215, Oh, lov'd of Jove! this day our labours ceafe, And conqueft blazes with full beams on Greece. 280 Great Hector falls; that Hedor fam'd fo far, Drunk with renown, infatiable of war, Falls by thy hand, and mine! nor force nor flight Shall more avail him, nor his God of Light. See, where in vain he fupplicates above, Roll'd at the feet of unrelenting Jove! Reft here: myfelf will lead the Trojan en, And urge to meet the fate he cannot fhun.
The panting courfers fwiftly turn the goal, And with them turns the rais'd fpectators' foul: Thus three times round the Trojan wall they fly; The gazing Gods lean forward from the sky: To whom, while eager on the chace they look, The Sire of mortals and immortals spoke : 220 Unworthy fight! the man belov'd of Heaven, Behold, inglorious round yon city driven! My heart partakes the generous He&or's pain; Feter, whofe zeal whole hecatombs has flain, [225 Whole grateful fumes the Gods receiv'd with joy, From Ida's fummits, and the towers of Troy: Now fee him flying! to his fears refign'd, And Fate, and fierce Achilles, clofc behind. Confult, ye Powers! 'tis worthy your debate) Whether to fnatch him from impending fate, 230 Or let him bear, by ftern Pelides flain (Cood as he is the lot impos'd on man.
Then Pallas thus: Shall he whofe vengeance forms
The forky bolt, and blackens Heaven with forms, Shall he prolong one Trojan's forfeit breath! 235 A man, a mortal, pre-ordain'd to death! And will no murmurs fill the courts above? No Gods indignant blame their partial Jove? Go then (return d the Sire) without delay, Exert thy will: I give the Fates their way. Swift, at the mandate pleas'd, Tritonia flies, And floops impetuous from the cleaving flies. As through the foreft, o'er the vale and lawn, The well-breath'd beagle drives the flying fawn; In vain he tries the covert of the brakes, Or deep beneath the trembling thicket fhakes; Sure of the vapour in the tainted dews, The certain hound his various maze purfues. Thus, frep by flep, where'er the Trojan wheel'd, There swift Achilles compafs'd round the field. Oft as to reach the Dardan gates he bends, And hopes th' affiftance of his pitying friends, (Whofe thowering arrows, as he cours'd below, From the high turrets might opprefs the foe) Soft Achilles turns him to the' plain: He eyes the city, but he eyes in vain. As men in uniber feem with speedy pace One to pure, and one to lead the chace, Their linking in.hs the fancy'd course forfake, Nor this can fly, nor that can overtake : No lets the labouring heroes pant and strain; While that but flies, and this purfues, in vain. What Gad, O Mufe! affilled Hector's force, With Fate itfelf fo long to hold the course? Phabus it was; who, in his latest hour, Endued his knees with ftrength, his nerves with
And great Achilles, left fome Greeks advance Should fnatch the glory from his lifted lance, Sign'd to the troops to yield his foe the way, And leave untouch'd the honours of the day. 270 Jove lifts the golden balances, that fhow The fates of mortal men, and things below: Here each contending hero's lot he tries, And weighs, with equal hand, their deftinies. Low finks the feale, furcharg'd with Hector's fate; Heavy with death it finks, and hell receives the weight.
Then Phoebus left him. Fierce Minerva flies To ftern Pelides, and triumphing cries;
Her voice divine the chief with joyful mind Obey'd; and refled, on his lance, reclin'd. While like Deiphobus the martial Dame Her face, her geflure, and her arms, the fame) In fhow and aid, by hapless Hector's fide Approach'd, and greets him thus with voice bely'd ; Too long, O Hector, have I borne the fight 295 Of this diftrefs, and forrow'd in thy flight; It fits us now a noble ftand to make, And here, as brothers, equal fates partake.
Then he: O prince! ally'd in blood and fame, Dearer than all that own a brother's name; 300 Of all that Hecuba to Priam bore,
Long try'd, long lov'd; much lov'd, but honour'd more !
