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WHILE in these fountains bright Belinda laves,
She adds new virtues to the healing waves:
Thus in Bethesda's pool an angel stood,
Bad the soft waters heal, and blest the flood:
But from her eye such bright destruction flies,
In vain they flow! for her, the lover dies.

No more let Tagus boast, whose beds unfold
A shining treasure of all-conquering gold!
No more the Po! whose wandering waters stray,
In mazy errours, through the starry way:
Henceforth these springs superior honours share;
There Venus laves, but my Belinda here.



Love is a noble rich repast,

But seldom should the lover taste;
When the kind fair no more restrains,
The glutton surfeits, and disdains.

To move the nymph, he tears bestows,
He vainly sighs, he falsely vows:
The tears deceive, the vows betray;
He conquers, and contemns the prey,
Thus Ammon's son with fierce delight
Smil'd at the terrours of the fight;
The thoughts of conquest charm'd his eyes,
He conquer'd, and he wept the prize.
Love, like a prospect, with delight
Sweetly deceives the distant sight,
Where the tir'd travellers survey,
O'er hanging rocks, a dangerous way.
Ye fair, that would victorious prove,
Seem but half kind, when most you love
Damon pursues, if Celia flies;
But when her love is born, his dies.
Had Danaë the young, the fair,
Becn free and unconfin'd as air,

Free from the guards and brazen tower,
She'd ne'er been worth a golden show'r

Think then, O fairest of the fairer race, What fatal beauties arm thy heavenly face, Whose very shadow can such flames inspire; We see 'tis paint, and yet we feel 'tis fire.

See! with false life the lovely image glows, And every wondrous grace transplanted shows; Fatally fair the new creation reigns, Charms in her shape, and multiplies our pains: Hence the fond youth, that ease by absence found, Views the dear form, and bleeds at every wound; Thus the bright Venus, though to Heaven she soar'd, Reign'd in her image, by the world ador'd.

Oh! wondrous power of mingled light and shades! Where beauty with duinb eloquence persuades, Where passions are beheld in picture wrought, And animated colours look a thought: Rare art! on whose command all nature waits! It copies all Omnipotence creates : Here crown'd with mountains earth expanded lies, There the proud seas with all their billows rise: If life be drawn, responsive to the thought The breathing figures live throughout the draught; The mimic bird in skies fictitious moves, Or fcied beasts in imitated groves: Ev'n Heaven it climbs; and from the forming hands An angel here, and there a Townshend' stands.

Yet, painter, yet, though Art with Nature strive, Though ev'n the lovely phantom seem alive, Submit thy vanquish'd art! and own the draught, Though fair, defective, and a beauteous fault: Charms, such as hers, inimitably great,

He only can express, that can create,
Couldst thou extract the whiteness of the snow,
Or of its colours rob the heavenly bow,
Yet would her beauty triumph o'er thy skill,
Lovely in thee, herself more lovely still!

Thus in the limpid fountain we descry
The faint resemblance of the glittering sky;
Another Sun displays his lessen'd beams,
Another Heaven adorns the enlighten'd streams:
But though the scene be fair, yet high above
Th' exalted skies in nobler beauties move;
There the true Heaven's eternal lamps display
A deluge of inimitable day.

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LET vulgar souls triumpal arches raise,
And speaking marble, to record their praise
Or carve with fruitless toil, to fame unknown,
The mimic feature on the breathing stone;
Mere mortals, subject to Death's total sway,
Reptiles of Earth, and beings of a day!
'Tis thine, on every heart to grave thy praise,
A monument which worth alone can raise;
Sure to survive, when Time shall whelm in dust
The arch, the marble, and the mimic bust;
Nor till the volumes of th' expanded sky
Blaze in one flame, shalt thou and Homer die;
When sink together in the world's last fires
What Heaven created, and what Heaven inspires.

If aught on Earth, when once this breath is fled, With human transport touch the mighty dead;

Now lady Cornwallis.

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Thus when thy draughts, O Raphael, Time inAnd the bold figure from the canvas fades ; A rival hand recalls from every part Some latent grace, and equals art with art; Transported we survey the dubious strife, While the fair image starts again to life.

