That the proud tyrant, at his proper cost,
May learn the value of the man he lost.

To whom the Mother-goddess thus replied, Sigh'd ere she spoke, and while she spoke she cried,

Ah wretched me! by fates averse decreed

The sacred Cilla, thou, whose awful sway,
Chrysa the bless'd, and Tenedos obey:
Now hear, as thou before my prayer hast heard,
Against the Grecians, and their prince, pre-
ferr'd:

Once thou hast honour'd, honour once again

breed!

Did envious heaven not otherwise ordain,
Safe in thy hollow ships thou shouldst remain ;
Nor ever tempt the fatal field again.
But now thy planet sheds his poisonous rays,
And short and full of sorrow are thy days.
For what remains, to heaven I will ascend,
And at the Thunderer's throne thy suit com-
mend.

Till then, secure in ships, abstain from fight;
Indulge thy grief in tears, and vent thy spite.
For yesterday the court of heaven with Jove
Remov'd: 't is dead vacation now above.
Twelve days the gods their solemn revels keep,
And quaff with blameless Ethiops in the deep.
Return'd from thence, to heaven my flight I
take,

Knock at the brazen gates, and providence awake.

Embrace his knees, and suppliant to the sire,
Doubt not I will obtain the grant of thy desire.
She said: and, parting, left him on the place,
Swoln with disdain, resenting his disgrace:
Revengeful thoughts revolving in his mind,
He wept for anger, and for love he pin'd.

Meantime with prosperous gales Ulysses brought

The slave, and ship with sacrifices fraught,
To Chrysa's port: where, entering with the
tide,

He dropp'd his anchors, and his oars he plied.
Furl'd every sail, and, drawing down the mast,
His vessel moor'd; and made with haulsers fast.
Descending on the plain, ashore they bring
The hecatomb to please the shooter king.
The dame before an altar's holy fire
Ulysess led; and thus bespoke her sire.

Reverenc'd be thou, and be thy god ador'd:
The king of men thy daughter has restor❜d;
And sent by me with presents and with prayer,
He recommends him to thy pious care
That Phoebus at thy suit his wrath may cease,
And give the penitent offenders peace.

He said, and gave her to her father's hands, Who glad receiv'd her, free from servile bands. This done, in order they, with sober grace, Their gifts around the well-built altar place. Then wash'd, and took the cakes; while Chryses stood

With hands upheld, and thus invok'd his god. God of the silver bow, whose eyes survey

But from the afflicted host and humbled prince Avert thy wrath, and cease thy pestilence. Apollo heard, and, conquering his disdain, Unbent his bow, and Greece respir'd again. Now when the solemn rites of prayer were

past, [cast. Their salted cakes on crackling flames they Then, turning back, the sacrifice they sped: The fatted oxen slew, and flay'd the dead. Chopp'd off their nervous thighs, and next prepar'd [lard. To involve the lean in cauls, and mend with Sweet-breads and collops were with skewers

prick'd

About the side; imbibing what they deck'd. The priest with holy hands was seen to tine The cloven wood, and pour the ruddy wine. The youth approach'd the fire, and, as it burn'd, On five sharp broachers rank'd, the roast they turn 'd;

These morsels stay'd their stomachs, then the

rest

They cut in legs and fillets for the feast; Which drawn and serv'd, their hunger they

appease

With savoury meat, and set their minds at ease,
Now when the range of eating was repell'd,
The boys with generous wine the goblets fill's
The first libations to the gods they pour:
And then with songs indulge the genial hour.
Holy debauch! Till day to night they bring,
With hymns and pans to the bowyer king.
At sun-set to their ship they make return,
And snore secure on decks, till rosy morn.
The skies with dawning day were purpled o'er;
Awak'd, with labouring oars they leave the

shore :

The Power appeas'd, with winds suffic'd the sail,

The bellying canvass strutted with the gale;
The waves indignant roar with surly pride,
And press against the sides, and beaten off di-
vide.

They cut the foamy way, with force impell'd
Superior, till the Trojan port they held:
Then, hauling on the strand, their galley moor,
And pitch their tents along the crooked shore.

Meantime the goddess-born in secret pin'd; Nor visited the camp, nor in the council join'd, But, keeping close, his gnawing heart he fed With hopes of vengeance on the tyrant's head:

And wish'd for bloody wars and mortal wounds, And of the Greeks oppress'd in fight to hear the dying sounds.

