Book I - The trembling priest along the shore

The trembling priest along the shore returned,

And in the anguish of a father mourned.

Disconsolate, not daring to complain,

Silent he wandered by the sounding main:

Till, safe at distance, to his god he prays,

The god who darts around the world his rays:

"O Smintheus! sprung from fair Latona's line,

Thou guardian Power of Cilla the divine,

Thou source of light! whom Tenedos adores,

And whose bright presence gilds thy Chrysa's shores;

If e'er with wreaths I hung thy sacred fane,

Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain;

God of the silver bow! thy shafts employ,

Avenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy."

Thus Chryses prayed: the favouring Power attends,

And from Olympus' lofty tops descends.

Bent was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound;

Fierce as he moved, his silver shafts resound.

Breathing revenge, a sudden night he spread,

And gloomy darkness rolled around his head.

The fleet in view, he twanged his deadly bow,

And hissing fly the feathered fates below.

On mules and dogs the infection first began;

And last, the vengeful arrows fixed in man.

For nine long nights, through all the dusky air

The pyres thick-flaming shot a dismal glare.