Or equal, with his tears, the horrors and affright?
An ancient city topples to the ground,
That for long ages ruled o'er all around.
Through all the streets are lifeless bodies spread,
The holy temples, too, are piled with dead.
Nor do the Trojans suffer death alone,
And with their blood for regal crimes atone.
E'en vanquished hearts sometimes with ardour burn,
And haughty Greeks fall prostrate in their turn.
In all their phases, grief and human woe,
On every side, around, above, below,
Are seen; and trembling fear, that pants for breath,
And all the awful forms of ghastly death.
First of the Greeks-Androgeus appears,
And midst a mighty band no ambush fears.
Thinking us allies of the Grecian train,
He thus addressed us in reproving strain:
"Associates, haste, and onward push your way;
What drowsy sloth can thus your course delay?
While others burn and waste, and Troy despoil,
Leave ye just now the ships, nor share the toil ?”
He said, and lo!-the answer came in blows-
He quickly saw he'd fallen amidst his foes.
Amazed, he stood in terror at the view,
And checked his voice and back his foot withdrew.
As when some shepherd, with incautious tread,
Amidst a brake, has pressed a serpent's head;
Quickly he flies, unwilling to engage
The reptile swelling with excited rage.
Just so Androgeus trembled at the sight,
We rushed from every side and checked his flight;
Unknown the windings of the tortuous way—
Struck too with panic fear his troops we slay,
Kind fortune favours this our first essay.
And here Chorobus, with exulting mind,
By this success to future danger blind:
My friends! the way kind fortune points to view,
In which she safety shows, let us pursue→
For our own shields let us the Grecian bear,
And on our heads their crested helmets wear.
Valour and wiles, against a mortal foe,
Alike are just; their crimson blood must flow,
Their arms shall serve to strike the fatal blow-
He said, and donned Androgens' helm and crest,
And held the warrior's shield before his breast.
His Argive sword he buckles to his waist,
Ripheus, Dymas his advice embraced,
All in the spoils with joy their forms encased.
The Gods averse-we mingle with the Greeks,
In every hand the sword with carnage reeks.
In strife and darkness, as we meet the foe,
We send them groaning to the shades below.
Some to the ships with coward terror fly,
And all their speed to gain the shore apply.
While other dastards to avoid their doom,
Ascend the horse and seek its well known womb.
Alas! for man! whene'er the Gods, allied,
His ruin seek, he may in nought confide.
Behold! King Priam's child-Cassandra fair,
Is dragged from Pallas' shrine with loosened hair;
She lifts to heaven her ardent eyes in vain;
Her eyes-alas! tight cords her hands restrain.
This sight Chorobus, maddened, could not stand,
But, bent on death, attacked the hostile band.
We follow, all, in close and dense array,
Assail the foe and crowds of Grecians slay.
Here from the temple's roof and lofty wall,
Upon our heads the Trojan missiles fall.
A wretched slaughter, here, our course arrests,
E'en friends are foes, through error of our crests.
The virgin's rescue fills the Greeks with rage,
They gather, shout, and in the fight engage.
The two Atridae on their forces call,
Upon our band the whole Dolopians fall,
Oileus' son was fiercest far of all.
As when opposing winds in conflict meet-
The west, the south, the east, with horses fleet;
Harsh groan the woods, the trees are split in staves,
The foaming Nereus with his trident raves,
And from their deepest bed excites the waves.
They, too, whom meeting in the dreary night,
By wiles we routed in disordered flight,
Appear, our Grecian swords and armour show,
And by the sounds our Trojan lineage know.
Straight are we whelmed as by a mighty flood,
Chorobus, first, lies weltering in his blood.
Peneleus' arm had struck the fatal blow,
And at the altar laid the lover low.
Ripheus, too, dies-of all the sons of Troy,
Most just, most pure, like gold without alloy.
So mortals judged, but human eyes are blind,
The Gods alone can fathom human mind.
Hypanis, Dymas, of our gallant train,
Are, from the temple by our comrades slain,
Nor, Panthus! did the holy life you led,
Prevent your falling with the gory dead,
Nor did Apollo's fillet guard thy head.