Since you, of all your numerous race, alone Defend my life, regardless of your own. Again the Goddefs: Much my father's prayer, And much my mother's, preft me to forbear: My friends embrac'd my knees, adjur'd my stay, But ftronger love impell'd, and I obey. Come then, the glorious conflict let us try, Let the fteel fparkle, and the javelin fly: Or let us stretch Achilles on the field, Or to his arm our bloody trophies yield. Fraudful the faid; then fwiftly march'd before The Dardan hero fhuns his foe no more. Sternly they met. The filence Hector broke; 315 His dreadful plumage nodded as he fpoke:
Enough, O fon of Peleus! Troy has view'd Her walls thrice circled, and her chief purfued. But now fome God within me bids me try Thine, or my fate: 1 kill thee, or I die, Yet on the verge of battle let us stay, And for a moment's fpace fufpend the day;
And faithful, guardians of the treafur'd vow!) To them I fwear; if, victor in the ftrife, Jove by thefe hands fhall fhed thy noble life, No vile difhonour fhall thy corpfe purfue; Stript of its arms alone (the conqueror's due) 339 The reft to Greece uninjur'd I'll rettore: Now plight thy mutuai oath, I ask no more,
Talk not of oaths (the dreadful chief replies, While anger fafh'd from his difdainful eyes) Detefted as thou art, and ought to be, Nor oath nor pact Achilles plights with thee: Such pacts as lambs and rapid wolves combine, Such leagues as men and furious lions join, To fuch I call the Gods! one conftant ftate Of lasting rancour and eternal hate ; No thought but rage and never-ceafing ftrife, Till death extinguifh rage, and thought, and life. Roufe then thy forces this important hour, Collect thy foul, and call forth all thy power.
No farther fubterfuge, no farther chance; 'Tis Pallas, Pallas gives thee to my lance. Each Grecian ghost by thee depriv'd of breath Now hovers round, and calls thee to thy death. 350 He fpoke, and launch'd his javelin at the foc; But Hector fhunn'd the meditated blow: He ftoop'd, while o'er his head the flying fpear Sung innocent, and spent its force in air. Minerva watch'd it falling on the land, Then drew, and gave to great Achilles' hand, Unfeen of Hector, who, elate with joy, [Troy. Now shakes his lance, and braves the dread of The life you boafted to that javelin given, Prince! you have mifs'd. My fate depends on Heaven. 360
To thee, prefumptuous as thou art, unknown Or what must prove my fortune, or thy own. Boafting is but an art, our fears to blind, And with falfe terror fink another's mind. But know, whatever fate I am to try, By no difhoneft wound fhall Hector die; 1 fhall not fall a fugitive at least; My foul fhall bravely iffue from my breast. But first try thou my arm; and may this dart End all my country's woes, deep buried in thy heart! 370
The weapon flew, its courfe unerring held; Unerring, but the heavenly fhield repell'd The mortal dart; refulting with a bound From off the ringing orb, it ftruck the ground. Hector beheld his javelin fall in vain,
Gave entrance through that penetrable part Furious he drove the well-directed dart: Nor pierc'd the wind-pipe yet, nor took the power Of freech, unhappy! from thy dying hour. Prone on the field the bleeding warrior lies, 415 While thus, triumphing, ftern Achilles cries: At last is Hector ftretch'd upon the plain, Who fear'd no vengeance for Patroclus flain: Then, prince! you fhould have fear'd, what now you feel;
Achilles absent, was Achilles stiil. Yet a fhort space the great avenger stay'd, Then low in duft thy strength and glory laid. Peaceful he fleeps, with all our rites adorn'd, For ever honour'd, and for ever mourn'd: While, caft to all the rage of hofile power, 425 Thee, birds fhall mangle, and the dogs devour.
Then Hector, fainting at th' approach of death: By thy own foul! by thofe who gave thee breath! 365 By all the facred prevalence of prayer; Ah, leave me not for Grecian dogs to tear! 430 The common rites of fepulture bestow, To foothe a father's and a mother's woe; Let their large gifts procure an urn at least, And Hector's ashes in his country reft.
Nor other lance nor other hope remain; He calls Deiphobus, demands a fpear, In vain, for no Deiphobus was there. All comfortless he ftands: then, with a figh, Tis fo-Heaven wills it, and my hour is nigh! 380 I deem'd Deiphobus had heard my call, But he fecure lies guarded in the wall. A God deceiv'd me; Pallas, 'twas thy deed, Death, and black Fate, approach! 'tis I must bleed, No refuge now, no fuccour from above, 385 Great Jove deferts me, and the fon of Jove, Propitious once, and kind! then welcome Fate! 'Tis true I perish, yet I perifh great: Yet in a mighty deed 1 fhall expire, Let future ages hear it, and admire!
