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were by his influence and example engaged in the fame intereft.

I hope therefore the publick will excufe my ambition for thus intruding into the number of those applauded men, who have paid him this kind of homage: especially fince I am also prompted to it by gratitude, for the protection with which he had begun to honour me; and do it at a time when he cannot fuffer by the importunity of my acknowledgments.

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Muft inform the reader, that when I began this first book, I had fome thoughts of tranflating the whole Iliad: but had the pleasure of being diverted from that defign, by finding the work was fallen into a much abler hand. I would not therefore be thought to have any other view in publishing this small specimen of Homer's Iliad, than to bespeak, if poffible, the favour of the publick to a tranflation of Homer's Odyffeis, wherein I have already made fome progress.

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THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ILIAD.

CHILLES' fatal wrath, whence difcord rofe,

That brought the fons of Greece unnumber'd

woes,

O goddefs, fing. Full many a hero's ghoft
Was driven untimely to th' infernal coast,
While in promifcuous heaps their bodies lay,
A feaft for dogs, and every bird of prey.
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So did the fire of gods and men fulfil
His ftedfaft purpofe, and alınighty will;
What time the haughty chiefs their jars begun,
Atrides, king of men, and Peleus' godlike son.
What god in ftrife the princes did engage?
Apollo burning with vindictive

rage

Against the fcornful king, whose impious pride
His priest dishonour'd, and his power defy'd.
Hence swift contagion, by the god's commands,
Swept through the camp, and thinn'd the Grecian bands.
For, wealth immenfe the holy Chryfes bore,
(His daughter's ranfom) to the tented shore :
His fceptre ftretching forth, the golden rod,
Hung round with hallow'd garlands of his god,
Of all the hoft, of every princely chief,

But first of Atreus' fons, he begg'd relief:

Great Atreus' fons and warlike Greeks attend.

So may

th' immortal gods your cause befriend,
So may you Priam's lofty bulwarks burn,
And rich in gather'd fpoils to Greece return,
As for thefe gifts my daughter you bestow,
And reverence due to great Apollo show,
Jove's favourite offspring. terrible in war,
Who fends his fhafts unerring from afar.'
Throughout the hoft confenting murmurs rife,
The priest to reverence, and give back the prize;
When the great king, incens'd, his filence broke
In words reproachful, and thus fternly spoke :

Hence, dotard, from my fight. Nor ever more Approach, I warn thee, this forbidden fhore;

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Left thou ftretch forth, my fury to restrain,

The wreaths and fceptre of thy god, in vain.
The captive maid I never will refign.

Till age o'ertakes her, I have vow'd her mine.

To diftant Argos fhall the fair be led :

She fhall; to ply the loom, and grace my bed.
Begone, ere evil intercept thy way.

Hence, on thy life

He ended frowning.

nor urge me by thy stay.'

Speechlefs and dismay'd,

The aged fire his stern command obey'd.

Silent he pafs'd, amid the deafening roar
Of tumbling billows, on the lonely shore;

Far from the camp he pass'd: then fuppliant stood;
And thus the hoary priest invok'd his god :

Dread warrior with the filver bow, give ear.

• Patron of Chryfa and of Cilla, hear.
To thee the guard of Tenedos belongs;
Propitious Smintheus! Oh! redress my wrongs.
• If e'er within thy fane, with wreaths adorn'd,
The fat of bulls and well-fed goats I burn'd,
O! hear my prayer. Let Greece thy fury know,
And with thy shafts avenge thy servant's woe.'
Apollo heard his injur❜d suppliant's cry.
Down rush'd the vengeful warrior from the sky;
Acrofs his breaft the glittering bow he flung,
And at his back the well-ftor'd quiver hung:
(His arrows rattled, as he urg'd his flight.)
In clouds he flew, conceal'd from mortal fight;
Then took his ftand, the well-aim'd fhaft to throw :
Fierce fprung the ftring, and twang'd the filver bow.

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The dogs and mules his first keen arrow flew;
Amid the ranks the next more fatal flew,
A deathful dart. The funeral piles around
For ever blaz'd on the devoted ground.

Nine days entire, he vex'd th' embattled hoft, The tenth, Achilles through the winding coaft Summon'd a council, by the queen's command Who wields heaven's fceptre in her fnowy hand: She mourn'd her favourite Greeks, who now inclofe The hero, fwiftly fpeaking as he rose:

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What now, O Atreus' fon, remains in view, But o'er the deep our wanderings to renew, Doom'd to deftruction, while our wafted powers

The fword and peftilence at once devours?

Why hafte we not fome prophet's fkill to prove,

Or feek by dreams? (for dreams defcend from Jove.) What moves Apollo's rage let him explain, 'What vow withheld, what hecatomb unflain: And if the blood of lambs and goats can pay The price for guilt, and turn this curse away?' Thus he. And next the reverend Calchas rose, Their guide to Ilion whom the Grecians chose; The prince of augurs, whofe enlighten'd eye Could things paft, prefent, and to come, defcry: Such wisdom Phoebus gave. He thus began, His fpeech addreffing to the godlike man :

Me then command't thou, lov'd of Jove, to fhow What moves the god that bends the dreadful bow? First plight thy faith thy ready help to lend,

By words to aid me, or by arms defend.

• For

• For I foresee his rage, whose ample sway
The Argian powers and fceptred chiefs obey.
The wrath of kings what fubject can oppose?
Deep in their breasts the smother'd vengeance glows,
Still watchful to deftroy. Swear, valiant youth,
Swear, wilt thou guard me, if I speak the truth?
To this Achilles fwift replies: • Be bold.
Difclofe, what Phoebus tells thee, uncontrol'd.
By him, who, liftening to thy powerful prayer,
Reveals the fecret, I devoutly swear,

That, while these eyes behold the light, no hand
Shall dare to wrong thee on this crowded ftrand.
Not Atreus' fon. Though now himself he boaft
The king of men, and fovereign of the hoft.'

Then boldly he.

• Nor does the god complain Of vows withheld, or hecatombs unflain. Chryfeïs to her awful fire refus'd,

The gifts rejected, and the priest abus'd,

Call down thefe judgments, and for more they call, Juft ready on th' exhausted camp to fall; Till ranfom-free the damfel is bestow'd, And hecatombs are fent to footh the god, To Chryfa fent. Perhaps Apollo's rage The gifts may expiate, and the priest affuage.' He spoke, and fat. When, with an angry frown, The chief of kings upstarted from his throne. Difdain and vengeance in his bofom rise, Lour in his brows, and sparkle in his eyes: Full at the priest their fiery orbs he bent, And all at once his fury found a vent.

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