Tears wet their impious arms, a főnd relief! And kisses broke by sobs the words of grief. Though yet no blood was spilt, each anxious mind With horror thinks on what his rage design'd. Ah! generous youths! why thus with fruitless pain Beat ye those breasts? why gush those eyes in vain? Why blame ye Heaven, and charge your guilt on

Fate?

[great?
Why dread the tyrant whom yourselves make
Bids he the trumpet sound? the trumpet slight;
Bids he the standard move? refuse the fight.
Your generals left by you, will love again
A son and father, when they're private men.
Kind Concord, heavenly born! whose blissful
reign

Holds the vast globe in one surrounding chain,
Whose laws the jarring elements control,

And knit each atom close from pole to pole;
Soul of the world! and love's eternal spring!
This lucky hour thy aid, fair goddess! bring;
This lucky hour, ere aggravated crimes
Heap guilt on guilt, and doubly stain the times:
No veil henceforth for sin, for pardon none;
They know their duty now their friends are known.
Vain wish! from blood short must the respite be;
Now crimes by love enhanced this night shall see:
Such is the will of Fate, and such the hard decree.
'Twas peace. From either camp, now void of fear,
The soldiers mingling cheerful feasts prepare;
On the green sod the friendly bowls were crown'd,
And hasty banquets piled upon the ground:
Around the fire they talk; one shows his scars,
One tells what chance first led him to the wars:
Their stories o'er the tedious night prevail,
And the mute circle listens to the tale.

They own they fought, but swear they ne'er could

hate,

Deny their guilt, and lay the blame on fate :
Their love revives to make them guiltier grow;
A short-lived blessing but to heighten woe!
When to Petreius first the news was told
The jealous general thought his legions sold:
Swift with the guards, his headstrong fury drew
From out his camp, he drives the hostile crew,
Cuts clasping friends asunder with his sword,
And stains with blood each hospitable board.
Then thus his wrath breaks out: "Oh, lost to
fame!

Oh, false to Pompey and the Roman name!
Can ye not conquer? ye degenerate bands!
Oh! die at least, 'tis all that Rome demands.
What! will ye own, while ye can wield the sword,
A rebel standard and usurping lord?
Shall he be sued to take you into place
Amongst his slaves, and grant you equal grace?
What! shall my life be begg'd? inglorious thought!
And life abhorred, on such conditions bought!
The toils we bear, my friends! are not for life,
Too mean a prize in such a dreadful strife;
But peace would lead to servitude and shame,
A fair amusement and a specious name.
Never had man explored the iron ore,

Mark'd out the trench, or raised the lofty tower,
Ne'er had the steed in harness sought the plain,
Or fleets encounter'd on the' unstable main,
Were life, were breath, with fame to be compared,
Or peace to glorious liberty preferr❜d.
By guilty oaths the hostile army bound,

Holds fast its impious faith, and stands its ground:

Are you perfidious who espouse the laws,
And traitors only in a righteous cause?

Oh shame! in vain through nations far and wide Thou call'st the crowding monarchs to thy side, Fallen Pompey! while thy legions here betray Thy cheap-bought life, and treat thy fame away.' He ended fierce: the soldier's rage returns, His blood flies upward, and his bosom burns.

So haply tamed, the tiger bears his bands,
Less grimly growls, and licks his keeper's hands;
But if by chance he tastes forbidden gore,
He yells amain and makes his dungeon roar ;
He glares, he foams, he aims a desperate bound,
And his pale master flies the dangerous ground.
Now deeds are done which man might charge
aright

- On stubborn Fate, or undiscerning Night,
Had not their guilt the lawless soldiers known,
And made the whole malignity their own.
The beds, the plenteous tables, float with gore,
And breasts are stabb'd that were embraced before.
Pity awhile their hands from slaughter kept,
Inward they groan'd, and as they drew they wept;
But every blow their wavering rage assures,
In murder hardens, and to blood inures:
Crowds charge on crowds, nor friends their friends
descry,

But sires by sons, and sons by fathers die.
Black monstrous rage! each with victorious cries
Drags his slain friend before the general's eyes,
Exults in guilt that throws the only shame
On Pompey's cause, and blots the Roman name.

THE

FIRST BOOK OF THE ILIAD.

DEDICATION.

WHEN I first entered upon this translation I was ambitious of dedicating it to the late Earl of Halifax; but being prevented from doing myself that honour by the unspeakable loss which our country hath sustained in the death of that extraordinary person, I hope I shall not be blamed for presuming to make a Dedication of it to his memory. The greatness of his name will justify a practice altogether uncommon, and may gain favour towards a work which (if it had deserved his patronage) is perhaps the only one inscribed to his lordship, that will escape being rewarded by him.

I might have one advantage from such a Dedication, that nothing I could say in it would be suspected of flattery: besides, that the world would take a pleasure in hearing those things said of this great man now he is dead, which he himself would have been offended at when living. But though I am sensible so amiable and exalted a character would be very acceptable to the public, were I able to draw it in its full extent; I should be censured very deservedly should I venture upon an undertaking to which I am by no means equal.

His consummate knowledge in all kinds of business, his winning eloquence in public assemblies, his active zeal for the good of his country, and the share he had in conveying the supreme power to an illustrious family, famous for being friends to mankind, are subjects easy to be enlarged upon, but incapable of being exhausted. The nature of the following performance more directly leads me to lament the misfortune which hath befallen the learned world, by the death of so generous and universal a patron.

He rested not in a barren admiration of the polite arts, wherein he himself was so great a master, but was actuated by that humanity they naturally inspire, which gave rise to many excellent writers who have cast a light upon the age in which he lived, and will distinguish it to posterity. It is well known, that very few celebrated pieces have been published for several years but what were either promoted by his encouragement, or supported by his approbation, or recompensed by his bounty and if the succession of men who excel in most of the refined arts should not continue, though some may impute it to a decay of genius in our countrymen, those who are acquainted with his lordship's character will know more justly how to account for it.

:

The cause of liberty will receive no small advantage in future times, when it shall be observed that the Earl of Halifax was one of the patriots who were at the head of it; and that most of those who were eminent in the several parts of polite or useful learning, were by his influence and example engaged in the same interest.