Spleen to mankind his envious heart poffefs'd, And much he hated all, but most the best. Ulyffes or Achilles ftill his theme; But royal fcandal his delight fupreme. Long had he liv'd the fcorn of ev'ry Greek, Vex when he spoke,yet ftill they heard him speak. Sharp was his voice; which, in the fhrilleft tone, Thus with injurious taunts attack'd the throne: Amidft the glories of to bright a reign, What moves the great Atrides to complain? 'Tis thine whate'er the warrior's breath inflames, The golden fpoil, and thine the lovely dames. With all the wealth our wars and blood beftow, Thy tents are crowded, and thy chefts o'erflow. Thus at full cafe, in heaps of riches roll'd, What grieves the monarch? Is it thirst of gold: Say, thall we march with our unconquer'd pow'rs, (The Greeks and I) to Ilion's hoftile tow`rs, And bring the race of royal baftards here, For Troy to ranfom at a price too dear? But fafer plunder thy own hoft fupplies; Say, wouldst thou feize fome valiant leader's prize: Or, if thy heart to gen'rous love be led, Some captive fair, to blefs thy kingly bed? Whate'er our mafter craves, fubmit we muft, Plagued with his pride, or punish'd for his luft. O women of Achaia! men no more! Hence let us fly, and let him wafte his store In love and pleasures on the Phrygian fhore. We may be wanted on fome buty day,
When Hector comes; fo great Achilles may: From him he fore'd the prize we jointly gave, From him the fierce, the fearlefs, and the brave: And durft he, as he ought, refent that wrong, This mighty tyrant were no tyrant long.
Fierce from his feat, at this, Ulyffes springs, In gen rous vengeance of the king of kings; With indignation iparkling in his eyes, He views the wretch, and fternly thus replies:
Peace, factious monfter, born to vex the state, With wrangling talents, form'd for foul debate: Curb that impetuous tongue; nor rafhly vain, And fingly mad, afperfe the fov'reign reign. Have we not known thee, flave! of all our hoft, The man who acts the leaft, upbraids the most? Think not the Grecks to fhameful flight to bring, Nor let thofe lips profane the name of king. For our return we truft the heavenly pow'rs; Be that their care, to fight like men be ours. But grant the host with wealth the gen'ral load; Except detraction, what haft thou beftow'd? Suppofe fome hero fhould his fpoils refign, Art thou that hero, could thofe fpoils be thine? Gods! let me perish on this hateful fhore, And let thefe eyes behold my fon no more; If, on thy next offence, this hand forbear To ftrip thofe arms thou ill deferv'ft to wear, Expel the council where our princes meet, And fend thee fcourg'd and howling thro' the
He faid, and cow'ring as the daftard bends, The weighty fceptre on his back defcends: On the round bunch the bloody tumors rife; The tears spring starting from his haggard eyes:
Trembling he fate; and, fhrunk in abject fears, From his vile vilage wip'd the fcalding tears. While to his neighbour each exprefs'd his thoughts Ye gods! what wonders has Ulyffes wrought! What fruits his conduct and his courage yield! Great in the council, glorious in the field. Gen'rous he rifes in the crown's defence, To curb the factious tongue of infolence. Such juft examples on offenders fhewn, Sedition filence, and affert the throne.
§ 12. Helen's Lamentation over Hector's dead Body.
AH dearest friend! in whom the gods had join'd Now twice ten years, unhappy years! are o'er The mildeft manners with the braveft mind; Since Paris brought me to the Trojan shore; (O had I perish'd e'er that form divine Seduc'd this foft, this eafy heart of mine!) Yet was it ne'er my fate, from thee to find A deed ungentle, or a word unkind: When others curs'd the auth'refs of their woe, Thy pity check'd my forrows in their flow: If fome proud brother eyed me with difdain, Or fcornful fifter with her fweeping train, Thy gentle accents foften'd all my pain. For thee I mourn; and mourn myself in thee, The wretched fource of all this mifery!
