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| Alcinous calls a council, in which it is resolved to transport |
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| Ulysses into his country. After which splendid entertainments are |
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| made, where the celebrated musician and poet, Demodocus, plays and |
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| sings to the guests. They next proceed to the games, the race, the |
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| wrestling, discus, &c., where Ulysses casts a prodigious length, |
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| to the admiration of all the spectators. They return again to the |
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| banquet and Demodocus sings the loves of Mars and Venus. Ulysses, |
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| after a compliment to the poet, desires him to sing the |
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| introduction of the wooden horse into Troy, which subject |
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| provoking his tears, Alcinous inquires of his guest his name, |
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| parentage, and fortunes. |
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| She spoke, and sudden with tumultuous sounds |
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| Of thronging multitudes the shore rebounds: |
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| At once the seats they fill; and every eye |
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| Glazed, as before some brother of the sky. |
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| Pallas with grace divine his form improves, |
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| More high he treads, and more enlarged he moves: |
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| She sheds celestial bloom, regard to draw; |
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| And gives a dignity of mien, to awe; |
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| With strength, the future prize of fame to play, |
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| And gather all the honours of the day. |
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| Then from his glittering throne Alcinous rose; |
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| "Attend (he cried) while we our will disclose. |
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| Your present aid this godlike stranger craves, |
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| Toss'd by rude tempest through a war of waves; |
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| Perhaps from realms that view the rising day, |
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| Or nations subject to the western ray. |
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| Then grant, what here all sons of wine obtain |
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| (For here affliction never pleads in vain); |
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| Be chosen youth prepared, expert to try |
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| The vast profound and hid the vessel fly; |
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| Launch the tall back, and order every oar; |
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| Then in our court indulge the genial hour. |
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| Instant, you sailors to this task attend; |
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| Swift to the palace, all ye peers ascend; |
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| Let none to strangers honours due disclaim: |
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| Be there Demodocus the bard of fame, |
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| Taught by the gods to please, when high he sings |
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| The vocal lay, responsive to the strings." |
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| Thus spoke the prince; the attending peers obey; |
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| In state they move; Alcinous heads the way |
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| Swift to Demodocus the herald flies, |
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| At once the sailors to their charge arise; |
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| They launch the vessel, and unfurl the sails, |
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| And stretch the swelling canvas to the gales; |
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| Then to the palace move: a gathering throng, |
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| Youth, and white age, tumultuous pour along. |
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| Now all accesses to the dome are fill'd; |
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| Eight boars, the choicest of the herd, are kill'd; |
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| Two beeves, twelve fatlings, from the flock they bring |
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| To crown the feast; so wills the bounteous king, |
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| The herald now arrives, and guides along |
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| The sacred master of celestial song; |
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| Dear to the Muse! who gave his days to flow |
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| With mighty blessings, mix'd with mighty woe; |
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| With clouds of darkness quench'd his visnal ray, |
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| But gave him skill to raise the lofty lay. |
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| High on a radiant throne sublime in state, |
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| Encircled by huge multitudes, he sate; |
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| With silver shone the throne; his lyre, well strung |
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| To rapturous sounds, at hand Poutonous hung. |
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| Before his seat a polish'd table shines, |
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| And a full goblet foams with generous wines; |
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| His food a herald bore; and now they fed; |
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| And now the rage of craving hunger fled. |
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| Then, fired by all the Muse, aloud he sings |
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| The mighty deeds of demigods and kings; |
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| From that fierce wrath the noble song arose, |
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| That made Ulysses and Achilles foes; |
