And should posterity one virtuous find,
Name Clytemnestra, they will curse the kind."
"O injured shade (I cried), what mighty woes
To thy imperial race from woman rose!

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By woman here thou tread'st this mournful strand, And Greece by woman lies a desert land.”

'Warn'd by my ills beware (the shade replies), Nor trust the sex that is so rarely wise;

When earnest to explore thy secret breast,
Unfold some trifle, but conceal the rest.
But in thy consort cease to fear a foe,
For thee she feels sincerity of woe:
When Troy first bled beneath the Grecian arms
She shone unrival'd with a blaze of charms,
Thy infant son her fragrant bosom press'd,
Hung at her knee, or wanton'd at her breast;
But now the years a numerous train have ran;
The blooming boy is ripen'd into man;
Thy eyes shall see him burn with noble fire,
The sire shall bless his son, the son his sire:
But my Orestes never met these eyes,
Without one look the murder'd father dies;
Then from a wretched friend this wisdom learn,
E'en to thy queen disguised, unknown, return;
For since of womankind so few are just,
Think all are false, nor e’en the faithful trust.
"But say, resides my son in royal port,
In rich Orchomenos, or Sparta's court?
Or say, in Pyle? for yet he views the light,
Nor glides a phantom through the realms of night."
Then I Thy suit is vain, nor can I
If yet he breathes in realms of cheerful day;
Or pale or wan beholds these nether skies:
Truth I revere; for wisdom never lies."

say

• Thus in a tide of tears our sorrows flow, And add new horror to the realms of woe; Till side by side along the dreary coast Advanced Achilles' and Patroclus' ghost, A friendly pair! near these the Pylian stray'd, And towering Ajax, an illustrious shade! War was his joy, and pleased with loud alarms, None but Pelides brighter shone in arms. [knew,

Through the thick gloom his friend Achilles And as he speaks the tears descend in dew:

"Comest thou alive to view the Stygian bounds, Where the wan spectres walk eternal rounds; Nor fear'st the dark and dismal waste to tread, Throng'd with pale ghosts, familiar with the dead?" To whom with sighs" I pass these dreadful gates

To seek the Theban, and consult the Fates:
For still distress'd I rove from coast to coast,
Lost to my friends, and to my country lost.
But sure the eye of time beholds no name
So bless'd as thine in all the rolls of fame;
Alive we hail'd thee with our guardian gods,
And, dead, thou rulest a king in these abodes."
Talk not of ruling, in this dolorous gloom,
Nor think vain words (he cried) can ease my doom.
Rather I'd choose laboriously to bear

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A weight of woes, and breathe the vital air,
A slave to some poor hind that toils for bread,
Than reign the sceptred monarch of the dead.
But say, if in my steps my son proceeds,
And emulates his godlike father's deeds?
If at the clash of arms, and shout of foes,
Swells his bold heart, his bosom nobly glows?
Say if my sire, the reverend Peleus, reigns
Great in his Phthia, and his throne maintains;

Or weak and old, my youthful arm demands,
To fix the sceptre steadfast in his hands?
O might the lamp of light rekindled burn,
And death release me from the silent urn!
This arm that thunder'd o'er the Phrygian plain,
And swell'd the ground with mountains of the slain,
Should vindicate my injured father's fame,
Crush the proud rebel, and assert his claim."

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Illustrious shade (I cried), of Peleus' fates No circumstance the voice of fame relates: But hear with pleased attention the renown, The wars and wisdom of thy gallant son: With me from Scyros to the field of fame Radiant in arms the blooming hero came. When Greece assembled all her hundred states To ripen counsels, and decide debates; Heavens! how he charm'd us with a flow of sense, And won the heart with manly eloquence! He first was seen of all the peers to rise, The third in wisdom, where they all were wise; But when, to try the fortune of the day, Host moved toward host in terrible array, Before the van, impatient for the fight,

With martial port he strode, and stern delight; Heaps strew'd on heaps beneath his falchion groan'd,

And monuments of dead deform'd the ground.
The time would fail should I in order tell
What foes were vanquish'd, and what numbers fell:
How, lost through love, Eurypylus was slain,
And round him bled his bold Cetæan train.
To Troy no hero came of nobler line,

Or if of nobler, Memnon, it was thine.

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When llion in the horse received her doom, And unseen armies ambush'd in its womb;

Greece gave her latent warriors to my care,
"Twas mine on Troy to pour the' imprison'd war:
Then when the boldest bosom beat with fear,
When the stern eyes of heroes dropp'd a tear;
Fierce in his look his ardent valour glow'd,
Flush'd in his cheek, or sallied in his blood;
Indignant in the dark recess he stands,
Pants for the battle, and the war demands:
His voice breathed death, and with a martial air
He grasp'd his sword, and shook his glittering

spear.

And when the gods our arms with conquest

crown'd, [ground, When Troy's proud bulwarks smoked upon the Greece, to reward her soldier's gallant toils, Heap'd high his navy with unnumber'd spoils.

"Thus great in glory, from the din of war Safe he return'd, without one hostile scar; Though spears in iron tempests rain'd around, Yet innocent they play'd, and guiltless of a wound."

While yet I spoke, the shade with transport Rose in his majesty, and nobler trod; [glow'd, With haughty stalk he sought the distant glades Of warrior-kings, and join'd the' illustrious shades. Now without number ghost by ghost arose, All wailing with unutterable woes. Alone, apart, in discontented mood, A gloomy shade, the sullen Ajax stood; For ever sad, with proud disdain he pined, And the lost arms for ever stung his mind; Though to the contest Thetis gave the laws, And Pallas, by the Trojans, judged the cause. Oh, why was I victorious in the strife; O dear-bought honour with so brave a life!

With him the strength of war, the soldiers' pride,
Our second hope to great Achilles, died!
Touch'd at the sight from tears I scarce refrain,
And tender sorrow thrills in every vein;
Pensive and sad I stand, at length accost
With accent mild the' inexorable ghost:

[sent

"Still burns thy rage? and can brave souls reE'en after death? Relent, great shade, relent! Perish those arms which by the gods' decree Accursed our army with the loss of thee! With thee we fell; Greece wept thy hapless fates; And shook astonish'd through her hundred states; Not more, when great Achilles press'd the ground, And breathed his manly spirit through the wound. O deem thy fall not owed to man's decree, Jove hated Greece, and punish'd Greece in thee! Turn then, O peaceful turn, thy wrath control, And calm the raging tempest of thy soul."

"While yet I speak, the shade disdains to stay, In silence turns, and sullen stalks away. [night,

• Touch'd at his sour retreat, through deepest Through hell's black bounds I had pursued his And forced the stubborn spectre to reply; [flight, But wondrous visions drew my curious eye. High on a throne, tremendous to behold, Stern Minos waves a mace of burnish'd gold; Around ten thousand thousand spectres stand Through the wide dome of Dis, a trembling band. Still as they plead, the fatal lots he rolls, Absolves the just, and dooms the guilty souls. There huge Orion, of portentous size, Swift through the gloom a giant-hunter flies; A ponderous mace of brass with direful sway Aloft he whirls, to crush the savage prey;