How long untun'd had Homer's sacred lyre Jarr'd grating discord, all extinct his fire! This you beheld; and, taught by Heaven to sing, Call'd the loud music from the sounding string. Now wak'd from slumbers of three thousand years, Once more Achilles in dread pomp appears, Towers o'er the field of Death; as fierce he turns, Keen flash his arms, and all the hero burns; His plume nods horrible, his helm on high With checks of iron glares against the sky; With martial stalk, and more than mortal might, He strides along, he meets the God in fight: Then the pale Titans, chain'd on burning floors, Start at the din that rends th' infernal shores; Tremble the towers of Heaven; Earth rocks her


And gloomy Pluto shakes with all his ghosts.
To every theme responds thy various lay;
Here pours a torrent, there meanders play:
Sonorous as the storm thy numbers rise,
Toss the wild waves, and thunder in the skies;
Or, softer than a yielding virgin's sigh,
The gentle breezes breathe away, and die.
How twangs the bow, when with a jarring spring
The whizzing arrows vanish from the string!
When giants strain, some rock's vast weight to shove,
The slow verse heaves, and the clogg'd words scarce

But when from high it rolls with many a bound, Jumping it thundering whirls, and rushes to the ground:

Swift flows the verse, when winged lightnings fly,
Dart from the dazzled view, and flash along the sky;
Thus, like the radiant God who sheds the day,
The vale you paint, or guild the azure way;
And, while with every theme the verse complies,
Sink without groveling; without rashness, rise.
Proceed, great bard, awake th' harmonious
Be ours all Homer, still Ulysses sing! [string,
Ev'n I, the meanest of the Muses' train,
Inflam'd by thee, attempt a nobler strain;
Advent'rous waken the Mæonian lyre *,
Tun'd by your hand, and sing as you inspire;
So, arm'd by great Achilles for the fight,
Patroclus conquer'd in Achilles' might.
Like theirs our friendship! and I boast my name
To thine united, for thy friendship's fame.

How long Ulysses, by unskilful hands
Stript of his robes, a beggar trod our lands,
Such as he wander'd o'er his native coast,
Shrunk by the wand, and all the hero lost;
O'er his smooth skin a bark of wrinkles spread,
Old-age disgrac'd the honours of his head;

*The author translated eight books of the Odyssey.

See the 16th Odyssey, ver. 186, and 476.

Nor longer in his heavy eye-ball shin'd
The glance divine forth-beaming from the mind
But you, like Pallas, every limb infold
With royal robes, and bid him shine in gold;
Touch'd by your hand, his manly frame improves-
With air divine, and like a god he moves.

This labour past, of heavenly subjects sing,
While hovering angels listen on the wing;
To hear from Earth such heart-felt raptures rise,
As, when they sing, suspended hold the skies:
Or, nobly rising in fair Virtue's cause,
From thy own life transcribe th' unerring laws;
Teach a bad world beneath her sway to bend,
To verse like thine fierce savages attend,
And men more fierce! When Orpheus tunes the lay
Ev'n fiends, relenting, hear their rage away,


Now high advanc'd the night, o'er all the host
Sleep shed his softest balm; restless alone
Atrides lay, and cares revolv'd on cares.

As when with rising vengeance gloomy Jove
Pours down a watʼry deluge, or in storms
Of hail or snow commands the goary jaws
Of War to roar; through all the kindling skies,
With flaming wings on lightnings lightnings play
So while Atrides meditates the war,
Sighs after sighs burst from his manly breast,
And shake his inmost soul: round o'er the fields
To Troy he turns his eyes, and round beholds
A thousand fires blaze dreadful; through his ears
Passes the direful symphony of war,

Of fife, or pipe, and the loud hum of hosts
Strikes him dismay'd: now o'er the Grecian tents
His eyes he rolls; now from his royal head
Rends the fair curl in sacrifice to Jove,
And his brave heart heaves with imperial woes.
Thus groans the thoughtful king; at length resolves
To seek the Pylian sage, in wise debate
To ripen high designs, and from the sword
Preserve his banded legions. Pale and sad
Uprose the monarch: instant o'er his breast
A robe he threw, and on his royal feet
Glitter'd th' embroider'd sandals: o'er his back
A dreadful ornament, a lion's spoils,
With hideous grace down to his ankles hung;
Fierce in his hand he grasp'd a glittering spear.