Fierce, at the word, his weighty fword he drew, And, all collected, on Achilles flew So Jove's bold bird, high balanc'd in the air, Stoops from the clouds to trufs the quivering hare. Nor lefs Achilles his fierce foul prepares; Before his breaft the flaming fhield he bears, Refulgent orb above his fourfold cone The gilded horfe-hair sparkled in the fun, Nodding at every step: (Vulcanian frame!) And, as he mov'd, his figure seem'd on flame. 400 As radiant Hefper fhines with keener light, Far-beaming o'er the filver host of night, When all the ftarry train emblaze the sphere: So fhone the point of great Achilles' fpear. In his right hand he waves the weapon round, 405 Eyes the whole man, and meditates the wound: But the rich mail Patroclus lately wore, Securely cas'd the warrior's body o'er; One place at length he fpies, to let in Fate, Where 'twixt the neck and throat the jointed plate
No, wretch accurft! relentless he replies, 435 (Flames, as he fpoke, fhot flashing from his eyes) Not thofe who gave me breath fhould bid me fpare Nor all the facred prevalence of prayer. Could I myself the bloody banquet join! No-to the dogs that carcafe I refign. Should Troy, to bribe me, bring forth all her store, And, giving thousands, offer thousands more; Should Dardan Priam, and his weeping dame, Drain their whole realm to buy one funeral flame; Their Hector on the pile they fhould not fec, 445 Nor rob the vultures of one limb of thee.
Then thus the chief his dying accents drew : Thy rage, implacable! too well I knew :
¦ The Furies that relentless breast have steel`d, And curft thee with a heart that cannot yield. 450 Yet think, a day will come, when Fate's decree And angry Gods fhall wreak this wrong on thee; Phoebus and Paris fhall avenge my fate, And ftretch thee here, before this Scæan gate. He ceas'd. The Fates fuppreft his labouring breath,
And his eyes ftiffen'd at the hand of death; To the dark realm the fpirit wings its way (The manly body left a load of clay) And plaintive glides along the dreary coaft, A naked, wandering, melancholy ghoft! Achilles, mufing, as he roll'd his eyes O'er the dead hero, thus (unheard) replies: Die thou the firft! When Jove and Heaven ordain, I follow thee-He said, and stripp'd the slain. Then, forcing backward from the gaping wound The recking javelin, caft it on the ground, The thronging Greeks behold with wondering eyes His manly beauty and fuperior fize: While fome, ignobler, the great dead deface [470 With wounds ungenerous, or with taunts difgrace "How chang'd that Hector! who like Jove of
"Sent light'ning on our fleets, and scatter'd fate." High o'er the flain the great Achilles ftands, Begirt with heroes, and furrounding bands;
And thus aloud, while all the hoft attends: 475 Princes and leaders! countrymen and friends! Since now at length the powerful will of Heaven The dire deftroyer to our arm has given, Is not Troy fall'n already? Hafte, ye powers! See, if already their deferted towers Are left unmann'd; or if they yet retain The fouls of heroes, their great Hector flain? But what is Troy, or glory what, to me? Or why reflects my mind on aught but thee, Divine Patroclus! Death has feal'd his eyes; Unwept, unhonour'd, uninterr'd, he lies! Can his dear image from my foul depart, Long as the vital fpirit moves my heart? If, in the melancholy fhades below,
The flames of friends and lovers ceafe to glow, 490 Yet mine fhall facred laft; mine undecay'd Burn on through death, and arimate my fhade.
How many valiant fons, in early bloom, Has that curft hand fent headlong to the tomb! Thee, Hector! laft: thy lofs (divinely brave) Sinks my fad foul with forrow to the grave. Oh, had thy gentle fpirit pafs'd in peace, The fon expiring in the fire's embrace, While both thy parents wept thy fatal hour, And, bending o'er thee, mix'd the tender fhower! Some comfort that had been, fome fad relief, 550 To melt in full fatiety of grief!
Thus wail'd the father, groveling on the ground And all the eyes of Ilion ftream'd around. Amidfl her matrons Hecuba appears
(A mourning princefs, and a train in tears) Ah, why has Heaven prolong'd this hated breath, Patient of horrors, to behold thy death? O Hector! late thy parents' pride and joy, The boast of nations! the defence of Troy!
Mean while, ye fons of Greece, in triumph bring.To whom her fafety and her fame the ow'd; 560
Her chief, her hero, and almost her God! | O fatal change! become in one fad day A fenfelefs corpfe! inanimated clay!
