The nurse stood near, in whose embraces prest
His only hope hung smiling at her breast,
Whom each soft charm and early grace adorn,
Fair as the new-born star that gilds the morn.
To this lov'd infant Hector gave the name
Scamandrius, from Scamander's honour'd stream;
Astyanax the Trojans call'd the boy,
From his great father, the defence of Troy.
Silent the warrior smil'd, and pleas'd resign'd
To tender passions all his mighty mind:
His beauteous princess cast a mournful look,
Hung on his hand, and then dejected spoke;
Her bosom labour'd with a boding sigh,
And the big tear stood trembling in her eye.
"Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run?
Ah, too forgetful of thy wife and son!

And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be,
A widow I, an helpless orphan he!

For sure such courage length of life denies;
And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice
Greece in her single heroes strove in vain;
Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain!
Oh, grant me, gods! ere Hector meets his doom,
All I can ask of Heaven, an early tomb!
So shall my days in one sad tenour run,
And end with sorrows, as they first begun.
No parent now remains my griefs to share,
No father's aid, no mother's tender care.
The fierce Achilles wrapt our walls in fire!
Laid Thebe waste, and slew my warlike sire!
His fate compassion in the victor bred ;
Stern as he was, he yet rever'd the dead;
His radiant arms preserv'd from hostile spoil,
And laid him decent on the funeral pile;
Then rais'd a mountain where his bones were burn'd:
The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorn'd,
Jove's sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow
A barren shade, and in his honour grow.

"By the same arm my seven brave brothers
fell;

In one sad day beheld the gates of Hell:
While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed;
Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled!
My mother liv'd to bear the victor's bands,
The queen of Hyppoplacia's sylvan lands:
Redeem d too late, she scarce beheld again
Her pleasing empire and her native plain,
When ah! opprest by life-consuming woe,
She fell a victim to Diana's bow?

"Yet, while my Hector still survives, I see
My father, mother, brethren, all, in thee:
Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all
Once more will perish, if my Hector fall,
Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share :
Oh prove a husband's and a father's care!
That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy,
Where you wild fig-trees join the wall of Troy :
Thou from this tower defend th' important post;
There Agamemnon points his dreadful host,
That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain,
And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train,
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given,
Or led by hopes, or dictated from Heaven.
Let others in the field their arins employ,
But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy."
The chief reply'd: "that post shall be my care,
Not that alone, but all the works of war.
How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'd,
And Troy's proud dames, whose garments sweep
the ground,

VOL XIX.

Attaint the lustre of my former name,
Should Hector basely quit the field of fame!
My early youth was bred to martial pains,
My soul impels me to th' embattled plains:
Let me be foremost to defend the throne,
And guard my father's glories, and my own.

"Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates: (How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!) The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend, And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end. And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind, My mother's death, the ruin of my kind, Not Priam's hoary hairs defil'd with gore, Not all my brothers gasping on the shore; As thine, Andromache! thy griefs I dread; I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led! In Argive looms our battles to design, And woes, of which so large a part was thine! To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring. There, while you groan beneath the load of life, They cry, Behold the mighty Hector's wife!' Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see, Embitters all thy woes, by naming me. The thoughts of glory past, and present shame, A thousand griefs shall waken at the name! May I lie cold before that dreadful day, Press'd with a load of monumental clay! Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep, Shall neither hear thee sigh, nor see thee weep." Thus having spoke, th' illustrious chief of Troy Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy. The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast, Scar'd at the dazzling helm, and nodding crest. With secret pleasure each fond parent smil'd, And Hector hasted to relieve his child, The glittering terrours from his brows unbound, And plac'd the beaming helmet on the ground. Then kiss'd the child, and, lifting high in air, Thus to the gods preferr'd a father's prayer:

"O thou! whose glory fills th' ethereal throne,
And all ye deathless powers! protect my son!
Grant him, like me, to purchase just renown,
To guard the Trojaus, to defend the crown,
Against his country's foes the war to wage,
And rise the Hector of the future age!
So when, triumphant from successful toils
Of heroes slain, he bears the reeking spoils,
Whole hosts may hail him with deserv'd acclaim,
And say, This chief transcends his father's fame.
While, pleas'd, amidst the general shours of Troy,
His mother's conscious heart o'erflows with joy."

