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The race of these superior far to those,

As he that thunders to the stream that flows.
What rivers can, Scamander might have shown;
But Jove he dreads, nor wars against his son.
Even Achelöus might contend in vain,
And all the roaring billows of the main.
The eternal ocean, from whose fountains flow
The seas, the rivers, and the springs below,
The thundering voice of Jove abhors to hear,
And in his deep abysses shakes with fear."

He said; then from the bank his javelin tore,
And left the breathless warrior in his gore.
The floating tides the bloody carcase lave,
And beat against it, wave succeeding wave;
Till, roll'd between the banks, it lies the food
Of curling eels, and fishes of the flood.

All scatter'd round the stream (their mightiest slain)
The amazed Pæonians scour along the plain :
He vents his fury on the flying crew,
Thrasius, Astypylus, and Mnesus slew ;
Mydon, Thersilochus, with Enius, fell;
And numbers more his lance had plunged to hell,
But from the bottom of his gulfs profound
Scamander spoke; the shores return'd the sound:
"O first of mortals! (for the gods are thine)
In valour matchless, and in force divine!
If Jove have given thee every Trojan head,
"Tis not on me thy rage should heap the dead.
See! my choked streams no more their course can
Nor roll their wonted tribute to the deep. [keep,
Turn then, impetuous! from our injured flood;
Content, thy slaughters could amaze a god."

In human form, confess'd before his eyes,
The river thus; and thus the chief replies:
"O sacred stream! thy word we shall obey;
But not till Troy the destined vengeance pay,
Not till within her towers the perjured train
Shall pant, and tremble at our arms again;
Not till proud Hector, guardian of her wall,
Or stain this lance, or see Achilles fall."

He said; and drove with fury on the foe.
Then to the godhead of the silver bow
The yellow flood began: "O son of Jove!
Was not the mandate of the sire above
Full and express, that Phoebus should employ
His sacred arrows in defence of Troy,
And make her conquer, till Hyperion's fall
In awful darkness hide the face of all?"

[way.

He spoke in vain-The chief without dismay Ploughs through the boiling surge his desperate Then rising in his rage above the shores, From all his deep the bellowing river roars, Huge heaps of slain disgorges on the coast, And round the banks the ghastly dead are toss'd. While all before, the billows ranged on high, (A watery bulwark) skreen the bands who fly. Now bursting on his head with thundering sound, The falling deluge whelms the hero round: His loaded shield bends to the rushing tide; His feet, upborne, scarce the strong flood divide, Sliddering, and staggering. On the border stood A spreading elm, that overhung the flood; He seized a bending bough, his steps to stay; The plant uprooted to his weight gave way, Heaving the bank, and undermining all; Loud flash the waters to the rushing fall Of the thick foliage. The large trunk display'd Bridged the rough flood across the hero stay'd On this his weight, and, raised upon his hand, Leap'd from the channel, and regain'd the land.

Then blacken'd the wild waves; the murmur rose;
The god pursues, a huger billow throws,
And bursts the bank, ambitious to destroy
The man whose fury is the fate of Troy.
He like the warlike eagle speeds his pace
(Swiftest and strongest of the aërial race;)
Far as a spear can fly, Achilles springs
At every bound; his clanging armour rings:
Now here, now there, he turns on every side,
And winds his course before the following tide;
The waves flow after, wheresoe'er he wheels,
And gather fast, and murmur at his heels.
So when a peasant to his garden brings
Soft rills of water from the bubbling springs,
And calls the floods from high, to bless his bowers,
And feed with pregnant streams the plants and
flowers;

Soon as he clears whate'er their passage stay'd,
And marks the future current with his spade,
Swift o'er the rolling pebbles, down the hills,
Louder and louder purl the falling rills;
Before him scattering, they prevent his pains,
And shine in mazy wanderings o'er the plains.
Still flies Achilles, but before his eyes
Still swift Scamander rolls where'er he flies:
Not all his speed escapes the rapid floods;
The first of men, but not a match for gods.
Oft as he turn'd the torrent to oppose,
And bravely try if all the powers were foes;
So oft the surge, in watery mountains spread,
Beats on his back, or bursts upon his head.
Yet dauntless still the adverse flood he braves,
And still indignant bounds above the waves.
Tired by the tides, his knees relax with toil;
Wash'd from beneath him slides the slimy soil;
When thus (his eyes on heaven's expansion thrown)
Forth bursts the hero with an angry groan :

