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By the dire fury of a traitress wife,
anxious breast! My heart bleeds fresh with agonizing pain; The bowl, and tasteful viands tempt in vain, Nor Sleep's soft power can close my streaming When imaged to my soul his sorrows rise. [eyes, No peril in my cause he ceased to prove, His labours equald only by my love: And both alike to bitter fortune born, For him to suffer, and for me to mourn! Whether he wanders on some friendly coast, Or glides in Stygian gloom a pensive ghost, No fame reveals; but doubtful of his doom, His good old sire with sorrow to the tomb Declines his trembling steps; untimely care Withers the blooming vigour of his heir; And the chaste partner of his bed and throne Wastes all her widow'd hours in tender moan,'
While thus pathetic to the prince he spoke, From the brave youth the streaming passion
broke: Studious to veil the grief, in vain repress’d, His face he shrouded with his purple vest. The conscious monarch pierced the coy disguise, And view'd his filial love with vast surprise: Dubious to press the tender theme, or wait To hear the youth inquire his father's fate.
In this suspense bright Helen graced the room; Before her breathed a gale of rich perfume: So moves, adorn'd with each attractive grace, The silver-shafted goddess of the chase! The seat of majesty Adraste brings, With art illustrious, for the pomp of kings. To spread the pall (beneath the regal chair) Of softest woof, is bright Alcippe's care. A silver canister divinely wrought, In her soft hands the beauteous Phylo brought: To Sparta's queen of old the radiant vase Alcandra gave, a pledge of royal grace: For Polybus her lord (whose sovereign sway The wealthy tribes of Pharian Thebes obey), When to that court Atrides came, caress’d With vast'munificence the' imperial guest; Two lavers from the richest gre refined, With silver tripods, the kind host assign'd: And, bounteous, from the royal treasure told Ten equal talents of refulgent gold. Alcandra, consort of his high command, A golden distaff gave to Helen's hand; And that rich vase, with living sculpture wrought, Which heap'd with wool the beauteous Phylo
The silken fleece impurpled for the loom,
• Who grace our palace now, that friendly pair,
• Just is thy thought, (the king assenting cries) Methinks Ulysses strikes my wondering eyes: Full shines the father in the filial frame, His port, his features, and his shape the same: Such quick regards his sparkling eyes bestow; Such wavy ringlets o'er his shoulders flow! And when he heard the long disastrous store Of cares, which in my cause Ulysses bore, Dismay'd, heart-wounded with paternal woes, Above restraint the tide of sorrow rose: Cautious to let the gushing grief appear, His purple garment veil'd the falling tear.'
See there confess'd, (Pisistratus replies) The genuine worth of Ithacus the wise! Of that heroic sire the youth is sprung, But modest awe hath chain'd his timorous tongue. Thy voice, Oking! with pleased attention heard, Is like the dictates of a god revered.
With him at Nestor's high command I came,
• Is Sparta bless'd, and these desiring eyes
He ceased; a gust of grief began to rise: Fast streams a tide from beauteous Helen's eyes; Fast for the sire the filial sorrows flow; The weeping monarch swells the mighty woe: Thy cheeks, Pisistratus, the tears bedew, While pictured to thy mind appear’d in view Thy martial brother, on the Phrygian plain Extended pale, by swarthy Memnon slain! But silence soon the son of Nestor broke, And melting with fraternal pity spoke
Frequent, О king, was Nestor wont to raise And charm attention with thy copious praise: To crown thy various gifts, the sage assign'd The glory of a firm capacious mind : With that superior attribute control This unavailing impotence of soul. Let not your roof with echoing grief resound, Now for the feast the friendly bowl is crown'd: But when from dewy shade emerging bright Aurora streaks the sky with orient light, Let each deplore his dead: the rites of woe Are all, alas! the living can bestow: O'er the congenial dust enjoin'd to shear The graceful curl, and drop the tender tear. Then mingling in the mournful pomp with you, I'll pay my brother's ghost a warrior's due, And mourn the brave Antilochus, a name Not unrecorded in the rolls of fame; With strength and speed superior form’d, in fight. To face the foe, or intercept his flight: Too early snatch'd by Fate ere known to me! 1 boast a witness of his worth in thee.'