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Bare was his hoary head; one holy hand

Held forth his laurel crown, and one his fceptre of command.

His fuit was common; but above the rest, To both the brother-princes thus addrefs'd: Ye fons of Atreus, and ye Grecian pow'rs, So may the Gods who dwell in heav'nly bow'rs Succeed your fiege, accord the vows you make, And give you Troy's imperial town to take; So, by their happy conduct, may you come With conqueft back to your sweet native home; As you receive the ransom which I bring, (Respecting Jove, and the far-shooting king,) And break my daughter's bonds, at my defire; And glad with her return her grieving fire.

With fhouts of loud acclaim the Greeks decree To take the gifts, to fet the damfel free. The king of men alone with bury burn'd; And haughty, thefe opprobrious words return'd: Hence, holy dotard, and avoid my fight, Ere evil intercept thy tardy flight: Nor dare to tread this interdicted strand, Left not that idle fceptre in thy hand, Nor thy God's crown, my vow'd revenge withftand.

Hence on thy life: the captive maid is mine;
Whom not for price or pray'rs I will refign:
Mine she shall be, till creeping age and time
Her bloom have wither'd, and confum'd her prime.
Till then my royal bed she shall attend;
And having first adorn'd it, late ascend:
This, for the night; by day, the web and loom,
And homely houshold-task, shall be her doom,
Far from thy lov'd embrace, and her sweet native
home.

He faid: the helpless prieft reply'd no more,
But fped his steps along the hoarfe-resounding
shore :

Silent he fled; fecure at length he stood,
Devoutly curs'd his foes, and thus invok'd his God.
O fource of facred light, attend my pray'r,
God with the filver bow, and golden hair;
Whom Chryfa, Cilla, Tenedos obeys,
And whofe broad eye their happy foil surveys ;
If, Smintheus, I have pour'd before thy fhrine.
The blood of oxen, goats, and ruddy wine,
And larded thighs on loaded altars laid,
Hear, and my juft revenge propitious aid.
Pierce the proud Greeks, and with thy shafts attest
How much thy pow'r is injur'd in thy priest.

He pray'd, and Phoebus hearing, urg'd his flight, With fury kindled, from Olympus' height; His quiver o'er his ample shoulders threw ; His bow twang'd, and his arrows rattled as they flew.

Black as a stormy night, he rang'd around
The tents, and compafs'd the devoted ground.
Then with full force his deadly bow he bent,
And feather'd fates among the mules and fumps
ters fent:

Th' effay of rage, on faithful dogs the next;
And laft, in human hearts his arrows fix'd.
The God nine days the Greeks at rovers kill'd,
Nine days the camp with fun'ral fires was fill'd;
The tenth, Achilles, by the Queen's command,
Who bears heav'ns awful fceptre in her hand,
A council fummon'd: for the Goddess griev'd
Her favour'd hoft should perish unreliev'd.

The kings affembled, foon their chief inclofe;
Then from his feat the Goddess-born arofe,
And thus undaunted fpoke: What now remains,
But that once more we tempt the watry plains,
And wand'ring homeward, feek our fafety hence;
In flight at leaft, if we can find defence?

Such

Such woes at once encompafs us about,
The plague within the camp, the fword without.
Confult, O king, the prophets of th' event:
And whence thefe ills, and what the Gods intent,
Let them by dreams explore; for dreams from
Jove are fent.

What want of offer'd victims, what offence 1 In fact committed could the Sun incenfe, To deal his deadly fhafts? What may remove His fettled hate, and reconcile his love? That he may look propitious on our toils; And hungry graves no more be glutted with our fpoils.

Thus to the king of men the hero fpoke, Then Calchas the defir'd occafion took: Calchas the facred feer, who had in view Things present and the past; and things to come foreknew.

Supreme of augurs, who, by Phoebus taught,
The Grecian pow'rs to Troy's deftruction brought.
Skill'd in the fecret caufes of their woes,
The reverend prieft in graceful act arose:
And thus bespoke Pelides: Care of Jove,
Favour'd of all th' immortal Pow'rs above;
E e

VOL. IV.

Wouldst thou the feeds deep fown of mischief

know,

And why, provok'd Apollo bends his bow?
Plight first thy faith, inviolably true,
To fave me from those ills, that may enfue.
For I fhall tell ungrateful truths, to those
Whose boundless pow'rs of life and death dispose.
And fov'reigns, ever jealous of their state,
Forgive not those whom once they mark for hate;
Ev'n tho th' offence they seemingly digest,
Revenge, like embers rak'd, within their breast,
Burfts forth in flames; whofe unrefifted pow'r
Will feize th' unwary wretch, and foon devour.
Such, and no less is he, on whom depends
The fum of things; and whom my tongue of force
offends.

Secure me then from his foreseen intent,

That what his wrath may doom, thy valour may prevent.

To this the ftern Achilles made reply: Be bold; and on my plighted faith rely, To speak what Phoebus has infpir'd thy foul For common good; and fpeak without controul. His Godhead I invoke, by him I fwear,

That while my noftrils draw this vital air,

I

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