With equal care was Menelaus toss'd:
Sleep from his temples fled, his generous heart
Felt all his people's woes, who in his cause
Stemm'd the proud main, and nobly stood in arma
Confronting Death: a leopard's spotted spoils
Terrific clad his limbs, a brazen helm
Beam'd on his head, and in his hand a spear.
Forth from his tent the royal Spartan strode
To wake the king of men; hin wak'd he found
Clasping his polish'd arms; with rising joy
The heroes meet, the Spartan thus begun:
"Why thus in arms, my prince? Send'st thou some
To view the Trojan host? Alas! I rear [spy
Lest the most dauntless sons of glorious War
Shrink at the bold design! This task demands

▲ soul, resolv'd to pass the gloom of night,
And 'midst her legion search the powers of Troy."
"O prince," he cries, "in this disastrous hour
Greece all our counsel claims, now, now demands
Our deepest cares! the power omnipotent
Frowns on our arms, but smiles with aspect mild
On Hector's incense: Heavens! what son of Fame,
Renown'd in story, e'er such deeds achiev'd
In a whole life, as in one glorious day
This favourite of the skies? and yet a man!
A mortal! born to die! but such his deeds
As future Grecians shall repeat with tears
To children yet unborn.-But haste, repair
To Ajax and Idomeneus: we wake

Ourself the Pylian sage, to keep the guards
On duty, by his care; for o'er the guards
His son presides nocturnal, and in arms
His great compeer, Meriones the bold."

"But say," rejoins the prince," these orders borne, There shall I stay, or measuring back the shores, To thee return?" "No more return," replies The king of hosts, "lest treading different ways We meet no more; for through the camp the ways Lie intricate and various: but aloud

Wake every Greek to martial fame and arms;
Teach them to emulate their godlike sires;
And thou awhile forget thy royal birth,
And share a soldier's cares: the proudest king
Is but exalted dust; and when great Jove
Call'd us to life, and gave us royal power,
He gave a sad preeminence of woes."

He spoke, and to the tent of Nestor turns
His step majestic: on his couch he found
The hoary warrior; all around him lay

His arms, the shield, the spears, the radiant helin,
And scarf of various dye: with these array'd,
The reverend father to the field of Fame
Led his bold files; for, with a brave disdain,
Old as he was, he scorn'd the case of age.

Sudden the monarch starts, and half uprais'd,
Thus to the king aloud: "What art thou, say?
Why in the camp alone? while others sleep,
Why wanderest thou obscure the midnight hours?
Seckst thou some centinel, or absent friend?
Speak instant!-Silent to advance, is death!"
"O pride of Greece," the plaintive king returns,
Here in thy tent thou Agamennon view'st,
A prince, the most unhappy of mankind;
Woes I endure, which none but kings can feel,
Which ne'er will cease until forgot in death:
Pensive I wander through the damp of night,
Through the cold damp of night; distress'd; alone!
And sleep is grown a stranger to my eyes:
The weight of all the war, the load of woes
That presses every Greek, united falls

On me the cares of all the host are mine!
Grief discomposes, and distracts my thoughts;
My restless panting heart, as if it strove
To force its prison, beats against my sides!
My strength is fail'd, and even my feet refuse
To bear so great a load of wretchedness!

"But if thy wakeful cares (for o'er thy head
Wakeful the hours glide on) have aught matur'd
Useful, the thought unfold: but rise, my friend,
Visit with me the watches of the night;
Lest tir'd they sleep, while Troy with all her war
Hangs o'er our tents, and now, perhaps ev'n now
Arms her proud bands. Arise, my friend, arise!"

To whom the Pylian: "Think not, mighty king, Jove ratifies vain Hector's haughty views; A sudden, sad reverse of mighty woes Waits that audacious victor, when in arms Dreadful Achilles shines. But now thy steps Nestor attends. Be it our care to wake Sage Ithacus, and Diomed the brave, Meges the bold, and in the race renown'd Oilean Ajax. To the ships that guard Outmost the camp, some other speed his way To raise stern Ajax and the Cretan king, But love, nor reverence to the mighty name Of Menelaus, nor thy wrath, O king, Shall stop my free rebuke: sleep is a crime When Agamemnon wakes; on him it lies To share thy martial toils, to court the peers To act the men: this hour claims all our cares."

"Reserve," rejoins the king, "for future hours Thy generous anger. Seems the royal youth Remiss? 'tis not through indolence of soul, But deference to our power; for our commands He waits, and follows when we lead the way. This night, disdaining rest, his steps he bent To our pavilion: now th' illustrious peers, Rais'd at his call, a chosen synod stand Before the gates: haste, Nestor, haste away."

To whom the sage well pleas'd: "In such brave No Greek will envy power: with loyal joy [hands Subjects obey, when men of worth command."