"Is there no god Achilles to befriend,
No power to avert his miserable end?
Prevent, O Jove! this ignominious date,
And make my future life the sport of fate.
Of all heaven's oracles believed in vain,
But most of Thetis, must her son complain;
By Phoebus' darts she prophesied my fall,
In glorious arms before the Trojan wall.
Oh! had I died in fields of battle warm,
Stretch'd like a hero, by a hero's arm!
Might Hector's spear this dauntless bosom rend,
And my swift soul o'ertake my slaughter'd friend!
Ah no! Achilles meets a shameful fate,

Oh how unworthy of the brave and great!
Like some vile swain, whom on a rainy day,
Crossing a ford, the torrent sweeps away,
An unregarded carcase to the sea.'

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Neptune and Pallas haste to his relief, And thus in human form address'd the chief; The power of ocean first: "Forbear thy fear, O son of Peleus! Lo, thy gods appear! Behold! from Jove descending to thy aid, Propitious Neptune, and the blue-eyed maid. Stay, and the furious flood shall cease to rave: "Tis not thy fate to glut his angry wave. But thou, the counsel heaven suggests, attend! Nor breathe from combat, nor thy sword suspend, Till Troy receive her flying sons, till all Her routed squadrons pant behind their wall: Hector alone shall stand his fatal chance, And Hector's blood shall smoke upon thy lance. Thine is the glory doom'd." Thus spake the gods: Then swift ascended to the bright abodes.

Sting with new ardour, thus by heaven impell'd,
He springs impetuous, and invades the field:
O'er all the expanded plain the waters spread;
Heaved on the bounding billows danced the dead,
Floating 'midst scatter'd arms; while casques of
gold

And turn'd-up bucklers glitter'd as they roll'd.
High o'er the surging tide, by leaps and bounds,
He wades, and mounts; the parted wave resounds.
Not a whole river stops the hero's course,
While Pallas fills him with immortal force.
With equal rage, indignant Xanthus roars,
And lifts his billows, and o'erwhelms his shores.
Then thus to Simoïs: "Haste, my brother flood!
And cheek this mortal that controls a god:
Our bravest heroes else shall quit the fight,
And Ilion tumble from her towery height.

Call then thy subject streams, and bid them roar,

From all thy fountains swell thy watery store,
With broken rocks, and with a load of dead,
Charge the black surge, and pour it on his head.
Mark how resistless through the floods he goes,
And boldly bids the warring gods be foes!
But nor that force, nor form divine to sight,
Shall aught avail him, if our rage unite:

Now flounce aloft, now dive the scaly fry,
Or, gasping, turn their bellies to the sky.
At length the river rear'd his languid head,
And thus, short-panting, to the god he said:
"Oh Vulcan! oh! what power resists thy might!
I faint, I sink, unequal to the fight-

I yield-Let Ilion fall; if fate decree-
Ah-

-bend no more thy fiery arms on me !"
He ceased; wide conflagration blazing round;
The bubbling waters yield a hissing sound.
As when the flames beneath a caldron rise,
To melt the fat of some rich sacrifice,
Amid the fierce embrace of circling fires
The waters foam, the heavy smoke aspires:
So boils the imprison'd flood, forbid to flow,
And choked with vapours, feels his bottom glow.
To Juno then, imperial queen of air,
The burning river sends his earnest prayer:

"Ah why, Saturnia! must thy son engage
Me, only me, with all his wasteful rage?
On other gods his dreadful arm employ,
For mightier gods assert the cause of Troy.
Submissive I desist, if thou command;
But ah! withdraw this all-destroying hand.
Hear then my solemn oath, to yield to fate
Unaided Ilion, and her destined state,

Whelm'd under our dark gulfs those arms shall lie, Till Greece shall gird her with destructive flame,

That blaze so dreadful in each Trojan eye;
And deep beneath a sandy mountain hurl'd,
Immersed remain this terror of the world.
Such ponderous ruin shall confound the place,
No Greeks shall e'er his perish'd relics grace,
No hand his bones shall gather, or inhume;
These his cold rites, and this his watery tomb."
He said; and on the chief descends amain,
Increased with gore, and swelling with the slain.
Then, murmuring from his beds, he boils, he raves,
And a foam whitens on the purple waves:
At every step, before Achilles stood

The crimson surge, and deluged him with blood.
Fear touch'd the queen of heaven: she saw dismay'd,
She call'd aloud, and summon'd Vulcan's aid.

