English

Thus round Pelides breathing war and blood,
Greece sheath'd in arms, beside her vessels stood;
While near impending from a neighb'ring height,
Troy 's black battalions wait the shock of fight.
Then Jove to Themis gives command, to call
The Gods to council in the starry hall:
Swift o'er Olympus ' hundred hills she flies,
And summons all the senate of the skies.
These shining on, in long procession come
To Jove 's eternal adamantine dome.
Not one was absent; not a rural pow'r
That haunts the verdant gloom, or rosy bow'r,

Soon as Aurora heav'd her orient head
Above the waves that blush'd with early red,
(With new-born day to gladden mortal sight,
And gild the courts of heav'n with sacred light,)
Th'immortal arms the Goddess-mother bears
Swift to her son: Her son she finds in tears,
Stretch'd o'er Patroclus ' corse; while all the rest
Their Sov'reign's sorrows in their own exprest.
A ray divine her heav'nly presence shed,
And thus, his hand soft-touching, Thetis said.
Suppress (my Son) this rage of grief, and know

Thus like the rage of fire the combat burns,
And now it rises, now it sinks by turns.
Meanwhile, where Hellespont 's broad waters flow,
Stood Nestor 's son, the messenger of woe:
There sate Achilles , shaded by his sails,
On hoisted yards extended to the gales;
Pensive he sate; for all that fate design'd
Rose in sad prospect to his boding mind.
Thus to his soul he said. Ah! what constrains
The Greeks , late victors, now to quit the plains?
Is this the day, which heav'n so long ago
Ordain'd, to sink me with the weight of woe?

On the cold earth divine Patroclus spread,
Lies pierc'd with wounds among the vulgar dead.
Great Menelaüs , touch'd with gen'rous woe,
Springs to the front, and guards him from the foe:
Thus round her new fal'n young, the heifer moves,
Fruit of her throes, and first-born of her loves,
And anxious, (helpless as he lies, and bare)
Turns, and re-turns her, with a mother's care.
Oppos'd to each, that near the carcase came,
His broad shield glimmers, and his lances flame.

So warr'd both armies on th' ensanguin'd shore,
While the black vessels smoak'd with human gore.
Meantime Patroclus to Achilles flies;
The streaming tears fall copious from his eyes;
Not faster, trickling to the plains below,
From the tall rock the sable waters flow.
Divine Pelides , with compassion mov'd,
Thus spoke, indulgent to his best belov'd.
Patroclus , say, what grief thy bosom bears,
That flows so fast in these unmanly tears?
No girl, no infant whom the mother keeps

Now in swift flight they past the trench profound,
And many a chief lay gasping on the ground:
Then stopp'd, and panted, where the chariots lie;
Fear on their cheek, and horrour in their eye.
Meanwhile awaken'd from his dream of Love,
On Ida 's summit sate imperial Jove :
Round the wide fields he cast a careful view,
There saw the Trojans fly, the Greeks pursue,
These proud in arms, those scatter'd o'er the plain;
And, 'midst the war, the Monarch of the main.
Not far, great Hector on the dust he spies,

But nor the genial feast, nor flowing bowl,
Could charm the cares of Nestor 's watchful soul;
His startled ears th' encreasing cries attend;
Then thus, impatient, to his wounded friend.
What new alarm, divine Machaon , say,
What mixt events attend this mighty day?
Hark! how the shouts divide, and how they meet,
And now come full, and thicken to the fleet!
Here, with the cordial draught dispel thy care,
Let Hecamede the strength'ning bath prepare,
Refresh thy wound, and cleanse the clotted gore;

When now the Thund'rer, on the sea-beat coast,
Had fix'd great Hector and his conqu'ring host;
He left them to the fates, in bloody fray
To toil and struggle thro' the well-fought day.
Then turn'd to Thracia from the field of fight
Those eyes, that shed insufferable light,
To where the Mysians prove their martial force,
And hardy Thracians tame the savage horse;
And where the far-fam'd Hippemolgian strays,
Renown'd for justice and for length of days,
Thrice happy race! that, innocent of blood,

While thus the hero's pious cares attend
The cure and safety of his wounded friend,
Trojans and Greeks with clashing shields engage,
And mutual deaths are dealt with mutual rage.
Nor long the trench or lofty walls oppose;
With Gods averse th' ill-fated works arose;
Their pow'rs neglected, and no victim slain,
The walls were rais'd, the trenches sunk in vain.
Without the Gods, how short a period stands
The proudest monument of mortal hands!
This stood, while Hector and Achilles rag'd,

The saffron morn, with early blushes spread,
Now rose refulgent from Tithonus' bed;
With new-born day to gladden mortal sight,
And gild the courts of heav'n with sacred light.
When baleful Eris , sent by Jove 's command,
The torch of discord blazing in her hand,
Thro' the red skies her bloody sign extends,
And wrapt in tempests, o'er the fleet descends.
High on Ulysses' bark her horrid stand
She took, and thunder'd thro' the seas and land.
Ev'n Ajax and Achilles heard the sound,
Whose ships, remote, the guarded navy bound.