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Full of the god he raised his lofty strain, How the Greeks rush'd tumultuous to the main: How blazing tents illumined half the skies, While from the shores the winged navy flies: Howe'en in Ilion's walls, in deathful bands, Came thestern Greeks by Troy's assisting hands: All Troy upheaved the steed; of different mind, Various the Trojans counsel’d; part consign'd The monster to the sword, part sentence gave To plunge it headlong in the whelming wave; The unwise award to lodge it in the towers, An offering sacred to the immortal powers: The' unwise prevail, they lodge it in the walls, And by the gods’ decree proud Ilion falls; Destruction enters in the treacherous wood, And vengeful slaughter, fierce for human blood.

He sung the Greeks stern issuing from the steed, How Ilion burns, how all her fathers bleed: How to thy dome, Deiphobus! ascends The Spartan king; how Ithacus attends (Horrid as Mars), and how with dire alarms He fights, subdues; for Pallas strings his arms.

Thus while he sung, Ulysses’ griefs renew, Tears bathe his cheeks, and tears the ground

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As some fond matron views in mortal fight
Her husband falling in his country's right;
Frantic through clashing swords she runs, she flies,
As ghastly pale he groans, and faints, and dies;
Close to his breast she grovels on the ground,
And bathes with floods of tears the gaping wound;
She cries, she shrieks; the fierce insulting foe
Relentless mocks her violence of woe;
To chains condemn'd, as wildly she deplores;
A widow, and a slave on foreign shores—

So from the sluices of Ulysses' eyes Fast fell the tears, and sighs succeeded sighs: Conceal’d he grieved: the king observed alone The silent tear, and heard the secret groan: Then to the bard aloud—‘O cease to sing, Dumb be thy voice, and mute the tuneful string: To every note his tears responsive flow, And his great heart heaves with tumultuous woe; Thy lay too deeply moves: then cease the lay, And o'er the banquet every heart be gay: This social right demands: for him the sails, Floating in air, invite the impelling gales: His are the gifts of love: the wise and good Receive the stranger as a brother's blood. * But, friend, discover faithful what I crave, Artful concealment ill becomes the brave: Say what thy birth, and what the name you bore, Imposed by parents in the natal hour? (For from the natal hour distinctive names, One common right, the great and lowly claims:) Say from what city, from what regions toss'd, And what inhabitants those regions boast? So shalt thou instant reach the realm assign'd, In wondrous ships self-moved, instinct with mind; No helm secures their course, no pilot guides; Like man intelligent, they plough the tides, Conscious of every coast and every bay, That lies beneath the sun's all-seeing ray: Though clouds and darkness veil the encumber'd sky, Fearless through darkness and through clouds they fly: Though tempests rage, though rolls the swelling maln, The seas may roll, the tempests rage in vain;

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E’en the stern god that o'er the waves presides, Safe as they pass and safe repass the tides, With fury burns; while careless they convey Promiscuous every guest to every bay. These ears have heard my royal sire disclose A dreadful story big with future woes: How Neptune raged, and how, by his command, Firm rooted in the surge a ship should stand A monument of wrath: how mound on mound Should bury these proud towers beneath the ground. But this the gods may frustrate or fulfil, As suits the purpose of the eternal will. But say through what waste regions hast thou stray’d, What customs noted, and what coasts survey'd? Possess'd by wild barbarians fierce in arms, Or men, whose bosom tender pity warms? Say why the fate of Troy awaked thy cares, Why heaved thy bosom, and why flow'd thy tears? Just are the ways of Heaven: from Heaven proceed [bleed, The woes of man; Heaven doom'd the Greeks to A theme of future song! Say then if slain Some dear-loved brother press'd the Phrygian plain? Or bled some friend, who bore a brother's part, And claim’d by merit, not by blood, the heart?”

BOOK IX.

Qsìje argument. The ADVENTURES OF THE CICONs, LoToPHAGI, AND CYCLops.

Ulysses begins the relation of his adventures; how, after the destruction of Troy, he with his companions made an incursion on the Cicons, by whom they were repulsed; and meeting with a storm, were driven to the coast of the Lotophagi. From thence they sailed to the land of the Cyclops, whose manners and situation are particularly characterized. The giant Polyphemus and his cave described; the usage Ulysses and his companions met with there; and, lastly, the method and artifice by which he escaped.

The N thus Ulysses—‘Thou, whom firstin sway,
As first in virtue, these thy realms obey;
How sweet the products of a peaceful reign!
The heaven-taught poet, and enchanting strain;
The well fill'd palace, the perpetual feast,
A land rejoicing, and a people bless'd
How goodly seems it, ever to employ
Man's social days in union and in joy;
The plenteous board high-heap'd with cates divine,
And o'er the foaming bowl the laughing wine !
“Amid these joys, why seeks thy mind to know
The unhappy series of a wanderer's woe;
Remembrance sad, whose image to review,
Alas! must open all my wounds anew
And oh, what first, what last shall I relate
Of woes unnumber'd, sent by Heaven and Fate?
* Know first the man (though now a wretch
distress'd)
Who hopes thee, monarch, for his future guest:

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Behold Ulysses! no ignoble name, [fame
Earth sounds my wisdom, and high heaven my
“My native soil is Ithaca the fair,
Where high Neritus waves his woods in air:
Dulichium, Same, and Zacynthus crown'd
With shady mountains, spread their isles around
(These to the north and night's dark regions run,
Those to Aurora and the rising sun).
Low lies our isle, yet bless'd in fruitful stores;
Strong are her sons, though rocky are her shores;
And none, ah none so lovely to my sight,
Ofall the land that Heaven o’erspreads with light!
In vain Calypso long constrain'd my stay,
With sweet, reluctant, amorous delay;
With all her charms as vainly Circe strove,
And added magic, to secure my love.
In pomps or joys, the palace or the grot,
My country's image never was forgot,
My absent parents rose before my sight,
And distant lay contentment and delight.
“Hearthen the woes which mighty Jove ordain'd
To wait my passage from the Trojan land.
The winds from Ilion to the Cicons’ shore,
Beneath cold Ismarus, our vessels bore.
We boldly landed on the hostile place,
And sack'd the city, and destroy'd the race,
Their wives made captive, their possessions
shared,
And every soldier found a like reward.
I then advised to fly; not so the rest,
Who stay’d to revel, and prolong the feast:
The fatted sheep and sable bulls they slay,
And bowls fly round, and riot wastes the day.
Meantime the Cicons, to their holds retired,
Call on the Cicons, with new fury fired;

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