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I fix the chain to great Olympus' heighit,
And the vast world hangs trembling in my sight.
For such I reigo unbounded and above:

And such are men, and gods, compar'd to Jove,
XIII.--Æreas to Queen Dudo, giving an Account.fihe Sack
if by a mortal arm my father's throne
Could have been savilhis arm the feat liad done.
Truy now commends to thee her future siate,
And gives lier gois con pawions of thy fate;
Under their un brage hope fur happier walls,
And fuilow where thy various fortune calls.”
He said, and bri ught from forth the sacred choir,
The gods are! rencs of th’immortal fire.

of Tioy-VIRGIL.
ALL were attentive to the godlike man,
When from his lofty couch, he thus begini
Great Qiken! Wha' you command ne te relate
Renews the sad remen,brance of our fate;
An empire from its old fi unda:ions rent,
And every woe the Troj ius underwent ;
A pop'lous ci y made a desert place;
All that I saw and part-of which i was,
Not e'en the hardest of our foes cou'd hear,'
Nor stern Uiy-ses tell without a tear.

'Twas now the dead of night, when sleep repairs
Our bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares,
When Hector's ghost before my sight appears:
Shrouded in bloed he stood, and bath'd in tears:
Such as when, by the fierce Pelides slain,
Thessalian coureers dragg’d himn o'er the plain.
Swoln were his feet, as when the ihongs were thrust
Through the pierc'd limbs; his body black with dust.
Unlike that Hector, who return'd frorn toils
Of war, triumphant, in Æacian spoils;
Or him, who made the fainting Greeks retire,
Hurling amidst their feets the Phrygian fire.
His hair and beard were clotted stiff with gore:
The ghastly wounds lie for his country bore,
Now streair'd afresh.
I wept to see the visionary man;
And, whilst my l: ance continued thus began;

* O light of Trojans, and support of Troy, Thy father's champion, and toy couniry's joy ! O long expected by thy friends! From whence Art thou so late returu'd to our defence? Alaş! what wounds are these? What new disgrace Deforms the manly honors of thy face?”

The spectre groaning from his inmost breast This waroing, in these mournful words express'!.

Hasłe, goddess born ! Escape by timely flight, The flames and horrors of this fatal night, Thy foes already have possess'd our wall; Troy nods from high, and totters to her fail. Enough is paid to Priam's royal name, Enough to country, and to dcathless fame

Now peals of shouts came thund'ring iron afar,
Cries, thitat , and loud lament, and mingled war.
The noise approaches, though our palace siood
Alo f from streets, embosom’d close with wood;
Luder and louder still i hear th'alarms
Of human cries distinct, and clashing arms.
Fear broke ny slumbers.
I mount ihe terrace; thence the town surkey,
And listen what ihe sweil ng sunds convey.
Then Hector's faith was manitestly clear'd;
And Grecian traud in open light appear’d.
The palace of Dciophobos ascends
In smoky faines, and catches on his friends.
Ucalegon buros next; the eas are bright
With spiendors not their own,and shine with sparkling light,

New clamors and new clangors now arise,
The trumpets' voice, with agonizing cries.
With phrenzy seiz'd. I run to meet th’alarms,
Resolv'à on death, resolv’d to die in arms.
But firsi to gather friends, with whomn l'oppose,
If fortune lavor'd and repel the foes,
By courage rous'd, by love of country fir'd,
With sense of hunor and revenge inspir’d.

Pantheus, Apollo's priest, a sacred name,
Had scap'd the Grecian swords and pass'd the flame :
With relics kaded, to my doors le fed,
And by the hand his tender grandson led.

What hope, () Pantheus? Whither can we run? Where nake at ud? Or, What can set be di ne?" Scarce had I sp ke, when Pani heus, with a groan,

Truy is no more! Her glories now are gone, The tatal day, th' appointed hour is come, When wrathfui Jove's irrevocable doom Transfers the Trojan state to Grécian bands : Our ci y's wrapt ir fanies; the foe commands. To several posts their parties they divide ; Some block the narrow streets; some scour the wide. The bold they kil; th’un vary they surprise ; Who fighis meets death, and death finds him who flies

