And knock'd his falt'ring knees, the hero said:

'Ye mighty Gods! what wonders strike my view!

Is it in vain our conquering arms subdue ? Sure I shall see yon heaps of Trojans kill'd, Rise from the shade, and brave me on the field:

As now the captive, whom so late I bound And sold to Lemnos, stalks on Trojan ground!

Not him the sea's unmeasur'd deeps detain,

That bar such numbers from their native plain:

Lo! he returns. Try then my flying spear!

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Try, if the grave can hold the wanderer: If earth at length this active Prince can seize,

Earth, whose strong grasp has held down Hercules.'

Thus while he spake, the Trojan, pale

with fears,

A hundred oxen were his price that day, 90 Now sums immense thy mercy shall repay. Scarce respited from woes I yet appear, And scarce twelve morning suns have seen me here:

Lo! Jove again submits me to thy hands, Again, her victim cruel Fate demands ! I sprung from Priam, and Laothoë fair (Old Altes' daughter, and Lelegia's heir; Who held in Pedasus his famed abode, And ruled the fields where silver Satnio flow'd);

Two sons (alas! unhappy sons) she bore; For ah! one spear shall drink each brother's gore,

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And I succeed to slaughter'd Polydore.
How from that arm of terror shall I fly?
Some demon urges, 't is my doom to die!
If ever yet soft pity touch'd thy mind,
Ah! think not ine too much of Hector's
kind!

Not the same mother gave thy suppliant

The youth address'd to unrelenting ears: 110 'Talk not of life, or ransom' (he replies), 'Patroclus dead, whoever meets me, dies: In vain a single Trojan sues for grace;

But least, the sons of Priam's hateful race. Die then, my friend! what boots it to deplore?

The great, the good Patroclus is no more! He, far thy better, was foredoom'd to die, And thou, dost thou bewail mortality? Seest thou not me, whom Nature's gifts adorn,

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Sprung from a Hero, from a Goddess born? The day shall come (which nothing can

The waves flow after, wheresoe'er he wheels,

And gather fast, and murmur at his heels. So when a peasant to his garden brings Soft rills of water from the bubbling springs,

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And calls the floods from high to bless his bowers,

And feed with pregnant streams the plants and flowers;

Soon as he clears whate'er their passage stay'd,

And marks the future current with his spade,

Swift o'er the rolling pebbles, down the hills

Louder and louder purl the falling rills; Before him scatt'ring, they prevent his pains,

And shine in mazy wand'rings o'er the plains. 298 Still flies Achilles, but before his eyes Still swift Scamander rolls where'er he flies: Not all his speed escapes the rapid floods; The first of inen, but not a match for Gods: Oft as he turn'd the torrent to oppose, And bravely try if all the Powers were foes;

So oft the surge, in wat'ry mountains spread,

Beats on his back, or bursts upon his head. Yet dauntless still the adverse flood he

braves,

And still indignant bounds above the waves. Tired by the tides, his knees relax with toil;

Wash'd from beneath him slides the slimy soil;

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When thus (his eyes on Heav'n's expansion thrown)

Forth bursts the hero with an angry groan:

Is there no God Achilles to befriend, No power t' avert his miserable end ? Prevent, oh Jove! this ignominious date, And make my future life the sport of Fate: Of all Heav'n's oracles believ'd in vain, But most of Thetis, must her son complain: By Phoebus' darts she prophesied my fall, In glorious arms before the Trojan wall. Oh! had I died in fields of battle warm, Stretch'd like a Hero, by a Hero's arm; Might Hector's spear this dauntless bosom rend,

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And my swift soul o'ertake my slaughter'd friend!

Ah no! Achilles meets a shameful fate,
Oh how unworthy of the brave and great!
Like some vile swain, whom, on a rainy
day,

Crossing a ford, the torrent sweeps away,
An unregarded carcass to the sea.'

Neptune and Pallas haste to his relief, 330 And thus in human form address the Chief: The Power of Oceau first: Forbear thy fear,

O son of Peleus! lo, thy Gods appear! Behold! from Jove descending to thy aid, Propitious Neptune, and the Blue-eyed Maid.

Stay, and the furious flood shall cease to

And the shrunk waters in their channel boil. As when autumnal Boreas sweeps the sky, And instant blows the water'd gardens dry: So look'd the field, so whiten'd was the ground,

While Vulcan breathed the fiery blast around.

Swift on the sedgy reeds the ruin preys; Along the margin winds the running blaze: The trees in flaming rows to ashes turn, The flow'ry lotos and the tam'risk burn, Broad elm, and cypress rising in a spire; The wat'ry willows hiss before the fire. 411 Now glow the waves, the fishes pant for breath:

The eels lie twisting in the pangs of death: Now flounce aloft, now dive the scaly fry, Or gasping, turn their bellies to the sky. At length the River rear'd his languid head, And thus, short panting, to the God he said:

'Oh Vulcan! oh! what Power resists thy might?

I faint, I sink, unequal to the fight yield let Ilion fall; if Fate de

I