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Full in his heart, the falchion search'd his veins,
The reeking weapon bears alternate stains;
Thro' wine and blood, commingling as they flow,
The feeble spirit seeks the shades below.
Now, where Messapus dwelt, they bend their way,
Whose fires emit a faint and trembling ray;
There, unconfin'd, behold each grazing steed,
Unwatch'd, unheeded, on the herbage feed;
Brave Nisus here arrests his comrade's arm,
Too flush'd with carnage, and with conquest warm:
«Hence let us haste, the dangerous path is past,

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Full foes enough, to-night, have breath'd their last; "Soon will the day those Eastern clouds adorn,

« Now let us speed, nor tempt the rising morn. »

What silver arms, with various arts emboss'd; What bowls and mantles, in confusion toss'd, They leave regardless! yet, one glittering prize Attracts the younger hero's wandering eyes; The gilded harness Rhamnes' coursers felt, The gems which stud the monarch's golden belt; This from the pallid corse was quickly torn, Once by a line of former chieftains worn. Th' exulting boy, the studded girdle wears, Messapus' helm his head, in triumph, bears; Then from the tents their cautious steps they bend, To seek the vale, where safer paths extend.

;

Just at this hour, a band of Latian horse
To Turnus' camp, pursue their destin'd course
While the slow foot their tardy march delay,
The knights, impatient, spur along the way:
Three hundred mail-clad men, by Volscens led,
To Turnus, with their master's promise sped;

Now, they approach the trench, and view the walls,
When, on the left, a light reflection falls,
The plunder'd helmet, through the waning night,
Sheds forth a silver radiance, glancing bright;
Volscens, with question loud, the pair alarms-

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Stand, stragglers! stand! why early thus in arms? « From whence? to whom? » He meets with no reply, Trusting the covert of the night, they fly;

The thicket's depth, with hurried pace, they tread,
While round the wood the hostile squadron spread.

With brakes entangled, scarce a path between,
Dreary and dark appears the sylvan scene;
Euryalus, his heavy spoils impede,

The boughs and winding turns his steps mislead;
But Nisus scours along the forest's maze,
To where Latinus' steeds, in safety graze,
Then backward o'er the plain his eyes extend,
On ev'ry side, they seek his absent friend.
« O God! my boy,» he cries, « of me bereft,
« In what impending perils art thou left! »
Listening he runs-above the waving trees,
Tumultuous voices swell the passing breeze;
The war-cry rises, thundering hoofs around
Wake the dark echoes of the trembling ground.
Again he turns of footsteps hears the noise,
The sound elates the sight his hope destroys,
The hapless boy, a ruffian train surround,
While lengthening shades his weary way confound;
Him, with loud shouts, the furious knights pursue,
Struggling in vain, a captive to the crew.
What can his friend 'gainst thronging numbers dare?
Ah! must he rush, his comrade's fate to share!

What force, what aid, what stratagem essay,
Back to redeem the Latian spoiler's prey!
His life a votive ransom nobly give,

Or die with him for whom he wish'd to live!
Poising with strength his lifted lance on high,
On Luna's orb he cast his phrenzied eye:
« Goddess serene, transcending every star!

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Queen of the sky! whose beams are seen afar;

By night, Heaven owns thy sway; by day, the grove;
When, as chaste Dian, here thou deign'st to rove;
If e'er myself or sire have sought to grace

"Thine altars with the produce of the chace;

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Speed, speed, my dart, to pierce yon vaunting crowd, To free my friend, and scatter far the proud.. Thus having said, the hissing dart he flung; Through parted shades the hurtling weapon sung; The thirsty point in Sulmo's entrails lay,

--

Transfix'd his heart, and stretch'd him on the clay:
He sobs, he dies; the troop, in wild amaze,
Unconscious whence the death, with horror
gaze;
While pale they stare, thro' Tagus' temples riven,
A second shaft with equal force is driven;
Fierce Volscens rolls around his lowering eyes,
Veil'd by the night, secure the Trojan lies.
Burning with wrath, he view'd his soldiers fall;
« Thou youth accurst; thy life shall pay for all. »
Quick from the sheath his flaming glaive he drew,
And, raging, on the boy defenceless flew.
Nisus, no more the blackening shade conceals,
Forth, forth he starts, and all his love reveals;
Aghast, confus'd, his fears to madness rise,

And pour these accents, shrieking as he flies:

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Me, me, your vengeance hurl on me alone,

«Here sheathe the steel, my blood is all your own;

«Ye starry Spheres! thou conscious Heaven attest! « He could not-durst not-lo! the guile confest!

"

All, all was mine-his early fate suspend,

He only lov'd, too well, his hapless friend;

« Spare, spare, ye chiefs! from him your rage remove,
« His fault was friendship, all his crime was love. »
He pray'd in vain, the dark assassin's sword

Pierc'd the fair side, the snowy bosom gor'd;
Lowly to earth inclines his plume-clad crest,
And sanguine torrents mantle o'er his breast:
As some young rose, whose blossom scents the air,
Languid in death, expires beneath the share;
Or crimson poppy, sinking with the shower,
Declining gently, falls a fading flower ;

Thus, sweetly drooping, bends his lovely head,
And lingering beauty hovers round the dead.

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But fiery Nisus stems the battle's tide,
Revenge his leader, and Despair his guide;
Volscens he seeks amidst the gathering host,
Volscens must soon appease his comrade's ghost;
Steel, flashing, pours on steel, foe crowds on foe,
Rage nerves his arm, Fate gleams in every blow;
In vain, beneath unnumber'd wounds he bleeds,
Nor wounds, nor death, distracted Nisus heeds;
In viewless circles wheel'd his falchion flies,
Nor quits the hero's grasp, till Volscens dies;
Deep in his throat its end the weapon found,
The tyrant's soul fled groaning through the wound.
Thus Nisus all his fond affection prov❜d,

Dying, reveng'd the fate of him he lov'd;
Then on his bosom, sought his wonted place,

And death was heavenly, in his friend's embrace!

Celestial pair! if aught my verse can claim, Wafted on Time's broad pinion, yours is fame! Ages on ages shall your fate admire;

No future day shall see your names expire;
While stands the Capitol, immortal dome!
And vanquish'd millions hail their Empress, Rome!

TRANSLATION

FROM

THE MEDEA OF EUR IPIDES.

1.

WHEN fierce conflicting passions urge
The breast where love is wont to glow,
What mind can stem the stormy surge,
Which rolls the tide of human woe?
The hope of praise, the dread of shame,

Can rouse the tortur'd breast no more;
The wild desire, the guilty flame,
Absorbs each wish it felt before.

2.

But, if affection gently thrills

The soul, by purer dreams possest,
The pleasing balm of mortal ills,

In love can sooth the aching breast;
If thus, thou com'st in gentle guise,
Fair Venus! from thy native heaven,
What heart, unfeeling would despise
The sweetest boon the gods have given?

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