Now, when twelve days complete had run their

race,

The gods bethought them of the cares belonging to their place.

Jove at their head ascending from the sea,
A shoal of puny Powers attend his way.
Then Thetis, not unmindful of her son,
Emerging from the deep, to beg her boon,
Pursu'd their track; and waken'd from his rest,
Before the sovereign stood, a morning guest.
Him in the circle, but apart, she found:
The rest at awful distance stood around.
She bow'd, and ere she durst her suit begin,
One hand embrac'd his knees, one propp'd his
chin.

Then thus. If I, celestial sire, in aught
Have serv'd thy will, or gratified thy thought,
One glimpse of glory to my issue give;
Grac'd for the little time he has to live.
Dishonour'd by the king of men he stands:
His rightful prize is ravish'd from his hands.
But thou, O father, in my son's defence,
Assume thy power, assert thy providence.
Let Troy prevail, till Greece the affront has
paid

With double honours; and redeem'd his aid.
She ceas'd, but the considering god was

mute:

Till she, resulv'd to win, renew'd her suit:
Nor loos'd her hold, but forc'd him to reply,
Or grant me my petition, or deny :
Jove cannot fear: then tell me to my face
That I, of all the gods, am least in grace.
This I can bear. The Cloud-compeller mourn'd,
And sighing first, this answer he return'd.
Know'st thou what clamours will disturb my
reign,

What my stunn'd ears from Juno must sustain?
In council she gives license to her tongue,
Loquacious, brawling, ever in the wrong.
And now she will my partial power upbraid,
If, alienate from Greece, I give the Trojans aid.
But thou depart, and shun her jealous sight,
The care be mine, to do Pelides right.
Go then, and on the faith of Jove rely:
When nodding to thy suit, he bows the sky.
This ratifies the irrevocable doom:
The sign ordain'd, that what I will shall come:
The stamp of heaven, and seal of fate. He said,
And shook the sacred honours of his head.
With terror trembled heaven's subsiding hill:
And from his shaken curls ambrosial dews distil.
The goddess goes exulting from his sight,
And seeks the seas profound; and leaves the
realms of light.

He moves into his hall: the Powers resort, Each from his house, to fill the sovereign's court Nor waiting summons, nor expecting stood, But met with reverence, and receiv'd the god. He mounts the throne; and Juno took her place:

But sullen discontent sate lowering on her face. With jealous eyes, at distance she had seen, Whispering with Jove, the silver-footed Queen; Then, impotent of tongue, (her silence broke) Thus turbulent in rattling tone she spoke.

Author of ills, and close contriver Jove, Which of thy dames, what prostitute of love, Has held thy ear so long, and begg'd so hard, For some old service done, some new reward? Apart you talk'd, for that's your special care, The consort never must the council share. One gracious word is for a wife too much: Such is a marriage vow, and Jove's own faith is such.

Then thus the Sire of gods, and men below: What I have hidden, hope not thou to know. E'en goddesses are women: and no wife Has power to regulate her husband's life: Counsel she may; and I will give thy ear The knowledge first, of what is fit to hear. What I transact with others, or alone, Beware to learn; nor press too near the throne. To whom the goddess with the charming

eyes,

What hast thou said, O tyrant of the skies! When did I search the secrets of thy reign, Though privileg'd to know, but privileg'd in vain?

But well thou dost, to hide from common sight Thy close intrigues, too bad to bear the light. Nor doubt I, but the silver-footed dame, Tripping from sea, on such an errand came, To grace her issue, at the Grecians' cost, And for one peevish man destroy an host.

To whom the Thunderer made this ster reply;

My household curse, my lawful plague, the

spy

Of Jove's designs, his other squinting eye;
Why this vain prying, and for what avail?
Jove will be master still, and Juno fail.
Should thy suspicious thoughts divine aright,
Thou but becom'st more odious to my sight
For this attempt: uneasy life to me,
Still watch'd and importun'd, but worse for thee.
Curb that impetuous tongue, before too late
The gods behold, and tremble at their fate :
Pitying, but daring not, in thy defence,
To lift a hand against Omnipotence.

This heard, the imperious Queen sate mute with fear :

Nor further durst incense the gloomy Thunderer

Silence was in the court at this rebuke:

Nor could the gods abash'd sustain their sovereign's look.

