The Works of the English Poets, from Chaucer to Cowper

Now he laments a look so falsely fair, And almost damns, what yet resembles her; Now he devours it, with his longing eyes; Now sated, from the lovely phantom flies, Yet burns to look again, yet looks again, and dies. Her ivory neck his lips presume to kiss, And his bold hands the swelling bosom press; The swain drinks in deep draughts of vain desire, Melts without heat, and burns in fancy'd fire. Strange power of paint! thou nice creator art! What love inspires, may life itself impart. Struck with like wounds, of old, Pygmalion pray'd, And hugg'd to life his artificial maid; Clasp, new Pygmalion, clasp the seeming charms, Perhaps ev'n now th' enlivening image warms, Destin'd to crown thy joys, and revel in thy arms: Thy arins, which shall with fire so fierce invade, That she at once shall be, and cease to be a maid.

PART OF THE

FOURTH BOOK OF LUCAN. Casar, having resolved to give battle to Petreius and Afranius, Pompey's lieutenants in Spain, encamped near the enemy in the same field. The behaviour of their soldiers, at their seeing and knowing one another, is the subject of the following verses. THEIR ancient friends, as now they nearer drew, Prepar'd for fight the wondering soldiers knew; Brother with brother, in unnatural strife, And the son arm'd against the father's life: Curst civil war! then conscience first was felt, And the tough veteran's heart began to melt. Fix'd in dumb sorrow all at once they stand, Then wave, a pledge of peace, the guiltless hand; To vent ten thousand struggling passions move, The stings of nature, and the pangs of love. All order broken, wide their arms they throw, And run, with transport, to the longing foe: Here the long-lost acquaintance neighbours claim, There an old friend recalls his comrade's name, Youths, who in arts beneath one tutor grew, Rone rent in twain, and kindred hosts they view. Tears wet their impious arms, a fond relief, And kisses, broke by sobs, the words of grief; Though yet no blood was spilt, each anxious mind With horrour thinks on what his rage design'd.

Ah generous youths, why thus, with fruitless pain,
Beat ye those breasts? why gush those eyes in vain?
Why blame ye Heaven,and charge your guilt on Fate?
Why dread the tyrant, whom yourselves make great?
Buls he the trumpet sound? the trumpet slight.
Bids he the standards move? refuse the fight.
Your generals, left by you, will love again
A son and father, when they 're private men.
Kind Concord, heavenly born! whose blissful reign
Holds this vast globe in one surrounding chain,
Whose laws the jarring elements control,
And knit each atom close from pole to pole;
Soul of the world! and love's eternal spring!
This lucky hour, thy aid fair goddess bring!
This lucky hour, ere aggravated crimes
Heap guilt on guilt, and doubly stain the times.
No veil henceforth for sin, for pardon none;
They know their duty, now their friends are known.
Vain wish! from blood short must the respite be,
New crimes, by love inhanc'd, this night shall see :
Such is the will of Fate, and such the hard decree.

'Twas peace. From either camp, now void of fear The soldiers mingling chearful feasts prepare: On the green sod the friendly bowls were crown'd, And hasty banquets pil'd upon the ground: Around the fire they talk; one shows his scars, One tells what chance first led him to the wars I Their stories o'er the tedious night prevail, And the mute circle listens to the tale; They own they fought, but swear they ne'er could Deny their guilt, and lay the blame on Fate; Their love revives, to make them guiltier grow, A short-liv'd blessing, but to heighten woe.

[hate,

When to Petreius first the news was told, The jealous general thought his legions sold. Swift with the guards, his head-strong fury drew, From out his camp he drives the hostile crew; Cuts clasping friends asunder with his sword, And stains with blood each hospitable board.