Ruins of Ilium! funeral-pile of Troy!
Bear witness both, no coward son was I;
That in your fall, from strife I did not hide,
Nor shun the dangers that may thence betide,
And if the fates had ordered I should fall,
That well my arm deserved the funeral pall.
Pelias, Iphytus, and myself, thence torn,
To other perils, other scenes were borne,
Iphytus tardy with advancing age,
And Pelias suffering from Ulysses' rage.
To Priam's house we're brought by piercing cries,
Here shouts of furious battle strike the skies,
As though elsewhere no combat were, nor strife,
Nor ghastly wounds, nor loss of human life.
We saw the Grecians clambering to the floors,
And the fierce tortoise battering down the doors.
Against the walls and posts the ladders stand,
And up the rounds they struggle, foot and hand.
O'erhead the shield their left hand grapples tight,
The right hand grasps the battlemental height.
Again, the Trojans roofs and towers tear,
And with such weapons life to sell prepare,
Since nought is left but death and dark despair.
Those gilded beams upon the foe they rolled,
Of ancient kings and other times that told.
Others, with weapons drawn, the fight sustain
Beneath the doors, in dense, determined train.
Our ardent souls now yearn with strong desire,
The royal house to save from hostile fire,
And with fresh zeal our fainting friends inspire.
There was an entrance through a secret door,
That opened on a private corridore,
A common passage which was left in rear,
For Priam's sons, where, often without fear,
Andromache was wont to lead her boy,
The child Astyanax-his grandsire's joy,
And, while the empire stood, the hope of Troy.
By this I enter and the summit gain,
Where wretched Trojans cast their darts in vain.
A tower stood precipitous and high,
That with its summit seemed to pierce the sky;
Whence Troy was seen in panoramic view,
The Grecian camp, their fleet, and all its crew.
This with sharp axes we attack all round,
Where the connecting upper floor we found,
Tore it with vigour from its lofty site,
And plunged it headlong in its downward flight.
With crashing noise, and crushing force it sped,
And Greeks in masses numbered with the dead.
Alas! 'twas useless; others those succeed,
Nor stones, nor beams, nor massive towers heed.
Lo! Pyrrhus on the threshold bounding light,
With polished spear, in brazen armour bright.
As when a snake, on poisonous herbage fed,
In early summer leaves his earthy bed,
And, first, in light his body stands revealed,
That late, in torpor, wintry cold concealed;
Now, sleek of skin, his slough being cast aside,
He folds his slippery back and shining side,
Basks in the sun, elate with pride, and young,
And sputters venom from his triforked tongue.
Automedon, who drove Achilles' steeds,
And armour bearer to his son succeeds,
Stands by, with Periphas of mighty deeds.
His troops from Scyros follow close and fast,
And to the roof the flaming torches cast.
Himself with broad-axe, midst the foremost foes,
The posts unhinges with gigantic blows.
The beams of massive oak he prostrate laid,
A fall, a crash, a yawning mouth is made.
The house is seen, in all its pomp, inside,
The halls in deep perspective open wide;
The courts of Priam and his sires appear,
With consternation filled and direful fear.
They see the foe rush o'er the sacred floors,
And Grecians standing in the inmost doors.
The chambers now are rent with piercing groans,
Disorder reigns, and flight, and piteous moans.
The concave roofs with female howlings ring,
The shouts ascend to heaven on airy wing.
Then, trembling matrons through the mansion stray,
Embrace the doors, with kisses 'farewell' say,
To scenes where late they saw their children play.
Pyrrhus drives forward with paternal fire,
Nor guards, nor barriers can withstand his ire.
The ram, with frequent blows, beats down the door,
Its posts and hinges lie upon the floor.
A way is forced, the Greeks, where'er they will,
Break fiercely through, the hapless Trojans kill,
And all the palace with their warriors fill.
Not so a torrent, breaking through its bounds,
With maddening force o'ercoming banks and mounds,
In raging masses o'er the pastures sweeps,
And herds and herdsmen bears to ocean deeps.