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| How o'er the feast they doom the fall of Troy; |
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| The stern debate Atrides hears with joy; |
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| For Heaven foretold the contest, when he trod |
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| The marble threshold of the Delphic god, |
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| Curious to learn the counsels of the sky, |
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| Ere yet he loosed the rage of war on Troy. |
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| Transported with the song, the listening train |
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| Again with loud applause demand the strain; |
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| Again Ulysses veil'd his pensive head. |
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| Again unmann'd, a shower of sorrows shed; |
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| Conceal'd he wept; the king observed alone |
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| The silent tear, and heard the secret groan; |
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| Then to the bard aloud—"O cease to sing, |
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| Dumb be thy voice and mute the harmonious string; |
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| Enough the feast has pleased, enough the power |
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| Of heavenly song has crown'd the genial hour! |
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| Incessant in the games your strength display, |
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| Contest, ye brave the honours of the day! |
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| That pleased the admiring stranger may proclaim |
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| In distant regions the Phaeacian fame: |
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| None wield the gauntlet with so dire a sway, |
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| Or swifter in the race devour the way; |
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| None in the leap spring with so strong a bound, |
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| Or firmer, in the wrestling, press the ground." |
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| Now swarms the populace: a countless throng, - |
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| Youth and boar age; and man drives man along. |
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| The games begin; ambitious of the prize, |
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| Acroneus, Thoon, and Eretmeus rise; |
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| The prize Ocyalus and Prymneus claim, |
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| Anchialus and Ponteus, chiefs of fame. |
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| There Proreus, Nautes, Eratreus, appear |
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| And famed Amphialus, Polyneus' heir; |
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| Euryalus, like Mars terrific, rose, |
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| When clad in wrath he withers hosts of foes; |
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| Naubolides with grace unequall'd shone, |
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| Or equall'd by Laodamas alone. |
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| With these came forth Ambasineus the strong: |
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| And three brave sons, from great Alcinous sprung. |
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| Ranged in a line the ready racers stand, |
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| Start from the goal, and vanish o'er the strand: |
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| Swift as on wings of winds, upborne they fly, |
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| And drifts of rising dust involve the sky. |
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| Before the rest, what space the hinds allow |
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| Between the mule and ox, from plough to plough, |
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| Clytonius sprung: he wing'd the rapid way, |
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| And bore the unrivall'd honours of the day. |
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| With fierce embrace the brawny wrestlers join; |
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| The conquest, great Euryalus, is thine. |
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| Amphialus sprung forward with a bound, |
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| Superior in the leap, a length of ground. |
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| From Elatreus' strong arm the discus flies, |
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| And sings with unmatch'd force along the skies. |
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| And Laodam whirls high, with dreadful sway, |
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| The gloves of death, victorious in the fray. |
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| "Vouchsafes the reverend stranger to display |
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| His manly worth, and share the glorious day? |
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| Father, arise! for thee thy port proclaims |
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| Expert to conquer in the solemn games. |
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| To fame arise! for what more fame can yield |
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| Than the swift race, or conflict of the field? |
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| Steal from corroding care one transient day, |
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| To glory give the space thou hast to stay; |
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| Short is the time, and lo! e'en now the gales |
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| Call thee aboard, and stretch the swelling sails." |
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| To whom with sighs Ulysses gave reply: |
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| "Ah why the ill-suiting pastime must I try? |
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| To gloomy care my thoughts alone are free; |
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| Ill the gay sorts with troubled hearts agree; |
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| Sad from my natal hour my days have ran, |
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| A much-afflicted, much-enduring man! |
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| Who, suppliant to the king and peers, implores |
