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proud Ilion’s wall

      In arms he fought; with thee beheld her fall.

      Of all the chiefs, this hero’s fate alone

      Has Jove reserved, unheard of, and unknown;

      Whether in fields by hostile fury slain,

      Or sunk by tempests in the gulfy main?

      Of this to learn, oppress’d with tender fears,

      Lo, at thy knee his suppliant son appears.

      If or thy certain eye, or curious ear,

      Have learnt his fate, the whole dark story clear

      And, oh! whate’er Heaven destined to betide,

      Let neither flattery soothe, nor pity hide.

      Prepared I stand: he was but born to try

      The lot of man; to suffer, and to die.

      Oh then, if ever through the ten years’ war

      The wise, the good Ulysses claim’d thy care;

      If e’er he join’d thy council, or thy sword,

      True in his deed, and constant to his word;

      Far as thy mind through backward time can see

      Search all thy stores of faithful memory:

      ’Tis sacred truth I ask, and ask of thee.”

      To him experienced Nestor thus rejoin’d:

      “O friend! what sorrows dost thou bring to mind!

      Shall I the long, laborious scene review,

      And open all the wounds of Greece anew?

      What toils by sea! where dark in quest of prey

      Dauntless we roved; Achilles led the way;

      What toils by land! where mix’d in fatal fight

      Such numbers fell, such heroes sunk to night;

      There Ajax great, Achilles there the brave,

      There wise Patroclus, fill an early grave:

      There, too, my son — ah, once my best delight

      Once swift of foot, and terrible in fight;

      In whom stern courage with soft virtue join’d

      A faultless body and a blameless mind;

      Antilochus — What more can I relate?

      How trace the tedious series of our fate?

      Not added years on years my task could close,

      The long historian of my country’s woes;

      Back to thy native islands might’st thou sail,

      And leave half-heard the melancholy tale.

      Nine painful years on that detested shore;

      What stratagems we form’d, what toils we bore!

      Still labouring on, till scarce at last we found

      Great Jove propitious, and our conquest crown’d.

      Far o’er the rest thy mighty father shined,

      In wit, in prudence, and in force of mind.

      Art thou the son of that illustrious sire?

      With joy I grasp thee, and with love admire.

      So like your voices, and your words so wise,

      Who finds thee younger must consult his eyes.

      Thy sire and I were one; nor varied aught

      In public sentence, or in private thought;

      Alike to council or the assembly came,

      With equal souls, and sentiments the same.

      But when (by wisdom won) proud Ilion burn’d,

      And in their slips the conquering Greeks return’d,

      ’Twas God’s high will the victors to divide,

      And turn the event, confounding human pride;

      Some be destroy’d, some scatter’d as the dust

      (Not all were prudent, and not all were just).

      Then Discord, sent by Pallas from above,

      Stern daughter of the great avenger Jove,

      The brother-kings inspired with fell debate;

      Who call’d to council all the Achaian state,

      But call’d untimely (not the sacred rite

      Observed, nor heedful of the setting light,

      Nor herald sword the session to proclaim),

      Sour with debauch, a reeling tribe the came.

      To these the cause of meeting they explain,

      And Menelaus moves to cross the main;

      Not so the king of men: be will’d to stay,

      The sacred rites and hecatombs to pay,

      And calm Minerva’s wrath. Oh blind to fate!

      The gods not lightly change their love, or hate.

      With ireful taunts each other they oppose,

      Till in loud tumult all the Greeks arose.

      Now different counsels every breast divide,

      Each burns with rancour to the adverse side;

      The unquiet night strange projects entertain’d

      (So Jove, that urged us to our fate, ordain’d).

      We with the rising morn our ships unmoor’d,

      And brought our captives and our stores aboard;

      But half the people with respect obey’d

      The king of men, and at his bidding stay’d.

      Now on the wings of winds our course we keep

      (For God had smooth’d the waters of the deep);

      For Tenedos we spread our eager oars,

      There land, and pay due victims to the powers;

      To bless our safe return, we join in prayer;

      But angry Jove dispersed our vows in air,

      And raised new discord. Then (so Heaven decreed)

      Ulysses first and Neator disagreed!

      Wise as he was, by various counsels away’d,

      He there, though late, to please the monarch, stay’d.

      But I, determined, stem the foamy floods,

      Warn’d of the coming fury of the gods.

      With us, Tydides fear’d, and urged his haste:

      And Menelads came, but came the last,

      He join’d our vessels in the Lesbian bay,

      While yet we doubted of our watery way;

      If to the right to urge the pilot’s toil

      (The safer road), beside the Psyrian isle;

      Or the straight course to rocky Chios plough,

      And anchor under Mimas’ shaggy brow?

      We sought direction of the power divine:

      The god propitious gave the guiding sign;

      Through the mid seas he bid our navy steer,

      And in Euboea shun the woes we fear.

      The

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