Sing, O goddess, the anger of Achilles son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.

The gardener set his eldest son to watch; but about twelve o'clock he fell asleep, and in the morning another of the apples was missing.

Thou Spirit, who led'st this glorious Eremite Into the desert, his victorious field Against the spiritual foe, and brought'st him thence By proof the undoubted Son of God, inspire, As thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute, And bear through highth or depth of Nature's bounds, With prosperous wing full summed, to tell of deeds Above heroic, though in secret done, And unrecorded left through many an age: Worthy to have not remained so long unsung.