The Second Book of the Iliad

Now pleasing Sleep had seal'd each mortal Eye, Stretch'd in the Tents the Grecian Leaders lie, Th' Immortals slumber'd on their Thrones above; All, but the ever-wakeful Eyes of Jove. To honour Thetis' Son he bends his Care, And plunge the Greeks in all the Woes of War: Then bids an empty Phantome rise to sight, And thus commands the Vision of the Night.

Fly hence, deluding Dream! and light as Air, To Agamemnon's ample Tent repair. Bid him in Arms draw forth th' embattel'd Train, Lead all his Grecians to the dusty Plain. Declare, ev'n now 'tis giv'n him to destroy The lofty Tow'rs of wide-extended Troy. For now no more the Gods with Fate contend, At Juno's Suit the Heav'nly Factions end. Destruction hangs o'er yon' devoted Wall, And nodding Ilion waits th' impending Fall.

Swift as the Word the vain Illusion fled, Descends and hovers o'er Atrides' Head; Cloath'd in the Figure of the Pylian Sage, Renown'd for Wisdom, and rever'd for Age; Around his Temples spreads his golden Wing, And thus the flatt'ring Dream deceives the King.

Canst thou, with all a Monarch's Cares opprest, Oh Atreus' Son! canst thou indulge thy Rest? Ill fits a Chief who mighty Nations guides, Directs in Council, and in War presides, To whom its Safety a whole People owes, To waste long Nights in indolent Repose? Monarch awake! 'tis Jove's Command I bear, Thou, and thy Glory, claim his heav'nly Care. In just Array draw forth th' embattel'd Train, Lead all thy Grecians to the dusty Plain; Ev'n now, O King! 'tis giv'n thee to destroy The lofty Tow'rs of wide-extended Troy. For now no more the Gods with Fate contend, At Juno's Suit the Heav'nly Factions end. Destruction hangs o'er yon' devoted Wall, And nodding Ilion waits th' impending Fall. Awake, but waking this Advice approve, And trust the Vision that descends from Jove.

The Phantome said; then, vanish'd from his sight, Resolves to Air, and mixes with the Night. A thousand Schemes the Monarch's Mind employ; Elate in Thought, he sacks untaken Troy: Vain as he was, and to the Future blind; Nor saw what Jove and secret Fate design'd, What mighty Toils to either Host remain, What Scenes of Grief and Mountains of the Slain! Eager he rises, and in Fancy hears The Voice Celestial murm'ring in his Ears. First on his Limbs a slender Vest he drew, Around him next the Regal Mantle threw, Th' embroider'd Sandals on his Feet were ty'd, The starry Faulchion glitter'd at his side; And last his Arm the massy Sceptre loads, Unstain'd, immortal, and the Gift of Gods.

Now rosie Morn ascends the Court of Jove, Lifts up her Light, and opens Day above. The King dispatch'd his Heralds with Commands To range the Camp, and summon all the Bands: The gath'ring Hosts the Monarch's Word obey; While to the Fleet Atrides bends his way. In his black Ship the Pylian Prince he found, There calls a Senate of the Peers around. Th' Assembly plac'd, the King of Men exprest The Counsels lab'ring in his artful Breast.

Friends and Confed'rates! with attentive Ear Receive my Words, and credit what you hear. Late as I slumber'd in the Shades of Night, A Dream Divine appear'd before my Sight; Whose Visionary Form like Nestor came, The same in Habit, and in Mien the same. The heav'nly Phantome hover'd o'er my Head, And, Dost thou sleep, Oh Atreus' Son? (he said) Ill suits a Chief who mighty Nations guides, Directs in Council and in War presides, To whom its Safety a whole People owes; To waste long Nights in indolent Repose. Monarch awake! 'tis Jove's Command I bear, Thou and thy Glory claim his heav'nly Care; In just Array draw forth th' embattel'd Train, And lead the Grecians to the dusty Plain; Ev'n now, O King! 'tis giv'n thee to destroy The lofty Tow'rs of wide-extended Troy. For now no more the Gods with Fate contend, At Juno's Suit the Heav'nly Factions end. Destruction hangs o'er yon' devoted Wall, And nodding Ilion waits th' impending Fall. This hear observant; and the Gods obey! The Vision spoke, and past in Air away. Now, valiant Chiefs! since Heav'n itself alarms, Unite, and rouze the Sons of Greece to Arms. But first, with Caution, try what yet they dare, Worn with nine Years of unsuccessful War? To move the Troops to measure back the Main, Be mine; and yours the Province to detain.

