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Our ancient seat his honor'd presence graced,
Where twenty days in genial rites he pass’d.
The parting heroes mutual presents left ;
A golden goblet was thy grandsire's gift;
Eneus a belt of matchless work bestowed,
That rich with Tyrian dye refulgent glow'd.
(This from his pledge I learn'd, which, safely stored
Among my treasures, still adorns my board :
For Tydeus left me young, when Thebe's wall
Beheld the sons of Greece untimely fall).
Mindful of this, in friendship let us join;
If heaven our steps to foreign lands incline,
My guest in Argos thou, and I in Lycia thine.
Enough of Trojans to this lance shall yield,
In the full harvest of yon ample field;
Enough of Greeks shall dye thy spear with gore;
But thou and Diomed be foes no more.
Now change we arms, and prove to either host
We guard the friendship of the line we boast.”

Thus having said, the gallant chiefs alight,
Their hands they join, their mutual faith they plight;
Brave Glaucus then each narrow thought resign’d,
(Jove warm’d his bosom, and enlarged his mind),
For Diomed's brass arms, of mean device,
For which nine oxen paid (a vulgar price),
He gave his own, of gold divinely wrought,*
A hundred beeves the shining purchase bought.

Meantime the guardian of the Trojan state,
Great Hector, enter'd at the Scæan gate.t.
Beneath the beech-tree's consecrated shades,
The Trojan matrons and the Trojan maids
Around him flock’d, all press'd with pious care
For husbands, brothers, sons, engaged in war.
He bids the train in long procession go,
And seek the gods, to avert the impending woe.
And now to Priain's stately courts he came,
Rais'd on arch'd columns of stupendous frame ;
O’er these a range of marble structure runs,
The rich pavilions of his fifty sons,
In fifty chambers lodged : and rooms of state, I

* His own, of gold. This bad bargain has passed into a common proverb. See Aulus Gellius, ii. 23:

Scæan, i.e. left hand.
* In fifty chambers.

The fifty nuptial beds, (such hopes had he,
So large a promise of a progeny,)
The ports of plated gold, and hung with spoils."

Dryden's Virgil, ii. 658.

Opposed to those, where Priam's daughters sate.
'Twelve domes for them and their loved spouses shone,
Of equal beauty, and of polish'd stone.
Hither great Hector pass'd, nor pass'd unseen
Of royal Hecuba, his mother-queen.
(With her Laodicè, whose beauteous face
Surpass'd the nymphs of Troy's illustrious race.)
Long in a strict embrace she held her son,
And press’d his hand, and tender thus begun :

“O Hector ! say, what great occasion calls
My son from fight, when Greece surrounds our walls
Com'st thou to supplicate the almighty power
With lifted hands, from Ilion's lofty tower ?
Stay, till I bring the cup with Bacchus crown’d,
In Jove's high name, to sprinkle on the ground,
And pay due vows to all the gods around.
Then with a plenteous draught refresh thy soul,
And draw new spirits from the generous bowl;
Spent as thou art with long laborious fight,
The brave defender of thy country's right.”

“ Far hence be Bacchus' gifts (the chief rejoin'd);
Inflaming wine, pernicious to mankind,
Unnerves the limbs, and dulls the noble mind.
Let chiefs abstain, and spare the sacred juice
To sprinkle to the gods, its better use.
By rze that holy office were profaned ;
Ill fits it me, with human gore distain'd,
To the pure skies these horrid hands to raise,
Or offer heaven's great Sire polluted praise.
You, with your matrons, go! a spotless train,
And burn rich odors in Minerva's fane.
The largest mantle your full wardrobes hold,
Most prized for art, and labor'd o'er with gold,
Before the goddess' honor'd knees be spread,
And twelve you. ; heifers to her altar led.

the power, attoned by fervent prayer,
Our wives, our infants, and our city spare ;
And far avert Tydides' wasteful ire,
Who mows whole troops, and makes all Troy retire.
Be this, O mother, your religious care :
I go to rouse soft Paris to the war;
If yet not lost to all the sense of shame,
The recreant warrior hear the voice of fame.
Oh, would kind earth the hateful wretch embrace,

That pest of Troy, that ruin of our race ! * * O would kind earth, &c. “It is apparently a sudden, irregular burst of popular indignation to which Hector alludes, when he regrets that the Trojans had not spirit

Deep to the dark abyss might he descend,
Troy yet should flourish, and my, sorrows end."

This heard, she gave command : and summon'd came
Each noble matron and illustrious dame.
The Phrygian queen to her rich wardrobe went,
Where treasured odors wreathed a costly scent.
There lay the vestures of no vulgar art,
Sidonian maids embroider'd every part,
Whom from soft Sidon youthful Paris bore,
With Helen touching on the Tyrian shore.
Here, as the queen revolved with careful eyes
The various textures and the various dyes,
She chose a veil that shone superior far,
And glow'd refulgent as the morning star.
Herself with this the long procession leads;
The train majestically slow proceeds.
Soon as to Ilion's topmost tower they come,
And awful reach the high Palladian dome,
Antenor's consort, fair Theano, waits
As Pallas' priestess, and unbars the gates.
With hands up'ifted and imploring eyes,
They fill the dome with supplicating cries.
The priestess then the shining veil displays,
Placed on Minerva's knees, and thus she prays !

