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On mangled members of his butcher'd

guests, Yet felt the force of love and fierce desire, And burnt for me with unrelenting fire: Forgot his caverns, and bis woolly care; Assum'd the softness of a lover's air; And comb’d, with teeth of rakes, his

rugged hair. Now with a crooked scythe his beard he

sleeks, And mows the stubborn stubble of his

cheeks; Now in the crystal stream he looks, to try His simagres, and rolls his glaring eye. His cruelty and thirst of blood are lost, And ships securely sail along the coast.

The prophet Telemus (arriv'd by chance Where Etna's summits to the sea's ad

vance, Who mark'd the tracts of every bird that

flew, And sure presages from their flying drew) Foretold the Cyclops that Ulysses' hand In his broad eye should thrust a flaming

brand. The giant, with a scornful grin, replied: 40 “ Vain augur, thou hast falsely prophesied; Already Love his flaming brand has toss'd; Looking on two fair eyes, my sight I lost.” Thus, warn'd in vain, with stalking pace

he strode, And stamp'd the margin of the briny flood With heavy steps; and, weary, sought again The cool retirement of his gloomy den.

A promontory, sharp'ning by degrees, Ends in a wedge, and overlooks the seas; On either side, below, the water flows: This airy walk the giant lover chose. Here on the midst he sate; his flocks, unled, Their shepherd follow'd, and securely fed. A pine so burly, and of length so vast, That sailing ships requir'd it for a mast, He wielded for a staff, his steps to guide; But laid it by, his whistle while he tried. A hundred reeds, of a prodigious growth, Scarce made a pipe proportion'd to his

mouth; Which when he gave it wind, the rocks

around, And wat’ry plains, the dreadful hiss re

sound. I heard the ruffian shepherd rudely blow, Where, in a hollow cave, I sat below; On Acis' bosom I my head reclin'd; And still preserve the poem

in my

mind.

“O lovely Galatea, whiter far Than falling snows and rising lilies are; More flow'ry than the meads, as crystal

bright; Erect as alders, and of equal height; More wanton than a kid; more sleek thy skin Than orient shells that on the shores are seen; Than apples fairer, when the boughs they

lade; Pleasing as winter suns or summer shade; More grateful to the sight than goodly plains; And softer to the touch than down of swans, Or curds new turn'd; and sweeter to the

• taste Than swelling grapes that to the vintage

haste; More clear than ice, or running streams, that

stray Thro' garden plots, but ah! more swift than

they. “ Yet, Galatea, harder to be broke Than bullocks, unreclaim'd to bear the

yoke; And far more stubborn than the knotted

oak: Like sliding streams, impossible to hold; Like them fallacious; like their fountains,

cold; More warping than the willow, to decline My warm embrace; more brittle than the

So

vine;

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Immovable, and fix'd in thy disdain;
Rough as these rocks, and of a harder grain;
More violent than is the rising flood; 89
And the prais'd peacock is not half so proud;
Fierce as the fire, and sharp as thistles are;
And more outrageous than a mother bear;
Deaf as the billows to the vows I make;
And more revengeful than a trodden snake;
In swiftness fleeter than the flying hind,
Or driven tempests, or the driving wind:
All other faults with patience I can bear;
But swiftness is the vice I only fear.
“Yet, if you knew me well, you would

not shun My love, but to my wish'd embraces run; Would languish in your turn, and court my

stay And much repent of your unwise delay.

“My palace, in the living rock, is made By Nature's hand; a spacious pleasing

shade, Which neither heat can pierce, nor cold

invade. My garden fill’d with fruits

you may behold,

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And grapes in clusters, imitating gold;
Some blushing bunches of a purple hue:
And these, and those are all reserv'd for you.
Red strawberries, in shades, expecting stand,
Proud to be gather'd by so white a hand.
Autumnal cornels latter fruit provide,
And plums, to tempt you, turn their glossy

side;
Not those of common kinds, but such alone
As in Phæacian orchards might have grown;
Nor chestnuts shall be wanting to your food,
Nor garden fruits, nor wildings of the wood;
The laden boughs for you alone shall bear;
And yours shall be the product of the year.
“The flocks you see, are all my own,

beside The rest that woods and winding valleys

hide, And those that folded in the caves abide. Ask not the numbers of my growing store; Who knows how many, knows he has no

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more.

