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Poems on several occasions

By William Broome ... The second edition, With large Alterations and Additions
 
 

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Part of the Tenth Book of the Iliads of Homer.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
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101

Part of the Tenth Book of the Iliads of Homer.

In the Stile of MILTON.

Now high advanc'd the Night, o'er all the Host
Sleep shed his softest Balm; restless alone
Atrides lay, and Cares revolv'd on Cares.
As when with rising Vengeance gloomy Jove
Pours down a watry Deluge, or in Storms
Of Hail or Snow commands the goary Jaws
Of War to roar; thro' all the kindling Skies,
With flaming Wings on Lightnings Lightnings play:

102

So while Atrides meditates the War,
Sighs after Sighs burst from his manly Breast,
And shake his inmost Soul: round o'er the Fields
To Troy he turns his Eyes, and round beholds
A thousand Fires blaze dreadful; thro' his Ears
Passes the direful Symphony of War,
Of Fife, or Pipe, and the loud Hum of Hosts
Strikes him dismay'd: Now o'er the Grecian Tents
His Eyes he rolls; now from his royal Head
Rends the fair Curl in Sacrifice to Jove,
And his brave Heart heaves with imperial Woes.
Thus groans the thoughtful King, at length resolves
To seek the Pylian Sage, in wise Debate
To ripen high Designs, and from the Sword
Preserve his banded Legions: Pale and sad
Uprose the Monarch: instant o'er his Breast
A Robe he threw, and on his royal Feet

103

Glitter'd th'embroider'd Sandals; o'er his Back
A dreadful Ornament, a Lion's Spoils,
With hideous grace down to his Ankles hung,
Fierce in his hand he grasp'd a glitt'ring Spear.
With equal care was Menelaus toss'd,
Sleep from his Temples fled, his generous Heart
Felt all his People's Woes, who in his Cause
Stem'd the proud Main, and nobly stood in Arms
Confronting Death: A Leopard's spotted Spoils
Terrific clad his Limbs, a brazen Helm
Beam'd on his Head, and in his Hand a Spear.
Forth from his Tent the royal Spartan strode
To wake the King of Men; him wak'd he found
Clasping his polish'd Arms, with rising Joy
The Heroes meet, the Spartan thus began.

104

Why thus in Arms, my Prince? send'st thou some Spy
To view the Trojan Host? alas! I fear
Lest the most dauntless Sons of glorious War
Shrink at the bold Design! this Task demands
A Soul resolv'd, to pass the Gloom of Night,
And 'midst her Legions search the Pow'rs of Troy.
O Prince, he cries, in this disastrous Hour
Greece all our Counsel claims, now, now demands
Our deepest Cares! the Pow'r omnipotent
Frowns on our Arms, but smiles with Aspect mild
On Hector's Incense: Heav'ns! what Son of Fame
Renown'd in Story, e'er such Deeds atchiev'd
In a whole Life, as in one glorious Day
This Fav'rite of the Skies? and yet a Man!
A Mortal! born to die! but such his Deeds

105

As future Grecians shall repeat with Tears
To Children yet unborn.—But haste, repair
To Ajax and Idomeneus; we wake
Ourself the Pylian Sage; to keep the Guards
On Duty be his Care; for o'er the Guards
His Son presides nocturnal, and in Arms
His great Compeer, Meriones the bold.
But say, rejoins the Prince, these Orders borne
There shall I stay, or measuring back the Shores,
To thee return?—No more return, replies
The King of Hosts, lest treading different ways
We meet no more: for thro' the Camp the ways
Lie intricate and various, but aloud
Wake every Greek to martial Fame and Arms,
Teach them to emulate their Godlike Sires;
And thou a while forget thy royal Birth
And share a Soldier's Cares: the proudest King

106

Is but exalted Dust; and when great Jove
Call'd us to Life, and gave us royal Pow'r,
He gave a sad Preheminence of Woes.
He spoke, and to the Tent of Nestor turns
His Step majestic: on his Couch he found
The hoary Warrior; all around him lay
His Arms, the Shield, the Spears, the radiant Helm,
And Scarf of various Dye; with these array'd,
The reverend Father to the Field of Fame
Led his bold Files; for with a brave Disdain,
Old as he was, he scorn'd the Ease of Age.
Sudden the Monarch starts, and half uprais'd,
Thus to the King aloud; What art thou, say?
Why in the Camp alone? while others sleep,
Why wand'rest thou obscure the midnight Hours?

