Goddess, sing the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus,
which brought countless woes to the Achaeans
and sent the souls of many brave heroes to Hades,
their bodies made into a feast for dogs and crows
all to carry out the unfathomable will of Zeus.
Begin from the time when they first quarreled:
the warrior king, son of Atreus, and godlike Achilles.

Which god brought these two together to fight?
The son of Leto and Zeus, angry at the king,
sent a plague through the camp, decimating
the army, for Atreus’ son dishonored his priest
Chryses after he came to the Achaean^[1] swift
ships to ransom his daughter, carrying countless
gifts, holding sharp-shooter Apollo’s ribbon
on a golden staff, and begging all Achaeans,
especially Atreus’ sons, marshalers of armies:
“Sons of Atreus, other well-greaved^[2] Achaeans,
may the gods with homes on Olympus grant you
to sack Priam’s^[3] city and to return home safely,
but set my daughter free and accept these gifts
in honor of sharp-shooter Apollo, son of Zeus.”

Then all Achaeans shouted their approval,
to respect the priest and accept his noble
ransom, but Agamemnon’s heart was unmoved,
and he dismissed the priest harshly, declaring:
“I do not want to find you by the hollow ships,
old man, either loitering now or returning later,
and a god’s staff and wreath will not help you.
I will not free her; before that happens, she will be
an old woman on Argos, far from her fatherland,
working her loom and sharing my bed. So go,
anger me no further, and you may return safely.”

This terrified the old man, who quickly obeyed,
going quietly along the shore of the thundering
sea. When he was alone, the old man prayed
to lord Apollo, son of golden-haired Leto:
“Hear me, lord of the silver bow, protector
of Chryse and Cilla, and guardian of Tenedos.
Smintheus,^[4] if ever I pleased you by building
a temple or offering you burnt fat thigh-bones
from bulls and goats, then grant me this wish:
use your arrows and make the Danaans pay.”

Phoebus^[5] Apollo listened to the man’s prayers;
then, filled with rage, he left Olympus’ peaks
carrying his bow and quiver on his shoulders.
The clanging of his arrows echoed with his anger
as he pressed forward, moving like darkness itself.
Seated far from the ships, he shot the first arrow,
and a metallic clang rose from the silvery bow.
First he targeted the mules and swift moving
dogs, but soon after he started striking the soldiers,
sending countless corpses to burn on the pyres.

For nine days arrows rained down on the soldiers,
but on the tenth, Achilles called an assembly,
an idea white-armed Hera placed in his heart,
for it pained her to see the Danaans dying.
When the men had gathered for assembly,
swift-footed Achilles stood up and spoke:
“Son of Atreus, it seems we have been beaten
and shall return home—if we can escape death,
before the war and plague crush the Achaeans.
But first, let us consult a soothsayer or priest
or dream interpreter—for a dream is also
from Zeus—to tell us why Phoebus Apollo is
angry. Does he fault us for a broken vow or unfit
hecatomb?^[6] Will offerings of savory goat and lamb
temper his anger and ward off destruction?”

So saying, he sat down and another stood:
Calchas, son of Thestor, greatest of soothsayers,
who knew all things past, present, and future,
and who guided the Achaean ships to Ilios
using the gift of prophecy granted him by Apollo.
He addressed the assembly with wise words:
“Achilles, dear to Zeus, you order me to explain
why free-shooter Apollo has aimed his wrath
at us, so I will speak, but you must swear to me
that you will support me in words and deeds,
for I believe I will enrage a certain man who
rules the Argives and is obeyed by all Achaeans.
A king angered by an underling is dangerous;
even if he suppresses his burning anger today,
it will simmer in his chest until he gets revenge.
Remember this if you are to protect me.”

To this, swift-footed Achilles quickly replied:
“Fear not, Calchas, and tell us what you know,
for I swear to you by Apollo, the god to whom
you pray and by whom you receive your gifts,
that as long as I live upon the earth, no one will
lay hands upon you by the hollow ships: not I,
not the other Danaans, not even Agamemnon,
who often claims to be the noblest of us all.”

Then the noble seer took courage and spoke:
“We suffer not because of a prayer or offering
but because Agamemnon insulted a priest
by refusing to free his daughter or accept
his ransoms. This is why Apollo punishes
the Danaans, and the punishment will not
end until the priest’s daughter is returned,
unransomed and unbought, and a hecatomb
is sent to Chryse. Only this will appease the god.”