These wretched eyes saw bathed in Trojan gore,
Infuriate Pyrrhus, ravening still for more;
While Atreus' sons were wading through the door.
More hapless still, I saw the sacred fire,
Himself had kindled, in the flood expire,
That drained the virtuous heart of Hector's sire.
Fifty great chambers that adorned the place,
(His hope of living in a numerous race,)
Those columns decked with gold, in proud display,
And spoils of conquest now in ruin lay.
Is ought omitted by the pitying fire?
The Greeks, more cruel, glut with it their ire!
Perhaps, howe'er, you wish me to relate,
In more detail, the hapless Priam's fate:
The captive city, smouldering in its full,
When he beheld, and, now, his inmost hall
Possessed and traversed by the cruel foe,
Its entrance battered and its doors laid low;
The veteran warrior, impotent in rage,
Invests his shoulders, tremulous with age,
In armour long disused, and at his thigh,
Suspends his sword, with courage vain but high,
Then totters on, resolved to fight and die.
Within the court, beneath the noontide ray,
A massive altar stood, embowered that lay,
In an old laurel's venerable shade,
In which his household Gods their seat had made.
Hecuba, here, and all her daughter train,
Around the altar shelter sought in vain.
Crouching, in throngs, they seized the statues fast,
Like doves, driven headlong, by the whirlwind's blast.
But, when amidst her other dire alarms,
She saw old Priam clothed in youthful arms;
"Ah! hapless husband! whither rush you blind?
What madness to those weapons urged your mind?
Such aid, such champions worthless are and vain,
Though e'en my Hector were on earth again.
Then hither come, this altar shields us all,
Or, if we die, upon this bosom fall."
This said, with gentle force, and suasion meet,
She led and placed him in the sacred seat.
But, lo! Polites, wretched Priam's son,
Through foes, through carnage and through darts had run,
Escaped from Pyrrhus, wounded, through the halls,
And porches flies, and loud for succour calls.
Pyrrhus excited, and enraged in mind,
His javelin casts, and follows close behind.
Now, now, he presses nearer, still more near,
His victim grasps and aims the fatal spear.
At length, before his parents, welling blood,
He fell, and life departed in the flood.
Though full in view now sure destruction stared,
Nor words, nor anger here old Priam spared:
"The Gods," he cries, "reward you in due time,
If heaven, with horror, sees your impious crime,
Who slay the son before a mother's eyes,
And with his death pollute a father's eyes!
Not such Achilles, whom you falsely claim
Your valiant sire, but whose brave deeds you shame,
To me his foe; he faith and right revered,
A father honoured, and a suppliant spared;
My lifeless Hector gave me for the tomb,
And sent me to my kingdom and my home."
This said, the aged man his weapon threw
With feeble force; scarce to the mark it flew;
Encountering, there, a hard and sounding field,
It hung down, harmless, from the convex shield.
Pyrrhus replies: "To great Pelides bear,
Thyself the news, and, furthermore, declare,
His Neoptolemus, like a noxious weed,
Cruel in heart, degenerate in deed;
Now die" he said, and dragged along before
The sacred altar, slipping in the gore,
Of his own son, the trembling, tottering sage,
His hoary hair fast held with furious rage,
Then drew his shining sword, with demon pride,
And plunged it to the hilt within the monarch's side.
Such was the end of wretched Priam's life,
Thus, fate, forever, closed his mortal strife;
But not until he saw his Troy on fire,
His country perish, and her hopes expire,
Who once, o'er Asia ruled with sovereign sway,
And claimed that homage which the vanquished pay.
His mighty trunk, unburied, on the strand,
And head dissevered lie upon the sand,
That body once renowned by deeds and fame,
No eye can tell, no human tongue can name.
Horror then first encompassed me around, I stood bewildered at the sight and sound. My sire's loved image haunts my mental eye, When thus I see his king and compeer lie,
Exhaling life, and laboring hard to die.
The loved Creusa next distracts my mind,
My son, my house, the Gods I left behind.
I look what friends remain; with dire dismay,
Myself and foe are all I can survey.