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Bears such a bulk, or is so largely spread. My locks, the plenteous harvest of my head, Hang o'er my manly face; and, dangling

down, As with a shady grove my shoulders crown. Nor think, because my limbs and body bear A thickset underwood of bristling hair, My shape deform’d: what fouler sight can

be Than the bald branches of a leafless tree ? Foul is the steed, without a flowing mane; And birds, without their feathers, and their

train. Wool decks the sheep; and man receives a

grace From bushy limbs, and from a bearded face. My forehead with a single eye is fill’d, Round as a ball, and ample as a shield. The glorious lampof heav'n, the radiant sun, Is Nature's eye; and she's content with one. Add, that my father sways your seas, and I, Like you, am of the wat’ry family. I make you his, in making you my own; You I adore, and kneel to you alone: Jove, with his fabled thunder, I despise, And only fear the lightning of your eyes. Frown not, fair nymph; yet I could bear to

be Disdain'd, if others were disdain'd with me. But to repulse the Cyclops, and prefer The love of Acis, heav'ns! I cannot bear. But let the stripling please himself; nay

more, Please you, tho’ that's the thing I most

abhor; The boy shall find, if e'er we cope in fight, These giant limbs endued with giant might. His living bowels, from his belly torn, And scatter'd limbs, shall on the flood be

borne: Thy flood, ungrateful nymph; and fate

shall find That way for thee and Acis to be join'd. For 0! I burn with love, and thy disdain Augments at once my passion and my pain. Translated Etna flames within my heart, And thou, inhuman, wilt not

ease my smart.” Lamenting thus in vain, he rose, and

strode With furious paces to the neighb'ring

wood. Restless his feet, distracted was his walk; Mad were his motions, and confus'd his

talk:

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Nor will I praise my cattle; trust not me, But judge yourself, and pass your own

decree: Behold their swelling dugs; the sweepy

weight Of ewes that sink beneath the milky freight; In the warm folds their tender lambkins lie, Apart from kids that call with human

cry: New milk in nut-brown bowls is duly serv'd For daily drink; the rest for cheese reserv'd. Nor are these household dainties all my

store: The fields and forests will afford us more; The deer, the hare, the goat, the salvage

boar, All sorts of ven’son; and of birds the best, A pair of turtles taken from the nest. I walk'd the mountains, and two cubs I found, Whose dam had left'em on the naked ground, So like, that no distinction could be seen; 140 So pretty, they were presents for a queen; And so they sball: I took 'em both away; And keep, to be companions of your play. “) raise, fair nymph, your beauteous

face above The waves; nor scorn my presents, and my

love: Come, Galatea, come, and view my face; I late beheld it in the wat’ry glass, And found it lovelier than I fear'd it was. Survey my tow'ring stature, and my size: Not Jove, the Jove you dream that rules

the skies,

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Mad as the vanquish'd bull, when forc'd to

SONG TO A FAIR YOUNG LADY yield His lovely mistress, and forsake the field. GOING OUT OF THE TOWN IN THE SPRING Thus far unseen I saw: when, fatal

chance His looks directing, with a sudden glance, Ask not the cause, why sullen Spring Acis and I were to his sight betray'd; So long delays her filow'rs to bear; Where, naught suspecting, we securely Why warbling birds forget to sing, play'd.

And winter storms invert the year. From his wide mouth a bellowing cry he Chloris is gone, and fate provides cast:

To make it spring where she resides. “I see, I see; but this shall be your last.” A roar so loud made Etna to rebound; And all the Cyclops labor'd in the sound. Chloris is gone, the cruel fair: Affrighted with his monstrous voice, I fled,

She cast not back a pitying eye; And in the neighb’ring ocean plung'd my

But left her lover in despair, head.