He added not, but o'er his manly breast Flung a rich robe: beneath his royal feet The glittering sandals shone: a soft, large vest, Florid with purple wool, his aged limbs Graceful adorn'd: tipt with a star of brass A ponderous lance he grasp'd, and strode away To wake sage Ithacus. Aloud his voice

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He rais'd: his voice was heard, and from his tent Instant Ulysses sprung; and, "Why," he cry'd, Why thus abroad in the chill hours of night? What new distress invades ?"-"Forgive my cares, Reply'd the hoary sage; "for Greece I wake, Greece and her dangers bring me to thy tent: But haste, our wakeful peers in council meet 3 This, this one night determines flight or war."

Swift at the word he seiz'd his ample shield, And strode along; and now they bend their way To wake the brave Tydides: him they found Stretch'd on the earth, array'd in shining arms, And round, his brave companions of the war: Their shields sustain'd their heads; erect their spears Shot through th' illumin'd air a streaming ray, Keen as Jove's lightning wing'd athwart the skies. Thus slept the chief: beneath him on the ground A savage bull's black hide was roll'd; his head A splendid carpet bore. The slumbering king The Pylian gently with these words awakes:

"Rise, son of Tydeus! ill, a whole night's rest Suits with the brave! and sleep'st thou, while proud Troy

Hangs o'er our tents, and from yon joining hill Prepares her war? Awake, my friend, awake!"

Sudden the chief awoke, and mildly gave This soft reply: "Oh! cruel to thy age, Thou good old man! ne'er wilt thou, wilt thou cease To burthen age with cares? Has Greece no youths To wake the peers? unweary'd man, to bear At once the double load of tuils, and years!"

""Tis true," he cry'd, “my subjects and my sons Might ease a sire and king: but rest's a crime When on the edge of fate our country stands: Ere yet a few hours more have run their course, Important space! Greece triumphs, or Greece falls! But, since an old man's cares thy pity moves, Haste, generous youth, with speed to council call Meges the brave, and in the race renown'd Oilean Ajax."Strait the chief obey'd, Strait o'er his shoulders flung the shaggy spoils Of a huge tawny lion; with dire grace Down to his feet they hung: fierce in his hand He grasp'd a glittering spear, and join'd the guards. Wakeful in arms they sate, a faithful band, As watchful dogs protect the fleecy train, When the stern lion, furious for his prey, Rushes through crashing woods, and on the fold Springs from some mountain's brow, while mingled Of men and hounds alarm: to every sound [cries Faithful they turn: so through the gloom of night They cast their view, and caught each noise of Troy.

Now met th' illustrious synod; down they sate, Down on a spot of ground unstain'd with blood, Where vengeful Hector from the slaughter stay'd His murderous arm, when the dark veil of night Sabled the pole: to whom thus Nestor spoke:

"Lives there a son of Fame so nobly brave, That Troy-ward dares to trace the dangerous way, To scize some straggling foe? or learn what Troy. Now ineditates? to pour the flood of war Fierce on our fleet, or back within her walls Lead her proud legions? Oh! what fame would crown The hero thus triumphant, prais'd o'er Earth Above the sons of men! And what rewards Should he receive! From every grateful peer A sable ewe, and lamb, of highest worth Memorial; to a brave, heroic heart The noblest prize! and at the social feast Amongst the great, be his the seat of Fame."

Abash'd they sate, and ev'n the brave knew fear. Not so Tydides: unappall'd he rose, And nobly spoke! "My soul! Oh! reverend sage, Fires at the bold design; through yon black host Venturous I bend my way; but if his aid Some warrior lend, my courage might arise To nobler heights: the wise by mutual aid Instruct the wise, and brave men fire the brave.”

Fierce at the word upstarted from the ground The stern Ajaces, fierce bold Merion rose, And Thrasymedes, sons of War: nor sate The royal Spartan, nor great Nestor's heir, Nor greater Ithacus; his manly heart Swell'd at the view of fame.Elate with joy Atrides saw; and, "Oh! thou best of friends, Brave Diomed," he cries, "of all the peers Chuse thou the valiantest: when merit pleads, Tities no deference claim; high birth and state To valour yield, and worth is more than power." Thus, fearing for his brother, spoke the king, Not long for Diomed dispels his fears.

"Since free my choice, can I forget a friend, The man, for wisdom's various arts renown'd; The man, whose dauntless soul no toils dismay, Ulysses, lov'd by Pallas? through his aid, Though thousand fires oppose, a thousand fires Oppose in vain, his wisdom points the way."

