Doubtful his death; he suffocated seem'd
To most; but otherwise our Mopsus deem'd,
Who said he saw a yellow bird arise
From out the pile, and cleave the liquid
skies:

I saw it too, with golden feathers bright,
Nor e'er before beheld so strange a sight.
Whom Mopsus viewing, as it soar'd around
Our troop, and heard the pinions' rattling
sound,

All hail,' he cried, 'thy country's grace and love;

Once first of men below, now first of birds above.'

700

Its author to the story gave belief;
For us, our courage was increas'd by grief:
Asham'd to see a single man, pursued
With odds, to sink beneath a multitude,
We push'd the foe and forc'd to shameful
flight;

Part fell, and part escap'd by favor of the night."

This tale, by Nestor told, did much dis-
please

Tlepolemus, the seed of Hercules,
For often he had heard his father say
That he himself was present at the fray,
And more than shar'd the glories of the
day.

710

"Old Chronicle," he said, "among the rest,

You might have nam'd Alcides at the least: Is he not worth your praise?" The Pylian prince

Sigh'd ere he spoke; then made this proud

defense:

"My former woes, in long oblivion drown'd, I would have lost; but you renew the wound:

Better to pass him o'er, than to relate
The cause I have your mighty sire to hate.

We praise not Hector; tho' his name, we know,

Is great in arms: 't is hard to praise a foe.

He, your great father, level'd to the ground

Messenia's tow'rs: nor better fortune found Elis and Pylus; that, a neighb'ring state, And this, my own, both guiltless of their fate.

"To pass the rest, twelve, wanting one, he slew,

My brethren, who their birth from Neleus drew.

All youths of early promise, had they liv'd;
By him they perish'd: I alone surviv'd. 730
The rest were easy conquest, but the fate
Of Periclymenos is wondrous to relate.
To him our common grandsire of the main
Had giv'n to change his form, and chang'd,

resume again.

Varied at pleasure, every shape he tried, And in all beasts Alcides still defied; Vanquish'd on earth, at length he soar'd above,

Chang'd to the bird that bears the bolt of Jove.

The new dissembled eagle, now endued 739 With beak and pounces, Hercules pursued, And cuff'd his manly cheeks, and tore his face;

Then safe retir'd, and tow'r'd in empty space.

Alcides bore not long his flying foe;
But, bending his inevitable bow,

Reach'd him in air, suspended as he stood,
And in his pinion fix'd the feather'd wood.
Light was the wound; but in the sinew
hung

The point, and his disabled wing unstrung. He wheel'd in air, and stretch'd his vans in vain;

749

His vans no longer could his flight sustain: For, while one gather'd wind, one unsupplied

Hung drooping down, nor pois'd his other

side.

He fell the shaft that slightly was impress'd,

Now from his heavy fall with weight increas'd,

780

A greater plague than all the wasteful war:
He lives; the proud Pelides lives, to boast
Our town destroy'd, our common labor lost!
O, could I meet him! But I wish too late;
To prove my trident is not in his fate.
But let him try (for that's allow'd) thy
dart,

And pierce his only penetrable part."

Apollo bows to the superior throne, And to his uncle's anger adds his own. Then, in a cloud involv'd, he takes his flight, Where Greeks and Trojans mix'd in mortal fight,

791

And found out Paris, lurking where he stood,

And he, the base adult'rer, boasts the fame:
A spectacle to glad the Trojan train,
And please old Priam, after Hector slain.
If by a female hand he had foreseen
He was to die, his wish had rather been 810
The lance and double ax of the fair war-
rior queen.

And now, the terror of the Trojan field, The Grecian honor, ornament, and shield, High on a pile th' unconquer'd chief is plac'd; The god that arm'd him first consum'd at last.

Of all the mighty man, the small remains A little urn, and scarcely fill'd, contains. Yet, great in Homer, still Achilles lives; And, equal to himself, himself survives. His buckler owns its former lord, and brings

820

New cause of strife betwixt contending kings;

Who worthiest, after him, his sword to wield, Or wear his armor, or sustain his shield. Ev'n Diomede sate mute, with downcast

THE SPEECHES OF AJAX AND

ULYSSES

FROM OVID'S METAMORPHOSES, BOOK XIII

THE chiefs were set, the soldiers crown'd

the field:

To these the master of the sevenfold shield Upstarted fierce; and, kindled with disdain, Eager to speak, unable to contain

His boiling rage, he roll'd his eyes around The shore, and Grecian galleys haul'd aground;

Then, stretching out his hands: "O Jove," he cried,

"Must then our cause before the fleet be tried?