So he finished and sat down, and the heroic
son of Atreus, King Agamemnon, stood
to speak, his heart full of black bitterness
and his eyes burning like a flaming fire.
He fixed his angry gaze on Calchas and said:
“Oracle of doom, your prophecies never
favor me. You foretell disaster as if your heart
craves it, and your words never bring us good
fortune. Now here, among the Danaans, you
declare our woes the work of free-shooter
Apollo because I refused a shining ransom
for Chryseis, as I prefer her to Clytemnestra,
my wife, and wish to keep her in my home
since she is in no way inferior in beauty
or character or mind or handiwork. Still, I
will give her back if that is best, for I would
prefer my army alive, not dead—but get me
another gift right away. It would dishonor
me to be the only Argive without a prize,
for all can see that my prize goes elsewhere.”

Then swift-footed Achilles answered him:
“Son of Atreus, most glorious and most greedy,
how can the brave Achaeans give you prizes now?
No other treasures lie hidden in the common stock,
and all spoils from sacked cities have been divided,
so it is wrong to make the men return their rewards.
Accept the god’s command and return the girl,
for you will be repaid three or four times over
when, Zeus willing, we sack well-walled Troy.”^[7]

Answering him, lord Agamemnon replied:
“You may be brave, godlike Achilles, but you will
not deceive me with words or change my mind.
You want to keep your prize but order me
to give mine back, leaving me with nothing?
Let the great-hearted Achaeans give me a prize
that suits my heart and is equal to what I lost.
But if they do not give me such a gift, then I will
seize your own prize or Ajax’s or Odysseus’
and carry it away, angering whomever I visit.
But we can consider these things later, for now
we must drag a black ship into the great salt sea,
add the right number of rowers, bring aboard
a hecatomb and beautiful Chryseis, and give
command to a leader like Ajax or Idomeneus
or lord Odysseus or you yourself, son of Peleus,
the most feared man of them all, so you can
offer our sacrifice and appease Apollo.”

With a scowl, swift-footed Achilles replied:
“My god, how shamelessness and greed cloak you.
How can any Achaean obey any order you give
to embark on a journey or to fight a powerful foe?
The Trojans did not bring me to this place to fight,
and they are not guilty of any crimes against me.
They have never stolen my cattle or horses or gone
to Phthia, with its fertile soil that nurtures heroes,
and ruined the harvests, for that place is far away,
well past shadowy mountains and a thundering
sea. No, you fool, we followed you here to please
you and to help you and Menelaus preserve
your honor against the Trojans. But do you care?
Of course not. And now you threaten to take
away the prize given me by Achaea’s sons?
I never receive prizes of honor equal to your own
when the Achaeans sack a wealthy Trojan city.
My hands bear the greater burden in these battles,
but when the division of spoils comes, your share
of the prizes is larger, while I take a small but dear
ransom back to my ships when I am weary of war.
So now I return to Pythia, for it is better to take
my ships home than remain here dishonored,
helping you gain more wealth and greater riches.”

Then Agamemnon, ruler of men, answered him:
“Fly away, then, if your soul desires it; I will not
beg you to stay. There are others who honor
me properly, including great counselor Zeus.
I truly hate you more than any other, for you are
obsessed with quarreling, warring, and fighting,
and your strength is just a gift from the gods.
Take your ships and men and go home to rule
your Myrmidons. I care nothing for you
or your childish anger. But heed this warning:
while Phoebus Apollo is taking Chryseis from me,
as I send her home with my ship and my crew
I will go myself to your tent and take your prize,
the fair-cheeked Briseïs, so you may learn how
much greater I am than you, and others will think
twice before declaring themselves equal to me.”

Agamemnon’s words pained the son of Peleus,
and within his chest his heart was divided in two.
Should he stand up, pull out his sharp sword,
race through the assembly, and slay Atreus’ son,
or should he hold his rage and temper his burning
soul? He considered this in his mind and heart
and began to draw his great sword from its sheath,
but then Athena came to him from heaven,
sent by Hera, who loved both men and was
concerned for them equally. Standing behind him,
she grabbed fair-haired Achilles and revealed
herself only to him. The son of Peleus turned,
immediately recognized Pallas Athena
and her terrible, blazing eyes, and asked her:
“Why are you here, child of shield-bearer Zeus?
Was it to see for yourself Agamemnon’s hubris?
Then let me tell you what will happen: soon
he will pay for his arrogance with his life.”