107

Seek'st thou some Centinel, or absent Friend?
Speak instant!—Silent to advance, is Death!
O Pride of Greece, the plaintive King returns,
Here in thy Tent thou Agamemnon view'st,
A Prince, the most unhappy of Mankind;
Woes I endure which none but Kings can feel,
Which ne'er will cease until forgot in Death:
Pensive I wander thro' the Damp of Night,
Thro' the cold Damp of Night; distress'd! alone!
And Sleep is grown a Stranger to my Eyes:
The weight of all the War, the load of Woes
That presses every Greek, united falls
On me—the Cares of all the Host are mine!
Grief discomposes, and distracts my Thoughts,
My restless panting Heart, as if it strove
To force its Prison, beats against my Sides!

108

My Strength is fail'd, and ev'n my Feet refuse
To bear so great a load of Wretchedness!
But if thy wakeful Cares (for o'er thy Head
Wakeful the Hours glide on) have aught matur'd
Useful, the Thought unfold; but rise, my Friend,
Visit with me the Watches of the Night,
Lest tir'd they sleep, while Troy with all her War
Hangs o'er our Tents, and now, perhaps e'en now
Arms her proud Bands. Arise, my Friend, arise!
To whom the Pylian: Think not, mighty King,
Jove ratifies vain Hector's haughty Views;
A sudden, sad Reverse of mighty Woes
Waits that audacious Victor, when in Arms
Dreadful Achilles shines. But now thy Steps
Nestor attends: Be it our Care to wake
Sage Ithacus, and Diomed the brave,

109

Meges the bold, and in the Race renown'd
Oïlean Ajax: To the Ships that guard
Outmost the Camp, some other speed his way
To raise stern Ajax and the Cretan King.
But love, nor reverence to the mighty Name
Of Menelaus, nor thy Wrath, O King,
Shall stop my free Rebuke: Sleep is a Crime
When Agamemnon wakes, on him it lies
To share thy martial Toils, to court the Peers
To act the Men: this Hour claims all our Cares.
Reserve, rejoins the King, for future Hours
Thy generous Anger: Seems the royal Youth
Remiss? 'tis not thro' Indolence of Soul,
But Deference to our Pow'r; for our Commands
He waits, and follows when we lead the way.
This Night, disdaining Rest, his Steps he bent
To our Pavilion; now th'illustrious Peers

110

Rais'd at his Call, a chosen Synod stand
Before the Gates; haste Nestor, haste away.
To whom the Sage well pleas'd, In such brave hands
No Greek will envy Pow'r; with loyal Joy
Subjects Obey, when Men of Worth Command.
He added not, but o'er his manly Breast
Flung a rich Robe; beneath his royal Feet
The glitt'ring Sandals shone: a soft, large Vest
Florid with purple Wool, his aged Limbs
Graceful adorn'd: tipt with a Star of Brass
A pond'rous Lance he grasp'd, and strode away
To wake sage Ithacus: aloud his Voice
He rais'd; his Voice was heard, and from his Tent
Instant Ulysses sprung; and why, he cry'd,
Why thus abroad in the chill Hours of Night?

