Imatges de pÓgina
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Thus perish'd all the fated brood,

Thus Eris wrought her dreadful will; When sated vengeance had its fill, Thersander clos'd the scene of blood. He, sprung from beauteous Argea, shone The glory of Adrastrus' throne,

When fierce in youthful fire,
He rag'd around the Theban wall,
And saw the sevenfold city fall

A victim to his sire:
From him, as from a second root,
Wide speading to the lofty skies,
The sons of martial glory shoot,

And clustering chiefs on chiefs arise. There in the topmost boughs display'd, Great Theron sits with lustre crown'd, And verdant bonours bloom around,

While nations rest beneath his shade. Awake the lyre! Theron demands the lays; Yet all too low! Call forth a nobler strain!

Decent is ev'n th' excess of praise:
For Theron strike the sounding lyre again.
Olympia's flowering wreath he singly wears;
The Isthmian palm his brother shares.

Delphi resounds the kindred name,
The youths contend alike for fame,
Fair rivals in the glorious chase,

No more, with still-revolving toil,
They vex a hard ungrateful soil;
Nor plough the surges of the main,
Exchanging holy quiet for false deceitful gain.
But to these sacred seats preferr'd,
With gods they live, as gods rever'd,
And tears are wip'd from every eye;
While banish'd from the happy reign,
The guilty souls in darkness lie,
And weary out the frightful ministers of pain.
So Heav'n decrees: the good and just,
Who, true to life's important trust,

Have well sustain'd the field:
Whose souls undaunted, undismay'd,
Nor flattering pleasure could persuade,
Nor passions taught to yield;
These through the mortal changes past,
Still listening to the heav'nly lore,
Find this sublime reward at last,
The trial of obedience o'er.

Then bursting from the bonds of clay,
Triumphant tread the heav'n-pav'd road
That leads to Saturn's high abode,
And Jove himself directs the way.
There, where the blest reside at ease,
Bland zephyrs breathe the sea-borne breeze
O'er all the happy isle:

When twelve times darting round, they flew the giddy Unnumber'd sweets the air perfume,

space.

Thrice blest! for whom the Graces twine Fame's brightest plume, the wreath divine: Lost to remembrance, former woes No more reflection's sting employ;

With triumph all the bosom glows,

Pour'd through th' expanding heart, th' impetuous tide of joy.

Riches, that singly are possest,
Vain pomp of life! a specious waste,

But feed luxurious pride:

Yet when with sacred virtues crown'd,
Wealth deals its liberal treasures round,

'Tis nobly dignified.

To modest worth, to honour's bands,

With conscious warmth he large imparts; And in his presence smiling stands

Fair Science, and her handmaid, Arts:
As in the pure serene of night,
Thron'd in its sphere, a beauteous star
Sheds its blest influence from afar,
At once beneficent and bright.
But hear, ye wealthy, hear, ye great,
I sing the fix'd decrees of fate,

What after death remains,
Prepar'd for the unfeeling kind
Of cruel unrelenting mind,

A doom of endless pains;

The crimes that stain'd this living light,
Beneath the holy eye of Jove,
Meet in the regions drear of night,
The vengeance but delay'd above.
There the pale sinner drear aghast,

Impartial, righteous, and severe,
Unaw'd by pow'r, unmov'd by pray'r,
Eternal justice dooms at last.

Far otherwise, the souls whom virtue guides Enjoy a calm repose of sacred rest,

Nor light nor shade their time divides, With one eternal sunshine blest. Emancipated from the cares of life,

No more they urge the mortal strife;

'Tis all around one golden bloom,

All one celestial smile.

