What gain't thou, brutal man, if I confefs Thy ftrength fuperior, when thy wit is lefs? Mind is the man: I claim my whole defert From the mind's vigor, and th' immortal part. O Grecian chiefs, reward my care,
But you, Be grateful to your watchman of the war: For all my labours in fo long a space, Sure I may plead a title to your grace: Enter the town; I then unbarr'd the gates, When I remov'd their tutelary fates.
By all our common hopes, if hopes they be Which I have now reduc'd to certainty; By falling Troy, by yonder tott'ring tow'rs, And by their taken Gods, which now are ours; Or if there yet a farther task remains, To be perform'd by prudence or by pains; If yet fome defp'rate action refts behind, That asks high conduct, and a dauntless mind; If ought be wanting to the Trojan doom, Which none but I can manage and o'ercome; Award those arms I afk, by your decree:
Or give to this what you refuse to me.
He ceas'd: and ceafing with refpect he bow'd, And with his hand at once the fatal ftatue fhew'd.
Heav'n, air, and ocean rung, with loud applause, And by the gen'ral vote he gain'd his cause. Thus conduct won the prize, when courage fail'd, And eloquence o'er brutal force prevail'd.
He who could often, and alone, withstand The foe, the fire, and Jove's own partial hand, Now cannot his unmafter'd grief sustain,
But yields to rage, to madness, and difdain; Then fnatching out his fauchion, Thou, faid he,
Art mine; Ulyffes lays no claim to thee. O often try'd, and ever trufty fword, Now do thy last kind office to thy lord: 'Tis Ajax who requests thy aid, to fhow None but himself, himself could overthrow. He said, and with fo good a will to die Did to his breaft the fatal point apply, It found his heart, a way till then unknown, Where never weapon enter'd but his own: No hands could force it thence, fo fixt it stood, 'Till out it rufh'd, expell'd by ftreams of spouting blood.
The fruitful blood produc'd a flow'r, which
On a green stem; and of a purple hue: Like his, whom unaware Apollo slew : Infcrib'd in both, the letters are the fame,
But those express the grief, and these the name.
Story of ACIS, POLYPHEMUS, and GALATEA.
From the Thirteenth Book of
CIS, the lovely youth, whose lofs I mourn, From Faunus, and the nymph Symethis born,
Was both his parents pleasure; but to me Was all that love could make a lover be. The Gods our minds in mutual bands did join : I was his only joy, and he was mine.
Now fixteen fummers the fweet youth had feen; And doubtful down began to fhade his chin: When Polyphemus first disturb'd our joy, And lov'd me fiercely, as I lov'd the boy. Afk not which paffion in my foul was high'r, My laft averfion, or my firft defire:
Nor this the greater was, nor that the less; Both were alike, for both were in excess.
Thee, Venus, thee both heav'n and earth obey; Immenfe thy pow'r, and boundless is thy fway. The Cyclops, who defy'd th' ætherial throne, And thought no thunder louder than his own,
The terror of the woods, and wilder far
Than wolves in plains, or bears in forefts are, Th' inhuman hoft, who made his bloody feasts On mangled members of his butcher'd guefts, Yet felt the force of love, and fierce defire, And burnt for me, with unrelenting fire: Forgot his caverns, and his woolly care, Affum'd the foftnefs of a lover's air;
And comb'd, with teeth of rakes, his rugged hair. Now with a crooked feythe his beard he fleeks, And mows the ftubborn ftubble of his cheeks: Now in the crystal stream he looks, to try His fimagres, and rowls his glaring eye. His cruelty and thirst of blood are loft; And ships fecurely fail along the coast.
The prophet Telemus (arriv'd by chance Where Ætna's fummits to the feas advance, Who mark'd the tracks of ev'ry bird that flew, And fure prefages from their flying drew) Foretold the Cyclops, that Ulyffes' hand In his broad eye should thrust a flaming brand. The giant, with a scornful grin, reply'd, Vain augur, thou haft falfly prophefy'd; Already Love his flaming brand has tost; Looking on two fair eyes, my fight I loft.
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