111

What new Distress invades?—Forgive my Cares,
Reply'd the hoary Sage; for Greece I wake,
Greece and her Dangers bring me to thy Tent;
But haste, our wakeful Peers in Council meet,
This, this one Night determines Flight or War.
Swift at the Word he seiz'd his ample Shield,
And strode along; and now they bend their way
To wake the brave Tydides: him they found
Stretch'd on the Earth, array'd in shining Arms,
And round, his brave Companions of the War:
Their Shields sustain'd their Heads, erect their Spears
Shot thro' th'illumin'd Air a streaming Ray,
Keen as Jove's Lightnings wing'd athwart the Skies.
Thus slept the Chief: beneath him on the Ground
A savage Bull's black Hide was roll'd, his Head
A splendid Carpet bore: the slumbring King
The Pylian gently with these Words awakes.

112

Rise, Son of Tydeus! ill, a whole Night's Rest
Suits with the Brave! and sleep'st thou, while proud Troy
Hangs o'er our Tents, and from yon joining Hill
Prepares her War? Awake, my Friend, awake!
Sudden the Chief awoke, and mildly gave
This soft Reply: O! Cruel to thy Age,
Thou good old Man! ne'er wilt thou, wilt thou cease
To burthen Age with Cares? Has Greece no Youths
To wake the Peers? unweary'd Man to bear
At once the double Load of Toils, and Years!
'Tis true, he cry'd, my Subjects and my Sons
Might ease a Sire, and King; but Rest's a Crime
When on the Edge of Fate our Country stands:
E'er yet a few Hours more have run their Course,

113

Important Space! Greece triumphs, or Greece falls!
But since an old Man's Care thy Pity moves,
Haste generous Youth, with speed to Council call
Meges the brave, and in the Race renown'd
Oïlean Ajax:—Strait the Chief obey'd,
Strait o'er his Shoulders flung the shaggy Spoils
Of a huge tawny Lion, with dire Grace
Down to his Feet they hung: fierce in his Hand
He grasp'd a glitt'ring Spear, and join'd the Guards.
Wakeful in Arms they sate, a faithful Band,
As watchful Dogs protect the fleecy Train,
When the stern Lion, furious for his Prey,
Rushes thro' crashing Woods, and on the Fold
Springs from some Mountain's Brow, while mingled Cries
Of Men and Hounds alarm; to every Sound
Faithful they turn: so thro' the Gloom of Night
They cast their View, and caught each Noise of Troy.

114

Now met th'illustrious Synod, down they sate,
Down on a spot of Ground unstain'd with Blood,
Where vengeful Hector from the Slaughter stay'd
His murd'rous Arm, when the dark Veil of Night
Sabled the Pole: To whom thus Nestor spoke.
Lives there a Son of Fame so nobly brave,
That Troy-ward dares to trace the dang'rous way,
To seize some straggling Foe? or learn what Troy
Now meditates? to pour the Flood of War
Fierce on our Fleet, or back within her Walls
Lead her proud Legions? O! what Fame would crown
The Hero thus triumphant, prais'd o'er Earth
Above the Sons of Men? And what Rewards
Should he receive? From every grateful Peer
A sable Ewe, and Lamb, of highest worth

115

Memorial, to a brave, heroic Heart
The noblest Prize! and at the social Feast
Amongst the Great, be his the Seat of Fame.
Abash'd they sate, and ev'n the Brave knew Fear;
Not so Tydides: unappall'd he rose,
And nobly spoke! My Soul, O! Rev'rend Sage,
Fires at the bold Design; thro' yon black Host
Ventrous I bend my way; but if his Aid
Some Warrior lend, my Courage might arise
To nobler Heights: the Wise by mutual Aid
Instruct the Wise, and brave Men fire the Brave.
Fierce at the Word upstarted from the Ground
The stern Ajaces, fierce bold Merion rose,
And Thrasymedes, Sons of War: nor sate
The Royal Spartan, nor great Nestor's Heir,
Nor greater Ithacus; his manly Heart

116

Swell'd at the view of Fame.—Elate with joy
Atrides saw, and O! thou best of Friends,
Brave Diomed, he cries, of all the Peers
Chuse thou the valiantest; when Merit pleads,
Titles no Deference claim; high Birth and State
To Valour yield, and Worth is more than Pow'r.
Thus, fearing for his Brother, spoke the King,
Not long! for Diomed dispels his Fears.
Since free my Choice, can I forget my Friend,
The Man, for Wisdom's various Arts renown'd;
The Man, whose dauntless Soul no Toils dismay,
Ulysses, lov'd by Pallas? thro' his Aid
Tho' thousand Fires oppose, a thousand Fires
Oppose in vain; his Wisdom points the way.