Then thus his wrath breaks out, "O! lost to fame! Oh! false to Pompey, and the Roman name! Can ye not conquer, ye degenerate bands? Oh! die at least; 'tis all that Rome demands. What! will ye own, while ye can wield the sword, A rebel standard, and usurping lord? Shall he be sued to take you into place Amongst his slaves, and grant you equal grace? What? shall my life be begg'd? inglorious thought! And life abhorr'd, on such conditions bought! The toils we bear, my friends, are not for life, Too mean a prize in such a dreadful strife; But peace would lead to servitude and shame, A fair amusement, and a specious name. Never had man explor'd the iron ore, Mark d out the trench, or rais'd the lofty tower, Ne'er had the steed in harness sought the plain, Or fleets encounter'd on th' unstable main; Were life, were breath, with fame to be compar'd Or peace to glorious liberty preferr`d. By guilty oaths the hostile army bound, Holds fast its impious faith, and stands its ground; Are you perfidious, who espouse the laws, And traitors only in a righteous cause? Oh shame! in vain through nations fir and wide, Thou call'st the crowding monarchs to thy side, Fall'n Pompey! while thy legions here betray Thy cheap-bought life, and treat thy fame away." He ended fierce. The soldier's rage returns, His blood flies upward, and his bosom burns.

So, haply tam d, the tiger bears his bands, Less grimly growls, and licks his keeper's hands; But if by chance he tastes forbidden gore, He yells amain, and makes his dungeon roar. He glares, he foams, he aims a desperate bound, And his pale master flies the dangerous ground.

faright

Now deeds are done, which man might charge On stubborn Fate, or undiscerning Night, Had not their guilt the lawless soldiers known, And made the whole malignity their own. The beds, the plenteous tables, float with gore, And breasts are stabb'd, that were embrac'd before: Pity awhile their hands from slaughter kept; Inward they groan'd, and, as they drew, they wept: But every blow their wavering rage a 'sures, In murder hardens, and to blood inures. [descry, Crowds charge on crowds, nor friends their friends But sires by sons, and sons by fathers die. Black, monstrous rage! each, with victorious cries, Drags his slain frien i before the gencral's eyes, Fxults in guilt, that throws the only shame On Pompey's cause, and blots the Roman name.

THE FIRST BOOK OF

HOMER'S ILIAD.

THE DEDICATION.

WHEN I first entered upon this translation, I was ambitious of dedicating it to the earl of Halifax; but being prevented from doing myself that honour, by the unspeakable loss which our country hath sustained in the death of that extraordinary person, I hope I shall not be blamed for presuming to make a dedication of it to his memory. The greatness of his name will justify a practice altogether uncommon, and may gain favour towards a work, which (if it had deserved his patronage) is perhaps the only one inscribed to his lordship, that will escape being rewarded by him.

I might have one advantage from such a dedication, that nothing, I could say in it, would be suspected of flattery. Besides that the world would take a pleasure in hearing those things said of this great man, now he is dead, which he himself would

have been offended at when living. But though I am sensible, so amiable and exalted a character would be very acceptable to the public, were I able to draw it in its full extent; I should be censured very deservedly, should I venture upon an undertaking, to which I am by no means equal.

ship's character, will know more justly how to account for it.

The cause of liberty will receive no small advantage in future times, when it shall be observed that the earl of Halifax was one of the patriots who were at the head of it; and that most of those, who were eminent in the several parts of polite or useful learning, were by his influence and example engaged in the same interest.

I hope therefore the public will excuse my ambition for thus intruding into the number of those applauded men, who have paid him this kind of homage: especially since I am also prompted to it by gratitude, for the protection with which he had begun to honour me; and do it at a time, when he cannot suffer by the importunity of my acknowledg

ments.

TO THE READER.

I MUST inform the reader, that when I began this first book, I had some thoughts of translating the whole Iliad: but had the pleasure of being diverted from that design, by finding the work was fallen into a much abler hand. I would not therefore be thought to have any other view in publishing this small specimen of ilomer's Iliad, than to bespeak, if busi-possible, the favour of the public to a translation of Homer's Odysseis, wherein I have already made some progress.