He spoke, and, fondly gazing on her charms,
Restor'd the pleasing burthen to her arms;
Soft on her fragrant breast the babe she laid,
Hush'd to repose, and with a smile survey'd.
The troubled pleasure soon chastis'd by fear,
She mingled with a smile a tender tear.
The soften'd chief with kind compassion view'd,
And dry'd the falling drops, and thus pursued:
1 “Andromache! my soul's far better part,
Why with untimely sorrows heaves thy heart?
No hostile hand can antedate my doom,
Till fate condemns me to the silent tomb.
Fix'd is the term to all the race of Earth;
And such the hard condition of our birth,
No force can then resist, no flight can save;
All sink alike, the fearful and the brave.
No more-but hasten to thy tasks at home,
There guide the spindle, and direct the loom;

E

Me glory summons to the martial scene,
The field of combat is the sphere for men.
Where heroes war, the foremost place I claim,
The first in danger, as the first in fame."

Thus having said, the glorious chief resumes
His towery helmet, black with shading plumes.
His princess parts with a prophetic sigh,
Unwilling parts, and oft reverts her eye,
That stream'd at every look: then, moving slow,
Sought her own palace, and indulg'd her woe.
There, while her tears deplor'd the god-like man,
Through all her train the soft infection ran,
The pious maids their mingled sorrows shed,
And mourn the living Hector, as the dead.

But now, no longer deaf to honour's call,
Forth issues Paris from the palace wall.
In brazen arms that cast a gleamy ray,
Sift thro' the town the warrior bends his way.
The wanton courser thus, with reins unbound,
Breaks from his stall, and beats the trembling
ground;

Pamper'd and proud, he seeks the wonted tides,
And laves, in height of blood, his shining sides;
His head, now freed, he tosses to the skies;
His mane dishevell'd o'er his shoulders flies,
He snuffs the females in the distant plain,
And springs, exulting, to his fields again.
With equal triumph, sprightly, bold, and gay,
In arms refulgent as the god of day,
The son of Priam, glorying in his might,
Rush'd forth with Hector to the fields of fight.
And now, the warriors passing on the way,
The graceful Paris first excus'd his stay.
To whom the noble Hector thus reply'd:
"O chief! in blood, and now in arms, ally'd!
Thy power in war with justice none contest;
Known is thy courage, and thy strength confest.
What pity sloth should seize a soul so brave,
Or godlike Paris live a woman's slave!

My heart weeps blood at what the Trojans say,
And hopes, thy deeds shall wipe the stain away.
Haste then, in all their glorious labours share;
For much they suffer, for thy sake, in war.
These ills shall cease, whene'er by Jove's decree
We crown the bowl to Heaven and Liberty:
While the proud foe his frustrate triumphs mourns,
And Greece indignant through her seas returus."

non.

several attacks, are parted by the night. The Trojans calling a council, Antenor proposes the delivery of Helen to the Greeks, to which Paris will not consent, but offers to restore them her riches. Priam sends a herald to make this offer, and to demand a truce for burning the dead; the last of which only is agreed to by AgamemWhen the funerals are performed, the Greeks, pursuant to the advice of Nestor, erect a fortification to protect their fleet and camp, flanked with towers, and defended by a ditch and palisades. Neptune testifies his jealousy at this work, but is pacified by a promise from Jupiter. Both armies pass the night in feasting, but Jupiter disheartens the Trojans with thunder and other signs of his wrath.