The limping smith observ'd the sadden'd
feast,

And hopping here and there, (himself a jest,)
Put in his word, that neither might offend;
To Jove obsequious, yet his mother's friend.
What end in heaven will be of civil war,
If gods of pleasure will for mortals jar?
Such discord but disturbs our jovial feast;
One grain of bad imbitters all the best.
Mother, though wise yourself, my counsel
weigh;

"T is much unsafe my sire to disobey.
Not only you provoke him to your cost,

But mirth is marr'd, and the good cheer is lost. Tempt not his heavy hand; for he has power To throw you headlong from his heavenly

lower.

But one submissive word, which you let fall, Will make him in good humour with us all.

He said no more; but crown'd a bowl unbid:
The laughing nectar overlook'd the lid:
Then put it to her hand; and thus pursued:
This cursed quarrel be no more renew'd.
Be, as becomes a wife, obedient still:
Though griev'd, yet subject to her husband's
will.

I would not see you beaten; yet afraid
Of Jove's superior force, I dare not aid.
Too well I know him, since that hapless hour
When I and all the gods employ'd our power
To break your bonds: me by the heel he drew,
And o'er heaven's battlements with fury threw:
All day I fell; my flight at morn begun,
And ended not but with the setting sun.
Pitch'd on my head, at length the Lemnian
ground

Receiv'd my batter'd skull, the Sinthians heal'd

my wound.

At Vulcan's homely mirth his mother smil'd, And smiling took the cup the clown had fill'd. The reconciler-bowl went round the board, Which, emptied, the rude skinker still restor❜d. Louds fits of laughter seiz'd the guests to see The limping god so deft at his new ministry. The feast continued till declining light: They drank, they laugh'd, they lov'd, and then 't was night.

Nor wanted tuneful harp, nor vocal quire; The Muses sung; Apollo touch'd the lyre. Drunken at last, and drowsy they depart, Each to his house; adorn'd with labour'd art Of the lame architect: the thundering god E'en he withdrew to rest, and had his load. His swimming head to needful sleep applied; And Juno lay unheeded by his side.

THE LAST PARTING OF HECTOR AND ANDROMACHE.

FROM THE SIXTH BOOK OF THE ILIAD.
THE ARGUMENT.

Hector returning from the field of battle, to visit Helen his sister-in-law, and his brother Paris who had fought unsuccessfully hand to hand with Menelaus, from thence goes to his own pa lace to see his wife Andromache,and his infant son Astyanax. The description of that interview is the subject of this translation.

THUS having said, brave Hector went to see
His virtuous wife, the fair Andromache.
He found her not at home; for she was gone,
Attended by her maid and infant son,
To climb the steepy tower of Ilion:
From whence, with heavy heart, she might sur
vey

The bloody business of the dreadful day.
Her mournful eyes she cast around the plain,
And sought the lord of her desires in vain.

But he, who thought his peopled palace bare,
When she, his only comfort, was not there,
Stood in the gate, and ask'd of every one,
Which way she took, and whither she was gone:
If to the court, or, with his mother's train,
In long procession to Minerva's fane?
The servants answer'd, Neither to the court,
Where Priam's sons and daughters did resort
Nor to the temple was she gone, to move
With prayers the blue-eyed progeny of Jove,
But more solicitous for him alone,
Than all their safety, to the tower was gone,
There to survey the labours of the field,
Where the Greeks conquer, and the Trojans
yield;

Swiftly she pass'd with fear and fury wild;
The nurse went lagging after with the child.

This heard, the noble Hector made no stay: The admiring throng divide to give him way; He pass'd through every street, by which he

came,

And at the gate he met the mournful dame.

His wife beheld him, and with eager pace Flew to his arms, to meet a dear embrace: His wife, who brought in dower Cilicia's crown, And in herself a greater dower alone: Aetion's heir, who on the woody plain Of Hippoplacus did in Thebe reign. Breathless she flew, with joy and passion wild, The nurse came lagging after with the child.

The royal babe upon her breast was laid; Who, like the morning star, his beams display'd. Scamandrius was his name, which Hector gave, From that fair flood which Ilion's wall did lave? But him Astyanax the Trojans call, From his great father, who defends the wa!!.