XIV-Moloch, the fallen Angel. to the infirnal powers, inz

citing them to renew the War.-MILTON.
MY sentence is for open war. Of wiles
More unexpert, I boast not; then let those
Contrive who need: or when they need, not now.
For while they sit contriving, shall the rest,
Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait
The signal to ascend, sit ling'ring here,
Heav'n's fugitives, and for tlier dwelling place
Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame,
The prison of his tyranny, who reigns
By our delay? No, let us rather choose,
Arm'd with hell flames and fury, all at once,
O'er heaven's highy towers to force resistless way,
Turning our tortures joto horrid arms,
Aguns the tort'rer; when, to meet the noise
Of his almighty engine, he shall hear
Infernal thunder; and for lightning, see,
Black fire and horror shot with equal rage
Among his angels-and his throne itself,
Mix'd with Tartarean sulphur and strange fire,
His own invented torments. But perhaps,
The way seems difficult and steep to scale,
With upright wing, against a higher fce.
Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench
Oftħat forgetful lake benumb not still,
That in our proper motion we ascend
Up to our native sezt ; descent and fall
Tous is adverse. Who but felt of late,
When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear
Insulting, and pursued us through the deep
With what compulsion and laborious flight,
We sunk thus low? Th'ascent is easy then,
Th'event is fear'd. Should we again provoke
Our stronger, some worse way his wraih may find,
To our destruction; if there be in hell,
Fear to be worse destroyed : What can be worse,
Than to dwell here, driven out from bliss, condemn'd
In this abhorred deep to utter woe;
Where pain of unextinguishable fire,
Must exercise us without hope of end,
The vassals of his anger, when the scourge
Inexorable, and the tort'ring hour
Calls us to penance? More destroy'd than thus
We should be quite abolish'd and expire.
What fear we then? What doubt we to iniense
His utmost ire? Which to the heig hi e rag'um
Will either quite consume us, and reduce

To nothing this essential, (happier far,
Than miserable to have eternal being)
Or if our substance be inderd divine,
And cannot cease to be, we are at worst
On his side n thing; and by proof we feel
Our power sufficient to disturb his heaven,
Ani with perpetual inroads to alarm,
Thorigh inaccessible, his fatal throne ;
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge.

XV.-Speech of Belial, advising Peace.-B.
I SHOULD be much for open war, O peers,
As not behind ia hate, if what was urg'd
Main reason to persuade immediate war,
Did not dissuade the arost, and vem to cast
Oininous conjecture on the whole success ;
When he who most excels in feats of arms,
In what he counsels, and in what excels,
Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair
And utter dissolution, as the scope
Of all his aim, after some dire revenge.
First, what revenge? The towers of heaven are fill's
With armed watch, that render all access
Impregnable ; oft on the bordering deep
Incamp their legions; or, with obscure wing,
Scout lar and wide, into the realm of night,
Scorning surprise. Or could we break our way.
Bv force, and at our heels all hell should rise
With blackest insurrection, to confound
Heave's purest light-vet our great enemy,
Ai incorruptible, would on his throne,
Sit unpolluted; and th'etherial mould,
Incapable of stain, would soon expel
Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire,
Victorious. Thus repuls'd, our final hope
Is flat despair. We must exasperate
Ti'almighty vic or to spend all his rage,
And that must end us; that must be our cur?,
T be no more. Sad fate! For who would lose,
Though full of pain, this intellectual being,
Those thoughts hat wander through eternity,
To perish ra her, swallow'd up and lost
In the wide womb of uncreated oight,
Devoid of sense and motion ? And who knows
Let this be good, whether our angry foe
Can give it, or will ever? How he can,
Is di abuful; that he never will is sure.
Will he, so wise. ler loose at once his ire,
Belike through impotence, or unaware,

To give his enemies their wish, and end
Them in his anger, whom his anger saves
To punish endless ? Wherefore cease we then?
Say they who counsel war, we are decreed,
Reserv'd and destin'd to eternal woe;
Whatever doing, what can we suffer more,
What can we suffer worse? Is this then worse,
Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms?
What when re fled amain, pursued and struck
With heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought
The deep to shelter us? This heli then seem'd
A refuge froin those wounds; or when we lay
Chain’d on the burning lake? That sure was worse.
Wnat if the beath that kindled those grim fires,
Awak'd should blow them into sevenfold rage,
And plunge us in the flames? or from above
Should intermited vengeance arm again
His red rghi hnd to ligue us? What if all
Her stores were open'd and this firmament
Of hell should spout her cataracts of fire ?
Iimpendent horrors, threat’ning hide us fall
O e day upon ur heads ; while we perhaps,
Designing or

exhor ing glorious war,
Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurl'd
Each on his rock transfix'd, the sport and prey
O wrecking whirlwinds, or forever sunk
Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains ;
There to converse with everlasting groans,
Unrespited, unpi ied unrepriev'd,
Ages of hopeless end! This would be worse
War, therefore, open or conceal’d, alike
My voice dissuades.

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