The three and twentieth day ends with the duel of Hector and Ajax: the next day the truce is agreed another is taken up in the funeral rites of the slain; and one more in building the fortification before the ships. So that somewhat above three days is employed in this book. The scene lies wholly in the field.

So spoke the guardian of the Trojan state,
Then rush'd impetuous through the Scæan gate.
Him Paris follow'd to the dire alarms;
Both breathing slaughter, both resolv'd in arms.
As when to sailors labouring through the main,
That long had heav'd the weary oar in vain,
Jove bids at length th' expected gales arise,
The gales blow grateful, and the vessel flies:
So welcome these to Toy's desiring train;
The bands are cheer'd, the war awakes again.

Bold Paris first the work of death begun
On great Menestheus, Areithous' son:
Sprung from the fair Philomeda's embrace,
The pleasing Arnè was his native place.
Then sunk Eioneus to the shades below,
Beneath his sterly casque he felt the blow,
Full on his neck, from Hector's weighty hand;
And roll'd, with limbs relax'd, along the land.
By Glaucus' spear the bold Iphinous bleeds,
Fix'd in the shoulder as he mounts his steeds;
Headlong he tumbles: his slack nerves unbound,
Drop the cold useless meinbers on the ground.

When now Minerva saw her Argives slain, From vast Olympus to the gleaming plain Fierce she descends: Apollo mark'd her flight, Nor shot less swift from Ilion's towery height; Radiant they met, beneath the breechen shade; When thus Apollo to the blue-ey'd maid:

"What cause, O daughter of almighty Jove! Thus wings thy progress from the realms above? Once more impetuous dost thou bend thy way, To give to Greece the long-divided day? Too much has Troy already felt thy hate, Now breathe thy rage, and hush the stern debate: This day, the business of the field suspend; War soon shall kindle, and great Ilion bend: Since vengeful goddesses confederate join To rase her walls, though built by hands divine." To whom the progeny of Jove replies: "I left, for this, the council of the skies: But who shall bid conflicting hosts forbear, What art shall calm the furious sons of war?" To her the god: "Great Hector's soul incite To dare the boldest Greek to single fight,

Till Greece, provok'd, from all her numbers show A warrior worthy to be Hector's foe."

At this agreed, the heavenly powers withdrew; Sage Helenus their secret counsels knew: Hector, inspir'd, he sought: so him addrest, Thus told the dictates of his sacred breast: "O son of Priam! let thy faithful ear Receive my words; thy friend and brother hear! Go forth persuasive, and a while engage The warring nations to suspend their rage; Then dare the boldest of the hostile train To mortal combat on the listed plain, For not this day shall end thy glorious date, The gods have spoke it, and their voice is fate." He said the warrior heard the word with joy; Then with his spear restrain'd the youth of Troy, Held by the mid'st athwart. On either hand The squadrons part; th' expecting Trojans stand: Great Agamemnon bids the Greeks forbear; They breathe, and hush the tumult of the war. Th' Athenian maid and glorious god of day With silent joy the settling hosts survey: In form of vultures, on the beech's height They sit conceal'd, and wait the future fight.

The thronging troops obscure the dusky fields, Horrid with bristling spears, and gleaming shields. As when a general darkness veils the main, (Soft Zephyr curling the wide watery plain) The waves scarce heave, the face of ocean sleeps, And a still horrour saddens all the deeps: Thus in thick orders settling wide around, At length compos'd they sit, and shake the ground. Great Hector first amidst both armies broke The solemn silence, and their powers bespoke:

"Hear, all ye Trojans, all ye Grecian bands,
What my soul pompts, and what some god com-
Great Jove, averse our warfare to compose, [mands:
O'erwhelms the nations with new toils and woes;
War with a fiercer tide once more returns,
Till Ilion falls, or till yon navy burns.
You then, O princes of the Greeks! appear;
'Tis Hector speaks, and calls the gods to hear:
From all your troops select the boldest knight,
And him, the boldest, Hector dares to fight.
Here if I fall, by chance of battle slain,

