He dropp'd the reins; and shook with sacred dread.
Thus, turning, warn'd the intrepid Diomed:
O chief! too daring in thy friend's defence
Retire advised, and urge the chariot hence.
This day, averse, the sovereign of the skies
Assists great Hector, and our palm denies.
Some other sun may see the happier hour,
When Greece shall conquer by his heavenly power.
'Tis not in man his fix'd decree to move:
The great will glory to submit to Jove.

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170 With close-ranged chariots, and with thicken'd shields
Where the deep trench in length extended lay,
Compacted troops stand wedged in firm array,
A dreadful front! they shake the brands, and threat
With long-destroying flames the hostile fleet.
The king of men, by Juno's self inspired,
Toil'd through the tents, and all his army fired.
Swift as he moved, he lifted in his hand
His purple robe, bright ensign of command.
High on the midmost bark the king appear'd;
There from Ulysses' deck his voice was heard:
To Ajax and Achilles reach'd the sound,
Whose distant ships the guarded navy bound.
Oh, Argives! shanie of human race! he cried
(The hollow vessels to his voice replied),

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185 Where now are all your glorious boasts of yore,
Your hasty triumphis on the Lemnian shore?
Each fearless hero dares a hundred foes,
While the feast lasts, and while the goblet flows;
But who to meet one martial man is found,
190 When the fight rages, and the flames surround?
O mighty Jove! oh sire of the distress'd!
Was ever king like me, like me oppress'd?
With power immense, with justice arm'd in vain;
My glory ravish'd, and my people slain!

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195 To thee my vows were breathed from every shore;
What altar smoked not with our victims' gore?
With fat of bulls I fed the constant flame,
And ask'd destruction to the Trojan name.
Now, gracious God! far humbler our demand;
Give these at least t' escape from Hector's hand,
And save the relics of the Grecian land!

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Thus pray'd the king; and heaven's great fatler heard
His vows, in bitterness of soul preferr'd;
The wrath appeased, by happy signs declares,
And gives the people to their monarch's prayers
His eagle, sacred bird of heaven! he sent,
A fawn his talons truss'd (divine portent!):
High o'er the wondering hosts he soar'd above,
Who paid their vows to Panomphæan Jove;
210 Then let the prey before his altar fall:

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O reverend prince! (Tydides thus replies)
Thy years are awful, and thy words are wise.
But ah, what grief! should haughty Hector boast,
I fled inglorious to the guarded coast.
Before that dire disgrace shall blast my fame,
O'erwhelm me, earth; and hide a warrior's shame.
To whom Gerenian Nestor thus replied:
Gods! can thy courage fear the Phrygian's pride?
Hector may vaunt, but who shall heed the boast?
Not those who felt thy arm, the Dardan host,
Nor Troy, yet bleeding in her heroes lost;
Not e'en a Phrygian dame, who dreads the sword
That laid in dust her loved lamented lord.
He said, and hasty o'er the gasping throng
Drives the swift steeds; the chariot smokes along.
The shouts of Trojans thicken in the wind,
The storm of hissing javelins pours behind.
Then, with a voice that shakes the solid skies,
Pleased Hector braves the warrior as he flies:
Go, mighty hero, graced above the rest
In seats of council and the sumptuous feast!
Now hope no more those honours from thy train;
Go, less than woman, in the form of man!
To scale our walls, to wrap our towers in flames,
To lead in exile the fair Phrygian dames,
Thy once prond hopes, presumptuous prince! are fled;
This arin shall reach thy heart, and stretch thee dead.
Now fears dissuade him, and now hopes invite,
To stop his coursers, and to stand the fight;
Thrice turn'd the chief, and thrice imperial Juve
On Ida's sunimits thunder'd from above:
Great Hector heard; he saw the flashing light,
(The sign of conquest) and thus urged the fight
Hear, every Trojan, Lycian, Dardan band,
All famed in war, and dreadful hand to hand.
Be mindful of the wreaths your arms have won,
Your great forefathers' glories and your own.
Heard ye the voice of Jove? Success and fame
Await on Troy, on Greece eternal shame,
In vain they skulk behind their boasted wall,
Weak bulwarks! destined by this arm to fall.
High o'er their slighted trench our steeds shall bound,
And pass victorious o'er the level'd mound.
doon as before yon hollow ships we stand,
Fight each with flames, and toss the blazing brand;
Till their proud navy wrapp'd in smoke and fires,
All Greece, encompass'd, in one blaze expires.

