A shelfy track and long!), O seer, I cry, To the stern sanction of th' offended sky My prompt obedience bows. But deign to say, What fate propitious, or what dire dismay, Sustain those peers, the reliques of our host, Whom I with Nestor on the Phrygian coast Embracing left? Must I the warriors weep, Whelm'd in the bottom of the monstrous deep? Or did the kind domestic friend deplore The breathless heroes on their native shore?
Press not too far, reply'd the god; but cease To know, what known will violate thy peace; Too curious of their doom! with friendly woe Thy breast will heave, and tears eternal flow. Part live! the rest, a lamentable train! Range the dark bounds of Pluto's dreary reign. ́ Two, foremost in the roll of Mars renown'd,
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Whose arms with conquest in thy cause were crown'd, Fell by disastrous fate; by tempests tost, A third lives wretched on a distant coast. By Neptune rescued from Minerva's hate, On Gyræ, safe Oïlean Ajax sate,
His ship o'erwhelm'd; but, frowning on the floods, Impious he roar'd defiance to the gods;
To his own prowess all the glory gave,
The power defrauding who vouchsaf'd to save. This heard the raging ruler of the main; His spear, indignant for such high disdain, He launch'd; dividing with his forky mace Th' aërial summit from the marble base: The rock rush'd seaward with impetuous roar Ingulf'd, and to th' abyss the boaster bore.
By Juno's guardian aid, the watery vast, Secure of storms, your royal brother past: Till coasting nigh the cape, where Malea shrouds Her spiry cliffs amid surrounding clouds; A whirling gust tumultuous from the shore Across the deep his labouring vessel bore. In an ill-fated hour the coast he gain'd, Where late in regal pomp Thyestes reign'd; But, when his hoary honours bow'd to fate, Egysthus govern'd in paternal state.
The surges now subside, the tempest ends; From his tall ship the king of men descends; There fondly thinks the gods conclude his toil! Far from his own domain salutes the soil: With rapture oft the verge of Greece reviews, And the dear turf with tears of joy bédews. Him thus exulting on the distant strand, A spy distinguish'd from his airy stand;
To bribe whose vigilance, Ægysthus told
A mighty sum of ill-persuading gold:
There watch'd this guardian of his guilty fear,
Till the twelfth moon had wheel'd her pale career; And now, admonish'd by his eye, to court
Of deathful arts expert, his lord employs The ministers of blood in dark surprise; And twenty youths in radiant mail incas'd,
Close ambush'd nigh the spacious hall he plac'd. 710 Then bids prepare the hospitable treat: Vain shows of love to veil his felon-hate!
To grace the victor's welcome from the wars, A train of coursers, and triumphal cars Magnificent he leads! the royal guest, Thoughtless of ill, accepts the fraudful feast. The troop forth-issuing from the dark recess, With homicidal rage the king oppress! So, whilst he feeds luxurious in the stall, The sovereign of the herd is doom'd to fall. The partners of his fame and toils at Troy,
Around their lord, a mighty ruin! lie: Mix'd with the brave, the base invaders bleed; Ægysthus sole survives to boast the deed.
He said; chill horrors shook my shivering soul, Rack'd with convulsive pangs in dust I roll; And hate, in madness of extreme despair, To view the sun, or breathe the vital air. But when, superior to the rage of woe, I stood restor'd, and tears had ceas'd to flow; Lenient of grief, the pitying god began→ Forget the brother, and resume the man: To Fate's supreme dispose the dead resign, That care be Fate's, a speedy passage thine.
Still lives the wretch who wrought the death deplor'd,
But lives a victim for thy vengeful sword;
Unless with filial rage Orestes glow,
And swift prevent the meditated blow; You timely will return a welcome guest, With him to share the sad funereal feast.
