Copy of a Letter from Mr. PITT, the Translator of VIRGIL

The nurse all wild with transport seem'd to swim, Joy wing'd her feet and lighten'd ev'ry limb; Then to the room with speed impatient born Flew with the tidings of her lord's return. There bending o'er the sleeping Queen, she cries, Rise, my Penelope, my daughter, rise To see Ulysses thy long absent spouse, Thy soul's desire and lord of all thy vows: Tho' late, he comes, and in his rage has slain, For all their wrongs, the haughty suitor train.

Ah Euryelea, she replies, you rave; The gods resume that reason which they gave; For Heav'n deep wisdom to the fool supplies, But oft infatuates and confounds the wise. And wisdom once was thine! but now I find The gods have ruin'd thy distemper'd mind. How could you hope your fiction to impose? Was it to flatter or deride my woes? How could you break a sleep with talk so vain That held my sorrows in so soft a chain? A sleep so sweet I never could enjoy Since my dear lord left Ithaca for Troy: Curst Troy—oh! why did I thy name disclose? Thy fatal name awakens all my woes: But fly—some other had provok'd my rage, And you but owe your pardon to your age.

No artful tales, no studied lies, I frame, Ulysses lives (rejoins the rev'rend dame) In that dishonour'd stranger's close disguise, Long has he past all unsuspecting eyes, All but thy son's—and long has he supprest The well-concerted secret in his breast; Till his brave father should his foes defeat, And the close scheme of his revenge compleat.

Swift as the word the Queen transported sprung, And round the dame in strict embraces hung; Then as the big round tears began to roll, Spoke the quick doubts and hurry of her soul.

If my victorious hero safe arrives, If my dear lord, Ulysses, still survives, Tell me, oh tell me, how he fought alone? How were such multitudes destroy'd by one?

Nought I beheld, but heard their cries, she said, When death flew raging, and the suitors bled: Immur'd we listen'd, as we fat around, To each deep groan and agonizing sound. Call'd by thy son to view the scene I fled, And saw Ulysses striding o'er the dead! Amidst the rising heaps the hero stood All grim, and terribly adorn'd with blood.