His consummate knowledge in all kinds of ness, his winning eloquence in public assemblies, his active zeal for the good of his country, and the share he had in conveying the supreme power to an illustrious family famous for being friends to mankind, are subjects easy to be enlarged upon, but incapable of being exhausted. The nature of the following performance more directly leads me to Jament the misfortune, which hath befallen the learned world, by the death of so generous and universal a patron.

THE FIRST BOOK OF THE ILIAD.
ACHILLES' fatal wrath, whence discord rose,
That brought the sons of Greece unnumber'd woes,
O goddess, sing. Full many a hero's ghost
Was driven untimely to th' infernal coat,
While in promiscuous heaps their bodies lay,
A feast for dogs, and every bird of prey.
So did the sire of gods and men fritil
His stedfast purpose, and almighty will;
What time the haughty chiefs their jars begun,
Atrides, king of men, and Pelens' godlike son.

What god in strife the princes did engage?
Apollo burning with vindictive rage
Arainst the scornful king, whose impious pride
His priest dishonour'd, and his power defy'd.
Hence swift contagion, by the god's commands,

He rested not in a barren admiration of the polite arts, wherein he himself was so great a master; but was acted by that humanity they naturally inspire which gave rise to many excellent writers, who have cast a light upon the age in which he lived, and will distinguish it to posterity. It is well known, that very few celebrated pieces have been published for several years, but what were either promoted by his encouragement, or supported by his approbation, or recompensed by his bounty. For, wealth immense the holy Chryses bore, And if the succession of men, who excel in most of (His daughter's ransom) to the tented shore: the refined arts, should not continue; though some His sceptre stretching forth, the golden rod, Hung round with hallow'd garlands of his god, may impute it to a decay of genius in our country-Of all the host, of every princely chief, men; those, who are unacquainted with his lord- But first of Atreus' son he begg'd relief:

Swept thro' the camp, and thinn'd the Grecian bands.

"Great Atreus' sons and warlike Greeks attend.
So may th' immortal gods your cause befriend,
So may you Priam's lofty bulwarks burn,
And rich in gather'd spoils to Greece return,
As for these gifts my daughter you bestow,
And reverence due to great Apollo show,
Jove's favourite offspring, terrible in war,
Who sends his shafts unerring from afar.'

Thoughout the host consenting murmurs rise,
The priest to reverence, and give back the prize;
When the great king, incens'd, his silence broke
In words reproachful, and thus sternly spoke :
Hence, dotard, from my sight. Nor ever more
Approach, I warn thee, this forbidden shore ;
Lest thou stretch forth, my fury to restrain,
The wreaths and sceptre of thy god, in vain.
The captive maid I never will resign,
Till age o'ertakes her, I have vow'd her mine.
To distant Argos shall the fair be led :
She shall; to ply the loom, and grace my bed.
Begone, ere evil intercept thy way.
Hence on thy life: nor urge me by thy stay."
He ended frowning. Speechless and dismay'd,
The aged sire his stern cominand obey'd.
Silent he pass'd, amid the deafening roar
Of tumbling billows, on the lonely shore;

Far from the camp he pass'd: then suppliant stood;
And thus the hoary priest invok'd his god:

"Dread warrior with the silver bow, give car.
Patron of Chrysa and of Cilla, hear.
To thee the guard of Tenedos belongs;
Propitious Smintheus! Oh! redress my wrongs.
If e'er within thy fane, with wreaths adorn'd,
The fat of bulls and well-fed goats I burn'd,
O! hear my prayer. Let Greece thy fury know,
And with thy shafts avenge thy servant's woe."

Apollo heard his injur'd suppliant's cry.
Down rush'd the vengeful warrior from the sky;
Across his breast the glittering bow he slung,
And at his back the well-stor'd quiver hung:
(His arrows rattled, as he urg'd his flight.)
In clouds he flew, conceal d from mortal sight;
Then took his stand, the well-aim'd shaft to throw :
Fierce sprung the string, and twang'd the silver bow.
The dogs and mules his first keen arrow slew;
Amid the ranks the next more fatal flew,
A deathful dart. The funeral piles around
For over blaz'd on the devoted ground.