And dares Ulysses for the prize contend,
In sight of what he durst not once defend?
But basely fled, that memorable day,
When I from Hector's hands redeem'd the
flaming prey.

So much 't is safer at the noisy bar
With words to flourish, than ingage in war.
By different methods we maintain our right,
Nor am I made to talk, nor he to fight.
In bloody fields I labor to be great;
His arms are a smooth tongue, and soft
deceit:

Nor need I speak my deeds, for those you

In shades below, where Sisyphus, whose son This thief is thought, rolls up the restless heavy stone):

Just Eacus the King of Gods above
Begot: thus Ajax is the third from Jove. 40
Nor should I seek advantage from my line,
Unless, Achilles, it were mix'd with thine:
As next of kin Achilles' arms I claim;
This fellow would ingraft a foreign name
Upon our stock, and the Sisyphian seed
By fraud and theft asserts his father's
breed.

Then must I lose these arms, because I

appear'd in fight.

Or so believ'd; the less had been our shame, The less his counsel'd crime which brands the Grecian name;

Nor Philoctetes had been left inclos'd
In a bare isle, to wants and pains expos'd,
Where to the rocks, with solitary groans,
His suff'rings and our baseness he bemoans;
And wishes (so may Heav'n his wish fulfil !)
The due reward to him who caus'd his ill.
Now he, with us to Troy's destruction
sworn,

70

Our brother of the war, by whom are borne Alcides' arrows, pent in narrow bounds, With cold and hunger pinch'd, and pain'd with wounds,

To find him food and clothing, must employ Against the birds the shafts due to the fate

of Troy.

Yet still he lives, and lives from treason

free,

Because he left Ulysses' company:

Himself had hidden in his tent before: Thus of two champions he depriv'd our host,

By exile one, and one by treason lost.
Thus fights Ulysses, thus his fame extends,
A formidable man, but to his friends:
Great, for what greatness is in words and
sound;

Ev'n faithful Nestor less in both is found. 90
But, that he might without a rival reign,
He left this faithful Nestor on the plain;
Forsook his friend ev'n at his utmost need,
Who, tir'd and tardy, with his wounded
steed,

Cried out for aid, and call'd him by his

along;

Fear seiz'd alike the feeble and the strong: Each Greek was an Ulysses; such a dread Th' approach, and ev'n the sound of Hector bred;

Him, flesh'd with slaughter, and with conquest crown'd,

I met, and overturn'd him to the ground. When after, matchless as he deem'd in might,

He challeng'd all our host to single fight, 140 All eyes were fix'd on me; the lots were thrown,

But for your champion I was wish'd alone: Your vows were heard, we fought, and

neither yield;

The latent robber, and prevent his game; Nor could he hold his tott'ring head upright

Beneath that motion, or sustain the weight; Nor that right arm could toss the beamy lance,

Much less the left that ampler shield ad

vance,

Pond'rous with precious weight, and rough with cost

Of the round world in rising gold emboss'd. That orb would ill become his hand to wield, And look as for the gold he stole the shield; Which should your error on the wretch bestow,

181

It would not frighten, but allure the foe. Why asks he what avails him not in fight, And would but cumber and retard his flight, In which his only excellence is plac'd? You give him death, that intercept his haste. Add, that his own is yet a maiden shield, Nor the least dint has suffer'd in the field, Guiltless of fight; mine, batter'd, hew'd, and bor'd,

Worn out of service, must forsake his lord. What farther need of words our right to scan?

191

My arguments are deeds, let action speak the man.

Since from a champion's arms the strife

Or seem'd to draw, some drops of kindly dew,)

Who better can succeed Achilles lost,
Than he who gave Achilles to your host?
This only I request, that neither he
May gain, by being what he seems to be,
A stupid thing, nor I may lose the prize,
By having sense, which Heav'n to him denies;
Since, great or small, the talent I enjoy'd
Was ever in the common cause employ'd.
Nor let my wit, and wonted eloquence, 221
Which often has been us'd in your defense
And in my own, this only time be brought
To bear against myself, and deem'd a fault.
Make not a crime, where nature made it