He spoke, and sate; when Nestor rising said, (Nestor, whom Pylos' sandy Realms obey'd) Princes of Greece, your faithful Ears incline, Nor doubt the Vision of the Pow'rs Divine; Sent by great Jove to him who rules the Host, Forbid it Heav'n! this Warning should be lost! Then let us haste, obey the Gods Alarms, And join to rouze the Sons of Greece to Arms.

Thus spoke the Sage: The Kings without Delay Dissolve the Council, and their Chief obey: The sceptred Rulers lead; the following Host Pour'd forth in Millions, darkens all the Coast. As from some Rocky Cleft the Shepherd sees Clust'ring in Heaps on Heaps the driving Bees, Rolling, and black'ning, Swarms succeeding Swarms, With deeper Murmurs and more hoarse Alarms; Dusky they spread, a close-embody'd Crowd, And o'er the Vale descends the living Cloud. So, from the Tents and Ships, a length'ning Train Spreads all the Beach, and wide o'ershades the Plain: Along the Region runs a deaf'ning Sound; Beneath their Footsteps groans the trembling Ground. Fame flies before, the Messenger of Jove, And shining soars and claps her Wings above. Nine sacred Heralds now proclaiming loud The Monarch's Will, suspend the list'ning Crowd. Soon as the Throngs in Order rang'd appear, And fainter Murmurs dy'd upon the Ear, The King of Kings his awful Figure rais'd; High in his Hand the Golden Sceptre blaz'd: The Golden Sceptre, of Celestial Frame, By Vulcan form'd, from Jove to Hermes came: To Pelops He th' immortal Gift resign'd; Th' immortal Gift great Pelops left behind, In Atreus' Hand; which not with Atreus ends, To rich Thyestes next the Prize descends; And now the Mark of Agamemnon's Reign, Subjects all Argos, and controuls the Main.

On this bright Sceptre now the King reclin'd, And artful thus pronounc'd the Speech design'd. Ye Sons of Mars, partake your Leader's Care, Heroes of Greece, and Brothers of the War! Of partial Jove with Justice I complain, And Heav'nly Oracles believ'd in vain. A safe Return was promis'd to our Toils, Renown'd, triumphant, and enrich'd with Spoils. Our Now shameful Flight alone can save the Host, Blood, our Treasure, and our Glory lost. So Jove decrees, resistless Lord of All! At whose Command whole Empires rise or fall: He shakes the feeble Props of human Trust, And Towns and Armies humbles to the Dust. What Shame to Greece a fruitless War to wage, Oh lasting Shame in ev'ry future Age! Once great in Arms, the common Scorn we grow, Repuls'd and baffled by a feeble Foe. So small their Number, that if Wars were ceas'd, And Greece triumphant held a gen'ral Feast, All rank'd by Tens; whole Decads when they dine Must want a Trojan Slave to pour the Wine. But other Forces have our Hopes o'erthrown, And Troy prevails by Armies not her own. Now nine long Years of mighty Jove are run, Since first the Labours of this War begun: Our Cordage torn, decay'd our Vessels lie, And scarce ensure the wretched Pow'r to fly. Haste then, for ever leave the Trojan Wall! Our weeping Wives, our tender Children call: 'Tis Love, Duty, Safety, summon us away, Nature's Voice, and Nature we obey. Our shatter'd Barks may yet transport us o'er, Safe and inglorious, to our native Shore. Fly, Grecians fly, your Sails and Oars employ, And dream no more of Heav'n-defended Troy.