Weary of life and urged by black despair,
All, all, are gone, to end both life and care.
Bounding from heights, they on the ground expire,
Or headlong plunge into the flaming fire,
Now, sole survivor of our hapless train,
I reach the portal of great Vesta's fane;
Where Helen lurking in a secret seat,
Seeks for protection at the Godhead's feet.
The blazing fires to day convert the night,
And on my wandering eyes pour floods of light.
She, conscious of her share in Troy's o'erthrow,
In every Trojan feared a mortal foe.
A traitress to her country and her bed,
The Greeks she viewed with horror and with dread.
The pest of Argolis and Troy by fate,
Her only refuge from the common hate-
She lay concealed and at the altar sate.
Then fiery passions rage within my soul,
It pants with anger and defies control;
Next, anger prompts her guilty blood to shed,
And wreak my country's wrongs upon her head:
"Shall she, in safety, Sparta see again,
And to Mycenae sail across the main?
Her husband, children, parents, home behold?
Move as a queen in triumph? bad and bold!
With bands of Trojan women in her train,
The wives and daughters of the hapless slain.
Shall Priam by fierce Pyrrhus' hand expire?
Shall Troy to ashes smoulder in the fire?
Shall Dardan sands so often sweat with blood,
And swell Scamander with a purple flood?
Not so, by Heaven! for though a dastard deed,
To kill a woman, has been e'er decreed;
Yet, shall I be renowned, in future time,
For having slain a wretch distained with crime,
And pouring flames of vengeance on her head,
Appeasing thus the manes of the dead."
Such were my thoughts, and such my frenzied mind,
When my fair mother, always fond and kind,
Never before so beauteous to my sight,
In brilliant lustre shone, mid shades of night.
Her godhead, now, no longer is concealed,
But, as she looks in heaven, she stands revealed-
With tender care, she seized and held my hand,
And tuned her rosy mouth to accents soft and bland.
'My son! what deep resentment fans your rage?
Cannot your love of me your thoughts engage?
Should it not be your first, most anxious care,
Anchises how you leave, in deep despair,
Helpless and tottering, on the brink of life?
If lives Ascanius and your faithful wife?
All whom the Greeks on every side enclose,
And did not my great care their power oppose,
Already had the flames destroyed your house,
And hostile swords your father, son and spouse.
Nor hated Tyndaris deserves thy blame,
Nor lustful Paris wraps the town in flame;
The angry Gods this state and power destroy,
And prostrate, from its top, the lofty Troy.
Behold! for from your eyes the humid cloud,
That blunts your vision in a misty shroud,
I will remove-nor fail thou to obey
Thy parent's words, and in her precepts stay-
Here, where disjointed masses meet the eye,
Rocks torn from rocks in scattered fragments lie,
And mingled smoke and dust ascend the skies,
Neptune his trident to the walls applies,
Shakes the foundation with a mighty blow,
And in vast ruin lays the city low.
Here, Juno, cruel goddess, guards the gate,
And foremost, foaming with undying hate,
Calls, furious, from the ships, her social bands,
And mingles in the fight with bloody hands.
Now, turn your eyes to yonder towering height;
Tritonian Pallas, there, in splendour bright,
Veiled in a cloud, majestic, sits alone,
And turns with Gorgon shield your friends to stone.
E'en Jove the Greeks to vigorous ardour warms,
And fires the Gods against the Trojan arms.
Haste, fly, my son! no aid can now avail,
I'll guard your steps whatever foes assail,
Nor will your mother quit your side, before,
You stand, in safety, at your father's door."
She said, and mingled with the gloom of night.
Aspects of horror, now, appear in sight,
While e'en the Gods, with hostile, boisterous joy,
Behold the downfall of ill-fated Troy.
To me, then, Ilium seemed to ashes burned,
And all its walls by Neptune built o'erturned.
As when an aged ash, on mountain height,
The woodmen strive to fell with all their might:
Bright shines the axe, the edge is sharp and keen,
In quick succession, blow on blow is seen.