"Rise to the war! the insulting flood requires Thy wasteful arm! assemble all thy fires! While to their aid, by our command enjoin'd, Rush the swift eastern and the western wind: These from old ocean at my word shall blow, Pour the red torrent on the watery foe, Corses and arms to one bright ruin turn, And hissing rivers to their bottoms burn. Go, mighty in thy rage! display thy power, Drink the whole flood, the crackling trees devour, Scorch all the banks! and (till our voice reclaim) Exert the unwearied furies of the flame !"

The power ignipotent her word obeys: Wide o'er the plain he pours the boundless blaze; At once consumes the dead, and dries the soil: And the shrunk waters in their channel boil. As when autumnal Boreas sweeps the sky, And instant blows the water'd gardens dry: So look'd the field, so whiten'd was the ground, While Vulcan breathed the fiery blast around. Swift on the sedgy reeds the ruin preys ; Along the margin winds the running blaze: The trees in flaming rows to ashes turn, The flowery lotos and the tamarisk burn, Broad elm, and cypress rising in a spire; The watery willows hiss before the fire. Now glow the waves, the fishes pant for breath, The eels lie twisting in the pangs of death:

And in one ruin sink the Trojan name."

His warm entreaty touch'd Saturnia's ear:
She bade the ignipotent his rage forbear,
Recal the flame, nor in a mortal cause
Infest a god: the obedient flame withdraws :
Again, the branching streams begin to spread,
And soft remurmur in their wonted bed.

While these by Juno's will the strife resign,
The warring gods in fierce contention join:
Rekindling rage each heavenly breast alarms :
With horrid clangour shock the ethereal arms:
Heaven in loud thunder bids the trumpet sound;
And wide beneath them groans the rending ground.
Jove, as his sport, the dreadful scene descries,
And views contending gods with careless eyes.
The power of battles lifts his brazen spear,
And first assaults the radiant queen of war:

"What moved thy madness, thus to disunite
Ethereal minds, and mix all heaven in fight?
What wonder this, when in thy frantic mood
Thou drovest a mortal to insult a god?
Thy impious hand Tydides' javelin bore,
And madly bathed it in celestial gore."

He spoke, and smote the long-resounding shield, Which bears Jove's thunder on its dreadful field: The adamantine aegis of her sire,

That turns the glancing bolt and forked fire.

Then heaved the goddess in her mighty hand A stone, the limit of the neighbouring land, There fix'd from eldest times; black, craggy, vast; This at the heavenly homicide she cast. Thundering he falls, a mass of monstrous size: And seven broad acres covers as he lies. The stunning stroke his stubborn nerves unbound: Loud o'er the fields his ringing arms resound: The scornful dame her conquest views with smiles, And, glorying, thus the prostrate god reviles:

"Hast thou not yet, insatiate fury! known, How far Minerva's force transcends thy own? Juno, whom thou rebellious darest withstand, Corrects thy folly thus by Pallas' hand; Thus meets thy broken faith with just disgrace, And partial aid to Troy's perfidious race.'

The goddess spoke, and turn'd her eyes away,
That, beaming round, diffused celestial day.
Jove's Cyprian daughter, stooping on the land,
Lent to the wounded god her tender hand:
Slowly he rises, scarcely breathes with pain,
And, propp'd on her fair arm, forsakes the plain.
This the bright empress of the heavens survey'd,
And, scoffing, thus to war's victorious maid:

"Lo! what an aid on Mars's side is seen!
The smiles' and loves' unconquerable queen!
Mark with what insolence, in open view,
She moves: let Pallas, if she dares, pursue."

Minerva smiling heard, the pair o'ertook,
And slightly on her breast the wanton strook:
She, unresisting, fell (her spirits fled ;)
On earth together lay the lovers spread.
"And like these heroes be the fate of all
(Minerva cries) who guard the Trojan wall !
To Grecian gods such let the Phrygian be,
So dread, so fierce, as Venus is to me;
Then from the lowest stone shall Troy be moved."
Thus she, and Juno with a smile approved.