Furious he said; then, bending o'er the yoke,
Encouraged his proud steeds, while thus he spoke:
Now, Xanthus, Ethon, Lampus! urge the chase,
And thou, Podargus! prove thy generous race:
Be fleet, be fearless, this important day,
And all your master's well-spent care repay.
For this, high-fed in plenteous stalls ye stand,
Served with pure wheat, and by a princess' hand;
For this my spouse, of great Aëtion's line,
So oft has steep'd the strengthening grain in wine.
Now swift pursue, now thunder uncontroll'd;
Give me to seize rich Nestor's shield of gold,
From Tydeus' shoulders strip the costly load,
Vulcanian arms, the labour of a god :
These if we gain, then victory, ye powers!
This night, this glorious night, the fleet is ours.
That heard, deep anguish stung Saturnia's soul;
She shook her throne that shook the starry pole:
And thus to Neptune: Thou whose force can make
The steadfast earth from her foundations shake,
Seest thou the Greeks by fates unjust oppress'd,
Nor swells thy heart in that immortal breast?
Yet Aga, Helicé, thy power obey,
And gifts unceasing on thine altars lay.
Would all the deities of Greece combine,
In vain the gloomy Thunderer might repine:
Sole should he sit, with scarce a god to friend,
And see his Trojans to the shades descend:
Such be the scene from his Idæan bower;
Ungrateful prospect to the sullen power!

Neptune with wrath rejects the rash design:
What rage, what madness, furious queen, is thine?
I war not with the Highest. All above
Submit and tremble at the hand of Jove.

The Greeks beheld, and transport seized on all:
Encouraged by the sign, the troops revive,
And fierce on Troy with double fury drive.
Tydides first, of all the Grecian force,

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215 O'er the broad ditch impell'd his foaming horse,
Pierced the deep ranks, their strongest battle tore,
And dyed his javelin red with Trojan gore.
Young Agelaüs (Phradmon was his sire)
With flying coursers shunn'd his dreadful ire:
Struck through the back, the Phrygian fell oppress'd;
The dart drove on, and issued at his breast:
Headlong he quits the car; his arms resound:
His ponderous buckler thunders on the ground.
Forth rush a tide of Greeks, the passage freed;
225 The Atridæ first, the Ajaces next succeed:
Meriones, like Mars in arms renown'd,
And godlike Idomen, now pass'd the mound:
Evæmon's son next issues to the foe,
And last, young Teucer with his bended bow.
230 Secure behind the Telamonian shield

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The skilful archer wide survey'd the field,
With every shaft some hostile victim slew,
Then close beneath the sevenfold orb withdrew:
The conscious infant so, when fear alarms,
Retires for safety to the mother's arms.
Thus Ajax guards his brother in the field,
Moves as he moves, and turns the shining shield.
Who first by Teucer's mortal arrows bled?
Orsilochus; then fell Ormenus dead:
The godlike Lycophon next press'd the plain,
With Chromius, Dæter, Ophelestes slain:
Bold Hamopaön breathless sunk to ground;
The bloody pile great Melanippus crown'd.
Heaps fell on heaps, sad trophies of his art;
245 A Trojan ghost attended every dart.

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Great Agamemnon views with joyful eye
The ranks grow thinner as his arrows fly:
Oh youth for ever dear! (the monarch cried)
Thus, always thus, thy early worth be tried;
250 Thy brave example shall retrieve our host,

Thy country's saviour, and thy father's boast!
Sprung from an alien's bed thy sire to grace,
The vigorous offspring of a stolen embrace.
Proud of his boy, he own'd the generous flame,
255 And the brave son repays his cares with fame.
Now hear a monarch's vow: If heaven's high powers
Give me to raze Troy's long defended towers;

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Whatever treasures Greece for me design,
The next rich honorary gift be thine:
Some golden tripod, or distinguish'd car,
With coursers dreadful in the ranks of war;
Or some fair captive whom thy eyes approve,
Shall recompense the warrior's toils with love.
To this the chief: With praise the rest inspire,
Nor urge a soul already fill'd with fire.
What strength 1 have, be now in battle tried,
Till every shaft in Phrygian blood be dyed.
Since rallying from our wall we forced the foe,
Still aim'd at Hector have I bent my bow:
Eight forky arrows from this hand have fled,
And eight bold heroes by their points lie dead:
But sure some god denies me to destroy
This fury of the field, this dog of Troy.