Retreat of Ajax. AJAX he hues, thro' all the dire debate,
And fears that arm whofe force he felt fo late. But partial Jove, poufing Hector's part, Shot heaven-bred horror thro' the Grecian's heart; Confus'd, unnerv'd in Hector's prefence grown, Amaz'd he food, with terrors not his own. O'er his broad back his moony fhield he threw, And glaring round, by tardy fteps withdrew. Thus the grim lion his retreat maintains, Befet with watchful dogs, and fhouting fwains; Repuls'd by numbers from the nightly ftalls, Tho' rage impels him, and tho' hunger calls, Long ftands the fhow'ring darts, and miffile fires; Then fourly flow th' indignant beaft retires. So turn'd ftern Ajax, by whole hosts repeil'd, While his fwoln heart at every ftep rebell'd.
As the flow beaft with heavy ftrength endued, In fome wild field by troops of boys pursued, Tho' round the fides a wooden tempeft rain, Crops the tall harveft, and lays wafte the plain; Thick on his fides the hollow blows refound, The patient animal maintains his ground, Scarce from the field with all their efforts chas'd, And ftirs but flowly when he stirs at last. On Ajax thus a weight of Trojans hung, The ftrokes redoubled on his buckler rung; Confiding now in bulky ftrength he stands, Now turns, and backward bears the yielding
Now ftiff recedes, yet hardly feems to fly, And threats his followers with retorted eye.
Fix'd as the bar between two warring pow'rs, While hifling darts defcend in iron fhow'rs: In his broad buckler many a weapon stood, Its furface bristled with a quiv'ring wood; And many a jav'lin guiltlefs on the plain Marks the dry duft, and thirfts for blood in vain.
§ 14. Hector and Andromache's parting, before be engages.
HECTOR, this heard, return'd without delay; Swift through the town he trod his former
Through ftreets of palaces, and walks of state, And met the mourner at the Scæan gate. With hafte to meet him fprung the joyful fair, His blameless wife, Aëtion's wealthy heir; The nurfe ftood near, in whofe embraces preft His only hope hung fmiling at her breast, Whom each foft charm and carly grace adorn, Fair as the new-born ftar that gilds the morn. Silent the warrior fmil'd, and pleas'd refign'd To tender paffions all his mighty mind: His beauteous princefs caft a mournful look, Hung on his hand, and then dejected spoke; Her bofom labour'd with a boding figh, And the big tear ftood trembling in her eye: Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run? Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and fon!
O Thou whofe glory fills th' ethereal throne, And all ye deathlefs pow'rs, protect my fon! Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown, To guard the Trojans, to defend the crown; Against his country's foc the war to wage, And rife the Hector of the future age! So when, triumphant from fuccefsful toils, Of heroes flain he bears the reeking fpoils, Whole hofts may hail him with deferv'd acclaim, And fay, This chief tranfcends his father's fame; While, pleas'd amidst the general fhouts of Troy, His mother's confcious heart o'erflows with joy.
He fpoke; and, fondly gazing on her charms, Reftor'd the pleafing burden to her arms: Soft on her fragrant breaft the babe fhe laid, Hufh'd to repofe, and with a finile furvey'd. The troubled pleasure foon chaftis'd by fear, She mingled with the fimile a tender tear.
The glorious chief resumes His tow'ry helmet, black with fhading plumes; His princefs parts with a prophetic figh, Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye, That stream'd at every look; then, moving flow, Sought her own palace, and indulg'd her woe.
15. Priam's Interview with Achilles.
And think it thou not, how wretched we shall be, UNSEEN by thefe, the king his entry made;
A widow I, an helplefs orphan he! For fure fuch courage length of life denies, And thou muft fall thy virtue's facrifice. Greece in her fingle heroes ftrove in vain; Now hofts oppose thee, and thou must be flain ! O grant me, gods! ere Hector meets his doom, All I can ask of Heaven, an early tomb! So fhall my days in one fad tenor run, And end with forrows, as they first begun. No parent now remains my grief to fhare, No father's aid, no mother's tender care.
Yet, while my Hector ftill furvives, I fee My father, mother, brethren, all in thee. Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all, Once more will perish, if my Hector fall. Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger fhare: O prove a husband's and a father's care! Let others in the field their arms employ, But ftay my Hector here, and guard his Troy.