His deep Design unknown, the Hosts approve Atrides' Speech. The mighty Numbers move. So roll the Billows to th' Icarian Shore, From East and South when Winds begin to roar, Burst their dark Mansions in the Clouds, and sweep The whitening Surface of the ruffled Deep. And as on Corn when Western Gusts descend, Before the Blast the lofty Harvests bend: Thus o'er the Field the moving Host appears, With nodding Plumes and Groves of waving Spears. The gath'ring Murmur spreads; their trampling Feet Beat the loose Sands, and thicken to the Fleet. With long-resounding Cries they urge the Train, To fit the Ships, and launch into the Main. They toil, they sweat, thick Clouds of Dust arise, The doubling Clamours eccho to the Skies. Ev'n then the Greeks had left the hostile Plain, And Fate decreed the Fall of Troy in vain; But Jove's Imperial Queen their Flight survey'd, And sighing thus bespoke the blue-ey'd Maid.

Shall then the Grecians fly? Oh dire Disgrace! And leave unpunish'd this perfidious Race? Shall Troy, shall Priam, and th'Adult'rous Spouse, In Peace enjoy the Fruits of broken Vows? And bravest Chiefs, in Helen's Quarrel slain, Lie unreveng'd on yon' detested Plain? No—let my Greeks, unmov'd by vain Alarms, Once more refulgent shine in Brazen Arms. Haste, Goddess, haste! the flying Host detain, Nor let one Sail be hoisted on the Main.

Pallas obeys, and from Olympus' Height Swift to the Ships precipitates her Flight; Ulysses, first in publick Cares, she found, For prudent Counsel like the Gods renown'd: Oppress'd with gen'rous Grief the Heroe stood, Nor drew his sable Vessels to the Flood. And is it thus, divine Laertes' Son! Thus fly the Greeks (the Martial Maid begun) Thus to their Country bear their own Disgrace, Fame eternal leave to Priam's Race? Shall beauteous Helen still remain unfreed, Still unreveng'd a thousand Heroes bleed? Haste gen'rous Ithacus! prevent the Shame, Recall your Armies, and your Chiefs reclaim. Your own resistless Eloquence employ, And to th' Immortals trust the Fall of Troy.

The Voice Divine confess'd the Warlike Maid, Ulysses heard, nor uninspir'd obey'd. Then meeting first Atrides, from his Hand Receiv'd th' Imperial Sceptre of Command, Thus grac'd, Attention and Respect to gain, He runs, he flies, thro' all the Grecian Train, Each Prince of Name, or Chief in Arms approv'd, He fir'd with Praise or with Persuasion mov'd.

Warriors like you, with Strength and Wisdom blest, By brave Examples should confirm the rest. The Monarch's Will not yet reveal'd appears; He tries our Courage, but resents our Fears. Th' unwary Greeks his Fury may provoke; Not thus the King in secret Council spoke. Jove loves our Chief, from Jove his Honour springs, Beware! for dreadful is the Wrath of Kings.

But if a clam'rous vile Plebeian rose, Him with Reproof he check'd, or tam'd with Blows. Be still thou Slave! and to thy Betters yield; Unknown alike in Council and in Field! Ye Gods, what Dastards would our Host command? Swept to the War, the Lumber of a Land. Be silent Wretch, and think not here allow'd That worst of Tyrants, an usurping Crowd. To One sole Monarch Jove commits the Sway; His are the Laws, and Him let all obey.

With Words like these the Troops Ulysses rul'd, The loudest silenc'd, and the fiercest cool'd. Back to th' Assembly roll the thronging Train, Desert the Ships, and pour upon the Plain. Murm'ring they move, as when old Ocean roars, And heaves huge Surges to the trembling Shores: The groaning Banks are burst with bellowing Sound, The Rocks remurmur, and the Deeps rebound. At length the Tumult sinks, the Noises cease, And a still Silence lulls the Camp to Peace.

