"WITH sacrifice, before the rising morn
Performed, my slaughtered Lord have I required;
And in thick darkness, amid shades forlorn,
Him of the infernal Gods have I desired :
Celestial pity I again implore:
Restore him to my sight-great Jove, restore!"
So speaking, and by fervent love endowed
With faith, the Suppliant heavenward lifts her hands; While, like the sun emerging from a cloud,
Her countenance brightens—and her eye expands ;
Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows;
And she expects the issue in repose.
O terror! what hath she perceived?—O joy!
What doth she look on?-whom doth she behold?
Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy?
His vital presence? his corporeal mould?
It is if sense deceive her not-'tis He!
And a God leads him, wingèd Mercury!
Mild Hermes spake—and touched her with his wand That calms all fear: "Such grace hath crowned thy
Laodameia! that at Jove's command
Thy husband walks the paths of upper air:
He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space :
Accept the gift, behold him face to face!"
Forth sprang the impassioned Queen her Lord to clasp :
Again that consummation she essayed :
But unsubstantial form eludes her grasp
As often as that eager grasp was made.
The Phantom parts—but parts to re-unite,
And re-assume his place before her sight.
"Protesilaos, lo! thy guide is gone!
Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice:
This is our palace,-yonder is thy throne;
Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice.
Not to appal me have the Gods bestowed
This precious boon; and blest a sad abode."
"Great Jove, Laodameia! doth not leave
His gifts imperfect :-Spectre though I be,
I am not sent to scare thee or deceive;
But in reward of thy fidelity.
And something also did my worth obtain ;
For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain.
"Thou knowest, the Delphic oracle foretold
That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand Should die; but me the threat could not withhold: A generous cause a victim did demand ;
And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain;
A self-devoted chief-by Hector slain."
Supreme of heroes-bravest, noblest, best!
Thy matchless courage I bewail no more,
Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest
By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore;
Thou found'st-and I forgive thee--here thou art— A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.
"But thou, though capable of sternest deed,
Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave;
And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed
That thou should'st cheat the malice of the grave:
Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair
As when their breath enriched Thessalian air.
"No Spectre greets me-no vain Shadow this;
Come, blooming Hero, place thee by my side!
Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss
To me, this day, a second time thy bride!"
Jove frowned in heaven: the conscious Parcæ threw
Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue.
"This visage tells thee that my doom is past :
Know, virtue were not virtue, if the joys
Of sense were able to return as fast
And surely as they vanish.-Earth destroys
Those raptures duly-Erebus disdains :
Calm pleasures there abide-majestic pains.
"Be taught, O faithful consort, to control
Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve
The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul;
A fervent, not ungovernable, love.
Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn
When I depart, for brief is my sojourn—
"Ah, wherefore?--Did not Hercules by force
Wrest from the guardian Monster of the tomb
Alcestis, a reanimated corse,
Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom?
Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years,
And Æson stood a youth 'mid youthful peers.
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