Ovid

“ Thee, Venus, thee, both Heav'n, and Earth obey;
Immense thy Pow'r, and boundless is thy Sway.
The Cyclops, who defy'd th' Ætherial Throne,
And thought no Thunder louder, than his own
The Terror of the Woods, and wilder far
Than Wolves in Plains, or Bears in Forests are,
Th' inhuman Host, who made his bloody Feasts
On mangl'd Members of his butcher'd Guests,
Yet felt the force of Love, and fierce Desire,
And burnt for me, with unrelenting Fire. ”

“ The glorious Lamp of 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 watry 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 ”

“ O Goddess-born! resist not Heav'n's Decree,
The Fall of Ilium is reserv'd for thee;
Then seiz'd him, and produc'd in open Light,
Sent blushing to the Field the fatal Knight.
Mine then are all his Actions of the War;
Great Telephus was conquer'd by my Spear,
And after cur'd: To me the Thebans owe,
Lesbos, and Tenedos their overthrow;
Syros and Cylla: Not on all to dwell,
By me Lyrnesus, and strong Chrysa fell:
And since I sent the Man who Hector slew,
To me the noble Hector's Death is due:
Those Arms I put into his living Hand,
Those Arms, Pelides dead, I now demand. ”

“ Orion's Daughters in the Town were seen;
One heav'd her Chest to meet the lifted Knife,
One plung'd the Poyniard thro' the Seat of Life,
Their Country's Victims; mourns the rescu'd State,
The Bodies burns, and celebrates their Fate. ”

“ Whilst her sad Accents thus her Loss deplore.
⁠"Behold a Mother's last dear Pledge of Woe!
"Yes, 'tis the last I have to suffer now.
"Thou, my Polyxena, my Ills must crown:
"Already in thy Fate, I feel my own.
"'Tis thus, least haply of my num'rous Seed
"One should unslaughter'd fall, even thou must bleed.
"And yet I hop'd thy Sex had been thy Guard;
"But neither has thy tender Sex been spar'd.
"The same Achilles, by whose deadly Hate
"Thy Brothers fell, urg'd thy untimely Fate!
"The same Achilles, whose destructive Rage
"Laid waste my Realms, has robb'd my Childless Age! ”

“ Heav'n, Air and Ocean rung, with loud Applause,
And by the gen'ral Vote he gain'd his Cause.
Thus Conduct won the Prize, when Courage fail'd,
And Eloquence o'er brutal Force prevail'd.
The Death of Ajax.
⁠He who cou'd often, and alone, withstand
The Foe, the Fire, and Jove's own partial Hand,
Now cannot his unmaster'd Grief sustain,
But yields to Rage, to Madness, and Disdain;
Then snatching out his Fauchion, thou, said he,
Art mine; Ulysses lays no Claim to thee. ”

“ Yet let dull Ajax bear away my Right,
When all his Days out-ballance this one Night.
⁠Nor fought I Darkling still: The Sun beheld
With slaughter'd Lycians when I strew'd the Field:
You saw, and counted as I pass'd along,
Alastor, Chromius, Ceranos the Strong,
Alcander, Prytanis, and Halius,
Noemon, Charope., and Ennomus;
Coon, Chersidamas; and five beside,
Men of obscure Descent, but Courage try'd:
All these this Hand laid breathless on the Ground ”

“ 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 endu'd with Giant Might.
His living Bowels, from his Belly torn,
And scatter'd Limbs shall on the Flood be born:
Thy Flood, ungrateful Nymph; and Fate shall find
That way, for thee, and Acis to be join'd. ”

“ A deadly Pale her wonted Bloom invades,
And veils the lowring Skies with mournful Shades.
But when his Limbs upon the Pile were laid,
The last kind Duty that by Friends is paid,
His Mother to the Skies directs her Flight,
Nor cou'd sustain to view the doleful Sight:
But frantick, with her loose neglected Hair,
Hastens to Jove, and falls a Suppliant there. ”

“ Not Jove, the Jove you dream, that rules the Skies,
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 thick-set 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. ”

“ And either die my self, or bring thee back.
⁠Nor doubt the same Success, as when before
The Phrygian Prophet to these Tents I bore,
Surpriz'd by Night, and forc'd him to declare
In what was plac'd the Fortune of the War,
Heav'n's dark Decrees, and Answers to display,
And how to take the Town, and where the Secret lay:
Yet this I compass'd, and from Troy convey'd
The fatal Image of their Guardian-Maid;
That Work was mine; for Pallas, though our Friend,
Yet while she was in Troy, did Troy defend.
Now what has Ajax done, or what design'd?
A noisie Nothing, and an empty Wind. ”