Hector beheld him with a silent smile :
His tender wife stood weeping by the while:
Press'd in her own, his warlike hand she took,
Then sigh'd, and thus prophetically spoke.
Thy dauntless heart (which I foresee too
late)

Too daring man, will urge thee to thy fate:
Nor dost thou pity with a parent's mind,
This helpless orphan, whom thou leav'st behind;
Nor me, the unhappy partner of thy bed,
Who must in triumph by the Greeks be led;
They seek thy life, and, in unequal fight
With many, will oppress thy single might:

Better it were for miserable me

To die before the fate which I foresee.
For ah! what comfort can the world bequeath
To Hector's widow, after Hector's death?

Eternal sorrow and perpetual tears
Began my youth, and will conclude my years:
I have no parents, friends, nor brothers left;
By stern Achilles all of life bereft.

Then when the walls of Thebes he overthew,
His fatal hand my royal father slew:
He slew Aetion, but despoil'd him not;
Nor in his hate the funeral rites forgot;
Arm'd as he was he sent him whole below,
And reverenc'd thus the mancs of his foe:
A tomb he rais'd; the mountain nymphs around
Enclos'd with planted elms the holy ground.

My seven brave brothers in one fatal day To death's dark mansions took the mournful way;

Slain by the same Achilles, while they keep
The bellowing oxen and the bleating sheep.
My mother, who the royal sceptre sway'd,
Was captive to the cruel victor made,
And hither led; but hence redeem'd with gold,
Her native country did again behold,
And but beheld: for soon Diana's dart,
In an unhappy chase, transfix'd her heart.
But thou, my Hector, art thyself alone
My parents, brothers, and my lord in one.
O kill not all my kindred o'er again
Nor tempt the dangers of the dusty plain;
But in this tower, for our defence, remain.
Thy wife and son are in thy ruin lost:
This is a husband s and a father's post.
The Scaan gate commands the plains below;
Here marshal all thy soldiers as they go
And hence with other hands repel the foe
By yon wild fig-tree lies their chief ascent,
And thither all their powers are daily bent;
The two Ajases have I often seen,
And the wrong'd husband of the Spartan queen:
With him his greater brother; and with these
Fierce Diomede and bold Meriones:
Uncertain if by augury, or chance,
But by this easy rise they all advance;

Guard well that pass, secure of all beside.
To whom the noble Hector thus replied.
That and the rest are in my daily care:
But, should I shun the dangers of the war,
With scorn the Trojans would reward my pains,
And their proud ladies with their sweeping

trains

The Grecian swords and lances I can bear;
But loss of honour is my only fear.
Shall Hector, born to war, his birthright yield,
Belie his courage, and forsake the field?
Early in rugged arms I took delight,
And still have been the foremost in the fight:
With dangers dearly have I bought renown,
And am the champion of my father's crown,
And yet my mind forebodes, with sure presage,
That Troy shall perish by the Grecian rage.
The fatal day draws on, when I must fall,
And universal ruin cover all.

Not Troy itself, though built by hands divine,
Nor Priam, nor his people, nor his line,
My mother, nor my brothers of renown,
Whose valour yet defends the unhappy town;
Not these, nor all their fates which I foresee,
Are half of that concern I have for thee.
I see, I see thee, in that fatal hour,
Subjected to the victor's cruel power;
Led hence a slave to some insulting sword,
Forlorn, and trembling at a foreign lord;
A spectacle in Argos, at the loom,
Gracing with Trojan fights a Grecian room;
Or from deep wells the living stream to take,
And on thy weary shoulders bring it back.
While groaning under this laborious life,
They insolently call thee Hector's wife;
Upbraid thy bondage with thy husband's name :
And from my glory propagate thy shame.
This when they say, thy sorrows will increase
With anxious thoughts of former happiness;
That he is dead who could thy wrongs redress,
But I, oppress'd with iron sleep before,
Shall hear thy unavailing cries no more.

He said

Then, holding forth his arms, he took his boy,
The pledge of love and other hope of Troy.
The fearful infant turn'd his head away,
And on his nurse's neck reclining lay,
His unknown father shunning with affright,
And looking back on so uncouth a sight;
Daunted to see a face with steel o'er-spread,
And his high plume that nodded o'er his head.
His sire and mother smil'd with silent joy;
And Hector hasten'd to relieve his boy;
Dismiss'd his burnish'd helm, that shone afar,
The pride of warriors, and the pomp of war:
The illustrious babe, thus reconcil'd, he took :
Hugg'd in his arms, and kiss'd, and thus hơ
spoke.