Nine days entire he vex'd th' embattled host,
The tenth, Achilles through the winding coast
Sammon'd a council, by the queen's command
Who wields Heaven's sceptre in her snowy hand:
She mourn'd her favourite Greeks, who now enclose
The hero, swiftly speaking as he rose:

"What now, O Atreus' son, remains in view,
But o'er the deep our wanderings to renew,
Doom'd to destruction, while our wasted powers
The sword and pestilence at once devours?
Why haste we not some prophet's skill to prove,
Or seek by dreams? (for dreams descend from Jove.)
What moves Apollo's rage let him explain,
What vow withheld, what hecatomb unslain :
And if the blood of lambs and goats can pay
The price for guilt, and turn this curse away?”
Thus he. And next the reverend Cal has rose,
Their guide to Ilion whom the Grecians chose;
The prince of augurs, whose enlighten'd eye
Could things past, present, and to come, descry :

Such wisdom Phoebus gave. He thus began,
His speech addressing to the godlike man:

"Me then command'st thou, lov'd of Jove, to show
What moves the god that bends the dreadful bow?
First plight thy faith thy ready help to lend,
By words to aid me, or by arms defend.
For I foresee his rage, whose ample sway
The Argian powers and sceptred chiefs obey.
The wrath of kings what subject can oppose?
Deep in their breasts the smother'd vengeance glows,
Still watchful to distroy. Swear, valiant youth,
Swear, wilt thou guard me, if I speak the truth?"
To this Achilles swift replies: "Be bold.
Disclose, what Phoebus tells thee, uncontrol'd.
By him, who, listening to thy powerful prayer,
Reveals the secret, I devoutly swear,

That, while these eyes behold the light, no hand
Shall dare to wrong thee on this crowded strand.
Not Atreus' son: though now himself he boast
The king of men, and sovereign of the host."

Then boldly he. "Nor does the god complain
Of yows withheld, or hecatombs unslain.
Chryseis to her awful sire refus'd,

The gifts rejected, and the priest abus'd,
Call down these judgments, and for more they call,
Just ready on th' exhausted camp to fall;
Till ransom-free the damsel is bestow`d,
And hecatombs are sent to sooth the god,
To Chrysa sent. Perhaps Apollo's rage
The gifts may expiate, and the priest assuage."
He spoke and sat. When, with an angry frown,
The chief of kings upstarted from his throne.
Disdain and vengeance in his bosom rise,
Lour in his brows, and sparkle in his eyes:
Full at the priest their fiery orbs he bent,
And all at once his fury found a vent.

Augur of ills, (for never good to me
Did that most inauspicious voice decree)
For ever ready to denounce my woes,
When Greece is punish'd, I am still the cause;
And now when Phoebus spreads his plagues abroad,
And wastes our camp, 'tis I provoke the god,
Because my blooming captive I detain,
And the large ransom is produc'd in vain.
Fond of the maid, my queen, in beauty's pride,
Ne'er charm'd me more, a virgin and a bride;
Not Clytemnestra boasts a nobler race,

A sweeter temper, or a lovelier face,

In works of female skill hath more command,
Or guides the needle with a nicer hand.
Yet she shall go. The fair our peace shall buy:
Better I suffer, than my people die.
But mark me well. See instantly prepar'd
A full equivalent, a new reward.

Nor is it meet, while each enjoys his share,
Your chief should lose his portion of the war:
In vain your chief; whilst the dear prize, I boast,
Is wrested from me, and for ever lost,"

To whom the swift pursuer quick reply'd:
"Oh sunk in avarice, and swoln with pride!
How shall the Greeks, though large of soul they be,
Collect their sever'd -poils, a he ip for thee
To search anew, and cull the choicest share
Amid the mighty harvest of the war?
Then vield thy captive to the god resign'd,
Assurd a tenfold recompense to fin 1,

When Jove's decree shall throw proud Ilion dowa.
And give to plunder the devoted town."