Thersites only clamour'd in the Throng, Loquacious, loud, and turbulent of Tongue: Aw'd by no Shame, by no Respect controul'd, In Scandal busie, in Reproaches bold: With witty Malice, studious to defame, Scorn all his Joy, and Laughter all his Aim. But chief he glory'd with licentious Style To lash the Great, and Monarchs to revile. His Figure such as might his Soul proclaim; One Eye was blinking, and one Leg was lame: His Mountain-Shoulders half his Breast o'erspread, Thin Hairs bestrew'd his long mis-shapen Head. Spleen to Mankind his envious Heart possest, And much he hated All, but most the Best. Ulysses or Achilles still his Theme; But Royal Scandal his Delight supreme. Long had he liv'd the Scorn of ev'ry Greek, Vext when he spoke, yet still they heard him speak. Sharp was his Voice; which in the shrillest Tone, Thus with injurious Taunts attack'd the Throne.

Amidst the Glories of so bright a Reign, What moves the great Atrides to complain? 'Tis thine whate'er the Warrior's Breast inflames, The golden Spoil, and thine the lovely Dames. With all the Wealth our Wars and Blood bestow, Thy Tents are crowded, and thy Chests o'erflow. Thus at full Ease in Heaps of Riches roll'd, What grieves the Monarch? Is it Thirst of Gold? Say shall we march with our unconquer'd Pow'rs, (The Greeks and I) to Ilion's hostile Tow'rs, And bring the Race of Royal Bastards here, For Troy to ransom at a Price too dear? But safer Plunder thy own Host supplies; Say would'st thou seize some valiant Leader's Prize? Or, if thy Heart to gen'rous Love be led, Some Captive Fair, to bless thy Kingly Bed? Whate'er our Master craves, submit we must, Plagu'd with his Pride, or punish'd for his Lust. Oh Women of Achaia! Men no more! Hence let us fly, and let him waste his Store In Loves and Pleasures on the Phrygian Shore. We may be wanted on some busie Day, When Hector comes: So great Achilles may: From him he forc'd the Prize we jointly gave, From him, the fierce, the fearless, and the brave: And durst he, as he ought, resent that Wrong, This mighty Tyrant were no Tyrant long.

Fierce from his Seat, at this, Ulysses springs, In gen'rous Vengeance of the King of Kings. With Indignation sparkling in his Eyes, He views the Wretch, and sternly thus replies. Peace, factious Monster, born to vex the State, With wrangling Talents form'd for foul Debate: Curb that impetuous Tongue, nor rashly vain And singly mad, asperse the Sov'reign Reign. Have we not known thee, Slave! of all our Host, The Man who acts the least, upbraids the most? Think not the Greeks to shameful Flight to bring, Nor let those Lips profane the Name of King. For our Return we trust the heav'nly Pow'rs; Be that their Care; to fight like Men be ours. But grant the Host with Wealth the Gen'ral load, Except Detraction, what hast thou bestow'd? Suppose some Hero should his Spoils resign, Art thou that Hero, could those Spoils be thine? Gods! let me perish on this hateful Shore, And let these Eyes behold my Son no more; If, on thy next Offence, this Hand forbear To strip those Arms thou ill deserv'st to wear, Expell the Council where our Princes meet, And send thee scourg'd, and howling thro' the Fleet.

He said, and cow'ring as the Dastard bends, The weighty Sceptre on his Back descends: On the round Bunch the bloody Tumors rise; The Tears spring starting from his haggard Eyes: Trembling he sate, and shrunk in abject Fears, From his vile Visage wip'd the scalding Tears. While to his Neighbour each express'd his Thought; Ye Gods! what Wonders has Ulysses wrought? What Fruits his Conduct and his Courage yield? Great in the Council, glorious in the Field. Gen'rous he rises in the Crown's Defence, To curb the factious Tongue of Insolence. Such just Examples on Offenders shown, Sedition silence, and assert the Throne.