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At Thetis' suit the partial Thunderer nods.
To grace her gloomy, fierce, resenting son,

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360 My hopes are frustrate, and my Greeks undone.
Some future day, perhaps, he may be moved
To call his blue-eyed maid his best-beloved.
Haste, launch thy chariot, through yon ranks to ride;
Myself will arm, and thunder at thy side.
Then, goddess! say, shall Hector glory then
(That terror of the Greeks, that man of men),
When Juno's self, and Pallas shall appear,
All dreadful in the crimson walks of war!
What mighty Trojan then, on yonder shore,
370 Expiring, pale, and terrible no more,
Shall feast the fowls, and glut the dogs with gore?
She ceased, and Juno rein'd the steeds with care
(Heaven's awful empress, Saturn's other heir).
Pallas, meanwhile, her various veil unbound,

He said, and twang'd the string. The weapon flies
At Hector's breast, and sings along the skies:
He miss'd the mark; but pierced Gorgythio's heart,
And drench'd in royal blood the thirsty dart.
(Fair Castianira, nymph of form divine,
This offspring added to king Priam's line.)
As full-blown poppies, overcharged with rain,
Decline the head, and drooping kiss the plain;
So sinks the youth: his beauteous head, depress'd
Beneath his helmet, drops upon his breast.
Another shaft the raging archer drew:
That other shaft with erring fury flew
(From Hector Phoebus turn'd the flying wound),
Yet fell not dry or guiltless to the ground:
Thy breast, brave Archeptolemus; it tore,
And dipp'd its feathers in no vulgar gore.
Headlong he falls: his sudden fall alarms
The steeds, that startle at his sounding arms.
Hector with grief his charioteer beheld,
All pale and breathless on the sanguine field.
Then bids Cebriones direct the rein,
Quits his bright car, and issues on the plain.
Dreadful he shouts: from earth a stone he took,
And rush'd on Teucer with the lifted rock.
The youth already strain'd the forceful yew;
The shaft already to his shoulder drew;
The feather in his hand, just wing'd for flight,
Touch'd where the neck and hollow chest unite;
There, where the juncture knits the channel bone,
The furious chief discharged the craggy stone;
The bow-string burst beneath the ponderous blow,
And his numb'd hand dismiss'd his useless bow.
He fell but Ajax his broad shield display'd,
And screen'd his brother with a mighty shade;
Till great Alastor and Mecistheus bore
The batter'd archer groaning to the shore.

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375 With flowers adorn'd, with art immortal crown'd;
The radiant robe her sacred fingers wove,
Floats in rich waves, and spreads the court of Jove.
Her father's arms her mighty limbs invest,
His cuirass blazes on her ample breast.

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380 The vigorous power the trembling car ascends;
Shook by her arm, the massy javelin bends;
Huge, ponderous, strong! that, when her fury burns,
Proud tyrants humbles, and whole hosts o'erturns.
Saturnia lends the lash; the coursers fly;

385 Smooth glides the chariot through the liquid sky.
Heaven's gates spontaneous open to the powers
Heaven's golden gates, kept by the winged Hours.
Commission'd in alternate watch they stand,
The sun's bright portals and the skies command:
390 Close or unfold the eternal gates of day,

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Bar heaven with clouds, or roll those clouds away
The sounding hinges ring, the clouds divide;
Prone down the steep of heaven their course they guide.
But Jove incensed, from Ida's top survey'd,
And thus enjoin'd the many-colour'd maid:

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Thaumantia! mount the winds, and stop their car;
Against the highest who shall wage the war?
If furious yet they dare the vain debate,
Thus have I spoke, and what I speak is fate;

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400 Their coursers crush'd beneath the wheels shall lie
Their car in fragments scatter'd o'er the sky!
My lightning these rebellious shall confound,
And hurl them flaming, headlong to the ground,
Condemn'd for ten revolving years to weep

