Incense me then no more, But, if thou wilt be safe, be gone.” This said, the sea-beat shore, Obeying his high will, the priest trod off with haste and fear; And, walking silent, till he left far off his enemies’ ear, Phœbus, fair hair’d Latona’s son, he stirr’d up with a vow, To this stern purpose: “Hear, thou God that bear’st the silver bow, That Chrysa guard’st, rul’st Tenedos with strong hand, and the round Of Cilia most divine dost walk! O Sminthëus! if crown’d With thankful off’rings thy rich fane I ever saw, or fir’d Fat thighs of oxen and of goats to thee, this grace desir’d Vouchsafe to me: pains for my tears let these rude Greeks repay, Forc’d with thy arrows.” Thus he pray’d, and Phœebus heard him pray, And, vex’d at heart, down from the tops of steep heav’n stoop’d; his bow, And quiver cover’d round, his hands did on his shoulders throw; And of the angry Deity the arrows as he mov’d Rattled about him. Like the night he rang’d the host, and rov’d (Apart the fleet set) terribly; with his hard-loosing hand His silver bow twang’d; and his shafts did first the mules command, And swift hounds; then the Greeks themselves his deadly arrows shot. The fires of death went never out; nine days his shafts flew hot About the army; and the tenth, Achilles called a court Of all the Greeks; heav’n’s white-arm’d Queen (who, ev’rywhere cut short, Beholding her lov’d Greeks, by death) suggested it; and he (All met in one) arose, and said: “Atrides, now I see We must be wandering again, flight must be still our stay, If flight can save us now, at once sickness and battle lay Such strong hand on us. Let us ask some prophet, priest, or prove Some dream-interpreter (for dreams are often sent from Jove) Why Phœbus is so much incens’d; if unperformed vows He blames in us, or hecatombs; and if these knees he bows To death may yield his graves no more, but off’ring all supply Of savours burnt from lambs and goats, avert his fervent eye, And turn his temp’rate.” Thus, he sat; and then stood up to them Calchas, surnam’d Thestorides, of augurs the supreme; He knew things present, past, to come, and rul’d the equipage Of th’ Argive fleet to Ilion, for his prophetic rage Giv’n by Apollo; who, well-seen in th’ ill they felt, propos’d This to Achilles: “Jove’s belov’d, would thy charge see disclos’d The secret of Apollo’s wrath? then cov’nant and take oath To my discov’ry, that, with words and pow’rful actions both, Thy strength will guard the truth in me; because I well conceive That he whose empire governs all, whom all the Grecians give Confirm’d obedience, will be mov’d; and then you know the state Of him that moves him. When a king hath once mark’d for his hate A man inferior, though that day his wrath seems to digest Th’ offence he takes, yet evermore he rakes up in his breast Brands of quick anger, till revenge hath quench’d to his desire The fire reservéd. Tell me, then, if, whatsoever ire Suggests in hurt of me to him, thy valour will prevent?”