hwaet! memory-mother, in meadhall sing
the hatred, from heartlocks broken,
of achilles peleusson, cursed by his people,
wreaker of woes unending.
often his spear made the mighty
drink to dogs, food for the feathered,
strong souls banished to breathe in the dark.deep it was driven, the doom of zeus,
since they stood sundered, bitter in boasting,
atreusson the people-king, and sun-bright achilles.
but who in heaven struck up their strife?
the son of leto, livid at the king,
spelled sickness, and the people perished,
for atreusson harmed his holy priest, chryses.spear-greeks he sought by the swift sea-steeds,
daring, undaunted, his daughter to ransom,
bearing garlands of the arrow-guiding god
on a golden staff. he sank before spear-greeks,
saying to them and the sons of atreus, people-guides:
“sons of atreus, and strong-scaled spear-greeks,
may the mighty gods in their mountain-helming halls
give you priam’s gore-gold, and glorious homecoming.
only unchain my child, in exchange for this ringhoard,
with honor for him, the arrow-hailing son of zeus.”