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| A speedy voyage to his native shore." |
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| "Wise wanders, Laodam, thy erring tongue |
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| The sports of glory to the brave belong |
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| (Retorts Euryalus): he bears no claim |
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| Among the great, unlike the sons of Fame. |
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| A wandering merchant he frequents the main |
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| Some mean seafarer in pursuit of gain; |
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| Studious of freight, in naval trade well skill'd, |
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| But dreads the athletic labours of the field." |
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| Incensed, Ulysses with a frown replies: |
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| "O forward to proclaim thy soul unwise! |
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| With partial hands the gods their gifts dispense; |
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| Some greatly think, some speak with manly sense; |
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| Here Heaven an elegance of form denies, |
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| But wisdom the defect of form supplies; |
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| This man with energy of thought controls, |
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| And steals with modest violence our souls; |
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| He speaks reservedly, but he speaks with force, |
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| Nor can one word be changed but for a worse; |
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| In public more than mortal he appears, |
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| And as he moves, the praising crowd reveres; |
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| While others, beauteous as the etherial kind, |
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| The nobler portion went, a knowing mind, |
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| In outward show Heaven gives thee to excel. |
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| But Heaven denies the praise of thinking well |
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| I'll bear the brave a rude ungovern'd tongue, |
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| And, youth, my generous soul resents the wrong. |
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| Skill'd in heroic exercise, I claim |
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| A post of honour with the sons of Fame. |
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| Such was my boast while vigour crown'd my days, |
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| Now care surrounds me, and my force decays; |
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| Inured a melancholy part to bear |
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| In scenes of death, by tempest and by war |
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| Yet thus by woes impair'd, no more I waive |
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| To prove the hero—slander stings the brave." |
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| Then gliding forward with a furious bound |
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| He wrench'd a rocky fragment from the ground |
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| By far more ponderous, and more huge by far |
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| Than what Phaeacia's sons discharged in air. |
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| Fierce from his arm the enormous load he flings; |
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| Sonorous through the shaded air it sings; |
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| Couch'd to the earth, tempestuous as it flies, |
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| The crowd gaze upward while it cleaves the skies. |
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| Beyond all marks, with many a giddy round |
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| Down-rushing, it up-turns a hill of ground. |
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| She spoke: and momentary mounts the sky: |
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| The friendly voice Ulysses hears with joy. |
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| Then thus aloud (elate with decent pride) |
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| "Rise, ye Phaecians, try your force (he cried): |
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| If with this throw the strongest caster vie, |
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| Still, further still, I bid the discus fly. |
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| Stand forth, ye champions, who the gauntlet wield, |
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| Or ye, the swiftest racers of the field! |
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| Stand forth, ye wrestlers, who these pastimes grace! |
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| I wield the gauntlet, and I run the race. |
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| In such heroic games I yield to none, |
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| Or yield to brave Laodamas alone: |
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| Shall I with brave Laodamas contend? |
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| A friend is sacred, and I style him friend. |
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| Ungenerous were the man, and base of heart, |
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| Who takes the kind, and pays the ungrateful part: |
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| Chiefly the man, in foreign realms confined, |
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| Base to his friend, to his own interest blind: |
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| All, all your heroes I this day defy; |
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| Give me a man that we our might may try. |
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| Expert in every art, I boast the skill |
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| To give the feather'd arrow wings to kill; |
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| Should a whole host at once discharge the bow, |
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| My well-aim'd shaft with death prevents the foe: |
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| Alone superior in the field of Troy, |
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| Great Philoctetes taught the shaft to fly. |