The forest monarch stands with threatening look,
It nods, upon its head the leaves are shook,
Until at length by many a wound o'erthrown,
It totters to its fall with final groan,
The fate of all things earthly soon fulfills,
And ruin draws upon the sunny hills.
Down from the citadel I now descend,
And by my mother led, my way I wend
Through watchful foes, through flames of raging fire;
The flames recede, the foes and spears retire.
When I had reached my home, with weary feet,
Of high ancestral race the ancient seat,
My aged sire I sought, without delay,
To bear him to the mountains safe away.
But he in Ilium's ruins longed to die,
Nor wished in foreign lands his bones to lie.
"Tis yours," he said, "whose vital current flows
In rapid streams, whose strength with vigour glows;
'Tis yours to fly. The Gods do not ordain,
That I should longer on the earth remain,
Or they had willed my home I should retain.
Once, and too oft, I've seen my country's fall,
And then survived; let that suffice for all.
Think me already dead and let me share,
The usual homage of a funeral prayer.
Death I shall meet upon my native soil,
The foe will pity and desire my spoil;
As to a tomb, the loss I well may bear,
No friend would see it, and no child would share.
These many years a useless trunk I stand,
Odious to heaven, a cumberer of the land,
Since first, the sire of Gods, with raging ire,
Shot his fierce bolt, and scathed my limbs with fire."
In words like these his views he still maintained,
And to his purpose firm and fixed remained.
Myself, Creusa, and our youthful son,
While down our cheeks the tears in streamlets run,
Beseech my sire not thus to ruin all,
And drag us headlong to a common fall.
Still he denies, will hear of no retreat,
And, dogged, tarries in his wonted seat.
Again my arms I take, and wish to die,
For now what fortunes, objects, hopes had I?
"Think you that I one step can move away,
And leave thee here among thy foes to stay.
Alas! that thoughts so horrid should escape
A father's tongue, and from his lips take shape.
If the Gods will that this great empire fall,
And thou incline to add thyself and all
To ruined Troy; the path to death lies bare;
Pyrrhus himself will hither soon repair,
Who kills the son before the father's eyes,
And with the father's blood the altar dyes.
Was it for this, dear mother! that you bore
Your son through weapons safe, and fire, and gore,
That I should see within this ancient house,
My reverend sire, dear son, and virtuous spouse,
Slaughtered and weltering in each other's blood,
And pouring from their hearts a common flood.
Haste, haste, my friends, invest me with my arms,
And let me, once again, seek war's alarms.
Though on her sons in vain their country call,
At least the vanquished may with glory fall.
Let me again resume the deadly strife,
In slaying Greeks I well will end my life.
Though all may perish on this fatal day,
This arm with vengeance shall the victors pay."
My faithful sword I buckled to my side,
Then grasping fast my shield of sevenfold hide,
I rushed without the house with hasty stride.
But lo! my wife pursued me to the door,
Clung to my feet, and prostrate on the floor,
The sweet Iülus to his father bore.
"In search of death if thus disposed thou art,
In all thy dangers let us bear a part.
But if in arms experience bids you hope,
This house defend, and with the Greeks here cope.
To whom are left the author of your life,
Iülus dear, and I, once called your wife?"
In such laments she filled the house with cries,
When lo! a startling vision meets our eyes;
For, while our son with kisses we embraced,
A crest of light the child's dear head had traced;
Upon his locks a harmless flame had sped,
And on his brow in lambent tastings fed.
We, fearful, trembling, shake his blazing hair,
And quench the sacred fire with anxious care.
Anchises, joyful, turns aloft his eyes,
And to the Gods with hands uplifted cries:
"All-powerful Jove! if mortal prayers avail,
Look on us now, thus far let us prevail.
Then, if our virtues favor with thee find,
Confirm these omens; sire of Gods, be kind!
Scarce had he spoke, when with a sudden crash,
Upon our left, through ether lightnings flash.
A star from heaven, quick gliding through the shade.
A torch with train of brilliant aspect made.
We saw it flying o'er the highest roof,
And to mount Ida's woods pass on aloof,
Marking its way in streams of liquid light,
While fumes of sulphur wait upon its flight.