117

Nor praise, nor blame, the Hero strait replies,
You speak to Greeks, and they Ulysses know;
But haste, swift roul the Hours of Night, the Morn
Already hastens to display her Beams,
And in the Vault of Heav'n the Stars decay.
Swift at the Word they sheath their manly Limbs
Horrid in Arms, a two-edg'd Sword and Shield
Nestor's bold Son to stern Tydides gave;
A tough Bull's Hide his ample Helmet form'd,
No Cone adorn'd it, and no plumy Crest
Wav'd in the Air; a Quiver and a Bow,
And a huge Faulchion great Ulysses bears,
The Gift of Merion: on his Head an Helm
Of Leather nodded, firm within, and bound
With many a Thong; without, in dreadful Rows
The snowy Tusks of a huge savage Boar

118

Grinn'd horrible; thus arm'd, away they stalk
Undaunted: o'er their Heads the Martial Maid
Sends on the Right an Her'n; the ambient Gloom
Conceals him from the View, but loud in Air
They hear the Clangor of his sounding Wings.
Joyful the prosp'rous Sign Ulysses hail'd,
And thus to Pallas; Offspring of dread Jove,
Who hurls the burning Bolts: O Guardian Pow'r
Present in all my Toils, who view'st my way
Where'er I move, now thy Cœlestial Aid,
Now Goddess lend, may Deeds this Night adorn,
Deeds that all Troy may weep; may we return
In safety by thy Guidance, heav'nly Maid.
Tydides caught the Word, and O! he cries,
Virgin armipotent, now grant thy Aid
As to my Sire! he by the gulphy Flood
Of deep Æsopus left th'embattled Bands

119

Of Greece in Arms, and to Imperial Thebes
Bore Terms of Peace; but as from haughty Thebes
Alone he journey'd, Deeds, heroic Deeds
His Arm atchiev'd, for Tydeus was thy Care:
Thus guard his Offspring, O! stern Queen of Arms,
So shall an Heifer on thy Altars bleed
Young and untam'd, to thee her Blood I pour,
And point her lunar Horns with burnish'd Gold.
Thus pray the Chiefs, and Pallas hears their Pray'r;
Then like two Lions thro' the Shades of Night,
Dauntless they stride along; and hold their way
Thro' Blood, and mangled Limbs, o'er Arms and Death.
Nor pass they far, e'er the sagacious Eye
Of Ithacus discerns a distant Foe
Coasting from Troy, and thus to Diomed.

120

See! o'er the Plain some Trojan bends this way
Perhaps to spoil the Slain! or to our Host
Comes he a Spy? Beyond us o'er the Field
'Tis best he pass, then sudden from behind
Rush we precipitant: but if in flight
His active Feet prevail, thy Spear employ
To force him on our Lines, lest hid in Shades,
Thro' the dusk Air he re-escape to Troy.
Then couching to the Ground, ambush'd they lay
Behind a Hill of Slain: onward the Spy
Incessant mov'd: He pass'd, and now arose
The fierce Pursuers. Dolon heard the sound
Of trampling Feet, and panting, listning stood;
Now reach'd the Chiefs within a Javelin's Throw,
Stern Foes of Dolon! swift along the Shores
He wing'd his flight, and swift along the Shores