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| From all the sons of earth unrivall'd praise |
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| I justly claim; but yield to better days, |
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| To those famed days when great Alcides rose, |
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| And Eurytus, who bade the gods be foes |
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| (Vain Eurytus, whose art became his crime, |
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| Swept from the earth, he perish'd in his prime: |
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| Sudden the irremeable way he trod, |
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| Who boldly durst defy the bowyer god). |
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| In fighting fields as far the spear I throw |
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| As flies an arrow from the well-drawn bow. |
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| Sole in the race the contest I decline, |
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| Stiff are my weary joints, and I resign; |
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| By storms and hunger worn; age well may fail, |
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| When storms and hunger doth at once assail." |
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| "Well hast thou spoke, and well thy generous tongue |
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|
| With decent pride refutes a public wrong: |
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| Warm are thy words, but warm without offence; |
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| Fear only fools, secure in men of sense; |
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| Thy worth is known. Then hear our country's claim, |
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| And bear to heroes our heroic fame: |
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| In distant realms our glorious deeds display, |
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| Repeat them frequent in the genial day; |
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| When, blest with ease, thy woes and wanderings end, |
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| Teach them thy consort, bid thy sons attend; |
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| How, loved of Jove, he crown'd our sires with praise, |
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| How we their offspring dignify our race. |
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| "Let other realms the deathful gauntlet wield, |
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| Or boast the glories of the athletic field: |
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| We in the course unrivall'd speed display, |
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| Or through cerulean billows plough the way; |
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| To dress, to dance, to sing, our sole delight, |
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| The feast or bath by day, and love by night: |
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| Rise, then, ye skill'd in measures; let him bear |
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| Your fame to men that breathe a distant air; |
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| And faithful say, to you the powers belong |
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| To race, to sail, to dance, to chant the song. |
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| Swift at the word, obedient to the king, |
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| The herald flies the tuneful lyre to bring. |
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| Up rose nine seniors, chosen to survey |
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| The future games, the judges of the day |
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| With instant care they mark a spacious round |
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| And level for the dance the allotted ground: |
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| The herald bears the lyre: intent to play, |
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| The bard advancing meditates the lay. |
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| Skill'd in the dance, tall youths, a blooming band, |
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| Graceful before the heavenly minstrel stand: |
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| Light bounding from the earth, at once they rise, |
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| Their feet half-viewless quiver in the skies: |
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| Ulysses gazed, astonish'd to survey |
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| The glancing splendours as their sandals play. |
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| Meantime the bard, alternate to the strings, |
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| The loves of Mars and Cytherea sings: |
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|
| How the stern god, enamour'd with her charms |
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| Clasp'd the gay panting goddess in his arms, |
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| By bribes seduced; and how the sun, whose eye |
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| Views the broad heavens, disclosed the lawless joy. |
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|
| Stung to the soul, indignant through the skies |
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| To his black forge vindictive Vulcan flies: |
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| Arrived, his sinewy arms incessant place |
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| The eternal anvil on the massy base. |
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| A wondrous net he labours, to betray |
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| The wanton lovers, as entwined they lay, |
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| Indissolubly strong; Then instant bears |
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| To his immortal dome the finish'd snares: |
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| Above, below, around, with art dispread, |
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| The sure inclosure folds the genial bed: |
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| Whose texture even the search of gods deceives, |
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| Thin as the filmy threads the spider weaves, |
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|
| Then, as withdrawing from the starry bowers, |
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| He feigns a journey to the Lemnian shores, |