"Think not," Atrides answer'd, "though thou
Graceful in beauty, like the powers divine, [shine,
Think not, thy wiles, in specious words convey'd,
From its firm purpose shall my sou! dissuade.
Must I alone bereft sit down with shame,
And thou insulting keep thy captive dame?
If, as I ask, the large-soul'd Greeks consent
Full recompense to give, I stand content.
If not a prize I shall myself decree,
From him, or him, or else perhaps from thee.
While the proud prince, despoil'd, shall rage in vain.
But break we here. The rest let time explain.
Launch now a well trim'd galley from the shore,
With hands experienc'd at the bending oar:
Enclose the hecatomb; and then with care
To the high deck convey the captive fair.
The sacred bark let sage Ulysses guide,
Or Ajax, or Idomeneus, preside:

Or thou, O mighty man, the chief shalt be.
And who more fit to soothe the god than thee?'

"Shameless, and poor of soul," the prince replies,
And on the monarch casts his scornful eyes,
"What Greek henceforth will march at thy com-
In search of danger on the doubtful strand? [mand
Who in the face of day provoke the fight,
Or tempt the secret ambush of the night?
Not I, be sure. Henceforward I am free.
For ne'er was Priam's house a foe to me.
Far from their inroads, in my pastures feed
The lowing heifer, and the pamper'd steed,
On Phthia's hills our fruits securely grow,
And ripen cardless of the distant foe,
Between whose realmas and our Thessalian shore
Unnumber'd mountains rise, and billows roar.
For thine, and for thy bailled brother's fame,
Across those seas, disdainful man, I came;
Yet, insolent! by arbitrary sway
Thou talk'st of seizing on my rightful prey,
The prize whose purchase toils and dangers cost,
And given by suffrage of the Grecian host.
What town, when sack'd by our victorious bands,
But still brought wait to those rapacious hands?
To me, thus scorn'd, contented dost thou yield
My share of blood in the tumultuous field;
But still the flower of all the spoil is thine;
There claim'st thou most. Nor e'er did I repine.
Whate er was giv'n I took, and thought it best,
With slaughter tir'd, and panting after rest.
To Phthia now, for I shall fight no more,
My ships their crooked prows shall turn from shore.
When I am scorn'd, I think I well foresee
What spoils and pillage will be won by thee.'

"Hence!" cry'd the monarch, "hence! without
delay,"

Think not, vain man! my voice shall urge thy stay.
Others thou leav'st, to the great cause incln'd,
A league of kings thou leav'st, and Jove behind.
Of all the chiefs dost thou oppose me most:
Outrage and uproar are thy only boast.
Discord and jars thy joy. But learn to know,
If thou art strong, 'tis Jove hath made thee so.
Go, at thy pleasure. Nore will stop thy way.
Go, bid thy base born Myrmidons obey.
Thou, nor thy rage, shall my resolves subdue;
I fix my purpose, and my threats renew.
Since 'tis decreed I must the maid restore,
A ship shall waft her to th' offended power;
But fair Briseis, thy allotted prize,
Myself will seize, and seize before thy eyes:

That thou and each audacious man may see,
How vain the rash attempt to cope with me."
Stung to the soul, tumultuous thoughts began
This way and that to rend the godlike man.
To force a passage with his falchion drawn,
And hurl th' imperial boaster from his throne,
He now resolves: and now resolves again
To quell his fury, and his arm restrain.
While thus by turns his rage and reason sway'd,
And half unsheath'd he held the glittering blade;
That moment, Juno, whose impartial eye
Watch'd o'er them both, sent Pallas from the sky:
She flew, and caught his yellow hair behind,
(To him alone the radiant goddess shin'd.)
Sudden he turn'd, and started with surprize;
Rage and revenge flash'd dreadful in his eyes.

Then thus with hasty words: "O! heavenly-born, Com'st thou to see proud Agamemnon's scorn? But thou shalt see (my sword shall make it good) This glutted sand smoke with the tyrant s blood.”

