Whose surface smooth, unruffled by the breeze,
The hills inverted show and downward trees:
Ye daring youths! whose manly limbs divide
The mounting surge, and brave the rushing tide;
All ye, whom hopes of victory inspire,
Stand forth distinguish'd; let the crowd retire.
This costly armour shall the youth obtain,
Who comes victorious from the wat'ry plain;
That island compass'd, where the poplar grows,
And in the lake its wav'ring image shows,
Who measuring back the liquid space, before
His rivals, shall regain the flow'ry shore.
This golden bowl is fix'd the second prize,
Esteem'd alike for fashion and for size,"

The hero thus: with thirst of glory fir'd,
Crete's valiant monarch to the prize aspir'd;
With Sparta's younger chief; Ulysses came;
And brave Clearchus emulous of fame,
A wealthy warrior from the Samian shore.
In cattle rich, and heaps of precious ore:
Distinguish'd in the midst the heroes stood,
Eager to plunge into the shining flood,

His brother's ardour purpos'd to restrain,
Atrides strove, and counsel'd thus, in vain:

Desist, my brother! shun th' unequal strife; For late you stood upon the verge of life: No mortal man his vigour can retain, When flowing wounds have empty'd ev'ry vein. If now you perish in the wat'ry way, Grief upon grief shall cloud this mournful day: Desist, respect my counsel, and be wise; Some other Spartan in your place will rise." To change his brother's purpose thus he try'd; But nothing mov'd, the gen'rous youth reply'd: "Brother! in vain you urge me to forbear, From love and fond affection prompt to fear; For firm, as e'er before, my limbs remain, To dash the fluid waves, or scour the plain."

He said, and went before. The heroes move To the dark covert of a neighb'ring grove; Which to the bank its shady walks extends, Where mixing with the lake a riv'let ends. Prompt to contend, their purple robes they loose, Their figur'd vests and gold embroider'd shoes; And through the grove descending to the strand, Along the flow'ry bank in order stand.

As when, in some fair temple's sacred shrine,
A statue stands, express'd by skill divine,
Apollo's or the herald-pow'rs, who brings
Jove's mighty mandates on his airy wings;]
The form majestic awes the bending crowd:
In port and stature such, the heroes stood.
Starting at once, with equal strokes, they

sweep

The smooth expanse, and shoot into the deep;
The Cretan chief, exerting all his force,
His rivals far surpass'd, and led the course;
Behind Atrides, emulous of fame;
Clearchus next; and last Ulysses came.
And now they measur'd back the wat'ry space,
And saw from far the limits of the race.
Ulysses then, with thirst of glory fir'd,
The Samian left, and to the prize aspir'd;
Who, emulous, and dreading to be last,
With equal speed, the Spartan hero pass'd.
Alarm'd, the Cretan monarch strove, with pain,
His doubtful hopes of conquest to maintain;
Exerting ev'ry nerve, his limbs he ply'd,
And wishing, from afar, the shore descry'd:

For near and nearer still Ulysses prest;
The waves he felt rebounding from his breast.
With equal zeal for victory they strove;
When, gliding sudden from the roofs of Jove,
Pallas approach'd; behind a cloud conceal'd,
Ulysses only saw her form reveal'd,
Majestic by the hero's side she stood;
Her shining sandals press'd the trembling fod.
She whisper'd soft, as when the western breeze
Stirs the thick reeds, or shakes the rustling trees:
"Still shall thy soul, with endless thirst of fame,
Aspire to victory, in ev'ry game.