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405 The wounds impress'd by burning thunder deep.
So shall Minerva learn to fear our ire,
Nor dare to combat hers and nature's sire.
For Juno, headstrong and imperious still,
She claims some title to transgress our will.
Swift as the wind, the various-colour'd maid
From Ida's top her golden wings display'd;
To great Olympus' shining gates she flies,
There meets the chariot rushing down the skies.
Restrains their progress from the bright abodes,
415 And speaks the mandate of the sire of gods:

Troy yet found grace before the Olympian sire;
He armd their hands, and fill'd their breasts with fire.
The Greeks, repulsed, retreat behind their wall,
Or in the trench on heaps confusedly fall.
First of the foe, great Hector march'd along,
With terror clothed, and more than mortal strong.
As the bold hound, that gives the lion chase,
With beating bosom, and with eager pace,
Hangs on his haunch, or fastens on his heels,
Guards as he turns, and circles as he wheels:
Thus oft the Grecians turn'd, but still they flew;
Thus following Hector still the hindmost slew.
When flying they had pass'd the trench profound,
And many a chief lay gasping on the ground;
Before the ships a desperate stand they made,
And fired the troops, and call'd the gods to aid.
Fierce on his rattling chariot Hector came;
His eyes like Gorgon shot a sanguine flame
That wither'd all their host: like Mars he stood;
Dire as the monster, dreadful as the god!
Their strong distress the wife of Jove survey'd ;
Then pensive thus, to war's triumphant maid:

Oh daughter of that god, whose arm can wield
The avenging bolt, and shake the sable shield!
Now, in this moment of her last despair,

Shall wretched Greece no more confess our care,
Condemn'd to suffer the full force of fate,
And drain the dregs of heaven's relentless hate?
Gois! shall one raging hand thus level all?
What numbers fell! what numbers yet shall fall!
What power divine shall Hector's wrath assuage?
Still swells the slaughter, and still grows the rage!
So spake the imperial regent of the skies;
To whom the goddess with the azure eyes:
Long since had Hector stain'd these fields with gore,
Sretch'd by some Argive on his native shore';
But He above, the sire of heaven, withstands,
Mocks our attempts and slights our just demands,
The stubborn god, inflexible and hard,
Forgets my service and deserved reward:

What frenzy, goddesses! what rage can movs
Celestial minds to tempt the wrath of Jove!
Desist, obedient to his high command:
This is his word: and know, his word shall stand.
420 His lightning your rebellion shall confouni,

And hurl you headlong, flaming to the ground:
Your horses crush'd beneath the wheels shall lie,
Your car in fragments scatter'd o'er the sky:
Yourselves condemn'd ten rolling years to weep
425 The wounds impress'd by burning thunder deep.
So shall Minerva learn to fear his ire,
Nor dare to combat hers and nature's sire.
For Juno, headstrong and imperious still,
She claims some title to transgress his will:
But thee what desperate insolence has driven,
To lift thy lance against the king of heaven?
Then, mounting on the pinions of the wind,
She flew; and Juno thus her rage resign'd:

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Triumphant now, now miserably slain,
They breathe or perish as the Fates ordain.
But Jove's high connsels full effect shall find:
And, ever constant, ever rule mankind.

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She spoke, and backward turn'd her steeds of light,
Adorn'd with manes of gold, and heavenly bright.
The Hours unloosed them, panting as they stood,
And heap'd their mangers with ambrosial food.
There tied, they rest in high celestial stalls;
The chariot propp'd against the crystal walls.
The pensive goddesses, abash'd, controll'd,
Mix with the gods, and fill their seats of gold.

And now the Thunderer meditates his flight
From Ida's summits to the Olympian height,
Swifter than thought the wheels instinctive fly,
Flame through the vast of air, and reach the sky.
"Twas Neptune's charge his coursers to unbrace,
And fix the car on its immortal base;

There stood the chariot, beaming forth its rays,
Till with a snowy veil he screen'd the blaze.
He, whose all-conscious eyes the world behold,
The eternal Thunderer sat thron'd in gold,
High heaven the footstool of his feet he makes,
And wide beneath him all Olympus shakes.
Trembling afar the offending powers appear'd,
Confused and silent, for his frown they fear'd.
He saw their soul, and thus his word imparts.
Pallas and Juno! say, why heave your hearts?
Soon was your battle o'er: proud Troy retired
Before your face, and in your wrath expired.
But know, whoe'er almighty power withstand!
Unmatch'd our force, unconquer'd is our hand:
Who shall the sovereign of the skies control?
Not all the gods that crown the starry pole.
Your hearts shall tremble, if our arms we take,
And each immortal nerve with horror shake.
For thus I speak, and what I speak shail stand;
What power soe'er provokes our lifted hand,
On this our hill no more shall hold his place,
Cut off, and exiled from the ethereal race.