By living streams fair trees ascend,
Whose roots the humid waters lave;
The boughs with radiant fruitage bend,
Rich produce of the fruitful wave.
Thus sporting in celestial bow'rs,

The sons of the immortal morn,
Their heads and rosy hands adorn
With garlands of unfading flow'rs.
There Rhadamanth, who great assessor reigns
To Rhea's son, by still unchanging right,
Awarding all: to vice, eternal chains;

To virtue opes the gates of light.
Rhea! who high in Heav'n's sublime abodes
Sits thron'd, the mother of the gods.
Cadmus to this immortal choir
Was led; and Peleus' noble sire!
And glorious son! since Thetis' love

Subdued, with pray'r, the yielding mind of Jove.
Who Troy laid prostrate on the plain,

His country's pillar, Hector, slain;
By whom unhappy Cygnus bled;
By whom the Ethiopian boy,

That sprung from Neptune's godlike bed,
The aged Tithon's and Aurora's highest joy.
What grand ideas crowd my brain!
What images! a lofty train

In beauteous order spring:
As the keen store of feather'd fates
Within the braided quiver waits,

Impatient for the wing:

See, see they mount! The sacred few,
Endued with piercing flight,
Alone through darling fields pursue

Th' aerial regions bright.

This Nature gives, her chiefest boast;
But when the bright ideas fly,
Far soaring from the vulgar eye,
To vulgar eyes are lost.
Where Nature sows her genial seeds,
A liberal harvest straight succeeds,

Fair in the human soil;

While Art, with hard laborious pains,
Creeps on unseen, nor much attains
By slow progressive toil.
Resembling this, the feeble crow,
Amid the vulgar winged crowd,
Hides in the darkening copse below,

Vain, strutting, garrulous, and loud:
While genius mounts th' ethereal height,
As the imperial bird of Jove

On sounding pinions soars above, And dares the majesty of light. Then fit an arrow to the tuneful string,

O thou, my genius! warm with sacred flame; Fly swift, ethereal shaft! and wing

The godlike Theron unto fame.

I solemn swear, and holy truth attest,
That sole inspires the tuneful breast,
That, never since th' immortal Sun
His radiant journey first begun,
To none the gods did e'er impart

A more exalted mind, or wide-diffusive heart.
Fly, Envy, hence, that durst invade
Such glories, with injurious shade;
Still, with superior lustre bright,

His virtues shine, in number more
Than are the radiant fires of night,

Or sands that spread along the sea-surrounding shore.

THE PARTING OF

HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.

FROM THE SIXTH ILIAD OF HOMER, TRANSLATED
LITERALLY.

Beginning ver. 407. Δαιμονίε, φθίσει σε το σον μενος....
“O DARING thou! to thy own strength a prey,
Nor pity moves thee for thy infant son,
Nor miserable me, a widow soon!
For, rushing on thy single might, at once
The Greeks will overwhelm thee: better far
I had been wrapt in earth, than live of thee
Forlorn, and desolate; if thou must die,
What further comfort then for me remains,
What solace, but in tears? No father mine,
Nor mine no venerable mother's care.
Noble Achilles' hand my father slew,
And spread destruction through Cilicia's town,
Where many people dwelt, high-gated Thebes.
He slew Aetion, but despoil'd him not,
For inly in his mind he fear'd the gods;
But burnt his body with his polish'd arms,
And o'er him rear'd a mound: the mountain
nymphs,

The daughters fair of ægis-bearing Jove,
Planted with elms around the sacred place.
Seven brothers flourish'd in my father's house;
All in one day descended to the shades,
All slain by great Achilles, swift of foot,
'Midst their white sheep, and heifers flexile-hoof'd.
My mother, woody Hypoplacia's queen,
Brought hither, number'd in the victor's spoils;
Till loos'd from bands, for gifts of mighty price,
By chase-delighting Dian's dart she fell,
Smote in my father's house: but, Hector, thou,
Thou art my sire, my hoary mother thou,

My brother thou, thon husband of my youth!*
Ah pity, Hector, then! and in this tow'r
With us remain, nor render by thy fall
Him a sad orphan, me a widow'd wife.
Here at this fig-tree station, where the town
Is easiest of ascent, and low the walls,
Here thrice the bravest of the foes have try'd
To pass; each Ajax, brave Idomeneus,
Th' Atrida too, and Tydeus' warlike son;
Whether some seer, in divination skill'd,
Prompted th' attempt, or their own valour dar'd
To execute a deed, their wisdom plann’d.”