The honours, which from bones and sinews ise,
Are lightly valu'd by the good and wise:
To envy still they rouse the human kind;
And oft, than courted, better far declin'd.
To brave Idomeneus yield the race,
Contented to obtain the second place."
The goddess thus: while, stretching to the land,
With joy the Cretan chief approach'd the strand;
Ulysses next arriv'd; and, spent with to 1,
The weary Samian grasp'd the welcome scil.
But far behind the Spartan warrior lay,
Fatigu'd, and fainting, in the wat'ry way.
Thrice struggling, from the lake, his head he
rear'd;

And thrice, imploring aid, his voice was heard.
The Cretan monarch bastes the youth to save,
And Ithacus again divides the wave;
With force renew'd their manly limbs they ply;
And from their breasts the whit'ning billows fly.
Full in the midst a rocky isle divides
The liquid space, and parts the silver tides;
Once cultivated, now with thickets green
O'erspread, two hillocks and a vale between.
Here dwelt an aged swain; his cottage stood
Under the cliffs, encompass'd by a wood.
From poverty secure, he heard afar,
In peace profound, the tumults of the war.
Mending a net before his rural gate,
From other toils repos'd, the peasant sat;
When first the voice of Menelaus came,
By ev'ning breezes wafted from the stream.
Hast'ning, his skiff he loos'd, and spread the sail;
Some present god supply'd a prosp'rous gale:
For, as the Spartan chief, with toil subdu'd,
Hopeless of life, was sinking in the flood,
The swain approach'd, and in his barge receiv'd
Him safe from danger imminent retriev'd.

Upon a willow's trunk Thersites sat,
Contempt in laughter fated to create,
Where, bending from a hollow bank, it hung,
And rooted to the mould'ring surface clung;
He saw Atrides safe! and thus aloud,

With leer malign, address'd the list'ning crowd.
"Here on the flow'ry turf a hearth shall stand;
A hecatomb the fav'ring gods demand,
Who sav'd Atrides in this dire debate,
And snatch'd the hero from the jaws of fate:
Without his aid we all might quit the field;
Ulysses, Ajax, and Tydides, yield:
His mighty arm alone the host defends,
But dire disaster still the chief attends:
Last Sun beheld him vanquish'd on the plain;
Then warriors sav'd him, now a shepherd swain.
Defend him still from persecuting fate!
Protect the hero who protects the state;
In martial conflicts watch with prudent fear,
And, when he swims, let help be always near!"

Did I e'er teach you, justice to disclaim;
And steal, by treachery, dishonest fame ?
'The truce subsists with all the rest; are we
Alone excepted, unengag'd and free?
Why, warriors! do not then these hostile tow'rs,
Against us, send at once their martial pow'rs?
And are we safe, but that the treaty stands,
And from unequal force protects our bands?
In this our foes confide; the dead they burn,
And mix with tears their ashes in the uru.
Their tow'rs defenceless, and their gates unbarr'd,
Shall we with wrongs their confidence reward?
No; though each warrior of this num'rous
band

Should yield to execute what you command;
Yet would not I, obedient to thy will,
Blot my long labours with a deed so ill,
Whatever hard or dang'rous you propose,
Though old and weak, I shun not, nor oppose:
But what the gods command us to forbear,
The prudent will avoid, the bravest fear."
He said; and to the ground his buckler flung;
On the hard il the brazen orbit rung:
The rest, approving, dropt upon the field
His pond'rous jav'lin, each, and shining shield.
The warlike son of Tydeus straight resign'd,
To dire disorder, all his mighty mind,
And sudden wrath; as when the troubled air,
From kindled lightning, shines with fiery glare:
With fury so inflam'd, the hero burn'd,
And frowning to Deiphobus return'd:
"I know thee, wretch! and mark thy constant
To teach the host their leader thus to blame.
Long have I borne your pride; your rev'rend
age,
[rage:
A guardian's name, suppress'd my kindling
But to protect your insolence, no more
Shall these avail, and skreen it as before."

[aim,

He said; and more his fury to provoke, Replying thus, the aged warrior spoke : "Vain youth! unmov'd thy angry threats hear;

When tyrants threaten, slaves alone should fear:
To me is ev'ry servile part unknown,
To glory in a smile, or fear a frown.
Your mighty sire I knew by council rul'd;
His fiercest transports sober reason cool'd.
But wild, and lawless, like the stormy wind,
The sport of passion, impotent, and blind,
The desp'rate paths of folly you pursue,
And scorn instruction with a lofty brow:
Yet know, proud prince! my purpose I retain,
And see thy threat'ning eye-balls roll in vain :
Never, obsequious to thy mad command,
Against the foe I'll lift a hostile hand;
Till, righteously fulfill'd, the truce expire
Which Heav'n has witness'd and the sacred fire."

