Ye see, to Ajax I must yield the prize:
He to Ulysses, still more ag'd and wise
(A green old-age; unconscious of d cays,
That prove the hero born in better days!)
Behold his vigour in this active race!
Achilles only boasts a swifter pace:
For who cau match Achilles! He who can,
Must yet be more than hero, more than man."
Th' effect succeeds the speech: Pelides cries,
"Thy artful praise deserves a better prize.
Nor Greece in vain shall hear thy friend extoll'd:
Receive a talent of the purest gold."
The youth departs content. The host admire
The son of Nestor, worthy of his sire.

[brings;
Next these; a buckler, spear, and helm, he
Cast on the plain, the brazen burthen rings:
Arms, which of late divine Sarpedon wore,
And great Patroclus in short triumph bore.
"Stand forth the bravest of our host!" (he cries)
"Whoever dares deserve so rich a prize,
Now grace the list before our army's sight,
And, sheath'd in steel, provoke his foe to fight.
Who first the jointed armour shall explore,
And stain his rival's mail with issuing gore;
The sword Asteropeus possest of old
(A Thracian blade, distinct with studs of gold)
Shall pay the stroke, and grace the striker's side:
These arms in common let the chiefs divide:
For each brave champion, when the combat ends,
A sumptuous banquet at our tent attends."

Fierce at the word, up-rose great Tydeus' son, And the huge bulk of Ajax Telamon. Clad in refulgent steel, on either hand, The dreadful chiefs amid the circle stand: Lowering they meet tremendous to the sight; Each Argive bosom beats with fierce delight. Oppos'd in arms not long they idly stood, [new'd, But thrice they clos'd, and thrice the charge reA furious pass the spear of Ajax made [stay'd: Through the broad shield, but at the corselet Not thus the foe: his javelin aim'd above The buckler's margin, at the neck he drove. But Greece now trembling for her hero's life, Bade share the honours, and surcease the strife: "Yet still the victor's due Tydides gains, With him the sword and studded belt remains.

Then hurl'd the hero thundering on the ground A mass of iron, (an enormous round) Whose weight and size the circling Greeks admire, Rude from a furnace, and but shap'd by fire. This mighty quoit Aëtion wont to rear, And from his whirling arm dismiss in air: The giant by Achilles slain, he stow'd Among his spoils this memorable load, For this, he bids those nervous artists vie, That teach the disk to sound along the sky. "Let him whose might can hurl this bowl, arise; Who farthest hurls it, takes it as his prize : If he be one, enrich'd with large domain Of downs for flocks, and arable for grain, Small stock of iron needs that man provide; His hinds and swains whole years shall be supply'd From hence: nor ask the neighbouring city's aid, For ploughshares, wheels, and all the rural trade." Stern Polypotes stept before the throng, And great Leonteus, more than mortal strong; Whose force with rival forces to oppose, Up-rose, great Ajax; up Epëns rose.

Fach stood in order: first Epëus threw ; [flew.

bear

These two-edg'd axes, terrible in war:

The single, he, whose shaft divides the cord."
He said: experienc'd, Merion took the word;
And skilful Teucer: in the helm they threw
Their lots inscrib'd, and forth the latter flew.
Swift from the string the sounding arrow flies;
But flies unblest! No grateful sacrifice,
No firstling lambs, unheedful! didst thou vow
To Phœbus, patron of the shaft and bow.
For this, thy well-aim'd arrow, turn'd aside,
Err'd from the dove, yet cut the cord that ty'd:
A-down the main-mast fell the parting string,
And the free bird to Heaven displays her wing:
Seas, shores, and skies, with loud applause resound,
And Merion eager meditates the wound:
He takes the bow, directs the shaft above,
And, following with his eye the soaring dove,
Implores the god to speed it through the skies,
With vows of firstling lambs, and grateful sacrifice.
The dove, in airy circles as she wheels,
Amid the clouds, the piercing arrow feels;
Quite through and through the point its passage
found,

And at his feet fell bloody to the ground.
The wounded bird, ere yet she breath'd her last,
With flagging wings alighted on the mast;
A moment hung, and spread her pinions there,
Then sudden dropt, and left her life in air.
From the pleas'd crowd new peals of thunder rise,
And to the ships brave Merion bears the prize.
To close the funeral games Achilles last
A massy spear amid the circle plac'd,
An ample charger of unsullied frame,
With flowers high-wrought, not blacken'd yet by
flame.