But not as yet the fatal news had spread To fair Andromache, of Hector dead; As yet no messenger had told his fate, Nor ev'n his stay without the Scaan gate, Far in the clofe receffes of the dome, Penfive fhe ply'd the melancholy loom;
A growing work employ'd her fecret hours; 570 Confus'dly gay with intermingled flowers.
505 Her fair-hair'd handmaids heat the brazen urn, The bath preparing for her lord's return:
The corpfe of Hector, and your Peans fing. Be this the fong, flow moving tow'rd the fhore,495 "Hector is dead, and Ilion is no mere.” Then his fell foul a thought of vengeance bred (Unworthy of himself and of the dead). The nervous ancles bor'd, his feet he bound [500 With thongs inferted through the double wound; Thefe fix'd up high behind the rolling wain, His graceful head was trail'd along the plain. Proud on his car th' infulting victor stood, And borc aloft his armis, diftilling blood. He fmites the fleeds; the rapid chariot flies; The fudden clouds of circling duft arife, Now loft is all that formidable air; The face divine, and long-defcending hair, Purple the ground, and ftreak the fable fand; Deform'd, difhonour'd, in his native land, Giv'n to the rage of an infulting throng! And in his parents' fight now dragg'd along! The mother first beheld with fad furvey: She rent her treffes, venerably grey, And caft, far off, the regal veils away. With piercing fhrieks his bitter fate the moans, While the fad father answers groans with groans; Tears after tears his mournful cheeks o'erflow, And the whole city wears one face of woe: No lefs than if the rage of hoftile fires, From her foundations curling to her spires, O'er the proud citadel at length fhould rife, And the last blaze fend Ilion to the skies. The wretched monarch of the falling ftate, Distracted, preffes to the Dardan gate. Scarce the whole people ftop his defperate course, While ftrong affliction gives the feeble force; Grief tears his heart, and drives him to and fro, In all the raging impotence of wee. At length he roll'd in duft, and thus begun: Imploring all, and naming one by one: Ah! let me, let me go where forrow calls: I, only I, will iffue from your walls
(Guide or companion, friends! I ask you none) And bow before the murderer of my fon.
My grief perhaps his pity may engage;
Perhaps at least he may refpect my age. He has a father too, a man like me; One, not exempt from age and misery (Vigorous no more, as when his young embrace Begot this peft of me and all my race);
In vain alas! her lord returns no more! Unbath'd he lies, and bleeds along the fhore !575 Now from the walls the clamours reach her ear, And all her members shake with fudden fear; Forth from her ivory hand the shuttle falls, As thus, aftonish', to her maids fhe calls: [58 Ah, follow me! (fhe cry'd) what plaintive noise Invades my ear? 'Tis fure my mother's voice. My faltering knees their trembling frame defert, A pulfe unufual flutters at my heart; Some ftrange difafter, fome reverse of fate, (Ye Gods avert it!) threats the Trojan ftate. 585 Far be the omen which my thoughts fuggeft! But much I fear my Hector's dauntless breaft Confronts Achilles; chac'd along the plain, Shut from our walls! I fear, I fear him flain! Safe in the crowd he ever fcorn'd to wait And fought for glory in the jaws of fate: Perhaps that noble heat has coft his breath, Now quench'd for ever in the arms of death. She fpoke; and furious, with distracted pace, Fears in her heart, and anguish in her face, 595 Flies through the doom (the maids her steps purfue)
And mounts the walls, and fends around her view. Too foon her eyes the killing object found, The godlike Hector dragg'd along the ground. A fudden darkness fhades her fwimming eyes: 600 She faints, fhe falls; her breath, her colour, flies. Her hair's fair ornaments, the braids that bound, The net that held him, and the wreath that The veil and diadem, flew far away (The gift of Venus on her bridal day) Around a train of weeping fifters ftands, To raife her, finking, with alliftant hands
Scarce from the verge of death recall'd, again She faints, or but recovers to complain.