To whom plume-nodding Hector thus reply'd:
"These, woman, are my care; but much I fear
The Trojan youth, and long-gown'd Trojan damės,
If, coward-like, 1 sbun afar the fight:
Not so my courage bids; for I have learnt
Still to be brave, and foremost to defend
My father's mighty glories, and my own.
For well I know, and in my mind foresee,
A day will come, when sacred Ilion sinks,
Old Priam perishes, the people too
Of Priam aspen-spear'd. Yet not so much
The woes the Trojans yet in after-times
Must undergo, not Hecuba herself,
Nor princely Priam, nor my brothers dear,
Who, numerous and brave, have fallen in dust
Below the boasting foe, distract my soul,.
As thou! Then when some brazen-coated Greek,
In the sad day of thy distress, shall drag
Thee weeping; or in Argos, breathing sad,
To some imperious mistress handmaid, thou
Shalt weave the web, or fetch the water's weight
From Messeis or Hyperia's springs, against
Thy will, but hard necessity compels.
Then shall be say, who sees thee sunk in tears,
'Lo! Hector's wife, who far the chief of all
The Trojan steed-subduing race excell'd
Who fought at liion.' Thus shall they say.
But thee new pangs shall seize; on thee shall come
Desire of such a husband to repel
The evil hour: but may 1 low beneath
The monumental earth be laid to rest,
Nor thy soft sorrows, nor the melting voice
Of thy captivity, e'er reach my ear.'

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So saying, the illustrious Hector stretch'd
His hands to reach his child; the child averse,
In the soft bosom of the fair-zon'd nurse
Weeping, fell back, abhorrent, from his sire
Of warlike aspect: for he fear'd the shine
Of armour, and the horse-hair horrid crest
That nodded dreadful on the helmet's top.
The loving father smil'd, the mother smil'd;
Straight from his head th' illustrious Hector took
His helm, and plac'd it blazing on the ground;
Then fondled in his arms his much-lov'd son
He took; thus praying Jove, and all the gods:
"Jove, and ye other gods, grant this my son,
Grant he may too become, as I am now,
The grace of Troy, the same in martial strength,
And rule his Ilion with a monarch's sway;
That men may say, when he returns from fight,
This youth transcends his sire:' Then may he
The bloody spoils aloft of hostile chiefs
In battle slain, and joy his mother's heart!"
He said: and to his much-lov'd spouse resign'd
His child: she, on her fragrant bosom lull'd,
Siniling through tears, receiv'd him: at the sight,
Compassion touch'd her husband's heart: her cheek.
With gentle blandishment he strok'd, and spoke:

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"O best belov'd! oh, sadden not thy heart
With grief beyond due bounds: I trust, no band
Shall send me down to shades obscure, before
My day of doom decreed; for well I ween
No man of mortal men escapes from death,
Fearful or bold: whoe'er is born must die.
But thou, returning to thy home, attend
The spindle, and the loom, thy peaceful cares;
And call thy duteous maidens round to share
Their tasks by thee assign'd; for war belongs
To men, and chief to me, of Ilion's sons."

This said, illustrious Hector seiz'd his helm,
And to her home return'd his much-lov'd spouse,
Oft looking back, and shedding tears profuse.
Then sudden at the lofty dome air.v'd,
With chambers fair adorn'd, where Hector dwelt,
The godlike Hector! there again she wept!
In his own house the living Hector wept;
For now foreboding in their fears, no more
They hop'd to meet him with returning step
From battle, 'scap'd the rage and force of Greece.

FIRST SCENE OF THE

PHILOCTETES OF SOPHOCLES.
[USSES Speaks.]

SON of Achilles! brave Neoptolemus,

You tread the coast of sea-surrounded Lemnos,
Where never mortal yet his dwelling rear'd.
Here, in obedience to the Grecian chiefs,
I erst expos'd the son of noble Pæon,
Consuming with his wounds, and wasting slow
In painful agonies; wild from despair,
He fill'd the camp with lamentations loud,
And execrations dire. No pure libation,
No holy sacrifice could to the gods
Be offer'd up: ill-omen'd sounds of woe
Profan'd the sacred rites: But this no more-
Should he discover my return, 'twere vain
The plan my wakeful industry has wove,
Back to restore yet to the aid of Greece
This most important chief. 'Tis thine, brave youth,
To ripen into deed, what I propose.