"Nor praise, nor blame," the hero strait replies; "You speak to Greeks, and they Ulysses know:


| But haste; swift roll the hours of night, the mera Already hastens to display her beams,

And in the vault of Heaven the stars decay."

Swift at the word they sheathe their manly limbs Horrid in arms: a two-edg'd sword and shield Nestor's bold son to stern Tydides gave; A tough bull's hide his ample helmet form'd, No cone adorn'd it, and no plumy crest Wav'd in the air: a quiver and a bow, And a huge faulchion, great Ulysses bears, The gift of Merion on his head an helm Of leather nodded, firm within, and bound With many a thong; without, in dreadful rows The snowy tusks of a huge savage boar Grinn'd, horrible. Thus arm'd, away they stalk Undaunted: o'er their heads the martial maid Sends on the right an her'n; the ambient gloom Conceals him from the view, but loud in air They hear the clangor of his sounding wings, Joyful the prosperous sign Ulysses hail'd. And thus to Pallas: "Offspring of dread Jove, Who hurls the burning bolts! O guardian power, Present in all my toils, who view'st my way Where'er I move, now thy celestial aid, Now, goddess, lend! may deeds this night adorn, Deeds that all Troy may weep: may we return In safety by thy guidance, heavenly maid!"


Tydides caught the word; and, “Oh!" he cries,
Virgin armipotent, now grant thy aid,

As to my sire. He by the gulphy flood
Of deep sopus left th' embattled bands
Of Greece in arms, and to imperial Thebes
Bore terms of peace; but, as from haughty Thebes
Alone he journey'd, deeds, heroic deeds,
His arm achiev'd, for Tydeus was thy care:
Thus guard his offspring, Oh! stern queen of arms;
So shall an heifer on thy altars bleed,
Young and untam'd; to thee her blood I pour,
And point her lunar horns with burnish'd gold."

Thus pray the chiefs, and Pallas hears their prayera
Then, like two lions through the shades of night,
Dauntless they stride along; and hold their way
Through blood, and mangled limbs, o'er arms and
"Nor pass they far, e'er the sagacious eye [death,
Of Ithacus discerns a distant foe
Coasting from Troy, and thus to Diomed:

"See! o'er the plain some Trojan bends this way, Perhaps to spoil the slain! or to our host Comes he a spy? Beyond us o'er the field 'Tis best he pass, then sudden from behind Rush we precipitant; but if in flight His active feet prevail, thy spear employ To force him on our lines, lest hid in shades, Through the dusk air he re-escape to Troy."

Then conching to the ground, ambush'd they lay Behind a hill of slain, onward the spy Incessant mov'd: he pass'd, and now arose The fierce pursuers. Dolon heard the sound Of trampling feet, and panting, listening stood; Now reach'd the chiefs within a javelin's throw, Stern foes of Dolon! swift along the shores He wing'd his flight, and swift along the shores They still pursued: as when two skilful hounds Chase o'er the lawn the hare or bounding roe, Still from the sheltering brake the game they turn Stretch every nerve, and bear upon the prey!

V. 339,

So ran the chiefs, and from the host of Troy
Turn'd the swift foe: now nigh the fleet they flew,
Now almost mingled with the guards; when lo!
The martial goddess breath'd heroic flames
Fierce on Tydides' soul: the hero fear'd
Lest some bold Greek should interpose a wound,
And ravish half the glories of the night.
Furious he shookhis lance, and, "Stand," he cry'd,
"Stand, or thou dy'st:" then sternly from his arm
Launch'd the wild spear; wilful the javelin err'd,
But whizzing o'er his shoulder, deep in earth
Stood quivering; and he quaking stopp'd aghast;
His teeth all chatter'd, and his slack knees knock'd;
He seem'd the bloodless image of pale Fear.
Panting the spy they seize; who thus with tears
Abject entreats: "Spare me, oh! spare," he cries;
"My hoary sire your mercy shall repay,
Soon as he hears I draw the vital air,

With ample wealth, with steel, with brass, with gold."

To whom Ulysses artfully: "Be bold : Far hence the thought of death! but instant say Why thus alone in the still hours of night While every eye is clos'd? to spoil the slain Com'st thou rapacious? or some nightly spy By Hector sent? or has thy venturous mind Impell'd thee to explore our martial bands ?”

