Part 67 (1/2)
”How changed that Hector, who like Jove of late Sent lightning on our fleets, and scatter'd fate!”
High o'er the slain the great Achilles stands, Begirt with heroes and surrounding bands; And thus aloud, while all the host attends: ”Princes and leaders! countryth the powerful will of heaven The dire destroyer to our ariven, Is not Troy fallen already? Haste, ye powers!
See, if already their deserted towers Are left unreat Hector slain
But what is Troy, or glory what to ht but thee, Divine Patroclus! Death hath seal'd his eyes; Unwept, unhonour'd, uninterr'd he lies!
Can his dear i as the vital spirit moves my heart?
If in the melancholy shades below, The flalow, Yet h death, and animateThe corpse of Hector, and your paeans sing
Be this the song, slow- toward the shore, ”Hector is dead, and Ilion is no eance bred; (Unworthy of himself, and of the dead;) The nervous ancles bored, his feet he bound With thongs inserted through the double wound; These fix'd up high behind the rolling wain, His graceful head was trail'd along the plain
Proud on his car the insulting victor stood, And bore aloft his ar blood
He smites the steeds; the rapid chariot flies; The sudden clouds of circling dust arise
Now lost is all that for hair, Purple the ground, and streak the sable sand; Defore of an insulting throng, And, in his parents' sight, now dragg'd along!
The mother first beheld with sad survey; She rent her tresses, venerable grey, And cast, far off, the regal veils away
With piercing shrieks his bitter fate she roans Tears after tears his mournful cheeks o'erflow, And the whole city wears one face of woe: No less than if the rage of hostile fires
Fro to her spires, O'er the proud citadel at length should rise, And the last blaze send Ilion to the skies
The wretchedstate, Distracted, presses to the Dardan gate
Scarce the whole people stop his desperate course, While strong affliction gives the feeble force: Grief tears his heart, and drives hi ith he roll'd in dust, and thus begun, Io where sorrow calls; I, only I, will issue from your walls (Guide or companion, friends! I ask ye none), And bow before the e; Perhaps at least he e
He has a father too; a orous no ot this pest of me, and all my race)
How many valiant sons, in early bloo to the tomb!
Thee, Hector! last: thy loss (divinely brave) Sinks entle spirit pass'd in peace, The son expiring in the sire's embrace, While both thy parents wept the fatal hour, And, bending o'er thee, mix'd the tender shower!
Some comfort that had been, sorief!”
Thus wail'd the father, grovelling on the ground, And all the eyes of Ilion stream'd around
A princess, and a train in tears;) ”Ah why has Heaven prolong'd this hated breath, Patient of horrors, to behold thy death?
O Hector! late thy parents' pride and joy, The boast of nations! the defence of Troy!
To whom her safety and her fame she owed; Her chief, her hero, and ale! become in one sad day A senseless corse! inanimated clay!”
But not as yet the fatal news had spread To fair Androer had told his fate, Not e'en his stay without the Scaean gate
Far in the close recesses of the do work eled flowers
Her fair-haired hand for her lord's return In vain; alas! her lord returns nothe shore!
Now from the walls the clamours reach her ear, And all her members shake with sudden fear: Forth from her ivory hand the shuttle falls, And thus, astonish'd, to her maids she calls:
[Illustration: THE BATH]
THE BATH
”Ah follow me! (she cried) what plaintive noise Invadesknees their tre frae disaster, some reverse of fate (Ye Gods avert it!) threats the Trojan state
Far be the oest!