4 
262 
Yet oh, lov’d shade! 
driv’n 
From thy dear presence by the will of heav’n, 
Despair had follow’d my unwilling flight ! 
. Yet stay, nor fly regardless from my sight, 
Whom dost thou fiy? this last sad moment 
o”er, 
And Fate and Jove forbid our meeting more.” 
Thus with soft words, and melting tears, he 
strove 
‘To calm her mind and re-inspire her love. 
_ But she, in deep disdain, her sullen look 
Fixed to the ground, averted, while he spoke, 
Unmoved by all his sighs and all his pray’rs, 
As some unshaken rock which the rude temp- 
est bares; 
Then bursts away, in the dark grove to 
hide 
The gloomy rage of her indignant pride. 
Her lov’d Sichzus meets her in the grove, 
how little thought I, 
‘Answers her cares, and equals all her love. 
Ill. 
VALE OF HEROES, 
MEETING OF ANEAS AND DEIPHOSBUS. 
(In continuation of the preceding, to v. 548.) 
With pity mov’d, far thro’ the lengthen’d 
Pylade, 
The prince pursued her melancholy shade 5 
Then urged his destin’d course, and soon at- 
tain’d). - << 
The last sad realm that unexplor’d remain’d, 
The fields assigned to warriors bold and strong: 
Here Tydeus met him ‘midst the armed 
throng 
Parthenopzusy, fair Arcadia’s boast, 
Was here, and here Adrastus’ pallid ghost. 
But most the chief survey'd with grief di- 
vine 
The unhappy warriors of the Dardan line, 
Glaucus, Thesilochus, and Medon here, 
And old Antenor’s valiant sons appear; 
Idzxus too, amidst the martial throng, 
Still urg’d his sounding steeds, and drove his 
car along. 
To right, to left, the kindred bands ad- 
vance, 
The prince, unstated by one mournful glance, 
Long lingering stands, and seeks of each to 
know 
This cause of coming, and indulge his woe. 
But when the ghosts of Danaus’ progeny 
And Agamemnon’s troops the Trojan sce 
With bright arms gleaming through the 
gloomy shade, 
Appalling terrors every soul invade. 
Part, (as when once, pursued by Hector 
nigh, 
They sought their navy), turn their backs, 
and fly. 
Part feebly shriek, or raise a a faint and bro- 
ken cry. 
Here Priam’s son, dheiainies, he found, 
His mangled shade one undistinguish’d wound; 
Pica 
Original Poetry. 
{ Oet."h, 
With loss of nose and ears his front defac’d, 
His hands lopp’d off, his manly form dis 
grac’d. 
The prince searce knew the bleeding trunk 
__ he spied, 
(All ‘shined with the pains it wish’d to hide) 
And thus, at lengthy in well-known accents 
cried, | 
«« Alas, brave chief of Teucer’s royal races 
My friend Deiphobus, the battle’s grace ! 
Who sent thee thus dishonour’d here below ? 
To whom so dire a penance didst thou owe ? 
I heard the fame that on Troy’s fatal night, 
Tired with the labours of a glorious fight, 
An honourable wound thy corpse had laid 
Prone on the bloody heaps thy hand had 
made. 
Anempty tomb on the Rhetéan coast : 
Trais’d and loudly thrice invoked thy ghost. . 
Thy name and arms those regions yet retain; 
But thee amidst the dead I sought in vain, 
Till, every rite perform’d, I left the fatal 
plain.” 
To him thus Priam’s son, * Oh friend, by 
thee 
Was left undone no kind solemnity, 
But every rite, and every honour paid . 
To thy Deiphobus’ unhappy shade ; 
To my sad fate alone my present-woe 
(And Helen’s baneful perfidy) I owe. 
** Thou knows’t how, lost in dreams of 
false delight, 
We pass’d away that last avenging night, 
When to high Pergamus the horse was come 
Which carried Troy’s destruction in its womb, 
She led the feign’d procession to the gate—_ 
She bore the torch that lit us to our fate; 
And, *midst the well-dissembled orgies, she 
Call’d from our wails the treacherous enemy. 
“* Our fatal bed then held me, free from 
care, 
Oppress’d with sleep, and resting from the 
war, 
A sweet forgetfulness my frame o’erspread, 
Deep as the slumber of the peaceful dead. 
Then came my wmatchicss spouse—-my arms 
mislaid, 
F’en from my pillow bore my faithful blade, 
And call’d her Spartan to receive, in me, 
The price of every former perfidy. 
‘¢ They all rush in—our unrelenting foe, 
Ulysses, leads their steps and prompts the 
blow. : 
(Just gods! if ought ye feel my pray’rs and 
pain, 
Return such woes on the base Greeks again!) 
¢¢ But thee, oh Prince, what fortune hither 
‘Jed, ; 
Thee, yet unnumber’d with the unhappy 
dead ? > 
Or wand’ring on the seas, and tempest-tost, 
Or by the gods compell’d to view this coast, 
This sun-Jess coast, this dreary, naked plaing 
Which never light can pie 
Fhus 
Tce, nor joy attain?” 