“Oh awful goddess ! ever-dreadful maid,
Troy's strong defence, unconquer'd Pallas' aid !
Break thou Tydides' spear, and let him fall
Prone on the dust before the Trojan wall !
So twelve young heifers, guiltless of the yoke,
Shall fill thy temple with a grateful smoke.
But thou, atoned by penitence and prayer,
Ourselves, our infants, and our city spare !”
So pray'd the priestess in her holy fane;
So vow'd the matrons, but they vow'd in vain.

While these appear before the power with prayers, Hector to Paris' lofty dome repairs. *

enough to cover Paris with a mantle of stones. This, however, was also one of the ordinary formal modes of punishment for great public offences,

It may have been originally connected with the same feeling the desire of avoiding the pollution of bloodshed—which seems to have suggested the practice of burying prisoners alive, with a scantling of food by their side. Though Homer makes no mention of this horrible usage, the example of the Roman vestals affords reasons for believing that, in ascribing it to the heroic ages, Sophocles followed an authentic tradition.”—Thirlwall's Greece, vol. i. p. 171, sq. * Paris' lofty dome.

“With respect to the private dwellings, which are oftenest described, the poet's language barely enables us to form a general notion of their ordinary plan, and affords no conception of the style which prevailed in them, or their

It seems indeed probable, from the mannii in which he dwells on their metallic ornaments, that the higher beauty of proportion was but little required or understood ; and it is, perhaps, strength and convenience, rather than elegance,

effect on the eye.

Himself the mansion raised ; from every part
Assembling architects of matchless art.
Near Priam's court and Hector's palace stands
The pompous structure, and the town commands.
A spear the hero bore of wondrous strength,
Of full ten cubits was the lance's length;
The steely point with golden ringlets join'd,
Before him brandish’d, at each motion shined.
Thus entering, in the glittering rooms he found
His brother-chief, whose useless arms lay round,
His eyes delighting with their splendid show,
Brightening the shield, and polishing the bow.
Beside him Helen with her virgins stands,
Guides their rich labors, and instructs their hands.

Him thus inactive, with an ardent look
The prince beheld, and high-resenting spoke.
“ Thy hate to Troy, is this the time to show?
(O wretch ill-fated, and thy country's foe!)
Paris and Greece against us both conspire;
Thy close resentment, and their vengeful ire.
For thee great Ilion's guardian heroes fall,
Till heaps of dead alone defend her wall ;
For thee the soldier bleeds, the matron mourns,
And wasteful war in all its fury burns.
Ungrateful man! deserves not this thy care,
Our troops to hearten, and our toils to share ?
Rise, or behold the conquering flames ascend,
And all the Phrygian glories at an end.”

“ Brother, 'tis just (replied the beauteous youth),
Thy free remonstrance proves thy worth and truth :
Yet charge my absence less, O generous chief !
On hate to Troy, than conscious shame and grief:
Here, hid from human eyes, thy brother sate,
And mourned, in secret, his and Ilion's fate.
'Tis now enough: now glory spreads her charms,
And beauteous Helen calls her chief to arms.
Conquest to-day my happier sword may bless,
'Tis man's to fight, but heaven's to give success.
But while I arm, contain thy ardent mind;
Or go, and Paris shall not lag behind.”

He said, nor answer'd Priam's warlike son; When Helen thus with lowly grace begun:

"Oh, generous brother ! (if the guilty dame That caused these woes deserve a sister's name !)

that he means to commend, in speaking of the fair house which Paris had built for himself with the aid of the most skilful masons of Troy.”—Thirlwall's Greece, vol. i. p. 231.

Would heaven, ere all these dreadful deeds were done,
The day that show'd me to the golden sun
Had seen my death! why did not whirlwinds bear
The fatal infant to the fowls of air ?
Why sunk I not beneath the whelming tide,
And midst the roarings of the waters died ?
Heaven fill'd up all my ills, and I accursed
Bore all, and Paris of those ills the worst.
Helen at least a braver spouse might claim,
Warm’d with some virtue, some regard of fame!
Now tired with toils, thy fainting limbs recline,
With toils, sustain'd for Paris' sake and mine:
The gods have link'd our miserable doom,
Our present woe, and infamy to come :
Wide shall it spread, and last through ages long,
Example sad ! and theme of future song.”

The chief replied : “ This time forbids to rest;
The Trojan bands, by hostile fury press'd,
Demand their Hector, and his arm require ;
The combat urges, and my soul's on fire.
Urge thou thy knight to march where glory calls,
And timely join me, ere I leave the walls.
Ere yet I mingle in the direful fray,
My wife, my infant, claim a moment's stay;
This day (perhaps the last that sees me here)
Demands a parting word, a tender tear:
This day, some god who hates our Trojan land
May vanquish Hector by a Grecian hand.”

He said, and pass'd with sad presaging heart
To seek his spouse, his soul's far dearer part;
At home he sought her, but he sought in vain ;
She, with one maid of all her menial train,
Had hence retired; and with her second joy,
The young Astyanax, the hope of Troy,
Pensive she stood on Ilion's towery height,
Beheld the war, and sicken'd at the sight;
There her sad eyes in vain her lord explore,
Or weep the wounds her bleeding country bore.

But he who found not whom his soul desired,
Whose virtue charnı'd him as her beauty fired,
Stood in the gates, and ask'd "what way she bent
Her parting step? If to the fane she went,
Where late the mourning matrons made resort;
Or sought her sisters in the Trojan court ? ”
“Not to the court (replied the attendant train),
Nor mix'd with matrons to Minerva's fane :
To Ilion's steepy tower she bent her way,

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