To sigh, to languish, and to die. Poor Acis turn'd his back, and: “ Help," Ah, how can those fair eyes endure he cried,

To give the wounds they will not cure ! “Help, Galatea ! help, my parent gods, And take me dying to your deep abodes ! ” The Cyclops follow'd; but he sent before Great God of Love, why hast thou made A rib, which from the living rock he tore: A face that can all hearts command, Tho' but an angle reach'd him of the That all religions can invade, stone,

And change the laws of ev'ry land? The mighty fragment was enough alone Where thou hadst plac'd such pow'r before, To crush all Acis; 't was too late to save,

Thou shouldst have made her mercy more. But what the fates allow'd to give, I gave: That Acis to his lineage should return; And roll, among the river gods, his urn. When Chloris to the temple comes, Straight issued from the stone a stream of Adoring crowds before her fall: blood,

She can restore the dead from tombs, Which lost the purple, mingling with the And ev'ry life but mine recall. flood.

I only am by Love design'd
Then like a troubled torrent it appear'd: To be the victim for mankind.
The torrent, too, in little space was clear'd.
The stone was cleft, and thro' the yawning
chink

VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS
New reeds arose, on the new river's brink.
The rock, from out its hollow womb, dis-

TRANSLATED IN PARAPHRASE clos'd A sound like water in its course oppos’d: CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid When (wondrous to behold) full in the The world's foundations first were laid, flood

Come visit ev'ry pious mind;
Up starts a youth, and navel high he stood. Come pour thy joys on humankind;
Horns from his temples rise; and either From sin and sorrow set us free,
horn

And make thy temples worthy thee.
Thick wreaths of reeds (his native growth) O source of uncreated light,
adorn.

The Father's promis'd Paraclite ! Were not his stature taller than before, Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire, His bulk augmented, and his beauty more,

Our hearts with heav'nly love inspire; His color blue, for Acis he might pass: 230 Come, and thy sacred unction bring And Acis chang'd into a stream he was. To sanctify us, while we sing ! But mine no more; he rolls along the plains Plenteous of grace, descend from high, With rapid motion, and his name retains. Rich in thy sev’nfold energy,

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THE LAST PARTING OF HECTOR

AND ANDROMACHE

Thou strength of his almighty hand, Whose pow'r does heav'n and earth com

mand ! Proceeding Spirit, our defense, Who dost the gifts of tongues dis

pense,
And crown'st thy gift with eloquence !

Refine and purge our earthy parts;
But, 0, inflame and fire our hearts !
Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thy hand, and hold 'em down.

Chase from our minds th' infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And lest our feet should step astray,
Protect and guide us in the way.

Make us eternal truths receive,
And practice all that we believe:
Give us thyself, that we may see
The Father and the Son, by thee.

Immortal honor, endless fame,
Attend th’ Almighty Father's name:
The Savior Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died;
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to thee.

FROM THE SIXTH BOOK OF HOMER'S

ILIADS

ARGUMENT

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Hector, returning from the field of battle, to

visit Helen his sister-in-law, and his brother Paris, who had fought unsuccessfully hand to hand with Menelays, from thence goes to his own palace to see his wife Andromache, and his infant son Astyanax. The description of that interview is the subject of this translation.

Thus having said, brave Hector went to

see

RONDELAY

I

Chloe found Amyntas lying,

All in tears, upon the plain; Sighing to himself, and crying:

“ Wretched I, to love in vain ! Kiss me, dear, before my dying;

Kiss me once, and ease my pain !”

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Sighing to himself, and crying:

“Wretched I, to love in vain ! Ever scorning, and denying

To reward your faithful swain; Kiss me, dear, before my dying;

Kiss me once, and ease my pain.

