Yet can I not, ye Nine, the tale repress,
How Manlius still has toiled my life to bless ;
Nor let oblivious time its gloom extend
O'er the dear memory of so true a friend.
To you I speak his praise, do ye unfold
To countless crowds the praises I have told.
Let this time-honour'd verse for ever tell
To future days the name I loved so well;
And when at length, alas! his aged head
Shall rest inurn'd among the noble dead,
Wider and wider still his praise proclaim,
When all of him that lives will be his fame.
Thus, by its theme immortal, shall my page
Live still perused in every distant age;
Nor spider ever venture to profane
With lazy web my laudatory strain.
Ye know how Venus false my
With what destroying flame she scorch'd my breast,
Hot as the fires that Etna's crater fill,
Or Malia's springs that boil near Eta's hill.
With wasting tears my eyes were dim and weak,
And sorrow's drops for ever bathed my cheek.
As, springing on some mountain's airy throne,
The crystal streamlet from the mossy stone
Through the slope valley hurrying headlong down,
Crosses the busy road to some rich town ;
A blest refreshment to the trav❜ller's toil,
When arid heat has crack'd the fever'd soil.
As, when through storms the sailor long has pray'd
To Pollux now, and now for Castor's aid,
Soft breathes the favouring air and calms the sea;
Such Manlius was, such help and bliss to me.
When narrow bounds confined my poor domain,
He made me master of a spacious plain;
He bounteous placed me in a rich abode,
And the fond girl, whose love we shared, bestow'd.
That home my goddess blest: that mansion bore
Her graceful foot upon its tell-tale floor;
There oft her creaking sandal, sweet to hear,
Foretold the fair one to her lover's ear.
Thus erst, while love warm'd every
Her husband's home Laodamia sought.
Too eager bride! No victim led to die
Had yet propitiated the Gods on high.
(Thy power, dread Nemesis, hath still suppress'd
All hopes unsanction'd by the Heavens' behest:
Hapless, who grasp, unless the Gods approve,
The proffer'd gift of glory, wealth, or love!)
Soon did she learn how keen the thirsty fane
Desires the sacred blood of victims slain,
Forced from her parting husband's neck to tear
The close embrace that long'd to linger there;
Ere yet two winters in their length of nights
Had glutted passion with its own delights;
Or taught the bride, a strength how hard to give!
To lose the mate she loved, and yet to live.
The Fates well knew this doom not distant far
If the bold chieftain sought the Trojan war.
For then had Troy by stealth of Helen's charms
Roused 'gainst herself the kings of Greece to arms.
Troy, baleful impious Troy! the common grave
Of Europe's warriors and of Asia's brave!
Troy, whose vast ruin the sad ashes boasts
Of wisdom, valour, and unnumber'd hosts!
Troy, where my brother died, untimely torn
From the lone wretch whom he has left to mourn!
Alas! his eyes are closed in lasting gloom!
Brother, our house lies with thee in the tomb;
Thy friendship still my life with pleasures fed,
And all my pleasures now with thee are dead.
Not 'mid ancestral tombs for ages traced,
Nor with the urns of kindred ashes placed;
But hateful Troy, Troy's melancholy plains
Hold in ungenial soil thy loved remains.
To Troy then hastening the assembled band
Of Grecian youth had left their native land
To burst on Paris with the din of arms,
To rouse him from th' adulterous matron's charms ;
Nor let his wrong its lawless rapture shed
On days of quiet or a peaceful bed.
'Twas in that hour, that he, beloved too well,
Thine heart-dear spouse, Laodamia, fell;
And wild despair with overwhelming flow
Hurried thee down the deep abyss of woe.
Less deep that gulf described in Grecian lands,
Where Pheneus flows and high Cyllene stands,
Which pour'd the waste of waters through its drain,
And gave to man the firm and fertile plain.
Amphytrion's falsely-father'd son, they say,
Through the broad mountain clove its lofty way,
When, by a worthless lord's command employ'd,
His darts the birds of Stymphalus destroy'd:
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