And, proftrate now before Achilles laid, Sudden (a venerable fight!) appears; Embrac'd his knees, and bath'd his hands in
Those direful hands his kisses press'd, embrued Even with the best, the dearest of his blood!
As when a wretch (who confcious of his crime, Purfued for murder, flies his native clime) Juft gains fome frontier, breathlefs, pale, amaz'd, All gaze, all wonder; thus Achilles gaz'd: Thus ftood th' attendants, stupid with furprize; All mute, yet feem to queftion with their eyes: Each look'd on other, none the filence broke; Till thus at last the kingly fuppliant spoke :
Ah think, thou favour'd of the pow'rs divine! Think of thy father's age, and pity mine! In me that father's rev'rend image trace, Thofe filver hairs, that venerable face: His trembling limbs, his helplefs perfon, fee! In all my equal, but in mifery!
Yet now, perhaps, fome turn of human fate Expels him helpless from his peaceful state; Think, from fome pow'rful foe thou feeft him fly, And beg protection with a feeble cry. Yet ftill one comfort from his foul may rife; He hears his fon ftill lives to glad his eyes: And hearing, ftill may hope a better day May fend him thee, to chafe that foe away. No comfort to my griefs, no hopes remain; The beft, the braveft, of my fous are flain! Yet, what a race ere Greece to Ilion came, The pledge of many a lov'd and loving dame : • Priam.
-Th' illuftrious chief of Troy Stretch'd his fond arms to clafp the lovely boy. The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast, Scar'd at the dazzling helm, and nodding crest. With fecret pleature each fond parent fimil'd, And Hector hafted to relieve his child, The glitt'ring terrors from his brows unbound, And plac'd the beaming helmet on the ground; Then kits'd the child, and, lifting high in air, Thus to the gods preferr'd a father's pray'r·
Nineteen one mother bore-dead, all are dead! How oft, alas! has wre.ched Priam bled! Still one was left, their lofs to recompenfe; His father's hope, his country's laft defence. Him too thy rage has flain! beneath thy steel Unhappy in his country's caufe he fell!
For him thro' hoftile camps I bend my way, For him thus proftrate at thy feet I lay; Large gifts proportion'd to thy wrath I bear; Oh hear the wretched, and the gods revere!
Think of thy father, and this face behold! See him in me, as helpless and as old, Tho' not fo wretched! there he yields to me, The first of men in fov'reign mifery; Thus forc'd to kneel, thus grov'ling to embrace The fcourge and ruin of my realm and race; Suppliant my children's murd’rer to implore, And kifs thofe hands yet reeking with their gore! Thefe words foft pity in the chief infpire, Touch'd with the dear remembrance of his fire. Then with his hand (as proftrate ftill he lay) The old man's cheek he gently turn'd away. Now each by turns indulge the guth of woe; And now the mingled tides together flow : This low on earth, that gently bending o'er, A father one, and one a fon deplore: But great Achilles diff'rent paflions rend, And now his fire he mourns, and now his friend. Th' infectious foftnefs thro' the heroes ran; One univerfal folemn fhow'r began: They bore as heroes, but they felt as man.
Satiate at length with unavailing woes, From the high throne divine Achilles rofe; The rev'rend monarch by the hand he rais'd; On his white beard and form majestic gaz'd, Not unrelenting: then ferene began With words to foothe the miferable man. Alas! what weight of anguish haft thou known! Unhappy prince! thus guardlefs and alone To país thro' foes, and thus undaunted face The man whofe fury has deftroy'd thy race! Heaven fure has arm'd thee with a heart of steel, A ftrength proportion'd to the woes you feel. Rife then; let reafon mitigate our care: To mourn avails not; man is born to bear. Such is, alas! the gods fevere decree: They, only they are bleft, and only free. Two urns by Jove's high throne have ever ftood, The fource of evil one, and one of good; From thence the cup of mortal man he fills, Bleffings to thefe, to those diftributes ills; To moft he mingles both: the wretch decreed To tafte the bad unmix'd, is curft indeed : Purfued by wrongs, by meagre famine driven, He wanders out-caft both of earth and heaven. The happieft tafte not happinefs fincere,
But find the cordial draught is dath'd with care. Who more than Peleus fhone in wealth and pow'r?