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| His favourite isle: observant Mars descries |
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|
| His wish'd recees, and to the goddess flies; |
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|
| He glows, he burns, the fair-hair'd queen of love |
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|
| Descends, smooth gliding from the courts of Jove, |
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| Gay blooming in full charms: her hand he press'd |
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| With eager joy, and with a sigh address'd: |
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| Then, nothing loth, the enamour'd fair he led, |
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| And sunk transported on the conscious bed. |
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| Down rush'd the toils, inwrapping as they lay |
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| The careless lovers in their wanton play: |
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| In vain they strive; the entangling snares deny |
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| (Inextricably firm) the power to fly. |
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| Warn'd by the god who sheds the golden day, |
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|
| Stern Vulcan homeward treads the starry way: |
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| Arrived, he sees, he grieves, with rage he burns: |
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| Full horribly he roars, his voice all heaven returns. |
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|
| "O Jove (he cried) O all ye powers above, |
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| See the lewd dalliance of the queen of love! |
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| Me, awkward me, she scorns; and yields her charms |
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| To that fair lecher, the strong god of arms. |
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| If I am lame, that stain my natal hour |
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| By fate imposed; such me my parent bore. |
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|
| Why was I born? See how the wanton lies! |
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|
| Oh sight tormenting to a husband's eyes! |
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|
| But yet, I trust, this once e'en Mars would fly |
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| His fair-one's arms—he thinks her, once, too nigh. |
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|
| But there remain, ye guilty, in my power, |
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| Till Jove refunds his shameless daughter's dower. |
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|
| Too dear I prized a fair enchanting face: |
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| Beauty unchaste is beauty in disgrace." |
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|
|
| Meanwhile the gods the dome of Vulcan throng; |
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|
| Apollo comes, and Neptune comes along; |
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|
| With these gay Hermes trod the starry plain; |
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|
| But modesty withheld the goddess train. |
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|
| All heaven beholds, imprison'd as they lie, |
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|
| And unextinguish'd laughter shakes the sky. |
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|
| Then mutual, thus they spoke: "Behold on wrong |
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|
| Swift vengeance waits; and art subdues the strong! |
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|
| Dwells there a god on all the Olympian brow |
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|
| More swift than Mars, and more than Vulcan slow? |
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|
| Yet Vulcan conquers, and the god of arms |
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|
| Must pay the penalty for lawless charms." |
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|
|
| To whom appeased: "No more I urge delay; |
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|
| When Neptune sues, my part is to obey." |
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|
| Then to the snares his force the god applies; |
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|
| They burst; and Mars to Thrace indignant flies: |
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|
| To the soft Cyprian shores the goddess moves, |
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|
| To visit Paphos and her blooming groves, |
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|
| Where to the Power an hundred altars rise, |
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|
| And breathing odours scent the balmy skies; |
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|
| Concealed she bathes in consecrated bowers, |
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|
| The Graces unguents shed, ambrosial showers, |
|
|
| Unguents that charm the gods! she last assumes |
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|
| Her wondrous robes; and full the goddess blooms. |
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|
|
| Then to the sports his sons the king commands, |
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|
| Each blooming youth before the monarch stands, |
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|
| In dance unmatch'd! A wondrous ball is brought |
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|
| (The work of Polypus, divinely wrought); |
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|
| This youth with strength enermous bids it fly, |
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|
| And bending backward whirls it to the sky; |
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|
| His brother, springing with an active bound, |
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|
| At distance intercepts it from the ground. |
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|
| The ball dismissed, in dance they skim the strand, |
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|
| Turn and return, and scarce imprint the sand. |
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|
| The assembly gazes with astonished eyes, |
|
|
| And sends in shouts applauses to the skies. |
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|
|
| Pleas'd with his people's fame, the monarch hears, |
|
|
| And thus benevolent accosts the peers: |
|
|
| "Since wisdom's sacred guidance he pursues, |
|
|
| Give to the stranger-guest a stranger's dues: |
|
|
| Twelve princes in our realm dominion share, |
|
|
| O'er whom supreme, imperial power I bear; |
|
|
| Bring gold, a pledge of love: a talent bring, |
|
|
