anguish, untimely death. E.M. THE ILIAD OF HOMER BOOK I. How Agamemnon and Achilles fell out at the siege of Troy; and Achilles withdrew himself from battle, and won from Zeus a pledge that his wrong should be avenged on Agamemnon and the Achaians. Sing, goddess, the wrath of Achilles Peleus’ son, the ruinous wrath that brought on the Achaians woes innumerable, and hurled down into Hades many strong souls of heroes, and gave their bodies to be a prey to dogs and all winged fowls; and so the counsel of Zeus wrought out its accomplishment from the day when first strife parted Atreides king of men and noble Achilles. Who then among the gods set the twain at strife and variance? Even the son of Leto and of Zeus; for he in anger at the king sent a sore plague upon the host, that the folk began to perish, because Atreides had done dishonour to Chryses the priest. For he had come to the Achaians’ fleet ships to win his daughter’s freedom, and brought a ransom beyond telling; and bare in his hands the fillet of Apollo the Far-darter upon a golden staff; and made his prayer unto all the Achaians, and most of all to the two sons of Atreus, orderers of the host: “Ye sons of Atreus and all ye well-greaved Achaians, now may the gods that dwell in the mansions of Olympus grant you to lay waste the city of Priam, and to fare happily homeward; only set ye my dear child free, and accept the ransom in reverence to the son of Zeus, far-darting Apollo.”