"To sooth thy soul" the blue-ey'd maid replies, (If thou obey my voice) I left the skies. [mand! Heaven's queen, who favours both, gave this comSuppress thy wrath, and stay thy vengeful hand. Be all thy rage in tauntful words exprest; But guiltless let the thirsty falchion rest. Mark what I speak. An hour is on its way, When gifts tenfold for this affront shall pay. Suppress thy wrath; and Heaven and me obey. Then he : Iyield; though with reluctant mind. Who yields to Heaven shall Heaven propitious find.” The silver hilt close-grasping, at the word, Deep in the sheath he plung'd his mighty sword. The god less, turning, darted from his sight, And reach'd Olympus in a moment's flight.

But fierce Achilles, in a thundering tone, Throws out his wrath, and goes impetuous on:

Valiant with wine, and furious from the bowl! Thou fierce-look'd talker with a coward soul! War's glorious peril ever slow to share: Aloof thou view'st the field; for Death is there, Tis greater far this peaceful camp to sway, And peel the Greeks, at will, who disobey: A tyrant lord o'er slaves to earth debas'd; For, had they souls, tais outrage were thy last. But, thon, my fix'd, my final purpose hear. by this dread sceptre solendy I swear: By this (which, once from out the forest torn, No leaf nor shade shall ever more adorn; Which never more its verlure must renew, Lopu'd from the vital stem, whence first it grew: But given by Jove the sons of men to awe, Now sways the nations, and confirms the law) A day shall come, when for this hour's disdain The Greeks shall wish for me, and wish in vain; Nor thou, though griev'd, the wanted aid afford, When heaps on heaps shall fall by Hector's sword: Too late with anguish shall thy heart be torn, That the first Greek was made the public scorn." He said. And, mounting with a furious bound, He dash'd his studded sceptre on the ground; Then sat. Atrides, eager to reply,

On the fierce champion glanc'd a vengeful eye.

'Twas then, the madding monarchs to compose The Pylian prince, the smooth-speech'd Nestor rose. His tongue dropp'd honey. Full of days was he; Two ages past, he liv'd the third to see: And, his first race of subjects long decay'd, O'er their sons' sons a peaceful sceptre sway'd.

"Alas for Greece!" he cries, "and with what joy | Obsequious at his call two heralds stand:

Shall Priam hear, and every son of Troy!

you,

That the first in wisdom as in wars, Waste your great souls in poor ignoble jars! Go to you both are young. Yet oft rever'd Greater than you have the wise Nestor heard. Their equals never shall these eyes behold: Caneus the just, Pirithous the bold, Exadius, Dryas, born to high command, Shepherds of men, and rulers of the land, Theseus unrival`d in his sire's abodes, And mighty Polypheme, a match for gods. They, greatest names that ancient story knows, In mortal conflict met as dreadful foes: Fearless thro' rocks and wilds their prey pursued, And the huge double Centaur race subdued. With them my early youth was pleas'd to roam Through regions, far from my sweet native home; They call'd me to the wars. No living hand Could match their valour, or their strength withstand; Yet wont they oft my sage advice to hear. Then listen both, with an attentive ear. Seize not thou, king of men, the beauteous slave, Th' allotted prize the Grecian voices gave. Nor thou, Pelides, in a threatening tone Urge him to wrath, who fills that sacred throue, The king of forty kings, and honour'd more By mighty Jove, than e'er was king before. Brave though thou art, and of a race divine, Thou must obey a power more great than thine. And thou, O king, forbear. Myself will sue Great Thetis' son his vengeance to subdue : Great Thetis' valiant son, our country's boast, The shield and bulwark of the Grecian host."

"Wise are thy words, O sire," the king began, "But what can satiate this aspiring man? Unbounded power he claims o'er human-kind, And hopes for slaves, I trust he ne'er shall find. Shall we, because the gods have form'd him strong, Bear the lewd language of his lawless tongue!"

