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She'd come again, and with a greedy ear
Devour up my discourse: which I observing,
Took once a pliant hour, and found good means
To draw from her a prayer of earnest heart,
That I would all my pilgrimage dilate;
Whereof by parcels she had something heard,
But not distinctively. I did consent,
And often did beguile her of her tears,
When I did speak of some distressful stroke
That my youth suffer'd. My story being done,

She gave me for my pains a world of sighs.

She swore, in faith, 'twas strange, 'twas passing strange; Twas pitiful, 'twas wondrous pitiful

She wish'd she had not heard it yet she wish'd

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That Heaven had made her such a man:-she thank'd me, And bade me, if I had a friend that lov'd her,

I should but teach him how to tell my story,

And that would woo her. On this hint I spake ;
She lov'd me for the dangers I had past;
And I lov'd her, that she did pity them.
This only is the witchcraft I have us'd..




Now, with a lion's spoils bespread, I take
My sire, a pleasing burden, on my back;
Close clinging to my hand, and pressing nigh,
With steps unequal tripp'd Iülus by;
Behind, my lov'd Creüsa took her way;
Through every lonely dark recess we stray:
And I, who late th' embattled Greeks could dare,
Their flying darts, and whole embody'd war,
Now take alarm, while horrors reign around,
At every breeze, and start at every sound.
With fancy'd fears my busy thoughts were wild
For my dear father, and endanger'd child.

Now, to the city gates approaching near,
I seem the sound of trampling feet to hear.
Alarm'd my sire look'd forward through the shade,
And, Fly my son, they come, they come, he said;
Lo! from their shields I see the splendours stream;
And ken distinct the helmet's fiery gleam.
And here, some envious god, in this dismay,
This sudden terror snatch'd my sense away.
For while o'er devious paths I wildly trod,
Studious to wander from the beaten road;
I lost my dear Creüsa, nor can tell
From that sad moment, if by fate she fell:
Or sunk fatigu'd; or straggled from the train;
But ah! she never blest these eyes again!
Nor, till to Ceres' ancient wall we came,
Did I suspect her lost, nor miss the dame.
There all the train assembled, all but she
Lost to her friends, her father, son, and me.
What men, what gods did my wild fury spare?
At both I rav'd, and madden'd with despair.
In Troy's last ruins did I ever know

A scene so cruel! such transcendent wo!
Our gods, my son, and father to the train
I next commend, and hide them in the plain;
Then fly for Troy, and shine in arms again.
Resolv'd the burning town to wander o'er,
And tempt the dangers that I 'scap'd before.
Now to the gate I run with furious haste,
Whence first from Ilion to the plain I past:
Dart round my eyes in every place in vain,
And tread my former footsteps o'er again,
Surrounding horrors all my soul affright;
And more, the dreadful silence of the night.
Next to my house I flew without delay,
If there, if haply there she beut her way.
In vain the conquering foes were enter'd there;
High o'er the dome, the flames emblaze the air;
Fierce to devour, the fiery tempest flies,
Swells in the wind, and thunders to the skies.
Back to th' embattled citadel I ran,

And search'd her father's regal walls in vain.

Ulysses now and Phoenix I survey,

Who guard, in Juno's fane, the gather'd prey;
In one huge heap the Trojan wealth was roll'd,
Refulgent robes, and bowls of massy gold;
A pile of tables on the pavement nods,
Snatch'd from the blazing temples of the gods:
A mighty train of shrieking mothers bound,
Stood with their captive children trembling round.
Yet more I boldly raise my voice on high,
And in the shade on dear Creusa cry;

Call on her naine a thousand times in vain,
But still repeat the darling name again.




SILENT the warrior smil'd, and pleas'd resign'd
To tender passions all his mighty mind:
His beauteous princess cast a mournful look,
Hung on his hand, and then dejected spoke;
Her bosom labour'd with a boding sigh,
And the big tear stood trembling in her eye.
Too daring prince! ah, whither dost thou run?
Ah too forgetful of thy wife and son!

