This Menelaus knows; expos'd to share
With me the rough preludium of the war.

"Endless it were to tell what I have done,
In arms, or counsel, since the siege begun:
The first encounters past, the foe repell'd,
They skulk'd within the town, we kept the field,
War seem'd asleep for nine long years; at length,
Both sides resolv'd to push, we try'd our strength,
Now what did Ajax while our arms took breath,
Vers'd only in the gross mechanic trade of death?
If you require my deeds, with ambush'd arms
I trapp'd the foe, or tir'd with false alarms;
Secur'd the ships, drew lines along the plain,
The fainting cheer'd, chastis'd the rebel-train,
Provided forage, our spent arms renew'd;
Employ'd at home, or sent abroad, the common
cause pursued.

"The king, deluded in a dream by Jove,
Despair'd to take the town, and order'd to remove.
What subject durst arraign the power supreme,
Producing Jove to justify his dream?
Ajax might wish the soldiers to retain
From shameful flight, but wishes were in vain ;
As wanting of effect had been his words,
Such as of course his thundering tongue affords.
But did this boaster threaten, did he pray,
Or by his own example urge their stay?
None, none of these, but ran himself away.
I saw him run, and was asham'd to see;
Who ply'd his feet so fast to get aboard as he?
Then, speeding through the place, I made a
stand,

And loudly cry'd, ' O base degenerate band,
To leave a town already in your hand,
After so long expense of blood, for fame,
To bring home nothing but perpetual shame!'
These words, or what I have forgotten since,
(For grief inspir'd me then with eloquence)
Reduc'd their minds, they leave the crowded port,
And to their late forsaken camp resort;
Dismay'd the council met: this man was there,
But mute, and not recover'd of his fear :
Thersites tax'd the king, and loudly rail'd,
But his wide-opening mouth with blows I seal'd.
Then, rising, I excite their souls to fame,
And kindle sleeping virtue into flame.
From thence, whatever he perform'd in fight
Is justly mine who drew him back from flight.
"Which of the Grecian chiefs consorts with thee?
But Diomede desires my company,
And still communicates his praise with me.
As guided by a god, secure he goes,
Arm'd with my fellowship, amid the foes:
And sure no little merit I may boast,
Whom such a man selects from such an host;
Unforc'd by lots, I went without affright,
To dare with him the dangers of the night:
On the same errand sent, we met the spy
Of Hector, double-tongued, and us'd to lie;
Him I dispatch'd, but not til!, undermin'd,

I drew him first to tell what treacherous Troy design'd:

My task perform'd, with praise I had retir'd,
But, not content with this, to greater praise aspir'd;
Invaded Rhesus, and his Thracian crew,
And him, and his, in their own strength, I slew;
Return'd a victor, all my vows complete,
With the king's chariot, in his royal seat:
Refuse me now his arms, whose fiery steeds
Were promis'd to the spy for his nocturnal deeds:

And let dull Ajax bear away my right

When all his days out-balance this one night.
"Nor fought I darkling still: the Sun beheld
With slaughter'd Lycians when I strew'd the field:
You saw and counted, as I pass'd along,
Alastor, Cromius, Ceranos the strong,
Alcander, Prytanis, and Halius,
Noemon, Charopes, and Ennomus,
Choon, Chersidamas; and five beside,
Men of obscure descent, but courage try'd:
All these this hand laid breathless on the ground;
Nor want I proofs of many a manly wound:
All honest, all before: believe not me;
Words may deceive, but credit what you see."
At this he bar'd his breast, and show'd his scars,
As of a forrow'd field, well plough'd with wars;
"Nor is this part unexercis'd," said he;
"That giant bulk of his from wounds is free:
Safe in his shield he fears no foe to try,
And better manages his blood than I:
But this avails me not; our boaster strove
Not with our foes alone, but partial Jove,
To save the fleet: this I confess is true,
(Nor will I take from any man his due)
But thus assuming all, he robs from you.
Some part of honour to your share will fall,
He did the best indeed, but did not all.
Patrocles in Achilles' arms, and thought
The chief he seem'd, with equal ardour fought;
Preserv'd the fleet, repell'd the raging fire,
And forc'd the fearful Trojans to retire.

