But grant me guilty, 't is not much my care, When with so great a man my guilt I share : My wit to war the matchless hero brought, But by this fool he never had been caught.

Nor need I wonder, that on ine he threw Such foul aspersions, when he spares not you: If Palamede unjustly fell by me,

Your honour suffer'd in th' unjust decree :
I but accus'd, you doom'd: and yet he died,
Convinc'd of treason, and was fairly tried:
You heard not he was false; your eyes beheld
The traitor manifest; the bribe revcal'd.

That Philoctetes is on Lemnos left, Wounded, forlorn, of human aid bereft, Is not my crime, or not my crime alone; Defend your justice, for the fact's your own: 'Tis true, the advice was mine: that staying there

He might his weary limbs with rest repair, From a long voyage free, and from a longer

war.

He took the counsel, and he lives at least ;
The event declares I counsell'd for the best:
Though faith is all in ministers of state;
For who can promise to be fortunate?
Now since his arrows are the fate of Troy,
Do not my wit, or weak address, employ;
Send Ajax there, with his persuasive sense,
To mollify the man, and draw him thence:
But Xanthus shall run backward; Ida stand
A leafless mountain; and the Grecian band
Shall fight for Troy; if, when my counsels fail,
The wit of heavy Ajax can prevail.

Hard Philoctetes, exercise thy spleen
Against thy fellows, and the king of men;
Curse my devoted head, above the rest,
And wish in arms to meet me breast to breast:
Yet I the dangerous task will undertake,
And either die myself, or bring thee back.

Nor doubt the same success, as when before
The Phrygian prophet to these tents I bore,
Surpris'd by night, and forc'd him to declare
In what was plac'd the fortune of the war ;
Heaven's dark decrees and answers to display,
And how to take the town, and where the se-
cret lay:

Yet this I compass'd, and from Troy convey'd
The fatal image of their guardian maid;
That work was mine; for Pallas, though our
friend,

Yet while she was in Troy, did Troy defend.
Now what has Ajax done, or what design'd?
A noisy nothing, and an empty wind.
If he be what he promises in show,
Why was I sent, and why fear'd he to go?
Our boasting champion thought the task not
light

To pass the guards, commit himself to night:

Not only through a hostile town to pass,
But scale, with steep ascent, the sacred place;
With wand'ring steps to search the citadel,
And from the priests their patroness to steal:
Then through surrounding foes to force my way,
And bear in triumph home the heavenly prey;
Which had I not, Ajax in vain had held,
Before that monstrous bulk, his sevenfold shield.
That night to conquer Troy I might be said,
When Troy was liable to conquest made.
Why point'st thou to my partner of the war?
Tydides had indeed a worthy share

In all my toil, and praise; but when thy might
Our ships protected, didst thou singly fight?
All join'd, and thou of many wert but one;
I ask'd no friend, nor had, but him alone;
Who, had he not been well assur'd, that art
And conduct were of war the better part,
And more avail'd than strength, my valiant
friend

Had urg'd a better right, than Ajax can pretend:

As good at least Eurypylus may claim
And the more moderate Ajax of the name:
The Cretan king, and his brave charioteer,
And Menelaus bold with sword and spear;
All these had been my rivals in the shield,
And yet all these to my pretensions yield.
Thy boist'rous hands are then of use, when I
With this directing head those hands apply
Brawn without brain is thine: my prudent care
Foresees, provides, administers the war:
Thy province is to fight; but when shall be
The time to fight, the king consults with me:
No dram of judgment with thy force is join'd;
Thy body is of profit, and my
mind.
By how much more the ship her safety owes
To him who steers, than him that only rows,
By how much more the captain merits praise
Than he who fights, and fighting but obeys;
By so much greater is my worth than thine,
Who canst but excute what I design.
What gain'st thou, brutal man, if I confess
Thy strength superior, when thy wit is less?
Mind is the man: I claim my whole desert
From the mind's vigour, and the immortal part.

But you, O Grecian chiefs, reward my care,
Be grateful to your watchman of the war:
For all my labours in so long a space,
Sure I may plead a title to your grace:
Enter the town; I then unbarr'd the gates,
When I remov'd their tutelary fates.
By all our common hopes, if hopes they be
Which I have now reduc'd to certainty;
By falling Troy, by yonder tottering towers,
And by their taken gods, which now are ours;
Or if there yet a farther task remains,
To be perform'd by prudence or by pains.