Then the owl-eyed goddess Athena said to him:
“White-armed Hera sent me here from heaven
to temper your rage, should you obey me, for she
loves and cares for you both. So come, take
your hand off your sword and end your quarrel,
but revile him with words and assure him of future
regret, for what I say will come to pass: you will
be rewarded with three times as many gifts due
to his hubris. So obey us and curb your rage.”

Hearing this, swift-footed Achilles replied:
“Goddess, though it burns my heart to do so,
I must obey your words. After all, the gods
listen to the prayers of obedient men.”

So saying, he returned the sword’s heavy silver
hilt to its scabbard, eager to obey Athena—
but she had already left for Olympus to join
the other gods in the house of aegis-bearing
Zeus.^[8] Holding back none of his fury, the son
of Peleus again addressed the son of Atreus:
“You drunken, bitch-faced fool with a deer’s
heart, you never arm for war with your troops
or prove your valor in an ambush with the best
Achaeans, for you know it would be your death.
Instead, you go scavenging through the camps
and take a gift from one who speaks against you.
You are a king who devours his own people;
otherwise, this insult would be your last. But I
swear this mighty oath to you now: by this scepter,
which will never again sprout leaf and branch,
having long ago left its stump on a mountain,
shorn with bronze of leaf and limb, and which
Achaeans now carry from hand to hand
to dispense justice and uphold Zeus’ laws,
I swear to you that one day soon, the sons
of Achaea will come begging for Achilles,
and you will be awash with grief, unable
to help as murderous Hector drives men
to their deaths, and it will gnaw at your heart
that you dishonored the best of the Achaeans.”

When Peleus’ son finished, he threw down
the golden-studded staff and sat opposite
a still-smoldering son of Atreus. Then sweet-
voiced Nestor of Pylos rose, the clear-toned
orator whose words poured from his lips like
honey. He had seen two generations perish,
those born and raised long ago in holy Pylos,
and now he ruled over the third. With noble
intentions, he addressed the assembly:
“Alas, great grief has come to the Achaeans!
Clearly Priam and the sons of Priam will rejoice
and all Trojan hearts will be filled with glee if
they learn the story of this endless strife between
the best of all Danaans in council and war.
So listen to me, for you are both younger than I.
I have associated with warriors who were greater
than all of you, and not once did they slight me.
I have never seen their like, not before or since,
men like Peirithous and Dryas, shepherd of men,
Caeneus and Exadius, godlike Polyphemus,
and Theseus, son of Aegeus, equal to all
immortals. These were the mightiest men ever
born on earth, and they fought strong, savage
beasts of the mountains and laid them to waste.^[9]
These men called for me to join them, though
I came from Pylos, a land far away. I was
a freelance fighter, but neither I nor any other
mortal on earth could match these men in battle.
Still, they listened to me and took my advice.
So now you two must listen to my advice: noble
lord, do not take the girl away, for the Achaean
sons gave her to Achilles as a prize. And you,
son of Peleus, do not quarrel with kings, for no
one can match the honor and glory granted
by Zeus to a scepter-bearing king. You are
a mighty warrior and son of a goddess, but he
is mightier and rules over more men. Son
of Atreus, I beg you: quiet your rage and let go
of your anger against Achilles, for he stands above
all Achaeans as a mighty shield in this terrible war.”

Then in response to him, lord Agamemnon spoke:
“Indeed, old man, everything you say is true.
But this person here wishes to be above all others:
to be stronger than all, to order all, and to rule all.
But there is one man, at least, who will not obey him.
Does he have the right to hurl insults at me simply
because the eternal gods made him a great warrior?”

Then godlike Achilles interrupted him and said:
“Indeed, I would be called a worthless coward
if I submitted to your every word in every matter.
Command others to carry out your will, but do not
expect this of me, for I will obey you no longer.
And I will tell you another thing, and take it to heart:
my hands will not fight you or any other for that girl,
for you would only be taking back what you gave me.
But nothing else I hold beside my swift black ships
will be seized and carried away against my will.
If you try to take anything, then all these men will
watch your black blood flowing fast from my spear.”

When the two finished their war of words, they rose
and dismissed the assembly by the Achaean ships.
Achilles went to his tents and his well-balanced
ships to join the son of Menoetius and his soldiers,
and the son of Atreus launched a ship on the sea
bearing twenty oarsmen, a hecatomb for sacrifice
to Apollo, Chryses’ fair-cheeked daughter,
and the wise and wily Odysseus as commander.