He said; and, by his sharp reproaches stung,
With sudden hand, his lance the hero flung:
Too sure the aim; his faithful friend it found,
And open'd in his side a deadly wound:
Stagg'ring he fell; and, on the verge of death,
In words like these resign'd his parting breath:
"O Diomed, my son! for thee I fear:

Sure Heav'n is angry, and its vengeance near: For whom the gods distinguish by their hate, Themselves are made the ministers of fate; Far from their side, the destin'd victims drive Their friends intent to succour and retrieve,

Ere yet their vengeance falls, the pow'rs invoke,
While uninflicted hangs the fatal stroke:
And rule the transports of your wrath, lest fear
Make sound advice a stranger to your ear."
Speaking he dy'd; his gen'rous spirit fled
To mix with heroes in th' Elysian shade.

Amaz'd, at first, th' Etolian warriors stood; No voice, no action, through the wand'ring crow'd;

Silent they stood, like rows of forest trees,
When Jove's dread thunder quells the summer
But soon on ev'ry side a tumult rose, [breeze:
Loud as the ocean when a tempest blows;
Disorder wild the mingling ranks confounds,
The voice of sorrow mix'd with angry sounds.
On ev'ry side against the chief appears

A brazen bulwark rais'd of shields, and spears,
Fast closing round. But from his thigh he drew
His shining blade, and on the phalanx flew ;
With gesture fierce the threat'ning steel he
way'd;

But check'd its fury, and the people sav'd:
As the good shepherd spares his tender flock,
And lightens, when he strikes, the falling crook.
The crowd dividing shunn'd the hero's ire;
As from a lion's rage the swains retire,
When dreadful o'er the mangled prey he stands,
By brandish'd darts unaw'd and flaming brands.
And now the flame of sudden rage supprest,
Remorse and sorrow stung the hero's breast.
Distracted through the scatt'ring crowd he went,
And sought the dark recesses of his tent;
He enter'd but the menial servants, bred
To wait his coming, straight with horrour fled.
Against the ground he dash'd his bloody dart;
And utter'd thus the swellings of his heart :
"Why fly my warriors? why the menial train,
Who joy'd before to meet me from the plain,
Why shun they now their lord's approach; for
bring,

To wash my bloody hands, the cleansing spring ▸
Too well, alas! my fatal rage they know,
To them more dreadful now than to the foe;
No enemy, alas! this spear has stain'd;
With hostile gore in glorious battle drain'd:
My guardian's blood it shows, whose hoary hairs
Still watch'd my welfare with a father's cares.
Thou pow'r supreme! whose unresisted sway
The fates of men and mortal things obey!
If wise and good, why did thy hand impart
So fierce an impulse to this bounding heart?
By fury rul'd-and impotent of mind,
No awe restrains me, and no tie can bind:
Hence, by the madness of my rage o'erthrown,
My father's friend lies murder'd, and my own."
He said; and, yielding to his fierce despair,
With both his hands he rent his rooted hair;
And where his locks in shining ringlets grew,
A load of ashes from the hearth he threw,
Rolling in dust: but now around the slain
His warriors stood assembled on the plain;
For total insurrection ripe they stood;
Their angry murmurs rose to tumult loud.

Ulysses soon the dire disorder heard ;
And present to explore the cause appear'd :
The hero came, and, 'midst the warriors found
Deiphobusextended on the ground.

A flood of sorrow started to his eyes,
But soon he check'd each symptom of surprise

chief

Each strove to speak the universal grief:

Their mingled spears in wild disorder shook;
Like the sharp reeds along soune winding brook,
When through the leafless woods the north wind
blows,

Parent of ice and thick descending snows:
Now fell revenge had bath'd in streams of blood,
And pow'r in vain her desp'rate course withstood:
But Ithacus, well skill'd in ev'ry art

To fix, or change each purpose of the heart,
Their stern decrees by soft persuasion broke;
Aud answ'ring, thus with prudent purpose spoke:
"Warriors! your gen'rous rage approve I
must;

Dire was the deed; the purpos'd vengeance just;
But, when the kings in full assembly sit,
To them the crime, and punishment commit:
For rash procedure wrongs the fairest cause;
And private justice still insults the laws.