Juno and Pallas grieving hear the doom,
But feast their souls on Ilion's woes to come.
Though secret anger swell'd Minerva's breast,
The prudent goddess yet her wrath repress'd:
But Juno, impotent of rage, replies:
What hast thou said, Oh tyrant of the skies!
Strength and omnipotence invest thy throne:
"Tis thine to punish; ours to grieve alone.
For Greece we grieve, abandon'd by her fate,
To drink the dregs of thy unmeasured hate:
From fields forbidden we submiss refrain,
With arms unaiding see our Argives slain;
Yet grant our counsels still their breasts may move,
Lest all should perish in the rage of Jove.

The goddess thus: and thus the god replies,
Who swells the clouds, and blackens all the skies:
The morning sun awaked by loud alarms,
Shall see the almighty Thunderer in arms.
What heaps of Argives then shall load the plain,
Those radiant eyes shall view, and view in vain.
Nor shall great Hector cease the rage of fight,
The navy flaming, and thy Greeks in flight,
E'en till the day, when certain fates ordain
That stern Achilles (his Patroclus slain)
Shall rise in vengeance, and lay waste the plain.
For such is fate, nor canst thou turn its course
With all thy rage, with all thy rebel force.
Fly, if thou wilt, to earth's remotest bound,
Where on her utmost verge the seas resound;
Where cursed Iäpetus and Saturn dwell,
Fast by the brink, within the steams of hell;
No sun e'er gilds the gloomy horrors there;
No cheerful gales refresh the lazy air;
There arm once more the bold Titanian band;
And arm in vain; for what I will, shall stand.
Now deep in ocean sunk the lamp of light,
And drew behind the cloudy veil of night:
The conquering Trojans mourn his beams decay'd;
The Greeks rejoicing bless the friendly shade.

The victors keep the field; and Hector calls
A martial council near the navy walls:
These to Scamander's bank apart he led,
Where thinly scatter'd lay the heaps of dead.
The assembled chiefs, descending on the ground,
Attend his order, and their prince surround.
A massy spear he bore of mighty strength,
Of full ten cubits was the lance's length;
The point was brass, refulgent to behold,
Fix'd to the wood with circling rings of gold:
The noble Hector on this lance reclined,
And bending forward thus reveal'd his inind:

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Ye valiant Trojans, with attention hear!
Ye Dardan bands, and generous aids, give ear!
This day, we hoped, would wrap in conquering flame
Greece with her ships, and crown our toils with fame.
But darkness now, to save the cowards, falls,
And guards them trembling in their wooden walls,
Obey the Night, and use her peaceful hours
Our steeds to forage, and refresh our powers.
Straight from the town be sheep and oxen sought,
And strengthening bread, and generous wine be brought
540 Wide o'er the field, high blazing to the sky,
Let numerous fires the absent sun supply,
The flaming piles with plenteous fuel raise,
Till the bright morn her purple beam displays;
Lest, in the silence and the shades of night,
545 Greece on her sable ships attempt her flight.
Not unmolested let the wretches gain
Their lofty decks, or safely cleave the main;
Some hostile wound let every dart bestow,
Some lasting token of the Phrygian foe,

550 Wounds, that long hence may ask their spouses' care,
And warn their children from a Trojan war.
Now through the circuit of our Ilian wall,
Let sacred heralds sound the solemn call;
To bid the sires with hoary honours crown d,

555 And beardless youths, our battlements surround.
Firm be the guard, while distant lie our powers,
And let the matrons hang with lights the towers:
Lest, under covert of the midnight shade,
The insidious foe the naked town invade.
560 Suffice, to-night, these orders to obey;

A nobler charge shall rouse the dawning day.
The gods, I trust, shall give to Hector's hand,
From these detested foes to free the land,
Who plough'd, with fates averse, the watry way:
565 For Trojan vultures a predestined prey.