After they set sail, Agamemnon ordered his men
to purify themselves. First, they washed away
the pestilence and threw it into the sea; then
they sacrificed a hecatomb of bulls and goats
to Apollo by the barren shore, and the savory
smoke spiraled up into the heavenly skies.

The army went about their duties, but nothing
could quell Agamemnon’s rage at Achilles.
So he called Talthybius and Eurybates,
his ever-ready attendants, and said to them:
“Go to the tent of Peleus’ son, Achilles, take
the fair-cheeked Briseïs, and bring her here;
if he refuses to give her up, then he will regret it,
for I will bring my army and take her by force.”

So he spoke and sent them on their way. They
walked unwillingly along the barren sea shore
and soon came to the camp of the Myrmidon.
They found him sitting by his tent and black
ship, clearly unhappy to see them approach.
The two men revered the king and stood before
him in fright, neither one daring to speak.
But Achilles knew why they were there and said:
“Greetings, heralds and Zeus’ mortal messengers.
Come closer. You are not to blame, for it was
Agamemnon who sent you here for the girl,
Briseïs. Come, Patroclus, child of Zeus, bring
her out so they can take her away; and let these
two bear witness to the blessed gods, to mortal
men, and to your reckless king, should a time
come when I am needed to ward off shameful
defeat. Clearly poison rage fills his mind,
for he cannot look both ahead and behind
to see how best to defend the Achaean ships.”

So he spoke, and Patroclus obeyed his friend,
bringing out fair-cheeked Briseïs and releasing
her. As the two men returned to their ships,
the woman an unwilling follower, Achilles
burst into tears and left the others to sit
by the sea and look on the wine-dark deep.
Lifting his hands, he prayed to his divine mother:
“Mother, since you brought me into this world
to live a short life, surely high-thundering Zeus
owes me honor, yet no honor has been granted.
Indeed, great lord Agamemnon dishonored me
by seizing my prize and taking her away.”

His tears and prayers were heard by his mother,
who was seated in the salt sea beside her father,
the Old Man of the Sea. She rose like a fog
emerged before him, sat down beside him,
stroked him as he shed tears, and asked:
“Child, why do you cry? Why so full of grief?
Do not conceal your mind; share your thoughts.”

With a heavy groan, swift-footed Achilles replied:
“You already know. Must I repeat it? We
marched to Thebes, the sacred city of Eëtion,
sacked that city and returned with the spoils.
We divided the goods equally amongst ourselves,
giving the fair-cheeked Chryseis to Atreus’ son.
But Chryses, free-shooter Apollo’s priest, came
to the swift ships of the bronze-clad Achaeans
to ransom his daughter, carrying countless
gifts, holding sharp-shooter Apollo’s ribbon
on a golden staff, and begging all Achaeans,
especially Atreus’ sons, marshalers of armies.
Then all Achaeans shouted their approval,
to respect the priest and accept his noble
ransoms, but the heart of Agamemnon was
unmoved, and he dismissed the priest harshly.
The old man left fuming, but Apollo heard
his beloved priest’s prayers and shot poisoned
arrows at the Argives. Soon men began to die,
one after the other, as his arrows rained down
on the whole Achaean army. But the old seer
revealed the reasons for the free-shooter’s rage.
I was the first to say we should appease the god,
but rage consumed the son of Atreus; he stood
and made his threats, which have come to pass.
For the Achaeans are returning one girl to Chryse
on a speedy ship loaded with gifts for Apollo,
while two heralds took away the other girl, Briseïs,
my prize from the Achaean sons. But you,
mother, if you are able, protect your brave son:
go to Olympus and beg Zeus to remember
when you pleased his heart with word and deed,
for in my father’s great palace you often boasted
that you alone of the immortals saved from ruin
the son of Cronos, lord of the black clouds,
when he was to be bound in chains by the gods
Hera and Poseidon and Pallas Athena.^[10]
But you came and freed him of those bonds
by quickly calling for the hundred-handed,
the one gods call Briareus but all men know as
Aegaeon, who is even stronger than his father.
He sat with Cronos’ son, exulting in his glory,
and the gods shrank in fear and did not bind him.
Now sit with Zeus, clasp his knee, and remind
him of all this, so he may aid the Trojans and drive
the Achaeans to their ships and to the sea until
they start to die. Then they will see their king
for who he truly is, and Agamemnon will learn
the folly of dishonoring the best of the Achaeans.”