Now to your tents your shields and lances bear;
Theseus expects us, and the hour is near:
The altars flame; the priests in order stand,
With sacrifice, to hallow ev'ry band:
But to the covert of a tent convey,
Sav'd from the scorching winds and solar ray,
These dear remains; till Theseus has decreed
Distinguish'd obsequies to grace the dead."
The hero thus; and, from his shoulders, threw
The regal cloak of gold, and shining blue;
Which o'er the slain, with prudent care, he
spread,

His ghastly features, from the crowd, to shade.
Thrice to his eyes a flood of sorrow came;
Thrice on the brink he check'd the gushing
stream,

In act to flow, his rising sighs supprest;
Patient of grief, he lock'd it in his breast.

THE

EPIGONIAD.

BOOK VI.

On the cold lips, the vital spirit strays
To worlds unknown: and can the dead perceive
The tears of friends or lovers when they grieve?"
To sooth his passion, thus the virgin try'd ;
With wonder, thus th' Etolian chief reply'd :
"Say who you are, who thus approach my seat,
Unaw'd by good Deiphobus's fate?

[bind

When all avoid my presence, nor appear,
By indignation banish'd, or by fear.
What is thy name? what deed of mine could
To friendship so unchang'd thy constant mind;,
Still to survive the horrour of a crime,
Whose colour blots the registers of time?"

The hero thus. Cassandra thus replies:
"Iphicles is my name; my country lies
Where Antirrihum's rocky shores divide,
Extended in the deep, th' Ionian tide.
There dwells my sire possest of ample store,
In flocks and herds and gold's refulgent ore.
Oeneus his name; his vessels on the main,
From rich Hesperia waft him yearly gain,
And that fam'd land, whose promontories run
Far to the west, beneath the setting Sun;
Where ev'ry cliff with veins of silver gleams,
And sands of gold lie glitt'ring in the streams.
In Hymen's sacred ties two sons he bred,
Me, and my valiant brother Lycomed.
The youngest I, was charg'd his flocks to keep:
My brother rul'd his galleys on the deep.
Once as he left Iberia's wealthy shore,
With Boetic fleeces fraught and precious ore;
Phoenician pirates waited on the strand,
Where high Pachynus stretches from the land;
In that fam'd isle where Etna lifts his spires,
With smoke obscure, and blows his sulph'rous
fires.

Behind the cliffs conceal'd, the treach'rous band
Waited the Greeks descending on the strand :
My brother there with twenty youths they slew;
Their sudden arrows from an ambush flew.
Dire was the deed; and still my sorrows stream,
Whene'er that argument of woe I name,
And grief prevails; but, in your presence, most;
You still rec.ll the brother whom I lost:
For such he was in lineaments of face,
In martial stature, and majestic grace;
Though less in all; in form inferior'far;
And still, though valiant, less in works of war.
Hence, deeply rooted in my constant heart,
You challenge, as your own, a brother's part:
And I alone, of all the host, remain
To share your grief and suffer in your pain.”
Thus by an artful tale, the virgin strove
To shun discov'ry, and conceal her love.
Yet still her looks, her gestures, all express'd
The maid; her love in blushes stood confess'd.
Tydides saw; and quickly, to his thought,
Each circumstance the fair Cassandra brought.
Silent he sat ; and fix'd in deep surprise,
Her flushing features mark'd and downcast eyes,
He thus reply'd: "The native truth reveal;
And, what I ask you, hope not to conceal.
Or shall I credit what you now have said;
Oeneus your sire, your brother Lycomed?
Or art thou she, whose beauty first did move,
Within my peaceful breast, the rage of love?”

With look and voice severe, the hero spoke.
Aw'd and abash'd, the conscious virgin shook;