At length my sire opposed no further bar,
But, in these words adored the holy star:
"All doubt is o'er, I follow where you lead;
O God! preserve my house, preserve my seed.
These signs are yours, and yours the power to save
This little remnant from a Trojan grave.
I yield my son nor ever will refuse,
To follow thee, henceforth, where'er you choose." He said; and now, the crackling timbers sound, And scorching flames, each moment, nearer bound. "Now, then, dear father, on these shoulders mount, Fear not, the weight I deem of no account. Whatever may beful, alike we'll fare,
If safety or if danger, both will share. Let sweet lulus travel by my side, And his dear mother follow where we guide. You servants, too, attend to what I say, And as I now direct my words obey. Outside the city, on a sacred hill, Neglected, ruined, desolate and still, Stands Ceres' temple; in its precincts, rears Its head a cypress-reverenced for years. From different quarters, at this lonely seat, Our mourning friends and countrymen will meet. Be thine, O sire! with earnest, pious care, Our sacred rites and household Gods to bear. For me 'twere impious, leaving such a strife, Distained with blood, and loss of human life, To touch them with my hands, until I lave My squalid body in the flowing wave." Thus having said, I on my shoulders spread A tawny lion skin, then with firm tread, I take my load; Iulus my right hand In terror grasps, and through the yielding sand, Attends his father with unequal pace, While close behind, his mother takes her place. We move along those paths of deepest shade, And I, whom, once, no dangers timid made, Nor darts, nor Greeks, drawn up in dense array, From ev'ry rustling breeze feel dire dismay; While for my burthen, and Ascanius dear, My boding mind is filled with anxious fear. Already, I approached the city gate, And seemed to have escaped the threatened fate, When frequent sounds of feet assail my ear; Anchises, looking through the darkness drear, Exclaims haste, haste, my son, the danger flee, Their glittering shields, and brazen mails I see.' Some hostile God here shakes my wandering mind, And with a panic terror strikes me blind. For while my trackless journey I pursue, And seek those places far from public view; Alas! Creüsa, by some hapless fate, Remained behind, nor can I now relate, Whether she wandered by some devious way, Or much fatigue had caused her to delay; But, since the period of that fatal night, She never once has blessed my longing sight. Nor did I know that she was lost, until, We reached the temple and the sacred hill Of Ceres; here we all collect, but one, And she was lost to husband, friends and son. Whom, in my madness, did I not accuse Of men and Gods? what fortune not abuse? Or what more mournful could have met my sight, Amid the ruin of that awful night.
My son, my sire, Troy's Gods I now confide
To my kind friends, and in the valley hide.
Then, back again, my footsteps I retrace,
And in my shining arms my form encase.
I, then, resolved, past dangers to renew,
Back through all Troy my hopeless search pursue,
And peril life for one so dear and true.
First, to the walls and lonely, darksome gate,
I now return, by which I fled from fate.
And through the dark my footsteps backward try,
Observed with bending form, and straining eye.
At every step, new horrors meet my sight,
The very silence fills me with affright.
Thence to my house I turn my steps again,
Perhaps she had returned; perhaps! the hope was vain!
The Greeks had entered and possessed the halls,
The storm had rolled the fire above the walls;
The flames o'ertop the roof, and mount on high,
Smoke, heat, and ashes, raging, reach the sky.
I still advance, the citadel I gain,
And Priam's palace visit once again,
Now in the lonely porches that surround
Great Juno's temple, on the sacred mound,
The centaur Phoenix, and Ulysses stray,
And, chosen guardians, watch the gathered prey.
From every quarter, all the Trojan spoil,
Snatched from the burning temples here they pile,
The regal robes, the tables, which, of old,
The Gods had used, and bowls of massive gold.
Children, and timid mothers, in vast train,
Stand trembling round, and view the scene with pain.
I dared, moreover, through the misty shade,
To send my voice and filled with cries the glade.
Absorbed in sorrow, o'er and o'er again,
I called Creusa's name, 'twas all in vain.