Our common safety must be now the care;
But soon as morning paints the fields of air,
Sheath'd in bright arms let every troop engage,
And the fired fleet behold the battle rage.
570 Then, then shall Hector and Tydides prove,
Whose fates are heaviest in the scale of Jove.
To-morrow's light (O haste the glorious morn!)
Shall see his bloody spoils in triumph borne,
With this keen javelin shall his breast be gored,
575 And prostrate heroes bleed around their lord.
Certain as this, oh! might my days endure,
From age inglorious, and black death secure:
So might my life and glory know no bound,
Like Pallas worshipp'd, like the sun renown'a
As the next dawn, the last they shall enjoy,
Shall crush the Greeks, and end the woes of Trog
The leader spoke. From all his host around
Shouts of applause along the shores resound.
Each from the yoke the smoking steeds untied,
And fix'd their headstalls to his chariot-side.
Fat sheep and oxen from the town are led,
With generous wine, and all-sustaining bread.
Full hecatombs lay burning on the shore;

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The winds to heaven the curling vapours bore. 590 Ungrateful offering to the immortal powers!

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Whose wrath hung heavy o'er the Trojan towers;
Nor Priam nor his sons obtain'd their grace;
Proud Troy they hated, and her guilty race.
The troops exulting sat in order round,
595 And beaming fires illumined all the ground.
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;
600 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: 700
610 The long reflections of the distant fires

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Through the still night they march, and hear the roar
Of murmuring billows on the sounding shore.
To Neptune, ruler of the seas profound,
Whose liquid arms the mighty globe surround,
They pour forth vows, their embassy to bless,
150 And calm the rage of stern Æacides.

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And now, arrived, where, on the sandy bay
The Myrmidonian tents and vessels lay;
Amused at ease, the godlike man they found,
Pleased with the solemn harp's harmonious sound.
(The well-wrought harp from conquer'd Theba came,
Of polish'd silver was its costly frame :)
With this he soothes his angry soul, and sings

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The immortal deeds of heroes and of kings.
Patroclus only of the royal train,

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Now seek some means his fatal wrath to end,
With prayers to move him, or with gifts to bend.
To whom the king: With justice hast thou shewn
A prince's faults, and I with reason own.
That happy man, whom Jove still honours most,
Is more than armies, and himself a host.
Blest in his love, this wondrous hero stands.
Heaven fights his war, and humbles all our bands.
Fain would my heart, which err'd through frantic rage,
The wrathful chief and angry gods assuage.
If gifts immense his mighty soul can bow,
Hear, all ye Greeks, and witness what I vow:
Ten weighty talents of the purest gold,
And twice ten vases of refulgent mould;
Seven sacred tripods, whose unsullied frame
Yet knows no office, nor has felt the flame:
Twelve steeds unmatch'd in fleetness and in force,
And still victorious in the dusty course
(Rich were the man whose ample stores exceed
The prizes purchased by their winged speed):
Seven lovely captives of the Lesbian line,
Skill'd in each art, unmatch'd in form divine;
The same I chose for more than vulgar charms,
When Lesbos sunk beneath the hero's arms:
All these, to buy his friendship, shall be paid,
And join'd with these, the long-contested maid;
With all her charms, Briseïs I resign,

And solemn swear those charms were never mine;
Untouch'd she stay'd, uninjured she removes,
Pure from my arms, and guiltless of my loves.
These instant shall be his; and if the powers
Give to our arms proud Ilion's hostile towers,
Then shall he store (when Greece the spoil divides)
With gold and brass his loaded navy's sides.
Besides, full twenty nymphs of Trojan race
With copious love shall crown his warm embrace;
Such as himself will choose; who yield to none,
Or yield to Helen's heavenly charms alone.
Yet hear me farther: when our wars are o'er,
If safe we land on Argos' fruitful shore,
There shall he live my son, our honours share,
And with Orestes' self divide my care.