If yet some desperate action rests behind,
That asks high conduct, and a dauntless mind;
If aught be wanting to the Trojan doom,
Which none but I can manage and o'ercome;
Award those arms I ask, by your decree:
Or give to this what you refuse to me.

When Polyphemus first disturb'd our joy,
And lov'd me fiercely, as I lov'd the boy.
Ask not which passion in my soul was higher,
My last aversion, or my first desire:
Nor this the greater was, nor that the less;
Both were alike, for both were in excess.

He who could often, and alone, withstand
The foe, the fire, and Jove's own partial hand,
Now cannot his unmaster'd grief sustain,
But yields to rage, to madness, and disdain;
Then snatching out his falchion, Thou, said he,
Art mine; Ulysses lays no claim to thee.
O often tried, and ever trusty sword,
Now do thy last kind office to thy lord:
'Tis Ajax who requests thy aid, to show
None but himself himself could overthrow.
He said, and with so good a will to die
Did to his breast the fatal point apply,
It found his heart, a way till then unknown,
Where never weapon enter'd but his own:
No hands could force it thence, so fix'd it stood,
Till out it rush'd, expell'd by streams of spout-
ing blood.

The fruitful blood produc'd a flow'r, which grew
On a green stem; and of a purple hue:
Like his, whom unaware Apollo slew.
Inscrib'd in both, the letters are the same,
But those express the grief, and these the name.

THE STORY OF ACIS, POLYPHEMUS, AND GALATEA.

Immense thy power, and boundless is thy sway.
The Cyclops, who defied th' ethereal throne,
And thought no thunder louder than his own
The terror of the woods, and wilder far
Than wolves in plains, or bears in forests are,
Th' inhuman host, who made his bloody feast
On mangled members of his butcher'd guests,
Yet felt the force of love, and fierce desire,
And burnt for me with unrelenting fire:
Forgot his caverns, and his woolly care,
Assum'd the softness of a lover's air;
And comb'd, with teeth ofrakes, his rugged hair.
Now with a crooked scythe his beard he sleeks,
And mows the stubborn stubble of his cheeks:
Now in the crystal stream he looks, to try
His simagres, and rolls his glaring eye.
His cruelty and thirst of blood are lost,
And ships securely sail along the coast.

The prophet Telemus (arriv'd by chance
Where Etna's summits to the seas advance,
Who mark'd the tracks of ev'ry bird that flew,
And sure presages from their flying drew)
Foretold the Cyclops, that Ulysses' hand
In his broad eye should thrust a flaming brand.
The giant, with a scornful grin replied,
Vain augur, thou hast falsely prophesied
Already Love his flaming brand has tost;
Looking on two fair eyes, my sight I lost.
Thus, warn'd in vain, with stalking pace he
strode,

And stamp'd the margin of the briny flood
With heavy steps; and, weary, sought again
The cool retirement of his gloomy den.

A promontory, sharpening by degrees,
Ends in a wedge, and overlooks the seas:
On either side, below, the water flows:
This airy walk the giant lover chose;
Here on the midst he sate; his flocks, unled,
Their shepherd follow'd, and securely fed.
A pine so burly, and of length so vast,

phoses.

Acıs, the lovely youth, whose loss I mourn,
From Faunus and the nymph Symethis born,
Was both his parents' pleasure; but to me
Was all that love could make a lover be.
The gods our minds in mutual bands did join:
I was his only joy, and he was mine. [seen;
Now sixteen summers the sweet youth had
And doubtful down began to shade his chin

He wielded for a staff, his steps to guide :
But laid it by, his whistle while he tried.
A hundred reeds, of a prodigious growth,
Scarce made a pipe proportion'd to his mouth;
Which when he gave it wind, the rocks around,
And wat'ry plains, the dreadful hiss resound.
I heard the ruffian sheperd rudely blow,
Where, in a hollow cave, I sat below;
On Acis' bosom I my head reclin'd:
And still preserve the poem in my mind.

