« EdellinenJatka »
“ All cursed monuments of him with fire
160 Aurora now had left Tithonus' bed, And o'er the world her blushing rays did spread. The queen beheld, as soon as day appear’d, The navy under sail, the haven clear'd : Thrice with her hand her naked breast she knocks, And from her forehead tears her golden locks. 166 “ Jove !” she cry'd, " and shall he thus delude “ Me and my realm ? why is he not pursu'd ? “ Arm, arm,”she cry’d,“ and let our Tyrians board " With ours his fleet, and carry fire and sword ; " Leave nothing unattempted to destroy 171 “ That perjur'd race, then let us die with joy. " What if th' event of war uncertain were ? “ Nor death nor danger can the despʻrate fear. “ But, oh, too late! this thing I should have done
When first I plac'd the traitor on my throne. 176 “ Behold the faith of him who say'd from fire “ His honour'd household gods! his aged sire “ His pious shoulders from Troy's flanes did bear. " Why did I not his carcass piece-meal tear, 180 " And cast it in the sea ? why not destroy “ All his companions, and beloved boy
“ Ascanius ? and his tender limbs have drest,
Revengeful Furies! and Queen Hecate !
196 6. When to conditions of unequal peace r. He shall submit, then may he not possess
Kingdom nor life, and find his funeral " I'th' sands when he before his day shall fall 1200 “ And ye, oh Tyrians ! with immortal hate 6+ Pursue this race; this service dedicate “« To my deplored ashes : let there be " "Twixt us and them no league nor amity. “ May from my bones a new Achilles rise
205 66. That shail infest the Trojan colonies " With fire, and sword, and faminc; when at length “: Time to our great attempts contributes strength; “ Our seas, our shores, our armies, theirs oppose, “And may our children be for ever foes !"
A ghastly paleness death's approach portends, Then trembling she the fatal pile ascends. Viewing the Trojan relics, she unsheath'd Æneas' sword, not for that use bequeath’d; Then on the guilty bed she gently lays 215 Herself, and softly thus lamenting prays : ***Dear relics! whilst that Gods and Fates give leave, “ Free me from care, and my glad soul receive. “ That date which Fortune gave I now must end, " And to the shades a noble ghost descend. * Sichæus' blood, by his false brother spilt, “ I have reveng’d, and a proud city built. “Happy, alas ! too happy, I had liv’d, “Had not the Trojan on my coast arriv’d. « But shall I die without revenge? yet
225 “ Thus, thus with joy to thy Sichæus Ay. “ My conscious foe my fun’ral fire shall view « From sea, and may that omen him pursue !" Her fainting hand let fall the sword besmear'd 229 With blood, and then the mortal wound appear’d. Thro' all the court the fright and clamours rise, Which the whole city fills with fears and cries As loud as if her Carthage or old Tyre The foe had enter'd, and had set on fire. Amazed Anne with speed ascends the stairs, 235 And in her arms her dying sister rears : « Did you for this yourself and me beguile? se For such an end did I erect this pile ?
“ Did you so much despise me, in this fate “ Myself with you not to associate ?
240 6. Yourself and me, alas ! this fatal wound “ The senate and the people doth confound. "I'll wash her wound with tears, and at her death “ My lips from her's shall draw her parting breath." Then with her vest the wound she wipes and dries; Thrice with her arm the Queen attempts to rise, But her strengh failing, falls into a swnon, Life's last efforts yet striving with her wound : Thrice on her bed she turns, with wand'ring sight Seeking, she groans when she beholds the light, 250 Then Juno, pitying her disastrous fate, Sends Iris down her pangs to mitigate. (Since if we fall before th' appointed day Nature and Death continue long their fray.) Iris descends ; “ This fatal lock (says she) 255 “ To Pluto I bequeath, and set thee free ;" Then clips her hair : cold numbness straight bereaves Her corpse of sense, and th' air her soul receives. SARPEDON'S SPEECH TO GLAUCUS.
IN THE TWELFTH BOOK OF HOMER.
Tuus to Glaucus spake
Why all the tributes land and sea affords,
us, and as gods adore ?
29 EPIGRAM. FROM MARTIAL. PR’YTHEE die and set me free, Or else be Kind, and brisk, and gay, like me;