What ftars concurring blefs'd his natal hour! A realm, a goddefs, to his wifhes given, Grac'd by the gods with all the gifts of Heaven! One evil yet o'ertakes his lateft day, No race fucceeding to imperial fway;
An only fon! and he, alas ! ordain'd To fall untimely in a foreign land! Sce him, in Troy, the pious care decline Of his weak age, to live the curfe of thine! Thou too, old man, haft happier days beheld; In riches once, in children once excell'd; Extended Phrygia own'd thy ample reign, And all fair Lefbos' blifsful feats contain, And all wide Hellefpont's unmeafur'd main. But fince the god his hand has pleas'd to turn, And fill thy meafure from his bitter urn, What fees the fun, but haplefs herces' falls? War, and the blood of man, furround thy walls! What must be, muft be. Bear thy lot, nor fhed Thefe unavailing forrows o'er the dead; 'Thou can't not call him from the Stygian fhore; But thou, alas! mayft live to fuffer more!
To whom the king: O favour'd of the skies! Here let me grow to earth! fince Hector lies On the bare beach, depriv'd of obfequies. O give me Hector! to my eyes reftore His corpfe, and take the gifts: I afk no more. Thou, as thou mayft, thete boundless stores enjoy; Safe mayft thou fail, and turn thy wrath from Troy; So fhall thy pity and forbearance give A weak old man to fce the light and live!
Move me no more (Achilles thus replies, While kindling anger fparkled in his eyes) Nor feck by tears my fteady foul to bend; To yield thy Hector I myself intend: For know, from Jove my goddefs-mother came (Old Ocean's daughter, filver-footed dame), Nor com'it thou but by Heaven; nor com'ft alone, Some god impels with courage not thy own: No human hand the weighty gates unbarr'd, Nor could the boldeft of our youths have dar'd To pafs our out-works, or clude the guard. Ceafe; left, neglectful of high Jove's command, I fhew thee, king! thou tread it on hoftile land; Release my knees, thy fuppliant arts give o'er, And shake the purpofe of my foul no more.
The fire obey'd him, trembling, and o'eraw'd. Achilles, like a lion, rufh'd abroad: Automedon and Alcimus attend, Whom moft he honour'd, fince he loft his friend; Thefe to unyoke the mules and horfes went, And led the hoary herald to the tent; Next heap'd on high the num'rous prefents bear (Great Hector's ranfom) from the polish'd car. Two fplendid mantles, and a carpet fpread, They leave, to cover and inwrap the dead; Then call the handmaids, with affistant toil, To wash the body, and anoint with oil; Apart from Priam, left th' unhappy fire, Provok'd to paffion, once more roufe to ire The ftern Pelides; and nor facred age Nor Jove's command fhould check the rifing rage. This done, the garments o'er the corpfe they ipread; Achilles lifts it to the fun'ral bed:
Then, while the body on the car they laid, He groans, and calls on lov'd Patroclus' fhade:
If, in that gloom which never light must know,
The deeds of mortals touch the ghosts below: O friend!
O friend! forgive me, that I thus fulfil (Reftoring Hector) Heaven's unqueftion'd will. The gifts the father gave be ever thine, To grace thy mañes, and adorn thy fhrine.