"But Ajax boasts, that he was only thought
A match for Hector, who the combat sought:
Sure he forgets the king, the chiefs, and me;
All were as eager for the fight as he;
He, but the ninth, and, not by public voice,
Or ours preferr'd, was only Fortune's choice:
They fought; nor can our hero boast th' event,
For Hector from the field unwounded went.

Why am I forc'd to name that fatal day, That snatch'd the prop and pride of Greece away I saw Pelides sink, with pious grief, And ran in vain, alas! to his relief;

For the brave soul was fled: full of my friend,

I rush'd amid the war, his relics to defend : Nor ceas'd my toil till I redeem'd the prey, And, loaded with Achilles, march'd away: Those arms, which on these shoulders then I bore, 'Tis just you to these shoulders should restore. You see I want not nerves, who could sustain The ponderous ruins of so great a man: Or if in others equal force you find, None is endued with a more grateful mind. "Did Thetis then, ambitious in her care, These arms thus labour'd for her son prepare, That Ajax after him the heavenly gift should wear? For that dull soul to stare with stupid eyes, On the learn'd unintelligible prize! What are to him the sculptures of the shield, Heaven's planets, Earth, and Océan's watery field? The Pleiads, Hyads; less and greater Bear, Undipp'd in seas; Orion's angry star; Two differing cities, grav'd on either hand? | Would he wear arms he cannot understand? "Beside, what wise objections he prepares Against my late accession to the wars! Does not the fool perceive his argument Is with more force against Achilles bent? For if dissembling be so great a crime, The fault is common, and the same in him:

O often try'd, and ever trusty sword,
Now do thy last kind office to thy lord:
'Tis Ajax who requests thy aid, to show
None but himself, himself could overthrow."
He said, and, with so good a will to die,
Did to his breast the fatal point apply,
It found his heart, a way till then unknown,
Where never weapon enter'd but his own:

No hands could force it thence, so fixt it stood, Till out it rush'd, expell'd by streams of spouting blood.

The fruitful blood produc'd a flower, which grew
On a green stem; and of a purple hue;
Like his, whom, unaware, Apollo slew:
Inscrib'd in both, the letters are the same,
But those express the grief, and these the name.

THE STORY OF

ACİS, POLYPHEMUS, AND GALATEA.

FROM THE THIRTEENTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES. Acis, the lovely youth, whose loss I mourn, From Faunus, and the nymph Symethis born, Was both his parents pleasure; but to me Was all that Love could make a lover be. The gods our minds in mutual bands did join: I was his only joy, and he was mine. Now sixteen summers the sweet youth had seen; And doubtful down began to shade his chin: When Polyphemus first disturb'd our joy, And lov'd me fiercely, as I lov'd the boy. Ask not which passion in my soul was higher, My last aversion, or my first desire: Nor this the greater was, nor that the less; Both were alike, for both were in excess. Thee, Venus, thee both Heaven and Earth obey; Immense thy power, and boundless is thy sway. The Cyclops, who defy'd th' etherial throne, And thought no thunder louder than his own, The terrour of the woods, and wilder far Than wolves in plains, or bears in forests are, Th' inhuman host, who made his bloody feasts On mangled members of his butcher'd guests, Yet feit the force of love and fierce desire, And burnt for me, with unrelenting fire : Forgot his caverns, and his woolly care, Assum'd the softness of a lover's air;

And comb'd, with teeth of rakes, his rugged hair.

Now with a crooked scythe his beard he sleeks,
"And mows the stubborn stubble of his cheeks:
Now in the crystal stream he looks, to try
His simagres, and rolls his glaring eye.
His cruelty and thirst of blood are lost;
And ships securely sail along the coast.

The prophet Telemus (arriv'd by chance
Where Etna's summits to the seas advance,
Who mark'd the tracks of every bird that flew,
And sure presages from their flying drew)
Foretold the Cyclops, that Ulysses' hand
In his broad eye should thrust a flaming brand.
The giant, with a scornful grin, reply'd,
"Vain augur, thou hast faisely prophesy'd;
Already Love his flaming brand has tost;
Looking on two fair eyes, my sight I lost."

VOL. IX.