121

They still pursu'd: as when two skilful Hounds
Chase o'er the Lawn the Hare or bounding Roe,
Still from the sheltring Brake the Game they turn,
Stretch every Nerve, and bear upon the Prey!
So ran the Chiefs, and from the Host of Troy
Turn'd the swift Foe: now nigh the Fleet they flew,
Now almost mingled with the Guards, when lo!
The martial Goddess breath'd Heroic Flames
Fierce on Tydides' Soul: the Hero fear'd
Lest some bold Greek should interpose a Wound
And ravish half the Glories of the Night.
Furious he shook his Lance, and Stand, he cry'd,
Stand, or thou dy'st: then sternly from his Arm
Launch'd the wild Spear, wilful the Javelin err'd,
But whizzing o'er his Shoulder, deep in Earth
Stood quivering, and he quaking stop'd aghast;
His Teeth all chatter'd, and his slack Knees knock'd;
He seem'd the bloodless Image of pale Fear.

122

Panting the Spy they seize: who thus with Tears
Abject intreats: Spare me, O! spare, he cries,
My hoary Sire your Mercy shall repay,
Soon as he hears I draw the vital Air,
With ample Wealth, with Steel, with Brass, with Gold.
To whom Ulysses artfully: Be bold,
Far hence the Thought of Death! but instant say
Why thus alone in the still Hours of Night
While every Eye is clos'd? to spoil the Slain
Com'st thou rapacious? or some nightly Spy
By Hector sent? or has thy ventrous Mind
Impell'd thee to explore our martial Bands?
By Hector sent, and by Rewards undone,
Returns the Spy, (still as he spoke he shook)
I come unwilling: the refulgent Car

123

He promis'd, and Immortal Steeds that bear
To Fight, the great Achilles: thus betray'd,
Thro' the dun Shades of Night I bend my way
Unprosp'rous, to explore the tented Host
Of adverse Greece, and learn if now they stand
Wakeful on Guard, or vanquish'd by our Arms
Precipitant desert the Shores of Troy.
To whom with Smiles of Scorn the Sage returns:
Bold were thy Aims, O! Youth: But those proud Steeds,
Restive, disdain the Rule of vulgar Hands;
Scarce ev'n the Goddess-born, when the loud Din
Of Battle roars, subdues them to the Rein
Reluctant: But this Night where Hector sleeps
Faithful disclose: Where stand the Warrior's Steeds?
Where lie his Arms and Implements of War?
What Guards are kept nocturnal? Say, what Troy

124

Now meditates? to pour the Tyde of Fight
Fierce on our Fleet, or back within her Walls
Transfer the War?—To these Demands, he cries,
Faithful my Tongue shall speak: The Peers of Troy
Hector in Council meets: round Ilus' Tomb
Apart from Noise they stand: no Guards surround
The spacious Host: where thro' the Gloom yon Fires
Blaze frequent, Trojans wake to guard their Troy;
Secure th'Auxiliars sleep, no tender Cares
Of Wife or Son disturb their calm Repose,
Safe sleep their Wives and Sons on foreign Shores.
But say, apart encamp th'Auxiliar Bands,
Replies the Sage, or join the Pow'rs of Troy?
Along the sea-beat Shores, returns the Spy,
The Leleges and Carians stretch their Files;
Near these the Caucons, and Pelasgian Train,

125

And Pæons, dreadful with the Battle-Bow,
Extended lie; on the Thymbræan Plain
The Lycians and the Mysians in array
Spread their deep Ranks: There the Mæonian Bands,
And Phrygians range the fiery Steeds of War.
But why this nice Enquiry? If your way
Vent'rous you bend to search the Host of Troy,
There in yon outmost Lines, a recent Aid,
The Thracians lie, by Rhesus led, whose Steeds
Outshine the Snow, outfly the winged Winds;
With glitt'ring Silver Plates, and radiant Gold
His Chariot flames, Gold forms his dazzling Arms,
Arms that may grace a God!—but to your Tents
Unhappy me convey; or bound with Chains,
Fast bound with cruel Chains, sad on the Shores
Here leave me Captive, till you safe return,
And witness to the Truth my Tongue unfolds.

