The trembling priest along the shore return'd, And in the anguish of a father mourn'd. Disconsolate, not daring to complain, Silent he wander'd by the sounding main; Till, safe at distance, to his god he prays, The god who darts around the world his rays. "O Smintheus! sprung from fair Latona's line,(47) Thou guardian power of Cilla the divine,(48) Thou source of light! whom Tenedos adores, And whose bright presence gilds thy Chrysa's shores. If e'er with wreaths I hung thy sacred fane,(49) Or fed the flames with fat of oxen slain; God of the silver bow! thy shafts employ, Avenge thy servant, and the Greeks destroy." Thus Chryses pray'd.--the favouring power attends, And from Olympus' lofty tops descends. Bent was his bow, the Grecian hearts to wound;(50) Fierce as he moved, his silver shafts resound. Breathing revenge, a sudden night he spread, And gloomy darkness roll'd about his head. The fleet in view, he twang'd his deadly bow, And