'Twas thus the gen'ral Voice the Heroe prais'd, Who rising, high th' Imperial Sceptre rais'd: The blue-ey'd Pallas, his Celestial Friend, (In Form a Herald) bade the Crowds attend. Th' expecting Crowds in still Attention hung, To hear the Wisdom of his heav'nly Tongue. Then deeply thoughtful, pausing e're he spoke, His Silence thus the prudent Hero broke.

Unhappy Monarch! whom the Grecian Race With Shame deserting, heap with vile Disgrace. Not such at Argos was their gen'rous Vow, Once all their Voice, but ah! forgotten now: Ne'er to return, was then the common Cry, 'Till Troy's proud Structures shou'd in Ashes lie. Behold them weeping for their native Shore! What cou'd their Wives or helpless Children more? What Heart but melts to leave the tender Train, And, one short Month, endure the Wintry Main? Few Leagues remov'd, we wish our peaceful Seat, When the Ship tosses, and the Tempests beat: Then well may this long Stay provoke their Tears, The tedious Length of nine revolving Years. Not for their Grief the Grecian Host I blame; But vanquish'd! baffled! oh eternal Shame! Expect the Time to Troy's Destruction giv'n, And try the Faith of Calchas and of Heav'n. What past at Aulis, Greece can witness bear, And all who live to breathe this Phrygian Air. Beside a Fountain's sacred Brink we rais'd Our verdant Altars, and the Victims blaz'd; ('Twas where the Plane-tree spread its Shades around) The Altars heav'd; and from the crumbling Ground A mighty Dragon shot, of dire Portent; From Jove himself the dreadful Sign was sent. Strait to the Tree his sanguine Spires he roll'd, And curl'd around in many a winding Fold. The topmost Branch a Mother-Bird possest; Eight callow Infants fill'd the mossie Nest; Herself the ninth: The Serpent as he hung, Stretch'd his black Jaws, and crash'd the crying Young; While hov'ring near, with miserable Moan, The drooping Mother wail'd her Children gone. The Mother last, as round the Nest she flew, Seiz'd by the beating Wing, the Monster slew: Nor long surviv'd; to Marble turn'd he stands A lasting Prodigy on Aulis' Sands. Such was the Will of Jove; and hence we dare Trust in his Omen, and support the War. For while around we gaz'd with wondring Eyes, And trembling sought the Pow'rs with Sacrifice, Full of his God, the rev'rend Calchas cry'd, Ye Grecian Warriors! lay your Fears aside. This wondrous Signal Jove himself displays, Of long, long Labours, but Eternal Praise. As many Birds as by the Snake were slain, So many Years the Toils of Greece remain; But wait the Tenth, for Ilion's Fall decreed: Thus spoke the Prophet, thus the Fates succeed. Obey, ye Grecians! with Submission wait, Nor let your Flight avert the Trojan Fate.

He said: the Shores with loud Applauses sound, The hollow Ships each deaf'ning Shout rebound. Then Nestor thus—These vain Debates forbear, Ye talk like Children, not like Heroes dare. Where now are all your high Resolves at last, Your Leagues concluded, your Engagements past? Vow'd with Libations and with Victims then, Now vanish'd like their Smoke: The Faith of Men! While useless Words consume th' unactive Hours, No wonder Troy so long resists our Pow'rs. Rise, great Atrides! and with Courage sway; We march to War if thou direct the Way. But leave the few that dare resist thy Laws, The mean Deserters of the Grecian Cause, To grudge the Conquests mighty Jove prepares, And view, with Envy, our successful Wars. On that great Day when first the martial Train Big with the Fate of Ilion, plow'd the Main, Jove, on the Right, a prosp'rous Signal sent, And Thunder rolling shook the Firmament. Encourag'd hence, maintain the glorious Strife, 'Till ev'ry Soldier grasp a Phrygian Wife, 'Till Helen's Woes at full reveng'd appear, And Troy's proud Matrons render Tear for Tear. Before that Day, if any Greek invite His Country's Troops to base, inglorious Flight, Stand forth that Greek! and hoist his Sail to fly; And dye the Dastard first, who dreads to dye. But now, O Monarch! all thy Chiefs advise: Nor what they offer, thou thy self despise. Among those Counsels, let not mine be vain; In Tribes and Nations to divide thy Train: His sep'rate Troops let ev'ry Leader call, Each strengthen each, and all encourage all. What Chief, or Soldier, of the num'rous Band, Or bravely fights, or ill obeys Command, When thus distinct they war, shall soon be known, And what the Cause of Ilion not o'erthrown? If Fate resists, or if our Arms are slow, If Gods above prevent, or Men below?

