LITMIR.BIZ

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you your fathers have recorded long.

      How favouring Heaven repaid my glorious toils

      With a sack’d palace, and barbaric spoils.

      Oh! had the gods so large a boon denied

      And life, the just equivalent supplied

      To those brave warriors, who, with glory fired

      Far from their country, in my cause expired!

      Still in short intervals of pleasing woe.

      Regardful of the friendly dues I owe,

      I to the glorious dead, for ever dear!

      Indulge the tribute of a grateful tear.

      But oh! Ulysses — deeper than the rest

      That sad idea wounds my 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 eyes,

      When imaged to my soul his sorrows rise.

      No peril in my cause he ceased to prove,

      His labours equall’d 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 wool, 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 ore 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 brought

      The silken fleece, impurpled for the loom,

      Rivall’d the hyacinth in vernal bloom.

      The sovereign seat then Jove born Helen press’d,

      And pleasing thus her sceptred lord address’d:

      “Who grace our palace now, that friendly pair,

      Speak they their lineage, or their names declare?

      Uncertain of the truth, yet uncontroll’d,

      Hear me the bodings of my breast unfold.

      With wonder wrapp’d on yonder check I trace

      The feature of the Ulyssean race:

      Diffused o’er each resembling line appear,

      In just similitude, the grace and air

      Of young Telemachus! the lovely boy,

      Who bless’d Ulysses with a father’s joy,

      What time the Greeks combined their social arms,

      To avenge the stain of my ill-fated charms!”

      “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, O king! with pleased attention heard,

      Is like the dictates of a god revered.

      With him, at Nestor’s high command, I came,

      Whose age I honour with a parent’s name.

      By adverse destiny constrained to sue

      For counsel and redress, he sues to you

      Whatever ill the friendless orphan bears,

      Bereaved of parents in his infant years,

      Still must the wrong’d Telemachus sustain,

      If, hopeful of your aid, he hopes in vain;

      Affianced in your friendly power alone,

      The youth would vindicate the vacant throne.”

      “Is Sparta blest, and these desiring eyes

      View my friend’s son? (the king exalting cries;)

      Son of my friend, by glorious toils approved,

      Whose sword was sacred to the man he loved;

      Mirror of constant

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