To whom the monarch Agamemnon thus: “Father, in council, of the sons of Greece, None can compare with thee; and would to Jove To Pallas, and Apollo, at my side I had but ten such counsellors as thee! Then soon should royal Priam’s city fall, Tak’n and destroy’d by our victorious hands. But now on me hath aegis-bearing Jove, The son of Saturn, fruitless toil impos’d, And hurtful quarrels; for in wordy war About a girl, Achilles and myself Engag’d; and I, alas! the strife began: Could we be friends again, delay were none, How short soe’er, of Ilium’s final doom. But now to breakfast, ere we wage the fight. Each sharpen well his spear, his shield prepare, Each to his fiery steeds their forage give, Each look his chariot o’er, that through the day We may unwearied stem the tide of war; For respite none, how short soe’er, shall be Till night shall bid the storm of battle cease. With sweat shall reek upon each warrior’s breast The leathern belt beneath the cov’ring shield; And hands shall ache that wield the pond’rous spear: With sweat shall reek the fiery steeds that draw Each warrior’s car; but whomsoe’er I find Loit’ring beside the beaked ships, for him ’Twere hard to’scape the vultures and the dogs.” He said; and from th’ applauding ranks of Greece Rose a loud sound, as when the ocean wave, Driv’n by the south wind on some lofty beach, Dashes against a prominent crag, expos’d To blasts from every storm that roars around. Uprising then, and through the camp dispers’d They took their sev’ral ways, and by their tents The fires they lighted, and the meal prepar’d; And each to some one of the Immortal Gods His off’ring made, that in the coming fight He might escape the bitter doom of death. But to the o’erruling son of Saturn, Jove, A sturdy ox, well-fatten’d, five years old, Atrides slew; and to the banquet call’d The aged chiefs and councillors of Greece; Nestor the first, the King Idomeneus, The two Ajaces next, and Tydeus’ son, Ulysses sixth, as Jove in council sage. But uninvited Menelaus came, Knowing what cares upon his brother press’d. Around the ox they stood, and on his head The salt cake sprinkled; then amid them all The monarch Agamemnon pray’d aloud: “Most great, most glorious Jove! who dwell’st on high, In clouds and darkness veil’d, grant Thou that ere This sun shall set, and night o’erspread the earth, I may the haughty walls of Priam’s house Lay prostrate in the dust; and burn with fire His lofty gates; and strip from Hector’s breast His sword-rent tunic, while around his corpse Many brave comrades, prostrate, bite the dust.”