He faid, and ent'ring, took his feat of state, Where full before him rev'rend Priam fate: To whom, compos'd, the godlike chief begun- Lo, to thy pray'r weftor'd thy breathlefs fon; Extended on the fun'ral couch he lies: And, foon as morning paints the caftern skies, The fight is granted to thy longing eyes. But now the peaceful hours of facred night Demand refection, and to reft invite:
Nor thou, O father, thus confum'd with woe, The common cares that nourish life forego. Not thus did Niobe, of form divine, A parent once, whofe forrows equall'd thine: Six youthful fons, as many blooming maids, In one fad day beheld the Stygian fhades; Thele by Apollo's filver bow were flain, Thefe Cynthia's arrows ftretch'd upon the plain. So was her pride chaftis'd by wrath divine, Who match'd her own with bright Latona's line! But two the goddefs, twelve the queen enjoy'd: Thofe boafted twelve th' avenging two destroy'd. Steep'd in their blood and in the duft
Permit me now, belov'd of Jove! to fleep My careful temples in the dew of sleep : For, fince the day that number'd with the dead My hapless fon, the duft has been my bed; Soft fleep a ftranger to my weeping eyes, My only food, my forrows and my sighs! Till now, encourag'd by the grace you give, I fhare thy banquet, and confent to live. With that Achilles bade prepare the bed, With purple foft, and fhaggy carpets spread; Forth by the flaming lights they bend their way, And place the couches, and the cov'rings lay. Then he: Now, father, fleep, but fleep not here; Confult thy fafety, and forgive my fear; Left any Argive (at this hour awake, To afk our counfel, or our orders take), Approaching fudden to our open'd tent, Perchance behold thee, and our grace prevent. Should fuch report thy honour'd perfon here, The king of men the ranfom might defer; But fay, with speed, if aught of thy defire Remains unatk'd? what time the rites require T'inter thy Hector? For fo long we ftay Our flaught ring arm, and bid the hofts obev.
If then thy will permit (the monarch faid) out-To finish all due honours to the dead, This of thy grace accord: to thee are known The fears of Ilion, clos'd within her town, And at what distance from her walls afpire The hills of Ide, and forefts for the fire. Nine days to vent our forrows I requeft, The tenth fhall fee the fun'ral and the feaft: The next to raise his monument be given; The twelfth we war, if war be doom'd by Heaven! This thy request, replied the chief, enjoy! Till then our arms fufpend the fall of Troy.
Nine days neglected lay expos'd the dead; None by to weep them, to inhume them nene, For Jove had turn'd the nation all to frone: The gods themfelves, at length relenting, gave Th' unhappy race the honours of a grave. Herfelf a rock (for fuch was Heaven's high will) Thro' defarts wild now pours a weeping rill: Where round the bed whence Achclous iprings, The wat'ry fairies dance in mazy rings; There high on Sipylus's fhaggy brow She ftands her own fad monument of woe; The rock for ever lafts, the tears for ever flow.
§ 16. Defcription of Jupiter.
Such griefs, O king! have other parents HE fpke, and awful bends his fable brows;
Remember theirs, and mitigate thy own. The care of Heaven thy Hector has appear'd, Nor fhall he lie unwept and uninterr'd; Soon may thy aged checks in tears be drown'd, And all the eyes of lion ftream around.
He faid, and rifing, chofe the victim ewe With filver flecce, which his attendants flew. The limbs they fever from the reeking hide, With fkill prepare them, and in parts divide: Each on the coals the fep'rate morfels lays, And hafty hatches from the rifing blaze. With bread the glitting canifters they load, Which round the board Automedon beflow'd; The chief himfelf to each his portion plac'd, And each indulging fhar'd in fweet repaft. When now the rage of hunger was repreft, The wond'ring hero eyes his royal gueft; No lefs the royal gueft the hero eyes, His godlike afpect, and majestic fize; Here, youthful grace and noble fire engage; And there, the mild benevolence of age. Thus azing long, the filence neither broke, (A folemn feene!) at length the father spoke :
Shakes his ambrofial curls, and gives the nod,
The ftamp of fate, and fanction of the God: High heaven with trembling the dread signal took, And all Olympus to the centre shook,
17. Awful Defcription of the Deities engaged in the Combat.
BUT when the pow'rs defcending fwell'd de fight,
Then tumult rofe; fierce rage and pale affright Varied each face; then difcord founds alarms, Earth echoes, and the nations rush to arms. Now thro' the trembling fhores Minerva calls, And now the thunders from the Grecian walls. Mars hov'ring o'er his Troy, his terror fhrouds In gloomy tempefts, and a night of clouds: Now thro' each Trojan heart he fury pours With voice divine from lion's topmost tow'rs; Now thouts to Simois, from her beauteous hill; The mountains fhook, the rapid ftream stood fill Above, the fire of gods his thunder rolls, And peals on peals redoubled rend the poles. Beneath,
Beneath, ftern Neptune fhakes the folid ground The forefts wave, the mountains rod around Thro' all their fummits tremble Ida's woods, And from their fources boil her hundred floods. Troy's turrets totter on the rocking plain; And the tofs'd natives beat the heaving main. Deep in the difmal regions of the dead, Th' infernal monarch rear'd his horrid head; Leap'd from his throne, left Neptune's arm fhould lay
His dark dominions open to the day, And pour in light on Pluto's drear abodes, Abhorr'd by men, and dreadful even to gods..