His virtuous wife, the fair Andromache. He found her not at home; for she was

gone, Attended by her maid and infant son, To climb the steepy tow'r of Ilion: From whence, with heavy heart, she might

survey The bloody business of the dreadful day. Her mournful eyes she cast around the plain, And sought the lord of her desires in vain. But he, who thought his peopled palace

bare, Where she, his only comfort, was not there, Stood in the gate, and ask'd of ev'ry one, Which way she took, and whither she was

gone; If to the court, or, with his mother's train, In long procession to Minerva's fane. The servants answer'd, neither to the court, Where Priam's sons and daughters did re

sort, Nor to the temple was she gone, to move With prayers the blue-ey'd progeny of

Jove; But, more solicitous for him alone, Than all their safety, to the tow'r was

gone, There to survey the labors of the field,

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“ Ever scorning, and denying

To reward your faithful swain.” Chloe, laughing at his crying,

Told him that he lov'd in vain. Kiss me, dear, before my dying;

Kiss me once, and ease my pain.”

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“ Eternal sorrow and perpetual tears Began my youth, and will conclude my

years: I have no parents, friends, nor brothers

left; By stern Achilles all of life bereft. Then when the walls of Thebes he o'er

threw, His fatal hand my royal father slew; He slew Aetion, but despoil'd him not, Nor in his hate the funeral rites forgot; Arm'd as he was he sent him whole below, And reverenc'd thus the manes of his foe: A tomb he rais'd; the mountain nymphs

around Enclos'd with planted elms the holy ground. • My sey'n brave brothers in one fatal

day To Death's dark mansions took the mourn

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ful way,

wild;

Where the Greeks conquer, and the Tro

jans yield; Swiftly she pass'd, with fear and fury

wild; The nurse went lagging after with the child. This heard, the noble Hector made no

stay; Th’ admiring throng divide to give him

way; He pass'd thro' every street by which he

came, And at the gate he met the mournful

dame. His wife beheld him, and with eager

pace Flew to his arms, to meet a dear embrace: His wife, who brought in dow'r Cilicia's

crown, And in herself a greater dow'r alone; Aetion's heir, who on the woody plain Of Hippoplacus did in Thebe reign. Breathless she flew, with joy and passion The nurse came lagging after with her

child. The royal babe upon her breast was laid, Who, like the morning star, his beams dis

play'd. Scamandrius was his name, which Hector

gave, From that fair flood which Ilion's wall did

lave; But him Astyanax the Trojans call, From his great father, who defends the wall.

Hector beheld him with a silent smile; His tender wife stood weeping by, the while: Press'd in her own, his warlike hand she

took, Then sigh'd, and thus prophetically spoke: Thy dauntless heart, (which I foresee

too late) Too daring man, will urge thee to thy fate: Nor dost thou pity, with a parent's mind, 50 This helpless orphan, whom thou leav'st

behind; Nor me, th' unhappy partner of thy bed, Who must in triumph by the Greeks be

led: They seek thy life, and, in unequal fight, With many will oppress thy single might: Better it were for miserable me To die, before the fate which I foresee. For ah! what comfort can the world be

queath To Hector's widow, after Hector's death?

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Slain by the same Achilles, while they keep
The bellowing oxen and the bleating sheep.
My mother, who the royal scepter sway'd,
Was captive to the cruel victor made,
And hither led; but, hence redeem'd with

gold,
Her native country did again behold,
And but beheld; for soon Diana's dart 30
In an unhappy chase transfix'd her heart.

But thou, my Hector, art thyself alone My parents, brothers, and my lord in one. O kill not all my kindred again, Nor tempt the dangers of the dusty

plain; But in this tow'r, for our defense, re

main. Thy wife and son are in thy ruin lost: This is a husband's and a father's post. The Scæan gate commands the plains

below; Here marshal all thy soldiers as they

go, And hence with other hands repel the

foe. By yon wild fig tree lies their chief ascent, And thither all their pow’rs are daily bent: The two Ajaces have I often seen, And the wrong'd husband of the Spartan

queen; With him his greater brother; and with

these Fierce Diomede and bold Meriones. Uncertain if by augury, or chance, But by this easy rise they all advance: Guard well that pass, secure of all beside."

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