Thus, warn'd in vain, with stalking pace he strode,
And stamp'd the margin of the briny ficod
With heavy steps; and, weary, sought again
The cool retirement of his gloomy den.

A promontory, sharpening by degrees,
Ends in a wedge, and overlooks the seas:
On either side, below, the water flows:
This airy walk the giant-lover chose;
Here on the midst he sate; his flocks, unled,
Their shepherd follow'd, and securely fed.
A pine, so burly, and of length so vast,
That sailing ships requir'd it for a mast,
He wielded for a staff, his steps to guide:
But laid it by, his whistle while he try'd.
A hundred reeds, of a prodigious growth,
Scarce made a pipe proportion'd to his mouth:
Which, when he gave it wind, the rocks around,
And watery plains, the dreadful hiss resound.
I heard the ruffian shepherd rudely blow,
Where, in a hollow cave, 1 sat below;
On Acis' bosom I my head reclin'd:
And still preserve the poem in my mind.
"O lovely Galatea, whiter far
Than falling snows and rising lilies are;
More flowery than the meads, as crystal bright;
Erect as alders, and of equal height:
More wanton than a kid; more sleek thy skin
Than orient shells, that on the shores are seen:
Than apples fairer, when the boughs they lade;
Pleasing, as winter suns, or summer shade:
More grateful to the sight, than goodly plains;
And softer to the touch, than down of swans,
Or curds new turn'd; and sweeter to the taste,
Than swelling grapes, that to the vintage haste:
More clear than ice, or running streams, that stray
Through garden plots, but ah! more swift than
"Yet, Galatea, harder to be broke [they.

Than bullocks, unreclaim'd to bear the yoke:
And far more stubborn than the knotted oak:
Like sliding streams, impossible to hold;
Like them fallacious; like their fountains, cold:
More warping, than the willow, to decline
My warm embrace; more brittle than the vine;
Immoveable, and fix'd in thy disdain :
Rough, as these rocks, and of a harder grain;
More violent, than is the rising flood:
And the prais'd peacock is not half so proud:
Fierce as the fire, and sharp as thistles are;
And more outrageous than a mother-bear:
Deaf as the billows to the vows I make;
And more revengeful than a trodden snake;
In swiftness fleeter than the flying hind,
Or driven tempests, or the driving wind.
All other faults with patience I can bear;
But swiftness is the vice I only fear.

"Yet if you knew me well, you would not shun
My love, but to my wish'd embraces run:
Would languish in your turn, and court my stay;
And much repent of your unwise delay.

"My palace, in the living rock, is made
By Nature's hand; a spacious pleasing shade;
Which neither heat can pierce, nor cold invade.
My garden fill'd with fruits you may behold,
And grapes in clusters, imitating gold;
Some blushing bunches of a purple hue:
And these, and those, are all reserv'd for you.
Red strawberries in shades expecting stand,
Proud to be gather'd by so white a hand.
Autumnal cornels latter fruit provide,
And plums, to tempt you, turn their glossy side:

Not those of common kinds; but such alone,
As in Phæacian orchards might have grown;
Nor chestnuts shall be wanting to your food,
Nor garden-fruits, nor wildings of the wood;
The laden boughs for you alone shall bear ;
And yours shall be the product of the year.

"The flocks, you see, are all my own; beside
The rest that woods and winding valleys hide,
And those that folded in the caves abide.
Ask not the numbers of my growing store;
Who knows how many, knows he has no more.
Nor will I praise my cattle; trust not me,
But judge yourself, and pass your own decree :
Behold their swelling dugs; the sweepy weight
Of ewes, that sink beneath the milky freight:
In the warm folds their tender lambkins lie,
Apart from kids, that call with human cry.
New milk in nut-brown bowls is duly serv'd
For daily drink; the rest for cheese reserv'd.
Nor are these household dainties all my store:
The fields and forests will afford us more;
The deer, the hare, the goat, the savage boar.
All sorts of venison; and of birds the best;
A pair of turtles taken from the nest:
I walk'd the mountains, and two cubs. I-found,
Whose dam had left them on the naked ground;
So like, that no distinction could be seen;
So pretty, they were presents for a queen;
And so they shall; I took them both away; -
And keep, to be companions of your play.
"O raise, fair nymph, your beauteous face
above