To him the King: How much thy Years excell, In Arts of Council, and in speaking well! Oh would the Gods, in Love to Greece, decree But ten such Sages as they grant in thee; Such Wisdom soon should Priam's Force destroy, And soon should fall the haughty Tow'rs of Troy! But Jove forbids, who plunges those he hates In fierce Contention and in vain Debates. Now great Achilles from our Aid withdraws, By me provok'd; a Captive Maid the Cause: If e'er as Friends we join, the Trojan Wall Must shake, and heavy will the Vengeance fall! But now, ye Warriors, take a short Repast; And, well refresh'd, to bloody Conflict haste. His sharpen'd Spear let ev'ry Grecian wield, And ev'ry Grecian fix his Brazen Shield, Let all excite the fiery Steeds of War, And all for Combate fit the ratling Car. This Day, this dreadful Day, let each contend; No Rest, no Respite, 'till the Shades descend; 'Till Darkness, or 'till Death shall cover all: Let the War bleed, and let the Mighty fall! 'Till bath'd in Sweat be ev'ry manly Breast, With the huge Shield each brawny Arm deprest, Each aking Nerve refuse the Lance to throw, And each spent Courser at the Chariot blow. Who dares, inglorious, in his Ships to stay, Who dares to tremble on this signal Day, That Wretch, too mean to fall by martial Pow'r, The Birds shall mangle, and the Dogs devour.

The Monarch spoke: and strait a Murmur rose, Loud as the Surges when the Tempest blows, That dash'd on broken Rocks tumultuous roar, And foam and thunder on the stony Shore. Strait to the Tents the Troops dispersing bend, The Fires are kindled, and the Smokes ascend; With hasty Feasts they sacrifice, and pray T'avert the Dangers of the doubtful Day. A Steer of five Year's Age, large limb'd, and fed, To Jove's high Altars Agamemnon led: There bade the noblest of the Grecian Peers; And Nestor first, as most advanc'd in Years. Next came Idomeneus and Tydeus' Son, Ajax the less, and Ajax Telamon; Then wise Ulysses in his Rank was plac'd; And Menelaus came unbid, the last. The Chiefs surround the destin'd Beast, and take The sacred Off'ring of the salted Cake: When thus the King prefers his solemn Pray'r. Oh Thou! whose Thunder rends the clouded Air, Who in the Heav'n of Heav'ns hast fix'd thy Throne, Supreme of Gods! unbounded, and alone! Hear! and before the burning Sun descends, Before the Night her gloomy Veil extends, Low in the Dust be laid yon' hostile Spires, Be Priam's Palace sunk in Grecian Fires, In Hector's Breast be plung'd this shining Sword, And slaughter'd Heroes groan around their Lord!