Meantime, to mix in more than mortal fight, The god of ocean dares the god of light. "What sloth has seized us, when the fields around Ring with conflicting powers, and heaven returns the sound?

Shall, ignominious, we with shame retire,
No deed perform'd, to our Olympian sire?
Come, prove thy arm! for first the war to wage,
Suits not my greatness, or superior age:
Rash as thou art to prop the Trojan throne,
(Forgetful of my wrongs, and of thy own)
And guard the race of proud Laomedon!
Hast thou forgot, how, at the monarch's prayer,
We shared the lengthen'd labours of a year?
Troy walls I raised (for such were Jove's commands),
And yon proud bulwarks grew beneath my hands:
Thy task it was to feed the bellowing droves
Along fair Ida's vales and pendent groves.
But when the circling seasons in their train
Brought back the grateful day that crown'd our
With menace stern the fraudful king defied [pain,
Our latent godhead, and the prize denied:
Mad as he was, he threaten'd servile bands,
And doom'd us exiles far in barbarous lands.
Incensed, we heavenward fled with swiftest wing,
And destined vengeance on the perjured king.
Dost thou, for this, afford proud Ilion grace,
And not, like us, infest the faithless race;
Like us, their present, future sons destroy,

Silent he heard the queen of woods upbraid: Not so Saturnia bore the vaunting maid; But furious thus: "What insolence has driven Thy pride to face the majesty of heaven? What though by Jove the female plague design'd, Fierce to the feeble race of womankind, The wretched matron feels thy piercing dart; Thy sex's tyrant, with a tiger's heart? What though tremendous in the woodland chase, Thy certain arrows pierce the savage race? How dares thy rashness on the powers divine Employ those arms, or match thy force with mine? Learn hence, no more unequal war to wage-" She said, and seized her wrists with eager rage; These in her left hand lock'd, her right untied The bow, the quiver, and its plumy pride. About her temples flies the busy bow; Now here, now there, she winds her from the blow ; The scattering arrows, rattling from the case, Drop round, and idly mark the dusty place. Swift from the field the baffled huntress flies, And scarce restrains the torrent in her eyes: So, when the falcon wings her way above, To the cleft cavern speeds the gentle dove; (Not fated yet to die) there safe retreats, Yet still her heart against the marble beats.

To her Latona hastes with tender care;
Whom Hermes viewing, thus declines the war:
"How shall I face the dame, who gives delight
To him whose thunders blacken heaven with night?
Go, matchless goddess! triumph in the skies,
And boast my conquest, while I yield the prize."
He spoke; and pass'd: Latona, stooping low,
Collects the scatter'd shafts and fallen bow,
That, glittering on the dust, lay here and there;
Dishonour'd relics of Diana's war:

Then swift pursued her to her blest abode,
Where, all confused, she sought the sovereign god;
Weeping she grasp'd his knees: the ambrosial vest
Shook with her sighs, and panted on her breast.

The sire superior smiled, and bade her show
What heavenly hand had caused his daughter's woe?
Abash'd, she names his own imperial spouse;
And the pale crescent fades upon her brows.

Thus they above : while, swiftly gliding down,
Apollo enters Ilion's sacred town;
The guardian-god now trembled for her wall,
And fear'd the Greeks, though fate forbade her
fall.

Back to Olympus, from the war's alarms,
Return the shining bands of gods in arms;

And from its deep foundations heave their Troy ?" Some proud in triumph, some with rage on fire ;

Apollo thus: "To combat for mankind

Ill suits the wisdom of celestial mind:
For what is man? Calamitous by birth,
They owe their life and nourishment to earth;
Like yearly leaves, that now, with beauty crown'd,
Smile on the sun; now, wither on the ground.
To their own hands commit the frantic scene,
Nor mix immortals in a cause so mean."

Then turns his face, far-beaming heavenly fires,
And from the senior power submiss retires:
Him, thus retreating, Artemis upbraids,
The quiver'd huntress of the sylvan shades:
• “ And is it thus the youthful Phoebus flies,
And yields to ocean's hoary sire the prize?
How vain that martial pomp, and dreadful show
Of pointed arrows and the silver bow!
Now boast no more in yon celestial bower,
Thy force can match the great earth-shaking power."

