which, being obtained by Bolingbroke as a curiosity, descended from him to Mallet, and is now, by the solicitation of the late Dr. Maty, reposited in the Museuin. Between this manuscript, which is written upon accidental fragments of paper, and the printed edition, there must have been an intermediate copy, that was perhaps destroyed as it returned from the press.

From the first copy I have procured a few transcripts, and shall exhibit first the printed lines; then in a smaller print, those of the manuscripts, with all their variations. Those words in the small print, which are given in Italics, are cancelled in the copy, and the words placed under them adopted in their stead. The beginning of the first book stands thus:

Suppliant the venerable father stands,
Apollo's awful ensigns grace his hands;
By these he begs, and, lowly bending down,
Extends the sceptre and the laurel crown.

For Chryses sought by presents to regain

costly gifts to gain

His captive daughter from the Victor's chain!
Suppliant the venerable father stands,

Apollo's awful ensigns grac'd his hands.

By these he begs, and, lowly bending down
The golden sceptre and the laurel crown,
Presents the sceptre

For these as ensigns of his God he bare,
The God that sends his golden shafts afar ;
Then low on earth, the venerable man
Suppliant before the brother kings began.

He sued to all, but chief implor'd for grace
The brother kings of Atreus' royal race;

Ye kings and warriours, may your vows be crown'd,
And Troy's proud walls lie level with the ground;
May Jove restore you, when your toils are o'er,
Safe to the pleasures of your native shore.

To all he sued, but chief implor'd for grace

The brother kings of Atreus' royal race.

Ye sons of Atreus, may your vows be crown'd,
Kings and warriors

Your labours, by the Gods be all your labours crown'd,

So may the Gods your arms with conquest bless,

And Troy's proud walls lie level with the ground;
Till

laid

And crown your labours with deserv'd success;
May Jove restore you, when your toils are o'er,
Safe to the pleasures of your native shore.

But, oh! relieve a wretched parent's pain,
And give Chryseis to these arms again;
If mercy fail, yet let my present move,
And dread avenging Phœbus, son of Jove.

But, oh! relieve a hapless parent's pain,
And give my daughter to these arins again,

Receive my gifts; if mercy fails, yet let my present move,'
And fear the God that deals his darts around.

avenging Phoebus, son of Jove.

The Greeks, in shouts, their joint assent declare
The priest to reverence, and release the fair.
Not so Atrides; he, with kingly pride,
Repuls'd the sacred sire, and thus reply'd;

He said, the Greeks their joint assent declare,
The father said, the gen'rous Greeks relen!,
T'accept the ransom, and release the fair!

67

Of these lines, and of the whole first book, I am told that there was yet a former copy, more varied, and more deformed with interlineations.

The beginning of the second book varies very little from the printed page, and is therefore set down without a parallel; the few differences do not require to be elaborately displayed.

Now pleasing sleep had seal'd each mortal eye:
Stretch'd in their tents the Grecian leaders lie;
Th' Immortals slumber'd on their thrones above,
All but the ever watchful eye of Jove,
To honour Thetis' son he bends his care,
And plunge the Greeks in all the woes of war.
Then bids an empty phantom rise to sight,
And thus commands the vision of the night:
directs

Fly hence, delusive dream, and, light as air,
To Agamemnon's royal tent repair;

Bid him in arms draw forth th' embattled train,
March all his legions to the dusty plain.

Now tell the king 'tis giv'n him to destroy
Declare ev'n now

The lofty walls of wide-extended Troy;

tow'rs

For now no more the Gods with Fate contend;
At Juno's suit the heavenly factions end.

Destruction hovers o'er yon devoted wall,
hangs

And nodding Ilium waits th' impending fall.

Invocation to the catalogue of ships.

Say, Virgins, seated round the throne divine,
All-knowing Goddesses! immortal Nine!

Since Earth's wide regions, Heav'n's unmeasur'd height,
And Hell's abyss, hide nothing from your sight,
(We, wretched mortals! lost in doubts below,
But guess by rumour, and but boast we know)
Oh! say what heroes fir'd by thirst of fame,
Or, urg'd by wrongs, to Troy's destruction came!
To count them all, demands a thousand tongues,
A throat of brass, and adamantine lungs.

From his broad buckler flash'd the living ray;
High on his helm celestial lightnings play,
His beamy shield emits a living ray;

The Goddess with her breath the flames supplies,
Bright as the star whose fires in autumn rise;
Her breath divine thick streaming flames supplies,
Bright as the star that fires th' autumnal skies:
Th' unwearicd blaze incessant streams supplies,
Like the red star that fires th' autumnal skies:

When first he rears his radiant orb to sight,
And, bath'd in Ocean, shoots a keener light.
Such glories Pallas on the chief bestow'd,
Such from his arms the fierce effulgence flow'd;

Onward she drives him furious to engage,

Where the fight burns, and where the thickest rage.

When fresh he rears his radiant orb to sight,

And gilds old Occan with a blaze of light.

Bright as the star that fires th' autumnal skies,
Fresh from the deep, and gilds the scas and skies,
Such glories Pallas on her chief bestow'd,
Such sparkling rays from his bright armour flow'd;
Such from his arms the fierce effulgence flow'd j

CONCLUSION OF BOOK VIII. ver. 687.

As when the Moon, refulgent lamp of night,
O'er Heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light,
When not a breath disturbs the deep serene,
And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene;
Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
And stars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole;
O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And tip with silver every mountain's head;
Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise,
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies;
The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight,
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light.
So many flames before proud Ilion blaze,
And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays;
The long reflection of the distant fires
Gleam on the walls, and tremble on the spires.
A thousand piles the dusky horrours gild,⚫
And shoot a shady lustre o'er the field.
Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend,
Whose umber'd arms by fits thick flashes send;
Loud neigh the coursers o'er their heaps of corn,
And ardent warriors wait the rising morn.

As when in stillness of the silent sight,

As when the Moon in all her lustre bright;

As when the oon, refulgent lamp of night,

O'er Heaven's clear azure sheds her silver light; pure spreads sacred

As still in air the trembling lustre stood,

And o'er its golden border shoots a flood;

When no loose gale disturbs the deep serene,

not a breath

And no dim cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene;

not a

Around her silver throne the planets glow,
And stars unnumber'd trembling beams bestow: