The Poetical Works of Mr. William Pattison

Hellen's Rape having drawn all the Grecian Princes to the Siege of Troy; among the rest, Ulysses on this Occasion distinguished himself in a very remarkable manner. But he not returning to Penelope, after the Siege was over, she remands him by this Epistle, having behaved as well at home, by her Chastity, as he had done at Troy by his Valour. She recites the various Addresses of her Suitors, and pathetically bewails his Stay; acquainting him at the same time with the misconduct of his Family-Affairs, thro' his Absence, and earnestly presses his speedy return, in order to their Regulation.

These Lines, my Lord, your cruel Absence mourn;
O! let your Answer be your quick Return:

Sure Troy, the fatal Fountain of our Woe!
Has felt her finish'd Ruin long ago!
But not all Troy restor'd could e'er repay
The Griefs I suffer by your long Delay.

Had Paris, when he sought the Spartan Dame,
Sunk in the Seas, and quench'd his lawless Flame!
Those sad Anxieties I ne'er had known,
Nor sigh'd out solitary Nights alone!
With widow'd Hands engag'd the daily Toil,
Nor slumb'ring sought my Sorrows to beguile!
But slumb'ring, still alas, in vain I strove;
Clos'd were my Eyes by Sleep, but ope'd by Love!
In Dreams, at visionary Scenes I swoon'd,
Shrunk at each Stroke, and felt each fancy'd Wound;
Beheld my daring Lord in loud Alarms,
And Fate and Hector rushing on his Arms!
Shock'd at the Sight, and shiv'ring with cold Fear,
Confus'd I wak'd, and breath'd a pious Prayer.

When some Report, descriptive of the Fight,
Reviv'd the recent Horrours of the Night;
Wak'd at each Tale my boding Dreams return'd,
And all my Fears as real Ills I mourn'd.
Griev'd, I deplor'd Patroclus, wise too late!
His borrow'd Glory, his lamented Fate!
With Tears I heard Tlepolemus, o'erthrown,
And made the Warrior's Miseries my own.
But if some Grecian Brave-Unknown were kill'd,
Ulysses thro' my trembling Pulses thrill'd;
My pallid Looks confess'd the widow'd-Wife,
And my Soul panted for my Hero's Life!

But blest be ev'ry Love-indulgent Power?
For now those Fears, with Ilium are no more:
Rich in her Spoils, our conqu'ring Chiefs return,
And to our Gods their grateful Off'rings burn:
With joyful Pride relate the Trojan War,
And dwell on ev'ry honourable Scar.

On her lov'd Lord each longing Lady lies,
Views the dear Man, and at his Glory sighs;
With sweetly-smiling Looks delights to trace
The dawning Features of the former Face:
Immortal Acts the list'ning Crouds engage,
Boastings for Youth! and future Tales for Age!

While some, less eloquent, their Toils design,
Figure each Fight, and miniature each Scene:
In purple Wines each purple River pours,
And, dy'd with mimic Blood, Scamander roars:
Here fam'd Sigeum's tow'ry Tops arise,
There Priam's cloudy Turrets pierce the Skies;
Here, stretch'd around, the tented Shores display,
Where great Ulysses and Achilles lay:
Here, thund'ring Hector bursts the Grecian Walls,
There storms in Triumph, there, a Triumph falls.

From Nestor's Lips your Son imbib'd your Fame,
And all your Glory all his Soul inflame;

Pleas'd, he relates that memorable Night,
And dwells on ev'ry Horror with Delight:
But could my Hero so forgetful prove,
So quick to Dangers! and so deaf to Love!
When thro' the Gloom you sought the hostile Host,
And all the Lover in the Hero lost;
With only one Companion of your Toils,
What Tents destroy'd! how made those Tents your Spoils!
As from their Stalls the Thracian Steeds you drew,
How might some swift-revenging Hand pursue!
Rescue the proud triumphant Prize you sought,
And snatch your Life, that richer Prize you brought!
Could then your Heaps of Spoils, your Hills of Slain,
Sooth my sad Soul, or mitigate my Pain!
But yet, tho' safe from all those fierce Alarms,
You live not, if you live not in these Arms!