Thus pray'd the Chief: His unavailing Pray'r Great Jove refus'd, and tost in empty Air: The God averse, while yet the Fumes arose, Prepar'd new Toils and doubled Woes on Woes. Their Pray'rs perform'd, the Chiefs the Rite pursue, The Barley sprinkled, and the Victim slew. The Limbs they sever from th' inclosing Hyde, The Thighs, selected to the Gods, divide. On these, in double Cauls involv'd with Art, The choicest Morsels lie from ev'ry Part. From the cleft Wood the crackling Flames aspire, While the fat Victim feeds the sacred Fire. The Thighs thus sacrific'd and Entrails drest, Th'Assistants part, transfix, and roast the rest; Then spread the Tables, the Repast prepare, Each takes his Seat, and each receives his Share. Soon as the Rage of Hunger was supprest, The gen'rous Nestor thus the Prince addrest. Now bid thy Heralds sound the loud Alarms, And call the Squadrons sheath'd in Brazen Arms: Now seize th' Occasion, now the Troops survey, And lead to War, when Heav'n directs the Way.

He said; the Monarch issu'd his Commands; Strait the loud Heralds call the gath'ring Bands. The Chiefs inclose their King; the Hosts divide, In Tribes and Nations rank'd on either side. High in the midst the blue-ey'd Virgin flies; From Rank to Rank she darts her ardent Eyes: The dreadful Aegis, Jove's immortal Shield, Blaz'd on her Arm, and lighten'd all the Field: Round the vast Orb an hundred Serpents roll'd, Form'd the bright Fringe, and seem'd to burn in Gold. With this, each Grecian's manly Breast she warms, Swells their bold Hearts, and strings their nervous Arms; No more they sigh, inglorious to return, But breathe Revenge, and for the Combate burn.

As on some Mountain, thro' the lofty Grove The crackling Flames ascend and blaze above, The Fires expanding as the Winds arise, Shoot their long Beams, and kindle half the Skies: So from the polish'd Arms, and brazen Shields, A gleamy Splendor flash'd along the Fields. Not less their Number, than th' embody'd Cranes, Or milk-white Swans in Asius' watry Plains, That o'er the Windings of Cayster's Springs, Stretch their long Necks, and clap their rustling Wings, Now tow'r aloft, and course in airy Rounds; Now light with Noise; with Noise the Field resounds. Thus num'rous and confus'd, extending wide, The Legions crowd Scamander's flow'ry Side, With rushing Troops the Plains are cover'd o'er, And thund'ring Footsteps shake the sounding Shore: Along the River's level Meads they stand, Thick as in Spring the Flow'rs adorn the Land, Or Leaves the Trees; or thick as Insects play, The wandring Nation of a Summer's Day, That drawn by milky Steams, at Ev'ning Hours, In gather'd Swarms surround the Rural Bow'rs; From Pail to Pail with busie Murmur run The gilded Legions glitt'ring in the Sun. So throng'd, so close, the Grecian Squadrons stood In radiant Arms, and thirst for Trojan Blood. Each Leader now his scatter'd Force conjoins In close Array, and forms the deep'ning Lines. Not with more Ease, the skilful Shepherd Swain Collects his Flock from Millions on the Plain. The King of Kings, majestically tall, Tow'rs o'er his Armies, and outshines them all: Like some proud Bull that round the Pastures leads His Subject-Herds, the Monarch of the Meads. Great as the Gods th' exalted Chief was seen, His Strength like Neptune, and like Mars his Mien, Jove o'er his Eyes celestial Glories spread, And dawning Conquest play'd around his Head.

Say, Virgins, seated round the Throne Divine, All-knowing Goddesses! immortal Nine! Since Earth's wide Regions, Heav'n's unmeasur'd Height, And Hell's Abyss hide nothing from your sight, (We, wretched Mortals! lost in Doubts below, But guess by Rumour, and but boast we know) Oh say what Heroes, fir'd by Thirst of Fame, Or urg'd by Wrongs, to Troy's Destruction came? To count them all, demands a thousand Tongues, A Throat of Brass, and Adamantine Lungs. Daughters of Jove assist! inspir'd by You The mighty Labour dauntless I pursue: What crowded Armies, from what Climes they bring, Their Names, their Numbers, and their Chiefs I sing.