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No more they figh, inglorious, to return, But breathe revenge, and for the combat burn.
As on fome mountain, thro' the lofty grove, The crackling flames afcend, and blaze above; The fires expanding as the winds arife, Shoot their long beams, and kindle half the fkies: So from the polifh'd arms, and brazen fhields, A gleamy fplendour flath'd along the fields. Not lefs their number than th' embodied cranes, Or milk-white fwans in Afius' wat’ry plains, That o'er the windings of Cayfter's fprings Stretch their long necks, and clap their ruftling wings;
Now tow'r aloft, and courfe in airy rounds; Now light with noife; with noife the field refounds.
Thus num'rous and confus'd, extending wide, The legions crowd Scamander's flow'ry fide; With rushing troops the plains are cover'd o'er, And thund'ring footsteps fhake the founding fhore: Along the river's level meads they ftand, Thick as in fpring the flow'rs adorn the land, Or leaves the trees; or thick as infects play, The wand'ring nation of a fummer's day, That drawn by milky teams, at ev'ning hours, In gather'd fwarms furround the rural bow'rs: From pail to pail with bufy murmur run The gilded legions, glitt'ring in the fun. Sothrong'd, fo clofe, the Grecian fquadrons flood, In radiant arins, and thirst for Trojan blood. Each leader now his fcatter'd force conjoins In clofe array, and forms the deep'ning lines.
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THE faffron morn, with early blushes fpread, Now rofe refulgent from Tithonus' bed; With new-born day to gladden mortal fight, Then met th' eternal fynod of the sky, And gild the courts of heaven with facred light. Before the God who thunders from on high, Supreme in might, fublime in majesty. Pallas to thefe deplores th' unequal fates Of wife Ulyffes, and his toils relates: Her hero's danger touch'd the pitying pow'r, The nymph's feducements, and the magic bow'r. Thus fhe began her plaint: Immortal Jove 1 And you who fill the blifsful feats above! Let kings no more with gentle mercy fway, Or blefs a people willing to obey, But crush the nations with an iron rod, And every monarch be the fcourge of God; If from your thoughts Ulyffes you remove, Who rul'd his fubjects with a father's love. Sole in an ifle, encircled by the main, Abandon'd, banish'd from his native reign, Unbleft he fighs, detain'd by lawless charms, And prefs'd unwilling in Calypfo's arms. Nor friends are there, nor veffels to convey, Nor oars to cut th' immeafurable way. And now fierce traitors, studious to destroy His only fou, their ambuth'd fraud employ, Who, pious, following his great father's fame, To facred Pylos and to Sparta came. [forms
What words are thefe (replied the pow'r who The clouds of night, and darkens heaven with Is 't not already in thy foul decreed, [storms)? The chief's return fhall make the guilty bleed? What cannot wifdom de? Thou mayst restore The fon in fafety to his native fhore : While the fell foes, who late in ambush lay, With fraud defeated, meature back their way.
Then thus to Hermes the command was given: Hermes, thou chosen messenger of heaven! Go, to the nymph be the our orders borne: 'Tis Jove's decree Ulyffes fhall return: The patient man fhall view his old abodes, Nor help'd by mortai hard, nor guiding gods; In twice ten days thall fertile Scheria find, Alone, and floating to the wave and wind. The bold Phæacians there, whofe haughty line Is mix'd with gods, half human, half divine, The chief fhall honour as fome heavenly guest, And swift tranfport him to his place of rest. His veffels loaded with a picuteous ftore Of brafs, of veftures, and refplendent ore; (A richer prize than if his joyful ifle Receiv'd him charg'd with Ilion's noble spoil)
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