Cast round thy eyes, if thou by chance may'st find
The double rock, where from the winter's cold
He shrouds his limbs, or when the summer glows
Amid the cool, the zephyr's gentle breath
Lulls him to his repose; fast on the left
Flows a fresh fountain; if the hero sees
This living light, one of th' attendant train
Speed with the hour to glad my listening ears,
If in that savage haunt he harbours yet,
Or in some other corner of this isle:
Then farther I'll disclose, what chief imports
Our present needs, and claims our common care.

THE EPISODE OF

LAUSUS AND MEZENTIUS.

FROM THE TENTH BOOK OF VIRGIL'S ÆNEIS, BEGINNING LINE 689.

Written in the year 1719.

Now Jove inflames Mezentius great in arms, His ardour rouses and his courage warms;

Fir'd by the god, to Turnus he succeeds;
Beneath his arm the Trojan battle bleeds;
The Tuscan troops invade their common foe,
Alike in hate their kindling bosoms glow
Fierce to destroy, on him alone they pour
Darts following darts, a thick continued show'r:
But he undaunted, all the storm sustains,
And scorns th' united fury of the plains:
As some huge rock high towering 'midst the waves,
Of seas and skies the mingling tumult braves,
On its eternal basis fix'd is found,
Though tempests rage, and oceans foam around.
First by his arm unhappy Hebrus bled,
The issue of fam'd Dolicaon's bed;
Then Latagus submits to fate, his way
Adverse he took, the chief with furious sway
Uprear'd a pondrous rock, the shatter'd brain
Confus'd with blood and gore, o'erspreads the plain.
At flying Palmus next his dart he threw,
The speedy dart o'ertook him as he flew,
Full in the ham, he feels the smarting wound,
Left by the victor grovelling on the ground:
His arms surround his Lausus' manly breast,
The waving plume adorns his shining crest:
Evas and Minas, both of Trojan seed,
By the same arm were mingled with the dead;
Mimas, companion of the youthful cares
Of Paris, and the equal of his years:

For, big with fancied flames, when Phrygia's queen
Brought forth the cause of woes, but ill foreseen;
T'extend his blooming race, that self-same night
The spouse of Amycus, Theano bright,
That night so fatal to the peace of Troy,
Blest her lov'd husband with a parent's joy:
But fate to different lands their deaths decreed,
This in his father's town was doom'd to bleed;
Unthinking Mimas, by Mezentius slain,
Now rolls his carcase o'er the Latian plain.
And as a tusky boar, whom dogs invade,
Of Vesulus bred in the piny shade,
Or near Laurentia's lake, with forest mast
His feasts obscene supplied in wild repast;
Rous'd from his savage haunt, a deep retreat,
When once in toils enclos'd, no flight appears,
A length of years his unmolested seat;
Turns sudden, foaming fierce, his bristles rears;
All safe at distance stand, and none is found,
Whose valour dares inflict a nearer wound:
Dreadless meanwhile, to every side he turns,
His teeth he gnashes, and with rage he burns;
Th' united vengeance of the field derides,
A forest rattles as he shakes his sides:
So fare the Tuscan troops; with noisy rage,
And shouts, in the mixt tumult they engage;
All from afar their missive weapons throw,
Fearful in equal arms to meet the foe.
Next, Grecian Acron rush'd into the plain,
Who came from Coritus's ancient reign:
Him thirst of fame to warlike dangers led,
The joys untasted of the bridal bed;
From far Mezentius eyed him with delight,
In arms refulgent, as he mix'd in fight;
Full o'er his breast, in gold and purple known,
The tokens of his love conspicuous shone.
Then, as a lion thirsting after blood,
(For him persuades the keen desire of food,)
If, or a frisking goat he chance to view,
Or branching stag, that leads the stately crew;
Rejoices, gaping wide, he makes his way,
Furious, and clings incumbent on the prey,