| A vest, a robe, and imitate your king. |
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|
| Be swift to give: that he this night may share |
|
|
| The social feast of joy, with joy sincere. |
|
|
| And thou, Euryalus, redeem thy wrong; |
|
|
| A generous heart repairs a slanderous tongue." |
|
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|
|
| Thence to the queen: "O partner of our reign, |
|
|
| O sole beloved! command thy menial train |
|
|
| A polish'd chest and stately robes to bear, |
|
|
| And healing waters for the bath prepare; |
|
|
| That, bathed, our guest may bid his sorrows cease, |
|
|
| Hear the sweet song, and taste the feast in peace. |
|
|
| A bowl that flames with gold, of wondrous frame, |
|
|
| Ourself we give, memorial of our name; |
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|
| To raise in offerings to almighty Jove, |
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|
| And every god that treads the courts above." |
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|
|
|
| Instant the queen, observant of the king, |
|
|
| Commands her train a spacious vase to bring, |
|
|
| The spacious vase with ample streams suffice, |
|
|
| Heap the high wood, and bid the flames arise. |
|
|
| The flames climb round it with a fierce embrace, |
|
|
| The fuming waters bubble o'er the blaze. |
|
|
| Herself the chest prepares; in order roll'd |
|
|
| The robes, the vests are ranged, and heaps of gold |
|
|
| And adding a rich dress inwrought with art, |
|
|
| A gift expressive of her bounteous heart. |
|
|
| Thus spoke to Ithacus: "To guard with bands |
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|
| Insolvable these gifts, thy care demands; |
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| Lest, in thy slumbers on the watery main, |
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| The hand of rapine make our bounty vain." |
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| Then bending with full force around he roll'd |
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| A labyrinth of bands in fold on fold, |
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| Closed with Circaean art. A train attends |
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| Around the bath: the bath the king ascends |
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| (Untasted joy, since that disastrous hour, |
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| He sail'd ill-fated from Calypso's bower); |
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| Where, happy as the gods that range the sky, |
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| He feasted every sense with every joy. |
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| He bathes; the damsels with officious toil, |
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| Shed sweets, shed unguents, in a shower of oil; |
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| Then o'er his limbs a gorgeous robe he spreads, |
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| And to the feast magnificently treads. |
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| Full where the dome its shining valves expands, |
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| Nausicaa blooming as a goddess stands; |
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| With wondering eyes the hero she survey'd, |
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| And graceful thus began the royal maid: |
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| "O royal maid! (Ulysses straight returns) |
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| Whose worth the splendours of thy race adorns, |
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| So may dread Jove (whose arm in vengeance forms |
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| The writhen bolt, and blackens heaven with storms), |
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| Restore me safe, through weary wanderings toss'd, |
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| To my dear country's ever-pleasing coast, |
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| As while the spirit in this bosom glows, |
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| To thee, my goddess, I address my vows; |
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| My life, thy gift I boast!" He said, and sate |
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| Fast by Alcinous on a throne of state. |
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| Now each partakes the feast, the wine prepares, |
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| Portions the food, and each his portion shares. |
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| The bard a herald guides; the gazing throng |
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| Pay low obeisance as he moves along: |
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| Beneath a sculptur'd arch he sits enthroned, |
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| The peers encircling form an awful round. |
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| Then, from the chine, Ulysses carves with art |
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| Delicious food, an honorary part: |
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| "This, let the master of the lyre receive, |
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| A pledge of love! 'tis all a wretch can give. |
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| Lives there a man beneath the spacious skies |
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| Who sacred honours to the bard denies? |
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| The Muse the bard inspires, exalts his mind; |
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| The muse indulgent loves the harmonious kind." |
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| When now the rage of hunger was allay'd, |
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| Thus to the lyrist wise Ulysses said: |
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| "O more than man! thy soul the muse inspires, |
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| Or Phoebus animates with all his fires; |
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| For who, by Phoebus uninform'd, could know |
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| The woe of Greece, and sing so well the woe? |
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| Just to the tale, as present at the fray, |
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| Or taught the labours of the dreadful day: |
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| The song recalls past horrors to my eyes, |
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| And bids proud Ilion from her ashes rise. |
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| Once more harmonious strike the sounding string, |
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| The Epaean fabric, framed by Pallas, sing: |
