The foften'd chief with kind compassion view'd,
And dry'd the falling drops, and thus pursued ;
Andromache! my foul's far better part,
Why with untimely forrows heaves thy heart?
No hoftile hand can antedate my doom,
Till fate condemns me to the filent tomb.
Fix'd is the term to all the race of earth;
And fuch the hard condition of our birth,
No force can then refift, no flight can save;
All fink alike, the fearful and the brave.
No more but haften to thy tasks at home,
There guide the spindle, and direct the loom :
Me glory fummons to the martial scene,
The field of combat is the sphere for men.
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,
The firft in danger, as the first in fame.
Thus having faid, the glorious chief refumes His towery helmet, black with shading plumes. His princess parts with a prophetic figh,
Unwilling parts, and oftaeverts her eye,
That stream'd at every look: then, moving flow,
Sought her own palace, and indulg'd her woe.
There, while her tears deplor'd the god-like man,
Through all her train the foft infection ran,
The pious maids their mingled forrows shed,
And mourn the living Hector, as the dead.
But now, no longer deaf to honour's call,
Forth iffues Paris from the palace wall.
In brazen arms that caft a gleamy ray,
Swift through the town the warriour bends his way.
The wanton courfer thus, with reins unbound,
Breaks from his stall, and beats the trembling ground;
Pamper'd and proud, he seeks the wonted tides,
And laves, in height of blood, his fhining fides; 655
His head now freed, he toffes to the skies;
His mane difhevel'd o'er his fhoulders flies
He fnuffs the females in the diftant plain,
And springs, exulting, to his fields again.
With equal triumph, fprightly, bold, and gay,
In arms refulgent as the God of day,
The fon of Priam, glorying in his might,
Rush'd forth with Hector to the fields of fight.
And now, the warriours paffing on the way,
The graceful Paris first excus'd his stay.
To whom the noble Hector thus reply'd:
O chief! in blood, and now in arms, ally'd!
Thy power in war with justice none conteft;
Known is thy courage, and thy ftrength confest.
What pity floth should seize a foul so brave,
Ör god-like Paris live a woman's flave!
My heart weeps blood at what the Trojans fay,
And hopes, thy deeds shall wipe the stain away,
Hafte then, in all their glorious labours share;
For much they fuffer, for thy fake in war.
These ills shall cease, whene'er by Jove's decree
We crown the bowl to Heaven and Liberty:
While the proud foe his fruftrate triumphs mourns,
And Greece indignant through her seas returns.
The fingle Combat of Hector and Ajax.
THE battle renewing with double ardour upon the return of Hector, Minerva is under apprehenfions for the Greeks. Apollo, feeing her defcend from Olympus joins her near the Scean gate, they agree to put off the general engagement for that day, and incite Hector to challenge the Greeks to a fingle combat. Nine of the princes accepting the challenge, the lot is caft, and falls upon Ajax. Thefe heroes, after feveral attacks, are parted by the night. The Trojans calling a council, Antenor proposes the delivery of Helen to the Greeks, to which Paris will not confent, but offers to restore them her riches. Priam fends a herald to make this offer, and to demand a truce for burning the dead; the last of which only is agreed to by Agamemnon. When the funerals are performed, the Greeks, purfuant to the advice of Neftor, erect a fortification to protect their fleet and camp, flanked with towers, and defended by a ditch and palifades. Neptune teftifies his jealoufy at this work, but is pacified by a promife from Jupiter. Both armies pafs the night in feafting, but Jupiter difheartens the Trojans with thunder and other figns
The three and twentieth day ends with the duel of Hector and Ajax: the next day the truce is agreed: another is taken up in the funeral rites of the flain; and one more in building the fortification before the fhips. So that fomewhat above three days is employed in this book. The fcene lies wholly in the field,
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