And take their thrones around the ethereal sire. Through blood, through death, Achilles still pro

ceeds,

O'er slaughter'd heroes, and o'er rolling steeds.
As when avenging flames with fury driven
On guilty towns exert the wrath of heaven;
The pale inhabitants, some fall, some fily ;
And the red vapours purple all the sky:
So raged Achilles: death and dire dismay,
And toils, and terrors, fill'd the dreadful day.
High on a turret hoary Priam stands,
And marks the waste of his destructive hands;
Views, from his arm, the Trojans' scatter'd flight,
And the near hero rising on his sight!
No stop, no check, no aid! With feeble pace,
And settled sorrow on his aged face,
Fast as he could, he sighing quits the walls;
And thus descending, on the guards he calls:

"You to whose care our city-gates belong,
Set wide your portals to the flying throng:
For lo! he comes, with unresisted sway;
He comes, and desolation marks his way!
But when within the walls our troops take breath,
Lock fast the brazen bars, and shut out death."
Thus charged the reverend monarch: wide were
flung

The opening folds; the sounding hinges rung.
Phoebus rush'd forth, the flying bands to meet;
Struck slaughter back, and cover'd the retreat.
On heaps the Trojans crowd to gain the gate,
And gladsome see their last escape from fate.
Thither, all parch'd with thirst, a heartless train,
Hoary with dust, they beat the hollow plain:
And gasping, panting, fainting, labour on
With heavier strides, that lengthen toward the
Enraged Achilles follows with his spear; [town.
Wild with revenge, insatiable of war.

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Then had the Greeks eternal praise acquired,
And Troy inglorious to her walls retired;
But he, the god who darts ethereal flame,
Shot down to save her, and redeem her fame:
To young Agenor force divine he gave
(Antenor's offspring, haughty, bold, and brave ;)
In aid of him, beside the beech he sate,
And wrapt in clouds, restrain'd the hand of fate.
When now the generous youth Achilles spies,
Thick beats his heart, the troubled motions rise
(So, ere a storm, the waters heave and roll ;)
He stops, and questions thus his mighty soul:
"What, shall I fly this terror of the plain!
Like others fly, and be like others slain?
Vain hope! to shun him by the self-same road
Yon line of slaughter'd Trojans lately trod.
No: with the common heap I scorn to fall-
What if they pass'd me to the Trojan wall,
While I decline to yonder path, that leads
To Ida's forests and surrounding shades?
So may I reach, conceal'd, the cooling flood,
From my tired body wash the dirt and blood,
As soon as night her dusky veil extends,
Return in safety to my Trojan friends.
What if?But wherefore all this vain debate?
Stand I to doubt, within the reach of fate?
Even now perhaps, ere yet I turn the wall,
The fierce Achilles sees me, and I fall:
Such is his swiftness, 'tis in vain to fly,
And such his valour, that who stands must die.
Howe'er 'tis better, fighting for the state,
Here, and in public view, to meet my fate.
Yet sure he too is mortal; he may feel
(Like all the sons of earth) the force of steel;
One only soul informs that dreadful frame:
And Jove's sole favour gives him all his fame."
He said, and stood, collected in his might;
And all his beating bosom claim'd the fight.
So from some deep-grown wood a panther starts,
Roused from his thicket by a storm of darts:
Untaught to fear or fly, he hears the sounds
Of shouting hunters, and of clamorous hounds;
Though struck, though wounded, scarce perceives
the pain;

And the barb'd javelin stings his breast in vain :
On their whole war, untamed, the savage flies;
And tears his hunter, or beneath him dies.
Not less resolved, Antenor's valiant heir
Confronts Achilles, and awaits the war,
Disdainful of retreat: high held before,
His shield (a broad circumference) he bore;

Then graceful as he stood, in act to throw
The lifted javelin, thus bespoke the foe:

"How proud Achilles glories in his fame!
And hopes this day to sink the Trojan name
Beneath her ruins! Know, that hope is vain ;
A thousand woes, a thousand toils remain.
Parents and children our just arms employ,
And strong and many are the sons of Troy.
Great as thou art, even thou may'st stain with gore
These Phrygian fields, and press a foreign shore."