That helpless pants beneath his horrid paws,
The blood o'erflowing, laves his greedy jaws:
So keen Mezentius rushes on each foe;
Unhappy Acron sinks beneath his blow,
Mad in the pangs of death, he spurns the ground,
The blood distains the broken spear around:
Then fled Orodes shameful from the fight;
The victor scorn'd th' advantage of his flight;
But fir'd with rage, through cleaving ranks he ran,
And face to face oppos'd, and man to man:
Not guileful from behind his spear to throw
A wound unseen, but strikes an adverse blow.
Then with his foot his dying for he press'd,
Lean'd on his lance, and thus his friends address'd:
Lo! where Orodes gasps upon the sand;
His death was due to this victorious hand,
Large portion of the war!" Exulting cries
Ascend amain, and ring along the skies.
To whom the vanquish'd, with imperfect sound,
All weak, and faint, and dying of the wound:
"Nor long my ghost shall unreveng'd repine,
Nor long the triumph of my fall be thine;
Thee, equal fates, insulting man, remain;
Thee, death yet waits, and this the fatal plain."
Him, as he roll'd in death, Mezentius spied,
He smil'd severe, and thus contemptuous cried:
"Die thou the first; as he thinks fit, for me,
The sire of Heav'n and Earth, let Jove decree."
He said; and pull'd the weapon from the wound;
The purple life ebb'd out upon the ground:
Death's clay-cold hand shut up the sinking light,
And o'er his closing eyes drew the dark mist of night.
By Cædicus' great arm Alcathous fell;
Sacrator sent Hydaspes down to Hell:
Parthenius dies, by Rapo slain in fight;
And Orses vast, of more than mortal might.
Next sunk two warriors, Clonius the divine,
And Ericetes of Lycaon's line;

The issue of the god, their deaths renown'd,
Whose forked trident rules the deep profound.
His courser, unobedient to the rein,
Great Ericetes tumbled to the plain.
Prone as he lay, swift fled the thirsty dart,
And found the mortal passage to his heart.
Then lights the victor from his lofty steed,
And, foot to foot engag'd, made Clonius bleed.
Then Lycian Agis, boastful of his might,
Provok'd the bravest foe to single fight;
Him boldly Tuscan Vaierus assail'd,
And in the virtues of his sire prevail'd.
By Salius' arm, the swift Antronius bled;
Nealces' javelin struck the victor dead;
Nealces, skill'd the sounding dart to throw,
And wing the treacherous arrow to the foe.
Mars, raging god, and stern! the war confounds;
Equals the victor's shouts, and dying sounds.
Encountering various on the imbattled field,
Now fierce they rush, now fierce retreating, yield.
With equal rage, each adverse battle glows,
Nor flight is known to these, nor known to those.
Tisiphone enjoys the direful sight,

Pale, furious, fell! and storms amidst the fight.
The gods, from Jove's immortal dome, survey
Each army toiling, through the dreadful day;
With tender pity touch'd, lament the pain
That human life is destin'd to sustain.
Ou either side, two deities are seen;
Jove's awful consort, and soft beauty's queen:
The wife of Jove the conqueror's palm implores,
Soft beauty's queen her Trojans' loss deplores.

