To whom the Goddess of the painted bow;
Approach, and view the wondrous scenes below!
Each hardy Greek, and valiant Trojan knight,
So dreadful late, and furious for the fight,
Now reft their fpears, or lean upon their fhields;
Ceas'd is the war, and filent all the fields.
Paris alone and Sparta's king advance,
In fingle fight to tofs the beamy lance;
Each met in arms, the fate of combat tries,
Thy love the motive, and thy charms the prize.
This faid, the many-colour'd maid infpires.
Her husband's love, and wakes her former fires;
Her country, parents, all that once were dear,
Rush to her thought, and force a tender tear.
O'er her fair face a fnowy vale the threw,
And, foftly fighing, from the loom withdrew:
Her handmaids Clymenè and Æthra wait
Her filent footsteps to the Scean gate.
There fat the feniors of the Trojan race,
(Old Priam's chiefs, and most in Priam's grace)
The king the firft; Thymotes at his fide;
Lampus and Clytius, long in council try'd ;
Panthus, and Hicetäon, once the strong;
And next, the wifeft of the reverend throng,
Antenor grave, and fage Ucalegon,
Lean'd on the walls, and bask'd before the fun.
Chiefs, who no more in bloody fights engage,
But wife through time, and narrative with age,
In fummer-days like grafhoppers rejoice,
A bloodless race, that fend a feeble voice.
Thefe, when the Spartan queen approach'd the tower,
In fecret own'd refiftlefs beauty's power:
They cried, No wonder, fuch celeftial charms.
For nine long years have fet the world in arms;
What winning graces! what majestic mien!
She moves a Goddess, and she looks a Queen !*
Yet hence, oh Heaven! convey that fatal face,
And from destruction fave the Trojan race.
The good old Priam welcom'd her, and cried :
Approach, my child, and grace thy father's fide.
See on the plain thy Grecian spouse appears,
The friends and kindred of thy former years.
No crime of thine our prefent fufferings draws,
Not thou, but Heaven's difpofing will, the caufe;
The Gods these armies and this force employ,
The hoftile Gods confpire the fate of Troy.
But lift thy eyes, and fay, What Greek is he
(Far as from hence these aged orbs can fee).
Around whofe brow fuch martial graces fhine,
So tall, fo awful, and almost divine?
Though fome of larger ftature tread the green,
None match his grandeur and exalted mien :
He feems a monarch, and his country's pride.
Thus ceas'd the king; and thus the fair replied:
Before thy prefence, father, I appear
With confcious shame and reverential fear.
Ah! had I died, ere to these walls I fled,
Falfe to my country and my nuptial, bed;
My brothers, friends, and daughter left behind,
Falfe to them all, to Paris only kind!
For this I mourn, till grief or dire disease
Shall waste the form whofe crime it was to please.
The king of kings, Atrides, you survey,
Great in the war, and great in arts of sway:
My brother once, before my days of shame
And oh that ftill he bore a brother's name!
With wonder Priam view'd the god-like man,
Extoll'd the happy prince, and thus began :
O bleft Atrides! born to profperous fate,
Successful monarch of a mighty ftate!
How vaft thy empire! Of yon matchless train
What numbers loft, what numbers yet remain ?
In Phrygia once were gallant armies known,
In ancient time, when Otreus fill'd the throne,
When god-like Mygdon led their troops of horse,
And I, to join them, rais'd the Trojan force :
Against the manlike Amazons we stood,
And Sangar's stream ran purple with their blood. 250 But far inferior thofe, in martial grace
And ftrength of numbers, to this Grecian race.
This faid, once more he view'd the warriour-train: What's he whofe arms lie fcatter'd on the plain; Broad is his breast, his shoulders larger spread, Though great Atrides overtops his head. Nor yet appear his care and condu& small; From rank to rank he moves, and orders all. The stately ram thus measures o'er the ground, And, mafter of the flock, furveys them round. Then Helen thus: Whom your difcerning eyes Have fingled out, is Ithacus the wise : Í
A barren island boasts his glorious birth:
His fame for wisdom fills the spacious earth.
Antenor took the word, and thus began :
Myself, O king! have seen that wondrous man :
When, trusting Jove and hospitable laws,
To Troy he came, to plead the Grecian cause ;
(Great Menelaus urg'd the fame request)
My house was honour'd with each royal gueft:
I knew their persons, and admir'd their parts,
Both brave in arms, and both approv'd in arts.
Erect, the Spartan most engag'd our view;
Ulyffes feated greater reverence drew.
When Atreus' son harangu'd the listening train, 、275
Juft was his fenfe, and his expreffion plain,
His words fuccinct, yet full, without a fault;
He spoke no more than just the thing he ought.
But when Ulyffes rofe, in thought profound,
His modeft eyes he fixt upon the ground,
As one unskill'd or dumb, he feem'd to stand,
Nor rais'd his head, nor ftretch'd his fcepter'd hand;
But, when he speaks, what elocution flows!
Soft as the fleeces of defcending fnows,
The copious accents fall, with easy art;
Melting they fall, and sink into the heart!
Wondering we hear, and fix'd in deep furprize;
Our ears refute the cenfure of our eyes.
The king then ask'd (as yet the camp he view'd) What chief is that, with giant strength endued; Whose brawny shoulders, and whofe fwelling cheft, And lofty ftature, far exceed the reft?
Ajax the great (the beauteous queen replied)
Himfelf a hoft: the Grecian ftrength and pride.
See! bold Idomeneus fuperior towers
Amidst yon circle of his Cretan powers,
Great as a God! I faw him once before,
With Menelaus, on the Spartan fhore.
The rest I know, and could in order name;
All valiant chiefs, and men of mighty fame.
Yet two are wanting of the numerous train,
Whom long my eyes have fought, but fought in vain ;
Caftor and Pollux, first in martial force,
One bold on foot, and one renown'd for horse.
My brothers these; the fame our native shore,
One house contain'd us, as one mother bore.
Perhaps the chiefs, from warlike toils at ease,
For diftant Troy refus'd to fail the feas:
Perhaps their swords fome nobler quarrel draws,
Afham'd to combat in their fifter's caufe.
So spoke the fair, nor knew her brothers' doom, Wrapt in the cold embraces of the tomb; Adorn'd with honours in their native fhore. Silent they flept, and heard of wars no more. Meantime the heralds, through the crowded town, Bring the rich wine and deftin'd victims down. Idæus' arms the golden goblets preft, Who thus the venerable king addrest : Arise, O father of the Trojan state! The nations call, thy joyful people wait. To feal the truce, and end the dire debate. Paris thy fon, and Sparta's king advance, In measur'd lifts to tofs the weighty lance; I 2
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