Tears poured from Thetis’ eyes as she replied:
“Why did I raise you, child born into sorrow?
If only you could sit by your ships without tears
or pain, for your time is short and there is little
left. You are fated to a quick, miserable life, while
I was fated to have borne you into our palace.
Yet I will go to Olympus, repeat your words,
and seek to persuade Zeus who hurls thunderbolts.
But you must sit beside your swift ships, continue
to rage against the Achaeans, and cease battle.
Yesterday, Zeus went to Oceanus for a banquet
with the Ethiopians, and all the gods followed him.
But in twelve days, when he returns to Olympus,
I will go to his house with its bronze threshold,
clasp him by the knees, and try to persuade him.”

So saying, she departed, leaving him alone,
his heart angered because a well-girdled woman
was taken from him by force and against his will.
Meanwhile, Odysseus arrived in Chryse with the holy
hecatomb. They reached the harbor’s deep waters,
removed the sails and stowed them in the ship,
lowered the mast into place by the forestays,
and used oars to row the ship to the anchor point.
Once anchor stones were thrown out and bound
with stern cables, the crew went ashore bearing
the hecatomb for the free-shooter Apollo.
Then Chryseis stepped out of the sea-going vessel.
Wily Odysseus led her to the altar and placed
her into her beloved father’s arms, saying to him:
“Chryses, Agamemnon, ruler of men, sent me
to return your child and sacrifice a hecatomb
to Phoebus on behalf of the Danaans, thus appeasing
the god who sent great sorrow to the Argives.”

Odysseus finished, and the priest embraced
his beloved daughter. The men then quickly
arranged the hecatomb around the altar to Apollo,
purified their hands, and took the barleycorn.
Chryses raised his hands and offered a prayer:
“Hear me, god of the silver bow who protects
Chryse and holy Cilla and rules Tenedos.
Just as you heard my prayer and honored me
by bringing punishment to the Achaean army,
now I ask you to honor my prayer once more:
throw off the plague you sent to the Danaans.”

So he prayed, and Phoebus Apollo heard him.
After prayers were offered and barley scattered,
they drew back the victims’ heads, slit their throats,
flayed them, cut the meat from the thighs, wrapped
them in a layer of fat, and placed raw meat on top.
The old man burnt the meat on wood shards
and poured wine over them as young men held
five-pronged forks. When the bones were burnt
and the innards eaten, they cut the rest into pieces,
roasted them, and pulled them from the fire.
Then they prepared the banquet and feasted,
and there was enough for every hungry soul.
When the meal was over, the mixing bowls were
filled with drink, every cup was filled, and each
man poured out the first drops in offering
to the gods. All day long, the men appeased
the free-worker with dancing and singing,
and Apollo’s listened, his heart satisfied.

When the sun set and darkness approached,
they rested by the stern-cables of the ship,
but as Dawn first spread her rosy fingers,
they set sail for the Achaean camp. Free-
shooter Apollo provided a favorable wind,
so they raised the ship’s mast and spread the sail.
The wind blew, the dark red waves roared mightily
against the stem, and the ship sailed speedily
over the rushing water to its destination.
When at last they reached the vast Achaean camp,
they dragged the black ship to the mainland
and onto the sandy beach, set props to secure it,
and then scattered to their own tents and ships.

But the Zeus-sprung son of Peleus, Achilles,
continued to rage as he sat by his ships. He did
not go to the assembly where men grant glory,
nor did he go to war, but instead he let his heart
waste away, yearning for the cries of battle.

Twelve days later, as dawn rose in the sky,
the eternal gods, led by Zeus, returned
to Olympus. Thetis did not forget her son’s
request, so at first light she left the swelling
sea and flew through the sky to Olympus
where she found the far-seeing son of Cronos
sitting away from others on the mountain’s
summit. She sat before him, held his knees
with her left hand and his chin with her right,
and prayed to Zeus, son of Cronos, saying:
“Father Zeus, if there was a time when I aided
you by word or deed, then grant this wish to me:
honor my son, who is fated to live a short life,
for he has been dishonored by Agamemnon,
lord of men, who took and kept my son’s prize.
Atone for this, lord counselor of Olympus:
give the Trojans victory until the Achaeans
grant my son the exalted honor he deserves.”