O lovely Galatea, whiter far Than falling snows, and rising lilies are; More flow'ry than the meads, as crystal bright; Erect as alders, and of equal height: More wanton than a kid; more sleek thy skin, Than orient shells, that on the shores are seen: Than apples fairer, when the boughs they lade; Pleasing, as winter suns, or summer shade: More grateful to the sight than goodly plains; And softer to the touch than down of swans, Or curds new turn'd; and sweeter to the taste Than swelling grapes, that to the vintage haste: More clear than ice, or running streams, that stray [they. Through garden plots, but ah! more swift than Yet, Galatea, harder to be broke Than bullocks, unreclaim'd to bear the yoke: And far more stubborn than the knotted oak: Like sliding streams, impossible to hold; Like them fallacious; like their fountains, cold: More warping than the willow, to decline My warm embrace; more brittle than the vine; Immovable, and fix'd in thy disdain : Rough, as these rocks, and of a harder grain; More violent than is the rising flood: And the prais'd peacock is not half so proud: Fierce as the fire, and sharp as thistles are; And more outrageous than a mother bear Deaf as the billows to the vows I make; And more revengeful than a trodden snake: In swiftness fleeter than the flying hind, Or driven tempests, or the driving wind. All other faults with patience I can bear; But swiftness is the vice I only fear.

Yet, if you knew me well, you would not shun My love, but to my wish'd embraces run: Would languish in your turn, and court my stay And much repent of your unwise delay.

My palace, in the living rock, is made By nature's hand; a spacious pleasing shade; Which neither heat can pierce, nor cold invade. My garden fill'd with fruits you may behold, And grapes in clusters, imitating gold; Some blushing bunches of a purple hue: And these, and those, are all reserv'd for you. Red strawberries in shades expecting stand, Proud to be gather'd by so white a hand Autumnal cornels latter fruit provide And plums, to tempt you, turn their glossy side: Not those of common kinds; but such alone As in Phracian orchards might have grown: Nor chestnuts shall be wanting to your food, Nor garden fruits, nor wildings of the wood; The laden boughs for you alone shall bear And yours shall be the product of the year.

The flocks, you see, are all my own; beside The rest that woods and winding valleys hide; And those that folded in the caves abide,

Ask not the numbers of my growing store,
Who knows how many, knows he has no more.
Nor will I praise my cattle; trust not me,
But judge yourself, and pass your own decree:
Behold their swelling dugs; the sweepy weight
Of ewes, that sink beneath the milky freight;
In the warm folds their tender lambkins lie;
Apart from kids, that call with human cry.
New milk in nut-brown bowls is duly serv'd
For daily drink; the rest for cheese reserv'd.
Nor are these household dainties all my store
The fields and forests will afford us more;
The deer, the hare, the goat, the savage boar.
All sorts of venison; and of birds the best;
A pair of turtles taken from the nest.
I walk'd the mountains, and two cubs I found,
Whose dam had left 'em on the naked ground;
So like, that no distinction could be seen;
So pretty, they were presents for a queen;
And so they shall; I took them both away;
And keep, to be companions of your play.
Oh raise, fair nymph, your beautous face

above

The waves; nor scorn my presents, and my love.

Come, Galatea, come, and view my face
I late beheld it in the watery glass,

And found it lovelier than I fear'd it was.
Survey my towering stature, and my size:
Not Jove, the Jove you dream, that rules the
skies,

Bears such a bulk, or is so largely spread :
My locks (the plenteous harvest of my head)
Hang o'er my manly face; and dangling down,
As with a shady grove, my shoulders crown.
Nor think because my limbs and body bear
A thickset underwood of bristling hair,
My shape deform'd: what fouler sight can be,
Than the bald branches of a leafless tree?
Foul is the steed without a flowing mane;
And birds without their feathers, and their train.
Wool decks the sheep; and man receives a

grace

From bushy limbs, and from a bearded face.
My forehead with a single eye is fill'd,
Round as a ball and ample as a shield.
The glorious lamp of heaven, the radiant sun,
Is Nature's eye; and she's content with one.
Add, that my father sways your seas, and I,
Like you, am of the wat'ry family.

I make you his, in making you my own;
You I adore, and kneel to you alone:
Jove, with his fabled thunder, I despise,
And only fear the lightning of your eyes;
Frown not, fair nymph; yet I could bear to be
Disdain'd, if others were disdain'd with me.
But to repulse the Cyclops, and prefer
The love of Acis, heav'ns! I cannot bear.