Again his javelin huge Mezentius wields; Again tumultuous he invades the fields: Large as Orion, when the giant stalks, A bulk immense! through Nereus' midmost walks; Secure he cleaves his way; the billows braves, His sinewy shoulders tow'r above the waves; Bearing an ash, increas'd in strength with years, That buge upon the mountain's height appears; He strides along, each step the earth divides; In clouds obscure his lofty head resides: In stature huge, amidst the war's alarms, Such shone the tyrant in gigantic arms. Him, as exulting in the ranks he stood, At distance seen, and rioting in blood, Æneas hastes to meet; in all his might He stands collected, and awaits the fight: First measuring, as he stood in act to throw, With nice survey, the distance of his foe: [might; "This arm, this spear," he cry'd," assert my These are my gods, and these assist in fight: His armour, from the boastful robber won, Shall tow'r a trophy to my conquering son." He said; and flings the dart with dreadful force; The dart drove on unerring from the course; It reach'd the shield, the shield the blow repell'd: Nor fell the javelin guiltless on the field; But, piercing 'twixt the side and bowels, tore The fam'd Authores, and deep drank the gore: He, in his lusty years, from Argos sent, With fam'd Alcides, on his labours went: Tir'd with his toils, a length of woes o'erpast, In the Evandrian realm he fix'd at last: Call'd back again to war, where glory calls, Unhappy, by a death unmeant, he falls: To Heaven his mournful eyes the dying throws; In his last thoughts his native Argos rose. Straight then, his beaming lance the Trojan threw; Swift hissing on the wind the weapon flew: The plates of threefold brass were forc'd to yield; And three bulls' hides that bound the solid shield: Deep in his lower groin, an arm so strong, Drove the sharp point, but brought not death along. Then joyful as the Trojan hero spied The spouting blood pour down his wounded side, Like lightning, from his thigh his sword he drew, And furious on th' astonish'd warrior flew.

As Lausus saw, full sore he heav'd the sigh; The ready tear stood trembling in his eye: His father's danger touch'd the youthful chief; With pious haste he ran to his relief. Nor shalt thou sink unnoted to the tomb, Unsung thy noble deed, and early doom: If future times to such a deed will give Their faith, to future times thy name snall live. Disabled, trembling for a death so near, The father slow-receding, drags the spear: Just in that moment, as suspended high The flaming sword shone adverse to the sky, The daring youth rush'd in, and fronts the foe, And from his father turns th' impending blow. His friends with joyful shouts reply around; Through all their echoes all the hills resound; As wondering they beheld the wounded sire, Protected by the son, from fight retire. A dark'ning flight of singing shafts annoy, From every quarter pour'd, the prince of Troy: He stands against the fury of the field, And rages, cover'd with his mighty shield. And as when stormy winds encountering loud, Burst with rude violence the bellowing cloud,

Precipitate to earth, the tempest pours
The vexing hailstones thick in sounding showers:
The delug'd plains then every ploughman flies,
And every hind and traveller shelter'd lies;
Or, where the rock high overarch'd impends,
Or, where the river's shelving bank defends;
That, powerful o'er the storm, when bright the ray
Shines forth, they each may exercise the day.
Loud sounds the gather'd storm; o'er all the field
The cloud of war pours thundering on his shield.
Yet still he tried with friendly care to save
Th' unhappy youth, unfortunately brave.
"Ah! whither dost thou urge thy fatal course,
In daring deeds! unequal to thy force?
Too pious in thy love, thy love betrays;

Nor such the vigour crowns thy youthful days."
Not thus advis'd, the youth still fronts the foe
Exulting, and provokes the lingering blow:
For now, his martial bosom all on fire,
The Trojan leader's tide of rage swell'd higher;
For now, the sisters view'd the fatal strife,
And wound up the last threads of Lausus' life:
Deep plung'd the shining falchion in his breast,
Pierc'd his thin armour, and embroider'd vest,
That, rich in ductile gold, his mother wove
With her own hands, the witness of her love.
His breast was fill'd with blood; then, sad and slow
Through air resolv'd, the spirit fled below:
As ghastly pale, the chief the dying spied,
His handshestretch'd to Heav'n, and pitying sigh'd;
His sire Anchises rose an image dear
Sad in his soul, and forc'd the tender tear.
"What praise, O youth! unhappy in thy fate,
What can Æneas yield to worth so great?
Worth, that distinguish'd in thy deed appears,
Ripe in thy youth, and early in thy years:
Thy arms, once pleasing objects of thy care,
Inviolate from hostile spoil I spare ;
Thy breathless body on thy friends bestow,
To mitigate thy pensive spirit's woe,
If aught below the separate soul can move,
Solicitous of what is done above;

(Yet in the grave, perhaps, from every care
Releas'd, nor knowledge, nor device is there ;)
That, gather'd to thy sires, thy friends may mourn
Thy hapless fall, and dust to dust return:
This be thy solace in the world below,
'Twas I, the great Æneas, struck the blow.".
He said; and beck'ning, chides his friends' delay;
And pious to assist, directs the way,
To rear him from the ground, with friendly care,
Dishonour'd foul with blood his comely hair.