Yet more-three daughters in my court are bred,
And each well worthy of a royal bed;
Laodicè and Iphigenia fair,

And bright Chrysothemis with golden hair;
Her let him choose, whom most his eyes approve,
I ask no presents, no reward for love:
Myself will give the dower; so vast a store,
As never father gave a child before.
Seven ample cities shall confess his sway,
Him Enopè, and Pheræ him obey,
Cardamyle with ample turrets crown'd,
And sacred Pedasus for vines renown'd;
pea fair, the pastures Hira yields
And rich Antheia with her flowery :ields:
The whole extent to Pylos' sandy plain,
Along the verdant margin of the main :
There heifers graze, and labouring oxen toil;
Bold are the men, and generous is the soil;
There shall he reign with power and justice crown'd,
And rule the tributary realms around.
All this I give, his vengeance to control,
And sure all this may move his mighty soul.
Pluto, the grisly god, who never spares,

Who feels no mercy, and who hears no prayers,
Lives dark and dreadful in deep hell's abodes,
And mortals hate him as the worst of gods.
Great though he be, it fits him to obey;
Since more than his my years, and more my sway.
The monarch thus. The reverend Nestor then;
Great Agamemnon! glorious king of men!
Such are thy offers as a prince may take,
And such as fits a generous king to make.
Let chosen delegates this hour be sent
Myself will name them) to Pelides' tent:
Let Phoenix lead, revered for hoary age,
Great Ajax next, and Ithacus the sage.
Yet more to sanctify the word you send,
Let Hodius and Eurybates attend.
Now pray to Jove to grant what Greece demands;
Pray in deep silence, and with purest hands.

He said, and all approved. The heralds bring
The cleansing water from the living spring.
The youth with wine the sacred goblets crown'd,
And large libations drench'd the sands around.
The rite perform'd, the chiefs their thirst allay,
Then from the royal tent they take their way;
Wise Nestor turns on each his careful eye,
Forbids to offend, instructs them to apply;
Much he advised them all, Ulysses most,
To deprecate the chief, and save the host,

160 Placed in his tent, attends the lofty strain:
Full opposite he sat, and listen'd long,
In silence waiting till he ceased the song.
Unseen the Grecian embassy proceeds
To his high tent; the great Ulysses leads.
165 Achilles starting, as the chiefs he spied,
Leap'd from his seat, and laid the harp aside.
With like surprise arose Mencetius' son:
Pelides grasp'd their hands, and thus begun :
Princes, all hail! whatever brought you here,

170 Or strong necessity, or urgent fear:

255

260

175

Welcome, though Greeks! for not as foes ye came,
To me more dear than all that bear the name.
With that, the chiefs beneath his roof be led,
And placed in seats with purple carpets spread.
Then thus-Patroclus, crown a larger bowl,
Mix purer wine, and open every soul.

265

Of all the warriors yonder host can send,

180 Heaps in a brazen vase three chines entire:
The brazen vase Automedon sustains,
Which flesh of porket, sheep, and goat contains:
Achilles at the genial feast presides,

275

The parts transfixes, and with skill divides.
185 Meanwhile Patroclus sweats the fire to raise;
The tent is brighten'd with the rising blaze:
Then, when the languid flames at length subside,
He strews a bed of glowing embers wide,
Above the coals the smoking fragment turns,
190 And sprinkles sacred salt from lifted urns;

With bread the glittering canisters they loud,
Which round the board Menoetius' son bestow'd:
Himself, opposed to Ulysses, full in sight,
Each portion parts, and orders every rite.

290

285

200 Not unperceived; Ulysses crown'd with wine
The foaming bowl, and instant thus began,
His speech addressing to the godlike man:
Health to Achilles! happy are thy guests!
Not those more honour'd whom Atrides feasts:
Though generous plenty crown thy loaded boards,
That Agamemnon's regal tent affords;
But greater cares sit heavy on our souls,
Not eased by banquets or by flowing bowls.
What scenes of slaughter in yon fields appear!
210 The dead we mourn, and for the living fear;
Greece on the brink of fate all doubtful stands,
And owns no help but from thy saving hands:
Troy and her aids for ready vengeance call:
Their threatening tents already shade our wall:
215 Hear how with shouts their conquest they proclaim,
And point at every ship their vengeful flame!
For them the father of the gods declares,
Theirs are his omens, and his thunder theirs.
See, full of Jove, avenging Hector rise!

295

300

305

310

226

220 See! heaven and earth the raging chief defies
What fury in his breast, what lightning in his eye!
He waits but for the morn, to sink in flame
The ships, the Greeks, and all the Grecian name.
Heavens! how my country's woes distract my mind,
Lest fate accomplish all his rage design'd!
And must we, gods! our heads inglorious lay
In Trojan dust, and this the fatal day?
Return, Achilles! oh return, though late,
To save thy Greeks, and stop the course of fate;
230 If in that heart or grief or courage lies,

315

320