網頁圖片
PDF
ePub 版

For fure fuch courage length of life denies,
And thou must fall, thy virtue's facrifice.
Greece in her fingle heroes ftrove in vain ;
Now hosts oppose thee, and thou must be slain!
Oh, grant me, God! ere Hector meets his doom,
'Tis all I ask of Heav'n, an early tomb!

So fhall my days in one sad tenour run,
And end with forrows as they first begun.
No parent now remains my griefs to share,
No father's aid, no mother's tender care..
The fierce Achilles wrapt our walls in fire,
Laid Thebe wafte, and flew my warlike fire!.
His fate compaffion 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 fun'ral pile;

Then rais'd a mountain where his bones were burn'd:
The mountain nymphs the rural tomb adorn'd,
Jove's fylvan daughters bade their elms bestow
A barren fhade, and in his honour grow.

By the fame arm my fev'n brothers fell;
In one fad day beheld the gates of hell:
While the fat herbs and fnowy flocks they fed,
Amid their fields the hapless heroes bled!
My mother liv'ft to bear the victor's bands,
The queen of Hippoplacia's fylvan lands:
Redeem'd too late, she scarce beheld again -
Her pleafing empire and her native plain,
When, ah! oppreft by life-consuming woe,
She fell a victim to Diana's bow.

Yet while my Hector ftill furvives, I fee 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 fhare: Oh! prove a husband's and a father's care ; That quarter moft the skilful Greeks annoy, Where yon' wild fig trees join'd the wall of Troy: Thou, from this tow'r defend th' important post; ' There Agamemnon points his dreadful hoft; That pafs Tydides, Ajax, strive to gain, And there the vengeful Spartan fires his train. Thrice our bold foes the fierce attack have giv'ul, Or led by hopes, or dictated from Heav'n: Let others in the field their arms employ, But ftay my Hector here, and guard his Troy !

[ocr errors]

The chief reply'd: That poft fhall be my care,
Nor that alone, but all the works of war.
How would the fons of Troy, in arms renown'd,
And Troy's proud dames, whofe garments fweep
the ground,

Attaint the luftre of my former name,
Should Hector bafely quit the field of fame!
My early youth was bred to martial pains,
My foul 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! muft bend, And fee the warrior fall, thy glories end.

And yet no dire prefage fo 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 fore;
As thine, Andromache! thy griefs I dread;
I fee thee trembling, weeping, captive led!
In Argive looms our battles to design,
And woes, of which fo large a part was thine!
To bear the victor's hard commands, or bring
The weight of waters from Hyperia's fpring.
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 fee,
Embitters all thy woes, by naming me.
The thoughts of glory paft, and prefent fhame,
A thousand griefs fhall waken at the name!
May I lie cold before that dreadful day,
Prefs'd with a load of monumental clay!
Thy Hector, wrapt in univerfal fleep,
Shall neither hear the figh, nor fee thee weep

THE WISH.

BY MERRICK.

HOW Short is life's uncertain space;
Alas! how quickly done!
How fwift the wild precarious chace !
And yet how difficult the race,
How very hard to run!

Youth ftops at firft its wilful ears

'To Wildom's prudent voice; Till now arriv'd to riper years, Experienc'd age, worn out with cares, Repents its earlier choice.

What though its profpects now appear
So pleafing and refin'd;

Yet groundless hope, and anxious fear,
By turns the bufy moments fhare,
And prey upon the mind.

Since then falfe joys our fancy cheat
With hopes of real bliss;

Ye guardian pow'rs that rule my fate,
The only wish that I create

Is all compriz'd in this :

[ocr errors]

May I, through life's uncertain tide,
Be ftill from pain exempt;

May all my wants be still supply'd,
My ftate too low t' admit of pride,
And yet above contempt!

But fhould your providence divine
A greater blifs intend ;

May all those bleffings you defign
(If e'er those bleffings fhall be mine)
Be center'd in a Friend!

Ó DE,

Written in the Walks at Brecknock,

ΤΟ

DR. SQUIRE, LORD BISHOP OF ST. DAVID'S.

BY DA, DODD.

I.

RUDE romantic fhades and woods,
Hanging walks and falling floods!

Now that gush with foaming pride
Down the rough rock's fleepy fide;

« 上一頁繼續 »