“ More flowry 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 ”

“ He might his weary Limbs with Rest repair,
From a long Voyage free, and from a longer War.
He took the Counsel, and he lives at least;
Th' Event declares I counsell'd for the best:
Though Faith is all in Ministers of State;
For who can promise to be fortunate?
Now since his Arrows are the Fate of Troy,
Do not my Wit, or weak Address, employ;
Send Ajax there, with his perswasive Sense,
To mollifie the Man, and draw him thence:
But Xanthus shall run backward; Ida stand
A leafless Mountain; and the Grecian Band
Shall fight for Troy ”

“ You see I want not Nerves, who cou'd sustain
The pond'rous Ruins of so great a Man:
Or if in others equal Force you find,
None is endued with a more grateful Mind.
⁠Did Thetis then, ambitious in her Care,⁠
These Arms thus labour'd for her Son prepare;
That Ajax after him the heav'nly Gift shou'd wear!
For that dull Soul to stare with stupid Eyes,
On the learn'd unintelligible Prize!
What are to him the Sculptures of the Shield,
Heav'n's Planets, Earth, and Ocean's wat'ry Field?
The Pleiads, Hyads; less, and greater Bear,
Undipp'd in Seas; Orion's angry Star ”

“ But since hard Fate, and Heav'n's severe Decree,
Have ravish'd him away from you, and me,
(At this he sigh'd, and wip'd his Eyes, and drew,
Or seem'd to draw, some Drops of kindly Dew)
Who better can succeed Achilles lost,
Than He, who gave Achilles to your Hoast?
This only I request, that neither he
May gain, by being what he seems to be,
A stupid Thing ”

“ Which spoke its Name, and made the City known;
Before it, Piles, and Tombs, and rising Flames,
The Rites of Death, and Quires of mourning Dames,
Who bar'd their Breasts, and gave their Hair to flow,
The Signs of Grief and Marks of publick Woe. ”

“ But mine no more; he rowls along the Plains
With rapid Motion, and his Name retains.
The Story of Glaucus, and Scylla.
By Mr. Rowe.
⁠Here ceas'd the Nymph; the fair Assembly broke,
The Sea-green Nereids to the Waves betook:
While Scylla, fearful of the wide-spread Main,
Swift to the safer Shore returns again.
There o'er the sandy Margin, unarray'd,
With printless Footsteps flies the bounding Maid;
Or in some winding Creek's secure Retreat
She baths her weary Limbs, and shuns the Noonday's Heat. ”

“ Then stretching out his Hands, O Jove, he cry'd,
Must then our Cause before the Fleet be try'd?
And dares Ulysses for the Prize contend,
in sight of what he durst not once defend?
But basely fled that memorable Day,
When I from Hector's Hands redeem'd the flaming Prey.
So much 'tis safer at the noisie Bar
With Words to flourish, than ingage in War.
By diff'rent Methods we maintain our Right,
Nor am I made to Talk, nor he to Fight.
In bloody Fields I labour to be great ”

“ Scarce held their Hands, and lifted Swords; but stood
In Act to quench their impious Thirst of Blood:
This Menelaus knows; expos'd to share
With me the rough Preludium of the War.
⁠Endless it were to tell, what I have done,
In Arms, or Council, since the Siege begun:
The first Encounter's past, the Foe repell'd,
They Sculk'd within the Town, we kept the Field.
War seem'd asleep for nine long Years; at length
Both Sides resolv'd to push, we try'd our Strength.
Now what did Ajax, while our Arms took Breath,
Vers'd only in the gross mechanick Trade of Death? ”

“ Here on this Coast he lives,
"Nurs'd by the Guardian-King he still survives.
"Then let me hasten to the cleansing Flood,
"And wash away these Stains of guiltless Blood.
⁠Strait to the Shore her feeble Steps repair
With limping Pace, and torn dishevell'd Hair
Silver'd with Age. "Give me an Urn, she cry'd,
'To bear back Water from this swelling Tide:
When on the Banks her Son in ghastly Hue
Transfix'd with Thracian Arrows strikes her View.
The Matron shriek'd; her big-swoln Grief surpass'd
The Pow'r of Utterance; she stood aghast ”