"By Hector sent, and by rewards undone," Returns the spy, (still as he spoke he shook) "I come unwilling: the refulgent car

He promis'd, and immortal steeds that bear
To fight the great Achilles: thus betray'd, .
Through the dun shades of night I bend my way
Unprosperous, to explore the tented host

Of adverse Greece, and learn if now they stand
Wakeful on guard, or, vanquish'd by our arms,
Precipitant desert the shores of Troy."

To whom with smiles of scorn the sage returns:

* Bold were thy aims, O youth! But those proud
Restive, disdain the use of vulgar hands; [steeds,
Scarce ev'n the goddess-born, when the loud din
Of battle roars, subdues them to the rein
Reluctant: But this night where Hector sleeps
Faithful disclose: Where stand the warrior's steeds?
Where lie his arms and implements of war?
What guards are kept nocturnal? Say, what Troy
Now meditates? to pour the tide of fight
Fierce on our fleet, or back within her walls
Transfer the war ?"—"To these demands," he cries,
Faithful my tongue shall speak: The peers of Troy
Hector in council meets: round Ilus' tomb
Apart from noise they stand: no guards surround
The spacious host: where through the gloom yon


Blaze frequent, Trojans wake to guard their Troy;
Secure th' auxiliars sleep, no tender cares
Of wife or son disturb their calm repose,
Safe sleep their wives and sons on foreign shores."
"But say, apart encamp th' auxiliar bands,'
Replies the sage, or join the powers of Troy?"

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Venturous you bend to search the host of Troy,
There in yon outmost lines, a recent aid,
The Thracians lie, by Rhesus led, whose steeds
Outshine the snow, outfly the winged winds.
With glittering silver plates, and radiant gold
His chariot flames; gold forms his dazzling arms,
Arms that may grace a god!but to your tents
Unhappy me convey; or bound with chains,
Fast bound with cruel chains, sad on the shores
Here leave me oaptive, till you safe return,
And witness to the truth my tongue untolds."
To whom stern-frowning Diomed replies:
"Though every syllable be stamp'd with truth,
Dolon, thou dy'st: would'st thou once more return
Darkling a spy, or wage, a nobler foe,
New war on Greece? Traitor, thou dy'st; nor more
New war thou wagest, nor return'st a spy."

He spoke terrific: and as Dolon rais'd
Suppliant his humble hands, the trenchant blade
Sheer through his neck descends; the furious blow
Cleaves the tough nerves in twain; down drops the
And mutters unintelligible sounds.


Strait they despoil the dead: the wolf's grey hide
They seize, the helm, the spear, and battle-bow:
These, as they dropp'd with gore, on high in air
Ulysses rais'd, and to the martial maid
Thus lowly consecrates: "Stern power of war,
Virgin armipotent, receive these arms,
Propitious to my vows, thee, goddess, thee
Chiefly I call: direct our prosperous way
To pierce the Thracian tents, to seize the steeds
Of Rhesus, and the car that flames with gold."

Then fierce o'er broken arms, through streams

of blood

They move along: now reach the Thracian bands
All hush'd in sleep profound; their shining arms,
Rang'd in three ranks along the plain, around
Illumin'd the dun air: chariot and horse

By every Thracian stood: Rhesus their king
Slept in the centre of the circling bands,
And his proud steeds were reiu'd behind his car.
With joy Ulysses through the gloom descry'd
The sleeping king; and, "Lo!" he cries, "the steeds,
Lo! Diomed, the chief of Thrace, this night
Describ'd by Dolon: now, oh! now thy strength
Dauntless exert! loose thou the furious steeds;
Or while the steeds 1 loose, with slaughtering hands
The queen of arms inflam'd Tydides' soul
Invade the soldiery." He spoke, and now
with all her martial fires: his recking blade
On every side dealt fate; low, hollow groans
Murmur'd around, blood o'er the crimson field
Well'd from the slain. As in his nigl.tly haunts
Of sheep, or goat, and rends th' unguarde l prey;
The surly lion rushes on the fold
So he the Thracian bands. Twelve by his sword
Lay breathless on the ground: behind him stood
Sage Ithacus, and, as the warrior slew,
Swift he remov'd the slain, lest the fierce steeds,'
Not yet inur'd to blood, should trembling start,
Impatient of the dead. Now o'er the king

He whirls his wrathful blade, now furious gores
His heaving chest: he wak'd not; but a dream
By Pallas sent, rose in his anxious thoughts;
A visionary warrior frowning stood
Fast by his head, and his aërial sword
Plung'd through his labouring breast. Mean while
the steeds

The sage unbinds, and instant with his bow

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