For these he bids the heroes prove their art,
Whose dextrous skill directs the flying dart.
Here too great Merion hopes the noble prize;
Nor here disdain'd the king of men to rise.
With joy Pelides saw the honour paid,
Rose to the monarch, and respectful said:

"Thee first in virtue, as in power supreme,
O king of nations! all thy Greeks proclaim;
In every martial game thy worth attest,
And know thee both their greatest, and their best.
Take then the prize, but let brave Merion bear
This beamy javelin in thy brother's war."

Pleas'd from the hero's lips his praise to hear, The king to Merion gives the brazen spear: But, set apart to sacred use, commands

Howe'er, by stealth to snatch the corpse away,
We will not: Thetis guards it night and day.
But haste, and summon to our courts above
The azure queen: let her persuasion move
Her furious son from Priam to receive
The proffer'd ransom, and the corpse to leave."
He added not: and Iris from the skies,
Swift as a whirlwind on the message flies.
Meteorous the face of Ocean sweeps,
Refulgent gliding o'er the sable deeps,
Between where Samos wide his forest spreads
And rocky Imbrus lifts its pointed heads.

Down plung'd, the maid, (the parted waves
resound)

She plung'd, and instant shot the dark profound.
As, bearing death in the fallacious bait,
From the bent angle sinks the leaden weight;
So pass'd the goddess through the closing wave,
Where Thetis sorrow'd in her sacred cave:
There, plac'd amidst her melancholy train
(The blue-hair'd sisters of the sacred main)
Pensive she sat, revolving fates to come,
And wept her godlike son's approaching doom.
Then thus the goddess of the painted bow,
"Arise! O Thetis, from thy seats below:
"Tis Jove that calls." "And why" (the dame
replies)

"Calls Jove his Thetis to the hated skies,
Sad object as I am for heavenly sight?
Ah, may my sorrows ever shun the light!
Howe'er, be Heaven's almighty sire obey'd"-
She spake, and veil'd her head in sable shade,
Which flowing long, her graceful person clad;
And forth she pac'd, majestically sad.

Then through the world of waters they repair
(The way fair Iris led) to upper air.
The deeps dividing, o'er the coast they rise,
And touch with momentary flight the skies,
There in the lightning's blaze the sire they found,
And all the gods in shining synod round.
Thetis approach'd with anguish in her face
(Minerva, rising, gave the mourner place ;)
Ev'n Juno sought her sorrows to console,
And offer'd from her hand the nectar bowl:
She tasted, and resign'd it: then began
The sacred sire of gods and mortal man :
"Thou com'st fair Thetis, but with grief o'ercast;
Mat rnal sorrows; long, ah long to last!
Suffice, we know and we partake thy cares:
But yield to fate, and hear what Jove declares.
Nine days are past, since all the court above
In Hector's cause have mov'd the ar of Jove;
'Twas voted, Hermes from his godlike foe
By stealth should bear him, but we will'd not so:
We will, thy son himself the corpse restore,
And to his conquest add this glory more.
Then hie thee to him, and our mandate bear;
Tell him he tempts the wrath of Heaven too far:
Nor let him more (our anger if he dread)
Vent his mad vengeance on the sacred dead:
But yield to ransom and the father's prayer.
The mournful father, Iris shall prepare,
With gifts to sue; and offer to his hands
Whate'er his honour asks, or heart demands."
His word the silver-footed queen attends,
And from Olympus' snowy tops descends.
Arriv'd, she heard the voice of loud lament,
And echoing groans that shook the lofty tent,
His friends prepare the victim, and dispose
Repast unheeded, while he vents his woes

The goddess seats her by her pensive son,
She prest his hand, and tender thus begun :

"How long, unhappy! shall thy sorrows flow;
And thy heart waste with life-consuming woe:
Mindless of food, or love, whose pleasing reign
Soothes weary life, and softens human pain?
O snatch the moments yet within thy power;
No long to live, indulge the amorous hour!
Lo! Jove himself (for Jove's commands I bear)
Forbids to tempt the wrath of Heaven too far.
No longer then (his fury if thou dread)
Detain the relics of great Hector dead;
Nor vent on senseless earth thy vengeance vain :
But yield to ransom, and restore the slain."

To whom Achilles: "Be the ransom given, And we submit, since such the will of Heaven." While thus they commun'd, from th' Olympian bowers

Jove orders Iris to the Trojan towers:

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Haste winged goddess to the sacred town,
And urge her monarch to redeem his son;
Alone, the Ilian ramparts let him leave,
And bear what stern Achilles may receive :
Alone, for so we will: no Trojan near;
Except to place the dead with decent care,
Some aged herald, who, with gentle band,
May the slow mules and funeral car command.
Nor let him death, nor let him danger, dread,
Safe through the foe by our protection led :
Him Hermes to Achilles shall convey,
Guard of his life, and partner of his way.
Fierce as he is, Achilles' self shall spare
His age, nor touch one venerable hair;
Some thought there must be in a soul so brave,
Some sense of duty, some desire to save."

