But, oh! relieve a wretched parent's pain, And give Chryseis to these arms again; If mercy fail, yet let my present move, And dread avenging Phoebus, son of Jove.
But, oh! relieve a hapless parent's pain, And give my daughter to these arms again; _Receive my gifts_; if mercy fails, yet let my present move, And fear _the god that deals his darts around_, avenging Phosbus, son of Jove.
The Greeks, in shouts, their joint assent declare The priest to reverence, and release the fair. Not so Atrides; he, with kingly pride, Repuls'd the sacred sire, and thus reply'd.
He said, the Greeks their joint assent declare, _The father said, the gen'rons Greeks relent,_ T' accept the ransom, and release the fair: _Revere the priest, and speak their joint assent:_ Not so the _tyrant_, he, with kingly pride, Atrides, Repuls'd the sacred sire, and thus replied. [Not so the tyrant. DRYDEN.]
Of these lines, and of the whole first book, I am told that there was yet a former copy, more varied, and more deformed with interlineations.
The beginning of the second book varies very little from the printed page, and is, therefore, set down without a parallel; the few differences do not require to be elaborately displayed.
Now pleasing sleep had seal'd each mortal eye; Stretch'd in their tents the Grecian leaders lie; Th' immortals slumber'd on their thrones above, All but the ever-watchful eye of Jove. To honour Thetis' son he bends his care, And plunge the Greeks in all the woes of war. Then bids an empty phantom rise to sight, And thus _commands_ the vision of the night: directs Fly hence, delusive dream, and, light as air, To Agamemnon's royal tent repair; Bid him in arms draw forth th' embattled train, March all his legions to the dusty plain. _Now tell the king_ 'tis given him to destroy Declare ev'n now The lofty _walls_ of wide-extended Troy; tow'rs For now no more the gods with fate contend, At Juno's suit the heavenly factions end. Destruction _hovers_ o'er yon devoted wall, hangs And nodding Ilium waits th' impending fall.
Say, virgins, seated round the throne divine, All-knowing goddesses! immortal nine! Since earth's wide regions, heaven's unmeasur'd height, And hell's abyss, hide nothing from your sight, (We, wretched mortals! lost in doubts below, But guess by rumour, and but boast we know,) Oh! say what heroes, fir'd by thirst of fame, Or urg'd by wrongs, to Troy's destruction came! To count them all demands a thousand tongues, A throat of brass and adamantine lungs.