Revenge, like embers raked within their breast, Bursts forth in flames, whose unresisted power Will seize the unwary wretch, and soon devour. Such, and no less, is he, on whom depends The sum of things, and whom my tongue of force offends. Secure me then from his foreseen intent, That what his wrath may doom, thy valour may prevent.-- To this the stern Achilles made reply:-- Be bold, (and on my plighted faith rely,) To speak what Phœbus has inspired thy soul For common good, and speak without controul. His godhead I invoke; by him I swear, That while my nostrils draw this vital air, None shall presume to violate those bands, } Or touch thy person with unhallowed hands; } Even not the king of men, that all commands. } At this, resuming heart, the prophet said:-- Nor hecatomb unslain, nor vows unpaid, On Greeks accursed this dire contagion bring; Or call for vengeance from the bowyer king; But he the tyrant, whom none dares resist, Affronts the godhead in his injured priest; He keeps the damsel captive in his chain, And presents are refused, and prayers preferred in vain. For this the avenging power employs his darts, And empties all his quiver in our hearts; Thus will persist, relentless in his ire, Till the fair slave be rendered to her sire, And ransom-free restored to his abode, With sacrifice to reconcile the God; Then he, perhaps, atoned by prayer, may cease His vengeance justly vowed, and give the peace.-- Thus having said, he sate:--Thus answered then, Upstarting from his throne, the king of men, His breast with fury filled, his eyes with fire, Which rolling round, he shot in sparkles on the sire: Augur of ill, whose tongue was never found Without a priestly curse, or boding sound! For not one blessed event foretold to me Passed through that mouth, or passed unwillingly; And now thou dost with lies the throne invade, By practice hardened in thy slandering trade; Obtending heaven, for whate'er ills befall, And sputtering under specious names thy gall. Now Phœbus is provoked, his rites and laws Are in his priest profaned, and I the cause; Since I detain a slave, my sovereign prize, And sacred gold, your idol-god, despise. I love her well; and well her merits claim, To stand preferred before my Grecian dame: Not Clytemnestra's self in beauty's bloom More charmed, or better plied the various loom: Mine is the maid, and brought in happy hour, With every household-grace adorned, to bless my nuptial bower. Yet shall she be restored, since public good } For private interest ought not to be withstood, } To save the effusion of my people's blood. } But right requires, if I resign my own, I should not suffer for your sakes alone;