He said; and sleep forsook him, and the god. Trembling he wak'd, and rose with anxious heart;

His country laws forbad him to depart :
What should he do? 'T was death to go away,
And the god menac'd if he dar'd to stay:
All day he doubted, and, when night came on,
Sleep, and the same forewarning dream begun:
Once more the god stood threat'ning o'er his
head;

With added curses if he disobey'd.

Twice warn'd, he studied flight; but would convey,

At once, his person and his wealth away.
Thus while he linger'd, his design was heard;
A speedy process form'd, and death declar'd.
Witness there needed none of his offence,
Against himself the wretch was evidence:
Condemn'd, and destitute of human aid,
To him, for whom he suffer'd, thus he pray'd.
O power, who hast deserv'd in heaven a
throne,

Not given, but by thy labours made thy owu,
Pity thy suppliant, and protect his cause,
Whom thou hast made obnoxious to the laws.
A custom was of old, and still remains,
Which life or death by suffrages ordains
White stones and black within an urn are cast,
The first absolve, but fate is in the last.
The judges to the common urn bequeath
Their votes, and drop the sable signs of death;
The box receives all black; but pour'd from
thence
[cence.
The stones came candid forth, the hue of inno-
Thus Alimonides his safety won,
Preserv'd from death by Alcumena's son:
Then to his kinsman god his vows he pays,
And cuts with prosp'rous gales th' Ionian seas:
He leaves Tarentum, favour'd by the wind,
And Thurine bays, and Temises, behind;
Soft Siberis, and all the capes that stand
Along the shore, he makes in sight of land;
Still doubling, and still coasting, till he found
The mouth of Æsaris, and promis'd ground:
Then saw where, on the margin of the flood,
The tomb that held the bones of Croton stood:
Here, by the god's command, he built and wall'd
The place predicted; and Crotona call'd:
Thus fame, from time to time, delivers down
The sure tradition of th' Italian town.

Here dwelt the man divine whom Samos bore,
But now self-banish'd from his native shore,
Because he hated tyrants, nor could bear
The chains which none but servile souls will

And penetrate, with his interior light, [sight:
Those upper depths, which Nature hid from
And what he had observ'd, and learnt from
Lov'd in familiar language to dispense. [thence,
The crowd with silent admiration stand,
And heard him, as they heard their god's com-
mand;
[laws,
While he discours'd of heaven's mysterious
The world's original, and nature's cause;
And what was God, and why the fleecy snows
In silence fell, and rattling winds arose ; [begun
What shook the steadfast earth, and whence
The dance of planets round the radiant sun;
If thunder was the voice of angry Jove
Or clouds, with nitre pregnant, burst above:
Of these, and things beyond the common reach,
He spoke, and charm'd his audience with his
speech.

He first the taste of flesh from tables drove,
And argued well, if arguments could move.
O mortals! from your fellows' blood abstain,
Nor taint your bodies with a food profane:
While corn and pulse by nature are bestow'd,
And planted orchards bend their willing load;
While labour'd gardens wholesome herbs pro-
duce,

And teeming vines afford their generous juice;
Nor tardier fruits of cruder kind are lost,
But tam'd with fire, or mellow'd by the frost;
While kine to pails distended udders bring,
And bees their honey redolent of spring;
While earth not only can your needs supply
But, lavish of her store, provides for luxury;
A guiltless feast administers with ease,
And without blood is prodigal to please.
Wild beasts their maws with their slain brethren
And yet not all, for some refuse to kill:
Sheep, goals, and oxen, and the noble steed,
On browse, and corn, the flowery meadows feed.
Bears, tigers, wolves, the lion's angry brood,
Whom heaven endu'd with principles of blood,
He wisely sunder'd from the rest, to yell
In forests, and in lonely caves to dwell, [might,
Where stronger beasts oppress the weak by
And all in prey and purple feasts delight.

O impious use! to Nature's laws oppos'd,
Where bowels are in other bowels clos'd:
Where, fatten'd by their fellow's fat, they thrive;
Maintain'd by murder, and by death they live.
'Tis then for naught that mother earth provides
The stores of all she shows, and all she hides,
If men with fleshly morsels must be fed,
And chaw with bloody teeth the breathing
bread:

What else is this but to devour our guests
And barbarously renew Cyclopean feasts!
We, by destroying life, cur life sustain;
And gorge th' ungodly maw with meats obscene.