Not her alone, but other spoil myself
Will take in person—­He shall rue the hour. 410
With such harsh message charged he them dismissed
They, sad and slow, beside the barren waste
Of Ocean, to the galleys and the tents
Moved of the Myrmidons.  Him there they found
Beneath the shadow of his bark reclined, 415
Nor glad at their approach.  Trembling they stood,
In presence of the royal Chief, awe-struck,
Nor questioned him or spake.  He not the less
Knew well their embassy, and thus began. 
Ye heralds, messengers of Gods and men, 420
Hail, and draw near!  I bid you welcome both. 
I blame not you; the fault is his alone
Who sends you to conduct the damsel hence
Briseis.  Go, Patroclus, generous friend! 
Lead forth, and to their guidance give the maid. 425
But be themselves my witnesses before
The blessed Gods, before mankind, before
The ruthless king, should want of me be felt
To save the host from havoc[25]—­Oh, his thoughts
Are madness all; intelligence or skill, 430
Forecast or retrospect, how best the camp
May be secured from inroad, none hath he. 
He ended, nor Patroclus disobey’d,
But leading beautiful Briseis forth
Into their guidance gave her; loth she went 435
From whom she loved, and looking oft behind. 
Then wept Achilles, and apart from all,
With eyes directed to the gloomy Deep
And arms outstretch’d, his mother suppliant sought. 
Since, mother, though ordain’d so soon to die, 440
I am thy son, I might with cause expect
Some honor at the Thunderer’s hands, but none
To me he shows, whom Agamemnon, Chief
Of the Achaians, hath himself disgraced,
Seizing by violence my just reward. 445
So prayed he weeping, whom his mother heard
Within the gulfs of Ocean where she sat
Beside her ancient sire.  From the gray flood
Ascending sudden, like a mist she came,
Sat down before him, stroked his face, and said. 450
Why weeps my son? and what is thy distress? 
Hide not a sorrow that I wish to share. 
To whom Achilles, sighing deep, replied. 
Why tell thee woes to thee already known? 
At Thebes, Eetion’s city we arrived, 455
Smote, sack’d it, and brought all the spoil away. 
Just distribution made among the Greeks,
The son of Atreus for his lot received
Blooming Chryseis.  Her, Apollo’s priest
Old Chryses followed to Achaia’s camp, 460
That he might loose his daughter.  Ransom rich
He brought, and in his hands the hallow’d wreath
And golden sceptre of the Archer God
Apollo, bore; to the whole Grecian host,
But chiefly to the foremost in command 465
He sued, the sons of Atreus; then, the rest