"If aw'd by thee, the Greeks might well despise My name," the prince, precipitate, replies, "In vain thou nodd'st from thy imperial throne. Thy vassals seek elsewhere: for I am none. But break we here. The fair, though justly mine, With sword undrawn I purpose to resign. On aught beside, I once for all command, Lay not, I charge thee, thy presumptuous hand. Come not within my reach, nor dare advance, Or thy heart's blood shall reek upon my lance." Thus both in foul debate prolong'd the day. The council broke, each takes his separate way. Achilles seeks his tent with restless mind; Patroclus and his train move slow behind. Mean time, a bark was haul'd along the san 1, Twice ten selected Greeks, a brawny band, Tug the tough oars, at the great king's command. The gifts, the hecatomb, the captive fair, Are all intrusted to Ulysses' care.

They mount the deck. The vessel takes its flight, Bounds o'er the surge, aud lessens to the sight.

Next he ordains along the winding coast

By hallow'd rites to purify the host.

A herd of chosen victims they provide,
And cast their offals on the briny tide.
Fat bulls and goats to great Apollo die.
In clouds the savory steam ascends the sky.

The Greeks to Heaven their solemn vows addrest; But dire revenge roll'd in the monarch's breast.

To them in frowns he gives this harsh command.
"Ye heralds, to achilles' tent repair;
Thence swift the female slave Briseis bear.
With arms, if disobey 'd, myself will come.
Bid him resign her, or he tempts his doom."
The heralds, though unwillingly, obey.
Along the sea-beat shore they speed their way:
And, now the Myrmidonian quarter past,
At his tent-door they find the hero plac'd.
Disturb'd the solemn messengers he saw :
They too stood silent, with respectful awe,
Before the royal youth, they neither spoke.
He guess'd their message, and the silence broke:
"Ye ministers of gods and men, draw near,
Not you, but him whose heralds ye appear,
Robb'd of my right I blame. Patroclus, bring
The damsel forth for this disdainful king.
But ye, my wrongs, O heralds, bear in mind,
And clear me to the gods and all mankind,
Ev'n to your thoughtless king; if ever more
My aid be wanted on the hostile shore.
Thoughtless he is, nor knows his certain doom,
Blind to the past, nor sees the woes to come,
His best defence thus rashly to forego,
And leave a naked army to the foe."

He ceas'd. Patroclus his dear friend obey'd,
And usher'd in the lovely weeping maid.
Sore sigh'd she, as the heralds took her hand,
And oft look'd back slow-moving o'er the strand.
The widow'd hero, when the fair was gone,
Far from his friends sat bath'd in tears alone.
On the cold beach he sat, and fix'd his eyes
Where black with storms the curling billows rise,
And as the sea wide-rolling he survey'd,

With out-stretch'd arins to his fond inother pray'd:
Since to short life thy hapless son was born,
Great Jove stands bound by promise to adorn
His stinted course, with an immortal name.
Is this the great amends? the promis'd fame?
The son of Atreus, proud of lawless sway,
Demands, possesses, and enjoys my prey."

Near her old sire enthron'd, she heard him weep
From the low silent caverns of the deep :
Then in a morning mist her head she rears,
Sits by her son, and mingles tears with tears;
Close grasps her darling's hand. "My son," she
[eyes?
Why heaves thy heart? and why o'erflow thy
Oh tell ine, tell thy mother all thy care,
That both may know it, and that both may share.”

cries,

"Oh! goddess!" cry'd he, with an inward groan, Thou know'st it all: to thee are all things known. Fetian Thebes we sack'd, their ransack'd towers, The plunder of a people, all was ours. We stood agreed the booty to divide. Chrysers rosy-check'd, and glossy-ey'd, Fell to the king; but holy Chryses bore Vast gifts of ransom, to the tented shore: His sceptre stretching forth (the golden rod Hung round with hallow'd garlands of his god)' Of all the host, of every princely chief, But first of Atreus' sous, he begg'd relief. Throughout the host consenting murmurs ran, To yield her to the venerable man; But the harsh king deny'd to do him right, And drove the trembling prophet from his sight. Apollo heard his injar'd suppliant's cry, And dealt his arrows through th' infected sky;

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Llibres

The Works of the English Poets, from Chaucer to Cowper, Volum 11