Be his my spoil, and his these arms remain ;
But let my body, to my friends return'd,
By Trojan hands and Trojan flames be burn'd.
And if Apollo, in whose aid I trust,

Shall stretch your daring champion in the dust:
If mine the glory to despoil the foe;
On Phœbus temple I'll his arms bestow;
The breathless carcase to your navy sent,
Greece on the shore shall raise a monument;
Which when some future mariner surveys,
Wash'd by broad Hellespont's resounding seas,
This shall he say, 'A valiant Greek lies there,
By Hector slain, the mighty man of war.'
The stone shall tell your vanquish'd hero's name,
And distant ages learn the victor's fame."

This fierce defiance Greece astonish'd heard,
Blush'd to refuse, and to accept it fear'd.
Stern Menelaus first the silence broke,
And, inly groaning, thus opprobrious spoke:

Women of Greece! Oh scandal of your race, Whose coward souls your manly form disgrace ! How great the shame, when every age shall know That not a Grecian met this noble foe!

Go then, resolve to earth, from whence ye grew, A heartless, spiritless, inglorious crew!

His manly limbs in azure arms he drest:
That day, Atrides! a superior hand

Had stretch'd thee breathless on the hostile strand,
But all at once, thy fury to compose,

The kings of Greece, an awful band, arose : Ev'n he their chief, great Agamemnon, press'd Thy daring hand, and this advice address'd:

Whither, O Menelaus! wouldst thou run, And tempt a fate, which prudence bids thee shun? Griev'd though thou art, forbear the rash design; Great Hector's arm is mightier far than thine. Ev'n fierce Achilles learn'd its force to fear, And trembling met this dreadful son of war. Sit thou secure amidst thy social band; Greece in our cause shall arm some powerful hand, The mightiest warrior of th' Achaian name, Though bold, and burning with desire of fame, Content, the doubtful honour might forego, So great the danger, and so brave the foe."

He said, and turn'd his brother's vengeful mind; He stoop'd to reason, and his rage resign'd, No longer bent to rush on certain harms; His joyful friends unbrace his azure arms

He, from whose lips divine persuasion flows,
Grave Nestor, then, in graceful act arose.
Thus to the kings he spoke: "What grief, what
shame,

Attend on Greece, and all the Grecian naine !
How shall, alas! her hoary heroes mourn
Their sons degenerate, and their race a scorn?
What tears shall down thy silver beard be roll'd,
Oh Peleus, old in arms, in wisdom old !
Once with what joy the generous prince would hear
Of every chief who fought this glorious war;
Participate their fame, and pleas'd inquire
Each name, each action, and each hero's sire!
Gods! should he see our warriors trembling stand,
And trembling all before one hostile hand;
How would he lift his aged arms on high,
Lament inglorious Greece, and beg to die!
Oh! would to all th' immortal powers above,
Minerva, Phœbus, and almighty Jove!
Years might again roll back, my youth renew,
And give this arm the spring which once it knew:
When, fierce in war, where Jardan's waters fall
I led my troops to Phea's trembling wall,
And with th' Arcadian spears my prowess try'd,
Where Celadon rolls down his rapid tide.
There Ereuthalion brav'd us in the field,
Proud, Areïthous' dreadful arms to wield;
Great Areïthous, known from shore to shore
By the huge, knotted, iron mace he bore;
No lance he shook, nor bent the twanging bow,
But broke, with this, the battle of the foe.
Him not by manly force Lycurgus slew,
Whose guileful javelin from the thicket flew,
Deep in a winding way his breast assail'd,
Nor aught the warrior's thundering mace avail'd.
Supine he fell those arms which Mars before
Had given the vanquish'd, now the victor bore:
But when old age had dimm'd Lycurgus' eyes,
To Ereuthalion he consign'd the prize.
Furious with this, he crush'd our level'd bands,
And dar'd the trial of the strongest hands;