Then down her bow the winged Iris drives,
And swift at Priam's mournful court arrives;
Where the sad sons beside their father's throne
Sate bath'd in tears, and answer'd groan with
And all amidst them lay the hoary sire, [groan
(Sad scene of woe!) his face, his wrapt attire, "
Conceal'd from sight; with frantic hands he spread
A shower of ashes o'er his neck and head.
From room to room his pensive daughters roam;
Whose shrieks and clamours fill the vaulted dome;
Mindful of those, who, late their pride and joy,
Lie pale and breathless round the fields of Troy !
Before the king Jove's messenger appears,
And thus, in whispers, greets his trembling ears;
"Fear not, oh father! no ill news 1 bear;
From Jove I come, Jove makes thee still his care;
For Hector's sake these walls he bids thee leave,
And bear what stern Achilles may receive:
Alone, for so he wills no Trojan near,
Except, to place the dead with decent care,
Some aged herald, who, with gentle hand,
May the slow mules and funeral car command.
Nor shalt thou death, nor shalt thou danger,

dread;

Safe through the foe by his protection led:
Thee Hermes to Pelides shall convey,
Guard of thy life, and partner of thy way.
Fierce as he is, Achilles' self shall spare
Thy age, nor touch one venerable hair;
Some thought there must be, in a soul so brave,
Some sense of duty, some desire to save."

She spoke, and vanish'd. Priam bids prepare
His gentle mules, and harness to the car;
There, for the gifts, a polish'd casket lay;
His pious sons the king's command obey.

Then pass'd the monarch to his bridal-room,
Where cedar-beams the lofty roofs perfume,
And where the treasures of his empire lay;
Then call'd his queen, and thus began to say:
"Unhappy consort of a king distrest!
Partake the troubles of thy husband's breast:
I saw descend the messenger of Jove,
Who bids me try Achilles' mind to move;
Forsake these ramparts, and with gifts obtain
The corpse of Hector, at yon navy slain.
Tell me thy thought: my heart impels to go
Through hostile camps, and bears me to the foe."
The hoary monarch thus. Her piercing cries
Sad Hecuba renews, and then replies:
"Ah! whither wanders thy distemper'd mind?
And where the prudence now, that aw'd mankind;
Through Phrygia once, and foreign regions known;
Now all confus'd, distracted, overthrown?
Singly to pass through hosts of foes! to face
(Oh heart of steel!) the murderer of thy race!
To view that deathful eye, and wander o'er
Those hands, yet red with Hector's noble gore!
Alas! my lord! he knows not how to spare,
And what his mercy, thy slain sons declare ;
So brave! so many fall'n! To calm his rage,
Vain were thy dignity, and vain thy age.
No-pent in this sad palace, let us give
To grief, the wretched days we have to live.
Still, still for Hector let our sorrows flow,
Born to his own and to his parents' woe!
Doom'd, from the hour his luckless life begun,
To dogs, to vultures, and to Peleus' son!
Oh! in his dearest blood might lallay
My rage, and these barbarities repay!
For ah! could Hector merit thus, whose breath
Expir'd not meanly in unactive death?
He pour'd his latest blood in manly fight,
And fell a hero in his country's right."

"Seek not to stay me, nor my soul affright With words of omen, like a bird of night" (Reply'd, unmov'd, the venerable man ) "Tis Heaven commands me, and you urge in vain Had any mortal voice th' injunction laid, No augur, priest or seer had been obey'd. A present goddess brought the high command, I saw, I heard her, and the word shall stand. I go, ye gods! obedient to your call:

If in yon camp your powers have doom'd my fall,
Content-By the same hand let me expire!
Add to the slaughter'd son the wretched sire!
One cold embrace at last may be allow'd,
And my last tears flow mingled with his blood!"
From forth his open'd stores, this said, he drew
Twelve costly carpets of refulgent hue,
As many vests, as many mantles told,

And twelve fair yeils and garments stiff with gold. Two tripods next, and twice two chargers shine,

With ten pure talents from the richest mine;
And last a large well-labour'd bowl had place
(The pledge of treaties once with friendly Thrace).
Seem'd all too mean the stores he could employ,
For one last look to buy him back to Troy !

