Sidor som bilder

Curb that impetuous tongue, before too late
The Gods behold, and tremble at thy fate.
Pitying, but daring not, in thy defence,
To lift a hand against Omnipotence.

This heard, th' imperious Queen fate mute
with fear:

Nor further durft incenfe the gloomy Thunderer.
Silence was in the court at this rebuke:

Nor could the Gods abafh'd, fuftain their fo-
v'reign's look.

The limping Smith obferv'd the fadden'd feast,
And hopping here and there, (himself a jest)
Put in his word, that neither might offend ;
To Jove obfequious, yet his mother's friend.
What end in heav'n will be of civil war,
If Gods of pleasure will for mortals jar?
Such difcord but difturbs our jovial feast;
One grain of bad, embitters all the best.
Mother, tho wife yourself, my counsel weigh;
'Tis much unfafe my fire to disobey.

Not only you provoke him to your cost,
But mirth is marr'd, and the good chear is loft.
Tempt not his heavy hand; for he has pow'r
To throw you headlong, from his heav'nly tow'r.
But one fubmiffive word, which you let fall,
Will make him in good humour with us all.


He faid no more; but crown'd a bowl, unbid: The laughing nectar overlook'd the lid: Then put it to her hand; and thus purfu'd, This curfed quarrel be no more renew'd. Be, as becomes a wife, obedient still; Tho griev'd, yet subject to her husband's will. I would not fee you beaten; yet afraid Of Jove's fuperior force, I dare not aid. Too well I know him, fince that hapless hour When I, and all the Gods employ'd our pow'r To break your bonds: me by the heel he drew, And o'er heav'n's battlements with fury threw. All day I fell; my flight at morn begun, And ended not but with the setting fun. Pitch'd on my head, at length the Lemnian ground Receiv'd my batter'd fkull, 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 empty'd, the rude skinker ftill reftor'd. Loud fits of laughter feiz'd the guests, to see The limping God fo deft at his new ministry. The feast continu'd till declining light: They drank, they laugh'd, they lov'd, and then 'twas night.

Nor wanted tuneful harp, nor vocal quire; The Mufes fung; Apollo touch'd the lyre. Drunken at last, and drowsy they depart, Each to his houfe; adorn'd with labour'd art Of the lame architect: the thund'ring God Ev'n he withdrew to reft, and had his load. His swimming head to needful fleep apply'd ; And Juno lay unheeded by his fide.



From the Sixth Book of the ILIAD.


Hector, returning from the field of battle, to vifit Helen his fifter-in-law, and his brother Paris, who had fought unfuccessfully hand to hand with Menelaus, from thence goes to his own palace to Jee his wife Andromache, and his infant fon Aftyanax. The defcription of that interview is the fubject of this translation.

'HUS having faid, brave Hector went to fee

THUS went to Τ

His virtuous wife, the fair Andromache.

He found her not at home; for fhe was gone,
Attended by her maid and infant fon,

To climb the steepy tow'r of Ilion:

From whence, with heavy heart, fhe might survey
The bloody business of the dreadful day.
Her mournful eyes fhe caft around the plain,
And fought the lord of her defires in vain.

But he, who thought his peopled palace bare,
When fhe, his only comfort, was, not there,
Stood in the gate, and ask'd of ev'ry one,
Which way she took, and whither fhe was gone;

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If to the court, or, with his mother's train,
In long proceffion to Minerva's fane?
The fervants anfwer'd, Neither to the court,
Where Priam's fons and daughters did refort,
Nor to the temple was fhe gone, to move
With prayers the blue-ey'd progeny of Jove;
But more folicitous for him alone,

Than all their fafety, to the tow'r was gone,
There to furvey the labours of the field,
Where the Greeks conquer, and the Trojans yield;
Swiftly the pafs'd, with fear and fury wild;
The nurse went lagging after with the child.

This heard, the noble Hector made no stay; Th' admiring throng divide, to give him way; He pass'd thro every ftreet, 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 dow'r Cilicia's crown, And, in herself, a greater dow'r alone: Aetion's heir, who on the woody plain Of Hippoplacus did in Thebe reign.


Breathless the flew, with joy and paffion wild The nurse came lagging after with her child. The royal babe upon her breaft was laid; Who, like the morning ftar, his beams difplay'd.

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