O wretched husband of a wretched wife! Born with one fate, to one unhappy life! For fure one flar its baneful beam difplay'd On Priam's roof and Hippoplacia's fhade. From different parents, different climes,
While those his father's former bounty fed, Nor reach the goblet, nor divide the bread: The kindeft but his prefent wants allay, To leave him wretched the fucceeding day. Frugal compaffion! Heedlefs, they who boaft 64a Both parents ftill, nor feel what he has loft, Shall cry, Be gone! thy father feafts not here;" The wretch obeys, retiring with a tear. Thus wretched, thus retiring all in tears, To my fad foul Aftyanax appears! Forc'd by repeated infults to return, And to his widow'd mother vainly mourn. He, who, with tender delicacy bred,
620 With princes fported, and on dainties fed,
At different periods, yet our fates the fame! Why was my birth to great Aëtion ow`d, And why was all that tender care bestow'd? Would I had never been!-0 thou, the ghoft Of my dead hufband! miferably lost; Thou, to the difmal realms for ever gone! And I abandon'd, defolate, alone! An only child, once comfort of my pains, Sad product now of hapless love, remains! No more to fmile upon his fire, no friend To help him now! no father to defend ! For fhould he 'fcape the fword, the common doom,
And when still evening gave him up to reft, 650 Sunk in foft down upon the nurse's breaft, Muft-ah what muft he not? Whom lion calls Aftyanax, from her well-guarded walls, Is now that name no more, unhappy boy! Since now no more the father guards his Troy. 655 But thou, my Hector, ly't expos'd in air, Far from thy parents' and thy confort's care, Whose hand in vain, directed by her love, The martial fcarf and robe of triumph wove. Now to devouring flames be these a prey, Ufelefs to thee, from this accurfed day! Yet let the facrifice at least be paid,
An honour to the living, not the dead.
So fpake the mournful dame: her matrons hear,
Hangs on the robe, or trembles at the knee, 635 Sigh back her fighs, and answer tear with tear. 765
Achilles and the Myrmidons do honour to the body of Patroclus. After the funeral feaft, be retires to the fea-fbore, where, falling asleep, the ghost of bis friend appears to bim, and demands the right of burial; the next morning the foldiers are fent with mules and waggons to fetch wood for the pyre. The funeral proceffion, and the offering their bair to the dead. Achilles facrifices feveral animals, and laft'y twelve Trojan captives, at the pile; then fets fire to it. He pays libations to the winds, which (at the inftance of Iris) rife, and raise the flames. When the pile bas burned all night, they gather the bones, place them in an urn of gold, and raife *the tomb. Achilles inflitutes the funeral games: the chariot-race, the fight of the cæftus, the wrifling, the foot-race, the fingle combat, the difcus, the footing with arrows, the darting the javelin: the various defcriptions of which, and the various fuccefs of the feveral antagonists, make the greatest part of the book. In this book ends the thirtieth day. The night following, the ghoft of Patroclus appears to Achilles: the one and thirtieth day is employed in felling the timber for the pile; the two and thirtieth in burning it; and the three and thirtieth in the games. The fcene is generally on the fea-fbore.
HUS, humbled in the duft, the pensive train Through the fad city mourn'd her hero flain. The body foil'd with duft, and black with gore, Lies on broad Hellefpont's refounding fhore: The Grecians feek their fhips, and clear the ftrand,5 All, but the martial Myrmidonian band; Thefe yet affembled great Achilles holds, And the ftern purpose of his mind unfolds:
Not yet, my brave companions of the war, Release your smoking courfers from the car; But, with his chariot each in order led, Perform due honours to Patroclus dead,
Ere yet from reft or food we feek relief, Some rites remain, to glut our rage of grief.
The troops obey'd; and thrice in order led 15 (Achilles firft) their courfers round the dead; And thrice their forrows and laments renew; Tears bathe their arms, and tears the fands bedew. For fuch a warrior Thetis aids their woe, [flow.20 Melts their ftrong hearts, and bids their eyes to But chief, Pelides: thick-fucceeding fighs Burft from his heart, and torrents from his eyes: His flaughtering hands, yet red with blood, he laid On his dead friend's cold breaft, and thus he faid:
All hail, Patroclus! let thy honour'd ghost, 25 The vagrant dead around the dark abode,
Forbid to cross th' irremeable flood. Now give thy hand for to the farther shore When once we pafs, the foul returns no more: When once the laft funereal flames afcend, 30 No more fhall meet Achilles and his friend; No more our thoughts to those we lov'd make known;