Lo! the sad father, frantic with his pain, Around him furious drives his menial train : In vain each slave with duteous care attends, Each office hurts him, and each face offends. "What make ye here? officious crowds, " (he eries)

"Hence! nor obtrude your anguish on my eyes.

Have ye no griefs at home to fix you there; Am I the only object of despair?

Am I become my people's common show,

Set up by Jove your spectacle of woe?

No, you must feel him too; yourselves must fall;
The same stern god to ruin gives you all :
Nor is great Hector lost by me alone;

Your sole defence, your guardian power, is gone ;
I see your blood the fields of Phrygia drown,
I see the ruins of your smoking town!
O send me, gods! ere that sad day shall come,
A willing ghost to Pluto's dreary dome !"

He said, and feebly drives his friends away:
The sorrowing friends his frantic rage obey.
Next on his sons his erring fury falls,
Polites, Paris, Agathon, he calls;
His threats Deïphobus and Dius hear,
Hippothous, Pammon, Helenus the seer,
And generous Antiphon: for yet these nine
Surviv'd, sad relics of his numerous line:

Inglorious sons, of an unhappy sire!
Why did not all in Hector's cause expire?
Wretch that I am! my bravest offspring slain,
You, the disgrace of Priam's house, remain !
Nestor the brave, renown'd in ranks of war,
With Troileus, dreadful on his rushing car,
And last great Hector, more than man divine,
For sure he seem'd not of terrestrial line!
All those relentless Mars untimely slew,
And left me these, a soft and servile crew,
Whose days the feast and wanton dance employ,
Gluttons and flatterers, the contempt of Troy !
Why teach ye not my rapid wheels to run,
And speed my journey to redeem my son?"

The sons their father's wretched age revere,
Forgive his anger, and produce the car.
High on the seat the cabinet they bind :
The new made car with solid beauty shin'd;
Box was the yoke, emboss'd with costly pains,
And hung with ringlets to receive the reins;
Nine cubits long, the traces swept the ground;
These to the chariot's polish'd pole they bound;
Then fixt a ring the running reins to guide,
And close beneath the gather'd ends were ty'd.
Next with the gifts (the price of Hector slain)
The sad attendants load the groaning wain:
Last, to the yoke the well-match'd mules they
bring

(The gift of Mysia to the Trojan king.)
But the fair horses, long his darling care,
Himself receiv'd and harness'd to his car :
Griev'd as he was, he not this task deny'd:
The hoary herald help'd him, at his side.
While careful these the gentle coursers join'd,
Sad Hecuba approach'd with anxious mind;
A golden bowl that foam'd with fragrant wine,
(Libation destin'd to the power divine)

Held in her right, before the steeds she stands,
And thus consigns it to the monarch's hands:
"Take this, and pour to Jove; that, safe from
⚫harms,

His grace restore thee to our roof and arms.
Since, victor of thy fears, and slighting mine,
Heaven, or thy soul, inspire this bold design:
Pray to that god, who high on Ida's brow
Surveys thy desolated realms below,
His winged messenger to send from high,
And lead thy way with heavenly augury:
Let the strong sovereign of the plumy race
Tower on the right of yon etherial space.

That sign beheld, and strengthen'd from above,
Boldly pursue the journey mark'd by Jove;
But if the god his augury denies,
Suppress thy impulse, nor reject advice,"
""Tis just" (said Priam) "to the sire above
To raise our hands; for who so good as Jove?"
He spoke, and bade th' attendant handmaid bring
The purest water of the living spring.
(Her ready hands the ewer and basou held;)
Then took the golden cup his queen had fill'd;
On the mid pavement pours the rosy wine,
Uplifts his eyes, and calls the power divine:
"Oh first, and greatest! Heaven's imperial
Lord!

On lofty Ida's holy hill ador'd!

To stern Achilles now direct my ways,
And teach him mercy when a father prays.
If such thy will, dispatch from yonder sky
Thy sacred bird, celestial augury!
Let the strong sovereign of the plumy race
Tower on the right of yon etherial space :
So shall thy suppliant, strengthen'd from above,
Fearless pursue the journey mark'd by Jove."
Jove heard his prayer, and from the throne
on high