Ah what avail the Deeds Reports declare,
Unless you reap the mighty Honours here!

While others bless their happy Hopes compleat,
Their Joys deriving from Troy's finish'd Fate;
Widow'd, I seek in vain for kind Relief,
And Troy, my former Terror, is my Grief!
Her ruin'd Streets enrich'd with human Gore,
Now teem with Corn, that teem'd with Men before:
Her once-rich Domes with richer Harvests flow,
But yield, as still, to me the Fruit of Woe!

From ev'ry Stranger that invades our Coast,
With Tears I ask my wand'ring Lover lost;
To his kind Care my Letter'd-Griefs commit,
And pray that pitying Heaven may make ye meet.
At Pylos I my doubtful Chief explor'd;
But Pylos told no Tidings of my Lord:
To Sparta's Realms my speedy Message went,
But Sparta's Realms uncertain Answers sent.

O! still had Troy maintain'd her bright Abodes,
Nor felt the Fury of her hostile Gods;

Exempt from this Variety of Care,
I'ad known no Dangers, but the Chance of War;
But now what sad Anxieties inclose!
What real, what imaginary Woes!
What Horrors my distemper'd Fancy fill!
What Fears I frame! how ev'ry Fear I feel!
From Rocks, from raging Seas what Scenes I feign!
Wild as the Rocks, and boundless as the Main:
Oft fear, averse to these domestic Charms,
You lull your Honour in some Stranger's Arms;
To please her Pride describe your homely Wife,
And bant'ring ridicule a virtuous Life!
But soon my Love dispels those Fears away;
And on the Gods I charge your long Delay.

My urgent Sire, lest Sorrows should consume
The youthful Beauties of my vernal Bloom,
With Pray'rs engag'd my Heart again to wed,
And taste the Pleasures of a second Bed;

But not my Sire could move my Soul's Decree,
Still was I thine, and thine will ever be!
Now conscious of my pure, unspotted Flame,
Himself he censures, and applauds my Name.

Yet where e'en Duty, and his Will could fail,
Audacious Lovers labour to prevail:
Their Suit the Samians, the Dulichians move,
With all the flatt'ring Fopperies of Love;
In noisy Crouds intrude, unbidden Guests!
Carouse our Banquets, riot on our Feasts.
In wanton Luxuries our Stores decay,
And all, but Love, becomes an easy Prey!
Pisander, Polybus, and Medon too,
With num'rous others, join the lawless Crew.
Why should I each detested Name repeat?
Spunge to our Wealth! and Canker to our State!
Rude by Reproof, and insolently bold,
Unaw'd they revel, triumph if controul'd.

Alas! what Force of ours can end the Strife?
A feeble Father, and a widow'd Wife!
Your tender Son, unbred to fierce Alarms,
Implores his Sire to lead his Soul to Arms.
As lost, of late, the duteous Youth I mourn'd;
Bent on your Search, to find his Hopes return'd.
But may kind Heaven its choicest Blessings shed,
From Harms protect his dear devoted Head;
His Fame for-ever guard, for-ever raise,
To crown the peaceful Ev'ning of our Days!

But who shall now our injur'd Right maintain,
Controul Offenders, and assert our Reign?
Decay'd, your Father scarcely dares command;
Tho' wise his Counsels, wither'd is his Hand!
What can my helpless, tender Nature shew?
A Woman only, and a soft one too!
Unhappy We! whose Weakness is our Power!
I'll weep! I'll sigh! but I can do no more—

Let Sighs, and Tears your quick Return engage,
To guide your Son, and guard your Father's Age,
From Life's last Verge conduct him gently down,
And teach the Youth to soar to high Renown!
Then haste! lest as I weep for your Return,
Too late, like me, my fading Charms you mourn.

University of Virginia Library

Penelope to Ulysses.

The Argument.