Hear, and rejoice, on Pluto's dreary coast; Behold! Achilles' promife is complete ; The bloody Hector ftretch'd before thy feet. Lo! to the dogs his carcafe I refign; And twelve fad victims, of the Trojan line, Sacred to vengeance, inftant, fhall expire; Their lives effus'd around thy funeral pyre. Gloomy he faid, and (horrible to view) Before the bier the bleeding Hector threw, Prone on the daft. The Myrmidons around Unbrac'd their armour, and the fleeds unbound, All to Achilles' fable fhip repair, Frequent and full, the genial feaft to fhare. Now from the well-fed fwine black smokes afpire, The briftly victims hifling o'er the fire: 40 The huge ox bellowing falls; with feebler cries Expires the goat; the fheep in filence dies. Around the hero's proftrate body flow'd, In one promifcuous ftream, the reeking blood. And now a band of Argive monarchs brings The glorious victor to the king of kings. From his dead friend the pentive warrior went, With steps unwilling, to the regal tent. Th' attending heralds, as by office bound, With kindled flames the tripod vafe furround; 50 To cleanfe his conquering hands from hofile gore,
They urg'd in vain ; the chief refus'd, and fwore: No drop fhall touch me, by almighty Jove! The first and greatest of the Gods above! Till on the pyre I place thee; till I rear The graffy mound, and clip thy facred hair: Some cafe at least thofe pious rites may give, And foothe my forrows while I bear to live. Howe'er, reluctant as I am, I stay, And fhare your feaft; but with the dawn of (0 king of men!) it claims thy royal care, That Greece the warrior's funeral pile prepare, Aud bid the forefts fall (fuch rites are paid To heroes flumbering in eternal fhade). Then, when his earthly part fhall mount in fire, Let the leagued fouadrons to their posts retire. He fpoke; they hear him, and the word obey; The rage of hunger and the thirst allay, Then eafe in fleep the labours of the day. But great Pelides ftretch'd along the fhore, Where dafh'd on rocks the broken billows roar, Lies inly groaning; while on either hand The martial Myrmidons confus'dly ftand. Along the grafs his languid members fail, Tir'd with his chafe around the Trojan wall; Hufh'd by the murmurs of the rolling deep, At length he finks in the foft arms of fleep. When, lo! the fhade, before his clofing eyes, Of fad Patroclus rofe, or feem'd to rife; In the fame robe he living wore, he came; In ftature, voice, and pleafing look, the fame. The form familiar hover'd o'er his head : And fleeps Achilles (thus the phanton faid) Sleeps my Achilles, his Patroclus dead? Living, I feem'd his deareft, tendereft care, forgot, I wander in the air. Let my pale corpfe the rites of burial know, And give me entrance in the realms below; Till then the fpirit finds no refting place,
Or quit the deareft, to converfe alone. Me fate has fever'd from the fons of earth, [100 The fate fore-doom'd that waited from my birth: Thee too it waits; before the Trojan wall Ev'n great and godlike thou, art doom'd to fall. Hear then; and as in fate and love we join, Ah, fuffer that my bones may reft with thine! Together have we liv'd; together bred, One houfe receiv'd us, and one table fed; That golden urn, thy Goddefs-mother gave, May mix our afhes in one common grave.
And is it thou? (he anfwers) to my fight [110 Once more return'ft thou from the realms of night? Oh more than brother! Think each office paid, Whate'er can reft a discontented shade; But grant one laft embrace, unhappy boy! Afford at least that melancholy joy.
He faid, and with his longing arms effay'd 115 In vain to grafp the vifionary fhade; Like a thin fmoke he fees the fpirit fly, And hears a feeble, lamentable cry.
Confus'd he wakes; amazement breaks the' the7
Of golden fleep, and, ftarting from the fands,120 Penfive he mufes with uplitted hands:
'Tis true, 'tis certain ; man, though dead, retains Part of himself; th' immortal mind remains: The form fubfiíts without the body's aid, Aerial femblance, and an empty fhade! This night my friend, fo late in battle loft, Stood at my fide, a penfive, plaintive ghost; Ev'n now familiar, as in life, he came, Alas! how different! yet how like the fame ! [130.
Thus while he fpoke, each eye grew big with And now the rofy-finger'd morn appears, [tears: Shews every mournful face with tears o'erfpread, And glares on the pale vifage of the dead. But Agamemnon, as the rites demand, With mules and waggons fends a chofen band, 135 To load the timber, and the pile to rear;
A charge confign'd to Merion's faithful care. With proper inflruments they take the road, Axes to cut, and ropes to fling the load.
75 Firit march the heavy mules, fecurely flow, 140 O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crags, o'er rocks, they go: Jumping, high o'er the fhrubs of the rough ground, Rattle the clattering cars, and the fhock'd axles
Then, rustling, crackling, crafhing, thunder down. The wood the Grecians cleave, prepar'd to burn; And the flow mules the fame rough road return. ISI The sturdy woodmen equal burdens bore
But chace, 90 Such charge was given them) to the fandy fhore;
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