The wretched father now, by Tyber shore
Wash'd from his streaming thigh the crimson gore:
Pain'd with his wound, and weary from the fight,
A tree's broad trunk supports his drooping weight:
A bough his helmet beaining far sustains:
His heavier armour rest along the plains.
Panting, and sick, his body downward bends,
And to his breast his length of beard descends:
He leans his careful head upon his band;
Around him wait a melancholy band:
Much of his Lausus asks, and many sent
To warn him back, a father's kind intent:
How vainly sent! for, breathless, from the field
They bear the youth, extended on his shield;
Loud wailing mourn'd him slain in early bloom,
Mighty, and by a mighty wound o'ercome.

Far off the sounds of woe the father hears; Ile trembles in the foresight of his fears:

With dust the hoary honours of his head
Sad he deforms, and cleaves into the dead:
Then both his hands to Heav'n aloft he spread;
And thus, in fulness of his sorrows, said :-
"Could then this lust of life so warp my mind,
That I could think of leaving thee behind
Whom I begot, unhappy in my stead
To meet the warrior, and for me to bleed?
Now fate severe has struck too deep a blow,
Now first I feel a wretched exile's woe.
And is it thus I draw this wretched breath,
Sav'd by thy wound, and living by thy death?
I too, my son, with horrid guilt profan'd
Thy sacred virtues, and their lustre stain'd:
Outcast, abandon'd by the care of Heav'n,
From empire, and paternal sceptres driv❜n,
My people's hatred, and insulting scorn,
The merit of my crines I've justly borne:
To thousand deaths this wicked soul could give,
Since now 'tis crime enough that I can live,
Can yet sustain the light, and human race,
Wretch'd as I am :-but short shall be the space."
He said; and as he said, he rear'd from ground
His fainting limbs, yet staggering from the wound:
But whole and undiminish'd still remains
His strength of soul, unbroke with toil and pains.
He calls his steed, successful from each fight,
With whom he march'd, his glory and delight;
With words like these his conscious steed address'd,
That mourn'd, as with his master's ills oppress'd:
"Rhoebus, we long have liv'd in arms combin'd,
(If long the frail possessions of mankind ;)
This day thou shalt bring back, to crown our toils,
The Trojan hero's head, and glittering spoils
Torn from the bloody man! with me shall take
A dear revenge, for murder'd Lausus' sake:
If strength shall fail to ope the destin'd way,
Together fall, and press the Latian clay;
For after me I trust thou wilt disdain
A Trojan leader, and an alien rein."

He said: the steed receives his wonted weight,
The tyrant arm'd, and furious for the fight:
His blazing helmet, formidably grac'd
With nodding horse-hair, brightening o'er the crest:
With deathful javelins next he fills his hands;
And spurs his steed, and seeks the fighting bands:
Grief mix'd with madness, shame of former flight,
And love by rage inflam'd to desperate height,
And conscious knowledge of his valour, wrought
Fierce in his breast, and hoil'd in every thought.
He calls Eneas thrice: Eneas heard
The welcome sound; and thus his prayer preferr❜d:
"May Jove, supreme of gods, who rules on high!
And he, to whom 'tis giv'n to gild the sky,
Far-shooting king! inspire thee to draw near
Swift to thy fate, and grant thee to my spear."
But he:-"My Lausus ravish'd from my sight,
Me, with vain words, O! cruel, would'st affright;
With age, with watchings, and with labours worn,
Death is below my fear, and God I scorn!
I come resolv'd to die; but, ere I go,
Receive this dart, the present of a foe."
He said: the javelin hiss'd along the skies;
Another after, and another flies;
Thick, and incessant, as he rides the field;
Still all the storm sustains the golden shield
Firm, as Æneas stood: thrice rode he round,
Urging his darts, the compass of the ground:
Thrice wheel'd Æneas; thrice his buckler bears
About, a brazen wood of rising spears:

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