He said: with matchless force the javelin flung
Smote on his knee; the hollow cuishes rung
Beneath the pointed steel; but safe from harms,
He stands impassive in the ethereal arms.
Then fiercely rushing on the daring foe,
His lifted arm prepares the fatal blow:
But, jealous of his fame, Apollo shrouds
The godlike Trojan in a veil of clouds.
Safe from pursuit, and shut from mortal view,
Dismiss'd with fame, the favour'd youth withdrew.
Meanwhile the god, to cover their escape,
Assumes Agenor's habit, voice, and shape,
Flies from the furious chief in this disguise;
The furious chief still follows where he flies.
Now o'er the fields they stretch with lengthen'd
strides,

Now urge the course where swift Scamander glides:
The god, now distant scarce a stride before,
Tempts his pursuit, and wheels about the shore;
While all the flying troops their speed employ,
And pour on heaps into the walls of Troy:
No stop, no stay; no thought to ask, or tell,
Who 'scaped by flight, or who by battle fell.
'Twas tumult all, and violence of flight;
And sudden joy confused, and mix'd affright:
Pale Troy against Achilles shuts her gate:
And nations breathe, deliver'd from their fate.

BOOK XXII.

ARGUMENT.

THE DEATH OF HECTOR,

Hecuba

The Trojans being safe within the walls, Hector only stays to oppose Achilles. Priam is struck at his approach, and tries to persuade his son to re-enter the town. joins her entreaties, but in vain. Hector consults within himself what measures to take; but at the advance of Achilles, his resolution fails him, and he flies. Achilles pursues him thrice round the walls of Troy. The gods debate concerning the fate of Hector; at length Minerva descends to the aid of Achilles. She deludes Hector in the shape of Deiphobus; he stands the combat, and is slain. Achilles drags the dead body at his chariot in the sight of Priam and Hecuba. Their lamentations, tears, and despair. Their cries reach the ears of Andromache, who, ignorant of this, was retired into the inner part of the palace: she mounts up to the walls, and beholds her dead husband. She swoons at the spectacle. Her excess of grief and lamentation.

The thirtieth day still continues. The scene lies under the walls, and on the battlements of Troy.

THUS to their bulwarks, smit with panic fear, The herded Ilians rush like driven deer; There safe they wipe the briny drops away, And drown in bowls the labours of the day. Close to the walls, advancing o'er the fields Beneath one roof of well-compacted shields,

March, bending on, the Greeks' embodied powers,
Far-stretching in the shade of Trojan towers.
Great Hector singly stay'd: chain'd down by fate,
There fix'd he stood before the Scran gate;
Still his bold arms determined to employ,
The guardian still of long-defended Troy.
Apollo now to tired Achilles turns,
(The power confess'd in all his glory burns ;)
"And what (he cries) has Peleus' son in view,
With mortal speed a godhead to pursue?
For not to thee to know the gods is given,
Unskill'd to trace the latent marks of heaven.
What boots thee now, that Troy forsook the plain?
Vain thy past labour, and thy present vain :
Safe in their walls are now her troops bestow'd,
While here thy frantic rage attacks a god."

The chief incensed-"Too partial god of day!
To check my conquests in the middle way:
How few in Ilion else had refuge found!
What gasping numbers now had bit the ground!
Thou robb'st me of a glory justly mine,
Powerful of godhead, and of fraud divine:
Mean fame, alas! for one of heavenly strain,
To cheat a mortal who repines in vain."

Then to the city, terrible and strong,
With high and haughty steps he tower'd along.
So the proud courser, victor of the prize,
To the near goal with double ardour flies.
Him, as he blazing shot across the field,
The careful eyes of Priam first beheld.
Not half so dreadful rises to the sight,
Through the thick gloom of some tempestuous night,
Orion's dog (the year when autumn weighs)
And o'er the feebler stars exerts his rays;
Terrific glory! for his burning breath
Taints the red air with fevers, plagues, and death.
So flamed his fiery mail. Then wept the sage:
He strikes his reverend head, now white with age;
He lifts his wither'd arms; obtests the skies;
He calls his much-loved son with feeble cries:
The son, resolved Achilles' force to dare,
Full at the Scran gates expects the war;
While the sad father on the rampart stands,
And thus adjures him with extended hands:
"Ah stay not, stay not! guardless and alone;
Hector! my loved, my dearest, bravest son!
Methinks already I behold thee slain,