While, raving thus, an endless search I made,
Creusa's image, and her very shade,
Before my eyes, in airy vision seen,
Appeared-far larger than herself had been.
With hair erect and wild, I stood aghast,
My tongue was tied, and to my jaws cleaved fast,
She, then, addressed me, with affection rare,
And soothed, with loving words, my grief and care.
Husband beloved, among ten thousand chief!
Why thus indulge in mad and useless grief!
These things are preordained by power divine,
Nor does the king of Gods himself incline,
Creusa's fate should longer hamper thine.
On thee a tedious exile doth await,
And the vast sea to traverse is thy fate;
But thou shalt reach Hesperia's land in time,
Where, in a fruitful soil and lovely clime,
The Lydian Tiber gently seeks the main,
Through orchards, meads, and fields of yellow grain.
Success, a kingdom, and a consort dear,
Await you there; now, shed for me no tear.
No lordly Myrmidon shall see my shame,
Nor shall I serve a proud Dolopian dame-
I-a high princess of the Dardan house,
Great Venus daughter-as Æneas' spouse!
But the great mother of the heavenly host,
Detains me, here, upon my native coast.
And, now, farewell! dear husband, good and mild,
And cherish, with thy love, our common child.”
When thus she spoke, she vanished to thin air,
And left me weeping, speechless, in despair.
Thrice, did I strive her lovely neck to clasp,
Thrice, seized in vain, the shadow fled my grasp;
Light as the wind, or lucid solar beam,
And like, too like, alas! a flecting dream.
In such events the night had passed away,
My friends again I reach at dawn of day.
Of new companions here a crowd I find,
Matrons and men-for exile all inclined.
A hapless band-they flocked from every side,
My fate to share, whatever may betide,
And follow me, wherever I may roam,
O'er sea or land, to seek a peaceful home.
And, now, bright Lucifer, o'er Ida's crest,
Had led the day to gild kind Terra's breast;
The Greeks a lodgment in the gates had made,
No hope remained of change or future aid;
I yield to fate and cruel fortune's sway,
And to the distant hills my father bear away.
Heraclitus saith well in one of his enigmas, Day light is ever the best. And certain it is, that the light a man receiveth by counsel from another, is drier and purer, than that which cometh from his own understanding and judg ment; which is ever infused and drenched in his affections and customs. So as there is as much difference between the counsel that a friend giveth, and that a man giveth himself, as there is between the counsel of a friend, and a flatterer.-Bacon.
Charles seized the first opportunity of being alone with Mr. Selden, to enter upon the subject of Mr. Williams, though he could scarcely have undertaken a task more reluctantly, for he was peculiarly anxious to avoid every appearance of dictation and advice to his father, and he would gladly have left the impression of his visit as one of unmixed pleasure. He introduced the subject however so skilfully, and spoke with so much affection and deference, that it was impossible for his father to feel vexed at the liberty, yet he was evidently put out, disconcerted, and sought at first to waive the matter. He endeavored to satisfy Charles, by expressions of confidence in the prudence and integrity of his friend, who, he said, would never for a moment have hesitated to incur the like responsibilities for him, but as Charles continued to urge, though in the mildest and most respectful manner, his own views of the risk and danger involved in securityship, especially for a man fond of speculation as Mr. Williams was known to be, Mr. Selden admitted there was some force in what he said, and assured him that he would give to it all due consideration, and thought it probable that he would not add further to the responsibilities he had already incurred.
Charles saw that he could urge the matter no farther at present, and he was gratified to perceive that he had made some impression on the mind of Mr. Selden; he sought then to tranquillize his mother's feelings as much as possible; when he communicated to her the conversation which had taken place between his father and himself, they both felt there was real ground for apprehension, that serious difficulty and embarrassment might arise from the responsibilities that Mr. Selden had taken upon himself. He saw for the first time, a cloud gathering over their happy home, which increased his regret at leaving the family circle. The morning of his departure, all the countenances around the breakfast table wore a blank aspect, and Mr. Selden positively insisted that he should name some day for visiting Sherwood again.
"It is much more pleasant to make some regular
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