The Works of the English Poets: With Prefaces, Biographical and Critical

SPECIMEN of a Tranflation of the ODYSSEY.

'HE nurse all wild with transport seem'd to swim,

THE

Joy wing'd her feet and lighten'd ev'ry limb;
Then to the room with speed impatient borne
Flew with the tidings of her lord's return.
There bending o'er the fleeping queen, the cries,
Rife, my Penelope, my daughter, rife
To fee Ulyffes thy long absent spouse,
Thy foul's defire and lord of all thy vows:
Though late, he comes, and in his rage has flain,
For all their wrongs, the haughty fuitor train.
Ah, Euryclea, fhe replies, you rave;

The gods refume that reason which they gave;
For Heaven deep wisdom to the fool supplies,
But oft infatuates and confounds the wife.
And wisdom once was thine! but now I find
The gods have ruin'd thy distemper'd mind.
How could you hope your fiction to impose ?
Was it to flatter or deride my woes?
How could you break a sleep with talk fo vain,
That held my forrows in so foft a chain ?
A fleep so sweet I never could enjoy
Since my dear lord left Ithaca for Troy:
Curft Troy-oh! why did I thy name disclose?
Thy fatal name awakens all my woes :
But fly-fome other had provok'd my rage,
And you but owe your pardon to your age.

No artful tales, no ftudied lies, I frame,
Ulyffes lives (rejoins the reverend dame)
In that dishonour'd ftranger's close disguise,
Long has he pafs'd all unfufpecting eyes,
All but thy fon's-and long has he supprest
The well-concerted fecret in his breaft;
Till his brave father fhould his foes defeat,
And the clofe fcheme of his revenge compleat.
Swift as the word the queen transported sprung,
And round the dame in ftrict embraces hung;
Then as the big round tears began to roll,
Spoke the quick doubts and hurry of her foul.
If my victorious hero fafe arrives,

If my dear lord, Ulyffes, ftill furvives,
Tell me, oh tell me, how he fought alone?
How were fuch multitudes destroy'd by one?
Nought I beheld, but heard their cries, the faid,
When death flew raging, and the fuitors bled :
Immur'd we liften'd, as we fat around,
To each deep groan and agonizing found.
Call'd by thy fon to view the fcene I fled,
And faw Ulyffes ftriding o'er the dead !
Amidst the rifing heaps the hero ftood
All grim, and terribly adorn'd with blood..

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