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| How stern Ulysses, furious to destroy, |
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| With latent heroes sack'd imperial Troy. |
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| If faithful thou record the tale of Fame, |
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| The god himself inspires thy breast with flame |
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| And mine shall be the task henceforth to raise |
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| In every land thy monument of praise." |
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| Full of the god he raised his lofty strain: |
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| How the Greeks rush'd tumultuous to the main; |
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| How blazing tents illumined half the skies, |
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| While from the shores the winged navy flies; |
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|
| How e'en in Ilion's walls, in deathful bands, |
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|
| Came the stern Greeks by Troy's assisting hands: |
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|
| All Troy up-heaved the steed; of differing mind, |
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|
| Various the Trojans counsell'd: part consign'd |
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|
| The monster to the sword, part sentence gave |
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| To plunge it headlong in the whelming wave; |
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|
| The unwise award to lodge it in the towers, |
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|
| An offering sacred to the immortal powers: |
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|
| The unwise prevail, they lodge it in the walls, |
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|
| And by the gods' decree proud Ilion falls: |
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|
| Destruction enters in the treacherous wood, |
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|
| And vengeful slaughter, fierce for human blood. |
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| Thus while he sung, Ulysses' griefs renew, |
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|
| Tears bathe his cheeks, and tears the ground bedew |
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|
| As some fond matron views in mortal fight |
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|
| Her husband falling in his country's right; |
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|
| Frantic through clashing swords she runs, she flies, |
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|
| As ghastly pale he groans, and faints and dies; |
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|
| Close to his breast she grovels on the ground, |
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|
| And bathes with floods of tears the gaping wound; |
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|
| She cries, she shrieks: the fierce insulting foe |
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|
| Relentless mocks her violence of woe: |
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|
| To chains condemn'd, as wildly she deplores; |
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|
| A widow, and a slave on foreign shores. |
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| So from the sluices of Ulysses' eyes |
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|
| Fast fell the tears, and sighs succeeded sighs: |
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|
| Conceal'd he grieved: the king observed alone |
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|
| The silent tear, and heard the secret groan; |
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|
| Then to the bard aloud: "O cease to sing, |
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|
| Dumb be thy voice, and mute the tuneful string; |
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|
| To every note his tears responsive flow, |
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|
| And his great heart heaves with tumultuous woe; |
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|
| Thy lay too deeply moves: then cease the lay, |
|
|
| And o'er the banquet every heart be gay: |
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|
| This social right demands: for him the sails, |
|
|
| Floating in air, invite the impelling gales: |
|
|
| His are the gifts of love: the wise and good |
|
|
| Receive the stranger as a brother's blood. |
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|
|
| "But, friend, discover faithful what I crave; |
|
|
| Artful concealment ill becomes the brave: |
|
|
| Say what thy birth, and what the name you bore, |
|
|
| Imposed by parents in the natal hour? |
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|
| (For from the natal hour distinctive names, |
|
|
| One common right, the great and lowly claims:) |
|
|
| Say from what city, from what regions toss'd, |
|
|
| And what inhabitants those regions boast? |
|
|
| So shalt thou instant reach the realm assign'd, |
|
|
| In wondrous ships, self-moved, instinct with mind; |
|
|
| No helm secures their course, no pilot guides; |
|
|
| Like man intelligent, they plough the tides, |
|
|
| Conscious of every coast, and every bay, |
|
|
| That lies beneath the sun's all-seeing ray; |
|
|
| Though clouds and darkness veil the encumber'd sky, |
|
|
| Fearless through darkness and through clouds they fly; |
|
|
| Though tempests rage, though rolls the swelling main, |
|
|
| The seas may roll, the tempests rage in vain; |
|
|
| E'en the stern god that o'er the waves presides, |
|
|
| Safe as they pass, and safe repass the tides, |
|
|
| With fury burns; while careless they convey |
|
|
| Promiscuous every guest to every bay, |
|
|
| These ears have heard my royal sire disclose |
|
|
| A dreadful story, big with future woes; |
|
|
| How Neptune raged, and how, by his command, |
|
|
| Firm rooted in a surge a ship should stand |
|
|
| A monument of wrath; how mound on mound |
|
|
| Should bury these proud towers beneath the ground. |
|
|
| But this the gods may frustrate or fulfil, |
|
|
| As suits the purpose of the Eternal Will. |
|
|
| But say through what waste regions hast thou stray'd |
|
|
| What customs noted, and what coasts survey'd; |
|
|
| Possess'd by wild barbarians fierce in arms, |
|
|
| Or men whose bosom tender pity warms? |
|
|
| Say why the fate of Troy awaked thy cares, |
|
|
| Why heaved thy bosom, and why flowed thy tears? |
|
|
| Just are the ways of Heaven: from Heaven proceed |
|
|
| The woes of man; Heaven doom'd the Greeks to bleed, |
|
|
| A theme of future song! Say, then, if slain |
|
|
| Some dear-loved brother press'd the Phrygian plain? |
|
|
| Or bled some friend, who bore a brother's part, |
|
|
| And claim'd by merit, not by blood, the heart?" |
|
|