And stretch'd beneath that fury of the plain.
Implacable Achilles! might'st thou be
To all the gods no dearer than to me!
Thee, vultures wild should scatter round the shore,
And bloody dogs grow fiercer from thy gore.
How many valiant sons I late enjoy'd,
Valiant in vain! by thy curst arm destroy'd:
Or, worse than slaughter'd, sold in distant isles
To shameful bondage, and unworthy toils.
Two, while I speak, my eyes in vain explore,
Two from one mother sprung, my Polydore,
And loved Lycaon; now perhaps no more!
Oh! if in yonder hostile camp they live,
What heaps of gold, what treasures would I give!
(Their grandsire's wealth, by right of birth their

own,

Consign'd his daughter with Lelegia's throne ;)
But if (which Heaven forbid) already lost,
All pale they wander on the Stygian coast;
What sorrows then must their sad mother know,
What anguish I? unutterable woe!
Yet less that anguish, less to her, to me,
Less to all Troy, if not deprived of thee.

Yet shun Achilles! enter yet the wall;
And spare thyself, thy father, spare us all!
Save thy dear life; or, if a soul so brave
Neglect that thought, thy dearer glory save.
Pity, while yet I live, these silver hairs;
While yet thy father feels the woes he bears,
Yet curst with sense! a wretch, whom in his rage
(All trembling on the verge of helpless age)
Great Jove has placed, sad spectacle of pain!
The bitter dregs of fortune's cup to drain:
To fill with scenes of death his closing eyes,
And number all his days by miseries !
My heroes slain, my bridal bed o'erturn'd,
My daughters ravish'd, and my city burn'd,
My bleeding infants dash'd against the floor;
These I have yet to see, perhaps yet more!
Perhaps even I, reserved by angry fate
The last sad relic of my ruin'd state,
(Dire pomp of sovereign wretchedness!) must fall,
And stain the pavement of my regal hall;
Where famish'd dogs, late guardians of my door,
Shall lick their mangled master's spatter'd gore.
Yet for my sons I thank ye, gods! 'tis well;
Well have they perish'd, for in fight they fell.
Who dies in youth and vigour, dies the best,
Struck through with wounds, all honest on the breast.
But when the Fates, in fulness of their rage,
Spurn the hoar head of unresisting age,
In dust the reverend lineaments deform,
And pour to dogs the life-blood scarcely warm:
This, this is misery! the last, the worst,
That man can feel; man, fated to be curst!"

He said, and acting what no words could say,
Rent from his head the silver locks away.
With him the mournful mother bears a part;
Yet all her sorrows turn not Hector's heart.
The zone unbraced, her bosom she display'd;
And thus, fast-falling the salt tears, she said:

"Have mercy on me, O my son! revere
The words of age; attend a parent's prayer!
If ever thee in these fond arms I press'd,
Or still'd thy infant clamours at this breast;
Ah do not thus our helpless years forego,
But, by our walls secured, repel the foe.
Against his rage if singly thou proceed,
Should'st thou (but heaven avert it!) should'st thou
Nor must thy corse lie honour'd on the bier,
Nor spouse, nor mother, grace thee with a tear!
Far from our pious rites those dear remains
Must feast the vultures on the naked plains."

[bleed,

So they, while down their cheeks the torrents roll; But fix'd remains the purpose of his soul; Resolved he stands, and with a fiery glance Expects the hero's terrible advance. So, roll'd up in his den, the swelling snake Beholds the traveler approach the brake; When fed with noxious herbs his turgid veins Have gather'd half the poisons of the plains; He burns, he stiffens with collected ire, And his red eyeballs glare with living fire. Beneath a turret, on his shield reclined, He stood, and question'd thus his mighty mind: "Where lies my way? to enter in the wall? Honour and shame the ungenerous thought recal: Shall proud Polydamas before the gate Proclaim, his counsels are obey'd too late, Which timely follow'd but the former night, What numbers had been saved by Hector's flight! That wise advice rejected with disdain,

I feel my folly in my people slain.

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