And think'st thou not how wretched we shall be,.
A widow I, an helpless orphan he!

For sure such courage length of life denies,
And thou must fall, thy virtue's sacrifice.
Greece in her single heroes strove in vain;
Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain !
Oh grant me, gods! ere Hector meets his doom,
All I can ask of heaven, an early tomb!
So shall my days in one sad tenour run,
And end with sorrows as they first begun.
No parent now remains, my griefs to share,
No father's aid, no mother's tender care.

The fiece Achilles wrapt our walls in fire,
Laid Thebe waste, and slew my warlike sire!
His fate compassion in the victor bred;
Stern as he was, he yet rever'd the dead,
His radiant arms preserv'd from hostile spoil,
And laid him decent on the funeral pile;

Then rais'd a mountain where his bones were burn'd,
The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorn'd.
Jove's sylvan daughters bade their elms bestow
A barren shade, and in his honour grow.*
By the same arm my seven brave brothers fell,
In one sad day beheld the gates of hell;
While the fat herds and snowy flocks they fed,
Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled!
My mother liv'd to bear the victor's bands,
The queen of Hippoplacia's sylvan lands:
Redeem'd too late, she scarce beheld again
Her pleasing empire and her native plain,
When ah! oppress'd by life-consuming wo,
She fell a victim to Diana's bow.

Yet while my Hector still survives, I see
My father, mother, brethren, all, in thee.
Alas! my parents, brothers, kindred, all,
Once more will perish if my Hector fall.
Thy wife, thy infant, in thy danger share:
Oh prove a husband's and a father's care!
That quarter most the skilful Greeks annoy,
Where yon wild fig-trees join the wall of Troy:
Thou, from this tower defend th' important post;
There Agamemnon points his dreadful host,
That pass Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain,
And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train.
Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have given,
Or led by hopes, or dictated from heaven.
Let others in the fields their arms employ,
But stay my Hector here, and guard his Troy.
The chief reply'd: that post shall be my care,
Nor that alone, but all the works of war.
How would the sons of Troy, in arms renown'd,
And Troy's proud dames whose garments sweep the ground

Attaint the lustre of my former name,
Should Hector basely quit the field of fame!
My early youth was bred to martial pains,
My soul impels me to th' embattled plains,
Let me be foremost to defend the throne,
And guard my father's glories, and my own.
Yet come it will, the day decreed by fates;
(How my heart trembles while my tongue relates!)
The day when thou, imperial Troy! must bend,
And see thy warriors fall, thy glories end.
And yet no dire presage so wounds my mind,
My mother's death, the ruin of my kind,
Not Priam's hoary hairs defil'd with gore,
Not all my brothers gasping on the shore,
As thine, Andromache! thy griefs I dread;
I see thee trembling, weeping, captive led!
In Argive looms our battles to design,
And woes, of which so large a part was thine!
To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring
The weight of waters from Hyperia's spring.
There, while you groan beneath the load of life,
They cry, behold the mighty Hector's wife!
Some haughty Greek, who lives thy tears to see,
Enbitters all thy woes, by naming me.
The thoughts of glory past, and present shame,
A thousand griefs shall waken at the name;
May I lie cold before that dreadful day,
Prest with a load of monumental clay !
Thy Hector, wrapt in everlasting sleep,
Shall neither hear thee sigh nor see thee weep.
Thus having spoke, the illustrious chief of Troy
Stretch'd his fond arms to clasp the lovely boy.
The babe clung crying to his nurse's breast,
Scarr'd at the dazzling helm, and nodding crest:
With secret pleasure each fond parent smil'd,
And Hector hasted to relieve his child,
The glittering terrors from his brows unbound,
And plac'd the beaming helmet on the ground;
Then kiss'd the child, and lifting high in air,
Thus to the gods preferr'd a father's prayer:

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