She finished, but cloud-gatherer Zeus said
nothing for a long while. Thetis, still holding
his knees, tightened her grip and asked again:
“Bend your head and assent to my request or deny
me; you have nothing to fear, but I must know
if I am the most dishonored of all the gods.”

Greatly worried, cloud-gatherer Zeus replied:
“Your request is dangerous; it pits me against
Hera, who torments me with wrathful words.
She constantly quarrels with me among the gods,
saying that I help the Trojans in battle. So go
now, in case Hera sees you, and I will consider
how best to fulfill your request. But rest assured:
I nod my head so you know that I assent.
This is the surest pledge I can offer immortals,
for once I nod my head, I cannot take it
back, either through deception or inaction.”^[11]

So he said, and the son of Cronos nodded
his brow in assent, his ambrosial locks flowed
from his immortal head, and all Olympus shook.

When their council finished, the two separated,
Thetis jumping from Olympus to the deep salt sea
and Zeus returning to his palace. Upon his arrival,
all the gods stood to meet their father; none had
the courage to sit, so all stood and faced him as
he sat on his throne. But Hera knew silver-footed
Thetis, daughter of the Old Man of the Sea,
had met with Zeus and devised plans, so she
quickly and bitterly addressed the son of Cronos:
“With which of the gods have you been meeting,
deceiver? You always love being apart from me,
discussing things and making decisions in secret,
but you never reveal your mind to me—that I know.”

Then the father of gods and mortals replied to her:
“Hera, you cannot know my every word and thought.
It would be too much even for you, my wife.
If there is something suitable for you to hear,
then no god or man will hear it before you.
But if I wish to consider things away from the gods,
then do not ask about them or seek to know them.”

Then Hera, the calm-eyed queen, replied to him:
“Dreadful Zeus, what a story you have told! I have
never before asked questions or sought answers,
and you are free to consider all things as you wish.
But my heart fears that Thetis, daughter of the Old
Man of the Sea, has beguiled you, for at dawn
she sat beside you, clasping your knees. I expect
she convinced you to nod assent and honor
Achilles by killing many Achaeans beside their ships.”

Then cloud-gatherer Zeus replied to her, saying:
“Demon! You see everything. Nothing escapes you,
yet all you are doing is pushing yourself further
from my heart, and that is worse for you. If these
things are as you say, then it is my own affair.
Now go, sit down, be quiet, and obey my words,
or all the gods of Olympus will be unable to stop me
from attacking you with my invulnerable hands.”

He spoke, frightening calm-eyed queen Hera,
who sat down in silence, her passions muted.
Throughout Zeus’ palace, the gods worried.
Hephaestus, the famous craftsman, spoke first,
hoping to comfort his mother, white-armed Hera:
“This is a nasty affair, and it will become worse
if you two quarrel over mere mortals and push
the gods to violence. There will be no pleasure
at the feast should baser passions prevail. I advise
you, mother, though you know this already,
to show kindness to father Zeus, so his anger
will subside and our feast will not be ruined.
If the hurler of lightning wished, he could strike
us from our seats, for he is the strongest of us.
But if you speak to him with gentle words, then
straightaway the Olympian will turn kindly to us.”

Saying this, he got up and placed a two-handled
goblet in his loving mother’s hands and said to her:
“Have courage, mother, and endure these troubles;
you are dear to me, and I could not bear to see you
harmed, for I would be full of grief but unable
to help, since it is hopeless to oppose the Olympian.
One time, while trying to protect you, he seized me
by the foot and hurled me over the divine threshold.
All day long I fell through the sky until, at sunset,
I landed on Lemnos with little life left in me;
there the Sintians cared for me until I was well.”

He finished, and white-armed Hera smiled
and took the goblet offered by her child. He
then poured wine for the gods from left to right,
drawing the sweet nectar^[12] from the mixing bowl.
Inextinguishable laughter arose from the happy gods
who watched Hephaestus wobble around the palace.

And so they feasted all day long until the sun set,
their hearts warmed by the unequaled banquet,
Apollo’s enchanting lyre, and the ethereal voices
of the Muses as they sang in reply to one another.

As the brilliant light of the sun was setting,
the immortals desired rest, so they departed
to their homes, all skillfully and craftily created
by Hephaestus, the renowned, bow-legged god.
Thus Zeus, lord of lightning, went to bed, where
he always went when sweet sleep fell on him,
and he slept alongside Hera of the golden-throne.