126

To whom stern-frowning Diomed replies,
Tho' every Syllable be stamp'd with Truth,
Dolon, thou dy'st: would'st thou once more return
Darkling a Spy, or wage a nobler Foe
New War on Greece? Traytor thou dy'st, nor more
New War thou wagest, nor return'st a Spy.
He spoke terrific, and as Dolon rais'd
Suppliant his humble Hands, the trenchant Blade
Sheer thro' his Neck descends; the furious Blow
Cleaves the tough Nerves in twain, down drops the Head,
And mutters unintelligible Sounds.
Strait they despoil the Dead, the Wolf's grey Hide
They seize, the Helm, the Spear, and Battle-Bow:
These as they drop'd with Gore, on high in Air
Ulysses rais'd, and to the martial Maid

127

Thus lowly consecrates: Stern Pow'r of War,
Virgin Armipotent, receive these Arms,
Propitious to my Vows, thee, Goddess, thee
Chiefly I call: Direct our prosp'rous Way
To pierce the Thracian Tents, to seize the Steeds
Of Rhesus, and the Car, that flames with Gold.
Then fierce o'er broken Arms, thro' Streams of Blood
They move along: now reach the Thracian Bands
All hush'd in Sleep profound; their shining Arms
Rang'd in three Ranks along the Plain, around
Illumin'd the dun Air: Chariot and Horse
By every Thracian stood: Rhesus their King,
Slept in the Center of the circling Bands,
And his proud Steeds were Rein'd behind his Car,
With Joy Ulysses thro' the Gloom descry'd
The sleeping King, and lo! he cries, the Steeds,

128

Lo! Diomed, the Chief of Thrace, this Night
Describ'd by Dolon: Now, O! now, thy Strength
Dauntless exert! loose thou the furious Steeds,
Or while the Steeds I loose, with slaughtring Hands
Invade the Soldiery: He spoke, and now
The Queen of Arms inflam'd Tydides' Soul
With all her martial Fires: his reeking Blade
On every side dealt Fate; low, hollow Groans
Murmur'd around, Blood o'er the crimson Field
Well'd from the Slain: As in his nightly Haunts
The surly Lion rushes on the Fold
Of Sheep, or Goat, and rends th'unguarded Prey;
So he the Thracian Bands: Twelve by his Sword
Lay breathless on the Ground: behind him stood
Sage Ithacus, and as the Warrior slew,
Swift he remov'd the Slain, lest the fierce Steeds
Not yet inur'd to Blood, should trembling start,
Impatient of the Dead: Now o'er the King

129

He whirls his wrathful Blade, now furious gores
His heaving Chest: he wak'd not, but a Dream
By Pallas sent, rose in his anxious Thoughts;
A visionary Warrior frowning stood
Fast by his Head, and his aërial Sword
Plung'd thro' his labouring Breast: Mean while the Steeds
The Sage unbinds, and instant with his Bow
Drives thro' the sleeping Ranks: Then to his Friend
Gave Signals of Retreat; but nobler Deeds
He meditates, to drag the radiant Car,
Or lift it thro' the threefold Ranks, up-born
High on his Shoulders, or with Slaughter stain
Th'ensanguin'd Field; when lo! the Martial Maid
Down rushes from the Battlements of Heav'n,
And sudden cries, Return, brave Chief, return,
Lest from the Skies some Guardian Pow'r of Troy
Wrathful descend, and rouze the hostile Bands.

130

Thus speaks the Warrior Queen, the heav'nly Voice
Tydides owns, and mounts the fiery Steeds
Observant of the high Command; the Bow
Sage Ithacus apply'd, and tow'rd the Tents
Scourg'd the proud Steeds, the Steeds flew o'er the Plain.
 

V. 339.