The waves; nor scorn my presents, and my love.
Come, Galatea, come, and view my face;
I late beheld it in the watery glass,
And found it lovelier than I fear'd it was.
Survey my towering stature, and my size:
Not Jove, the Jove you dream, that rules the skies,
Bears such a bulk, or is so largely spread :
My locks (the plenteous harvest of my head)
Hang o'er my manly face; and dangling down,
As with a shady grove, my shoulders crown.
Nor think, because my limbs and body bear
A thick-set underwood of bristling hair,
My shape deform'd: what fouler sight can be,
Than the bald branches of a leafless tree?
Foul is the steed without a flowing mane;
And birds, without their feathers and their train.
Wool decks the sheep; and man receives a grace
From bushy limbs, and from a bearded face.
My forehead with a single eye is fill'd,
Round as a ball, and ample as a shield.
The glorious lamp of Heaven, the radiant Sun,
Is Nature's eye; and she's content with one.
Add, that my father sways your seas, and I,
Like you, am of the watery family.

I make you his, in making you my own:
You I adore, and kneel to you alone:
Jove, with his faded thunder, I despise,
And only fear the lightning of your eyes.
Frown not, fair nymph; yet I could bear to be
Disdain'd, if others were disdain'd with me,
But to repulse the Cyclops, and prefer
The love of Acis, Heavens! I cannot bear.
But let the stripling please himself; nay more,
Please you, though that's the thing I most abhor;
The boy shall find, if e'er we cope in fight,
These giant limbs endu'd with giant might:
His living bowels from his belly torn,

And scatter'd limbs, shall ou the flood be borne,

Thy flood, ungrateful nymph; and Fate shall find ›
That way for thee and Acis to be join'd.
For oh! I burn with love, and thy disdain
Augments at once my passion and my pain.
Translated Etna flames within my heart,
And thou, inhuman, wilt not ease my smart."

Lamenting thus in vain, he rose, and strode
With furious paces to the neighbouring wood:
Restless his feet, distracted was his walk;
Mad were his motions, and confus'd his talk:
Mad as the vanquish'd bull, when forc'd to yield
His lovely mistress, and forsake the field,

"I see,

Thus far unseen I saw when, fatal Chance His looks directing, with a sudden glance, Acis and I were to his sight betray'd: Where, nought suspecting, we securely play'd. From his wide mouth a bellowing cry he cast; see, but this shall be your last." A roar so loud made Etna to rebound; And all the Cyclops labour'd in the sound. Affrighted with his monstrous voice, I fled, And in the neighbouring ocean plung'd my head. Poor Acis turn'd his back, and, Help," he cry'd, "Help, Galatea, help, my parent gods, And take me dying to your deep abodes." The Cyclops follow'd; but he sent before A rib, which from the living rock he tore : Though but an angle reach'd him of the stone, The mighty fragment was enough alone To crush all Acis; 'twas too late to save, But what the Fates allow'd to give, I gave; That Acis to his lineage should return, And roll, among the river gods, his urn. Straight issued from the stone a stream of blood; Which lost the purple, mingling with the flood. Then like a troubled torrent it appear'd: The torrent too, in little space, was clear'd. The stone was cleft, and through the yawning chink New reeds arose, on the new river's brink. The rock, from out its hollow womb, disclos'd A sound like water in its course oppos'd: When (wondrous to behold) full in the flood, Up starts a youth, and navel-high he stood. Horns from his temples rise; and either horn Thick wreaths of reeds (his native growth) adorn. Were not his stature taller than before, His bulk augmented, and his beauty more, His colour blue, for Acis he might pass: And Acis chang'd into a stream he was. But, mine no more, he rolls along the plains With rapid motion, and his name retains,

OF THE

PYTHAGOREAN PHILOSOPHY.

FROM THE FIFTEENTH BOOK OF OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.

The fourteenth book concludes with the death and deification of Romulus: the fifteenth begins, with the election of Numa to the crown of Rome. On this occasion, Ovid, following the opinion of some authors, makes Numa the scholar of Pythagoras; and to have begun his acquaintance with that philosopher at Crotona, a town in Italy; from thence he makes a digression to the