Dispatch'd his bird, celestial augury!
The swift wing'd chaser of the feather'd game,
And known to gods by Percnos' lofty name.
Wide as appears some palace-gate display'd,
So broad, his pinions stretch'd their ample shade,
As stooping dexter with resounding wings
Th' imperial bird descends in airy rings.
A dawn of joy in every face appears
The mourning matron dries her timorous tears:
Swift on his car th' impatient monarch sprung ;
The brazen portal in his passage rung.
The mules preceding draw the loaded wain,
Charg'd with the gifts: Idæus holds the rein:
The king himself his gentle steeds controls,
And through surrounding friends the chariot rolls.
On his slow wheels the following people wait,
Mourn at each step, and give him up to fate;
With hands uplifted, eye him as he past,
And gaz'd upon him as they gaz'd their last.
Now forward fares the father on his way,
Through the lone fields, and back to Ilion they.
Great Jove beheld him as he crost the plain,
And felt the woes of miserable man.
Then thus to Hermes: "Thou whose constant cares
Still succour mortals, and attend their prayers;
Behold an object to thy charge consign'd:
If ever pity touch'd thee for mankind,

Go, guard the sire; th' observing foe prevent,
And safe conduct him to Achilles' tent."

The god obeys, his golden pinions binds,
And mounts incumbent on the wings of winds,
That high, through fields of air, his flight sustain,
O'er the wide earth, and o'er the boundless main:
Then grasps the wand that causes sleep to fly,
Or in soft slumbers seals the wakeful eye;
Thus arm'd, swift Hermes steers his airy way,
And stoops on Hellespont's resounding sea.
A beauteous youth, majestic and divine,
He seem'd; fair offspring of some princely line!
Now twilight veil'd the glaring face of day,
And clad the dusky fields in sober gray;
What time the herald and the hoary king
(Their chariots stopping at the silver spring,
That circling Ilus' ancient marble flows )
Allow'd their mules and steeds a short repose.

Through the dim shade the herald first espies
A man's approach, and thus to Priam cries:
"I mark some foe's advance: O king! beware;
This hard adventure claims thy utmost care:
For, much I fear, destruction hovers nigh:
Our state asks counsel. Is it best to fly?
Or, old and helpless, at his feet to fall,
(Two wretched suppliants) and for mercy call?”

Th' afflicted monarch shiver'd with despair; Pale grew his face, and upright stood his hair; Sunk was his heart; his colour went and came; A sudden trembling shook his aged frame: When Hermes, greeting, touch'd his royal hand, And gently thus accosts with kind demand:

66

Say whither, father! when each mortal sight Is seal'd in sleep, thou wander'st through the night?

Why roam thy mules and steeds the plains along,
Through Grecian foes, so numerous and so strong?
What could'st thou hope, should these thy treasures
view;

These, who with endless hate thy race pursue?
For what defence, alas! could'st thou provide;
Thyself not young, a weak old man thy guide?
Yet suffer not thy soul to sink with dread:
From me no harm shall touch thy reverend head;
From Greece I'll guard thee too; for in those lines
The living image of my father shines."

Thy words that speak benevolence of mind, Are true, my son!" (the godlike sire rejoin'd) "Great are my hazards; but the gods survey My steps, and send thee, guardian of my way. Hail, and be blest! for scarce of mortal kind Appear thy form, thy feature, and thy mind.”

"Nor true are all thy words, nor erring wide," (The sacred messenger of Heaven reply'd); "But say, convey'st thou thro' the lonely plains What yet most precious of thy store remains, To lodge in safety with some friendly hand : Prepar'd, perchance, to leave thy native land? Or fly'st thou now?-What hopes can Troy retain,

Thy matchless son, her guard and glory, slain ?” ` The king, alarm'd: "Say what, and whence

thou art,

Who search the sorrows of a parent's heart,
And know so well how godlike Hector dy'd?"
Thus Priam spoke; and Hermes thus reply'dt

"You tempt me, father, and with pity touch:
On this sad subject you inquire too much.
Oft have these eyes that godlike Hector view'd
In glorious fight, with Grecian blood embrued:
I saw him when, like Jove, his flames he tost
On thousand ships, and wither'd half an host:
I saw, but help'd not: stern Achilles' ire
Forbade assistance, and enjoy'd the fire.
For him I serve, of Myrmidonian race;
One ship convey'd us from our native place;
Polyctor is my sire, an honour'd name,
Old like thyself, and not unknown to fame:
Of seven his sons, by whom the lot was cast
To serve our prince, it fell on me, the last.
To watch this quarter my adventure falls:
For with the morn the Greeks attack your walls';
Sleepless they sit, impatient to engage,
And scarce their rulers check their martial rage.”
"If then thou art of stern Pelides' train,"
(The mournful monarch thus rejoin'd again)
"Ah, tell me truly, where, oh! where are laid
My son's dear relics? what befals him dead?