Sing, O muse, of the rage of Achilles, son of Peleus, that brought countless ills upon the Achaeans.
Rage - Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus' son Achilles, murderous, doomed, that cost the Achaeans countless losses, hurling down to the House of Death so many sturdy souls, great fighters' souls, but made their bodies carrion, feasts for the dogs and birds, and the will of Zeus was moving toward its end. Begin, Muse, when the two first broke and clashed, Agamemnon lord of men and brilliant Achilles.
Tell me, O muse, of travellers far and wide
All men owe honor to the poets - honor and awe; for they are dearest to the Muse who puts upon their lips the ways of life.
Wine give strenght to weary men. and And wine can of their wits the wise beguile. Make the sage frolic, and the serious smile. and Let those who drink not, but austerely dine, Dry up in law; the muses smell of wine. and No poem was ever written by a drinker of water. and Bacchus opens the gate of the heart. and Might to inspire new hopes and powerful To drown the bitterness of cares.
Among all men on the earth bards have a share of honor and reverence, because the muse has taught them songs and loves the race of bards.
Tell me, O Muse, of that ingenious hero who travelled far and wide after he had sacked the famous town of Troy.
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