He said: new thoughts my beating heart employ, My gloomy soul receives a gleam of joy. Fair hope revives; and eager I addrest The prescient godhead to reveal the rest. The doom decreed of those disastrous two I've heard with pain, but, oh! the tale pursue; What third brave son of Mars the Fates constrain To roam the howling desert of the main; Or, in eternal shade if cold he lies,
Provoke new sorrow from these grateful eyes. That chief (rejoin'd the god) his race derives From Ithaca, and wondrous woes survives; Laërtes' son: girt with circumfluous tides, He still calamitous constraint abides. Him in Calypso's cave of late I view'd, When streaming grief his faded cheek bedew'd. But vain his prayer, his arts are vain, to move Th'enamour'd goddess, or elude her love: His vessel sunk, and dear companions lost, He lives reluctant on a foreign coast. But oh, belov'd by heaven! reserv'd to thee
A happier lot the smiling Fates decree:
Free from that law, beneath whose mortal sway Matter is chang'd, and varying forms decay; Elysium shall be thine; the blissful plains of utmost earth, where Rhadamanthus reigns. Joys ever young, unmix'd with pain or fear, Fill the wide circle of th' eternal year: Stern winter smiles on that auspicious clime: The fields are florid with unfading prime; From the bleak pole no winds inclement blow, Mould the round hail, or flake, the fleecy snów; But from the breezy deep the blest inhale The fragrant murmurs of the western gale.
This grace peculiar will the gods afford
To thee the son of Jove, and beauteous Helen's lord.
He ceas'd, and plunging in the vast profound, Beneath the god the whirling billows bound. Then speeding back, involv'd in various thought, My friends attending at the shore I sought. Arriv'd, the rage of hunger we controul, Till night with silent shade invests the pole; Then lose the cares of life in pleasing rest.
Soon as the morn reveals the roseate east,
With sails we wing the masts, our anchors weigh, Unmoor the fleet, and rush into the sea.
Rang'd on the banks, beneath our equal oars White curl the waves, and the vex'd ocean roars. Then, steering backward from the Pharian isle, We gain the stream of Jove-descended Nile: There quit the ships, and on the destin'd shore With ritual hecatombs the gods adore: Their wrath aton'd, to Agamemnon's name A cenotaph I raise of deathless fame. These rites to piety and grief discharg'd, The friendly gods a springing gale enlarg'd: The fleet swift tilting o'er the surges flew, Till Grecian cliffs appear'd, a blissful view! Thy patient ear hath heard me long relate A story, fruitful of disastrous fate:
And now, young prince, indulge my fond request;
Be Sparta honour'd with his royal guest,
Till, from his eastern goal, the joyous sun
His twelfth diurnal race begins to run.
Meantime my train the friendly gifts prepare, Three sprightly coursers, and a polish'd car: - With these, a goblet of capacious mould, Figur'd with art to dignify the gold (Form'd for libation to the gods), shall prove A pledge and monument of sacred love.
My quick return, young Ithacus rejoin'd, Damps the warm wishes of my raptur'd mind: Did not my fate my needful haste constrain, Charm'd by your speech, so graceful and humane, Lost in delight the circling year would roll, While deep attention fix'd my listening soul. But now to Pyle permit my destin'd way, My lov'd associates chide my long delay:
la dear remembrance of your royal grace, Itake the present of the promis'd vase; The coursers, for the champaign sports, retain; That gift our barren rocks will render vain: Horrid with cliffs, our meagre land allows Thin herbage for the mountain goat to browse, But neither mead nor plain supplies, to feed The sprightly courser, or indulge his speed: To sea-surrounded realms the gods assign Small tract of fertile lawn, the least to mine. His hand the king with tender passion press'd, And, smiling, thus the royal youth address'd: O early worth! a soul so wise, and young, Proclaims you from the sage Ulysses sprung. Selected from my stores, of matchless price An urn shall recompense your prudent choice; Not mean the massy mould of silver, grac'd By Vulcan's art, the verge with gold enchas'd; A pledge the scepter'd power of Sidon gave, When to his realm I plough'd the orient wave. Thus they alternate; while with artful care The menial train the regal feast prepare: The firstlings of the flock are doom'd to die; Rich fragrant wines the cheering bowl supply; A female band the gift of Ceres bring; And the gilt roofs with genial triumph ring.
Meanwhile, in Ithaca, the suitor-powers
In active games divide their jovial hours:
In areas vary'd with mosaic art
Some whirl the disk, and some the javelin dart.
My ship, equipp'd within the neighbouring port, The prince, departing for the Pylian court, Requested for his speed; but, courteous, say When steers he home, or why this long delay? For Elis I should sail with utmost speed, Timport twelve mares which their luxurious feed,
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