Troy yet may wake, and one avenging blow
Crush the dire author of his country's woe.
His filence here, with blushes, Paris breaks ;
'Tis juft, my brother, what your anger speaks :
But who like thee can boaft a foul fedate,
So firmly proof to all the fhocks of fate?
Thy force like feel a temper'd hardness shows,
Still edg'd to wound, and still untir'd with blows. 95
Like fteel, uplifted by some ftrenuous fwain,
With falling woods to ftrow the wasted plain.
Thy gifts I praise; nor thou despise the charms
With which a lover golden Venus arms;
Soft moving speech, and pleafing outward fhow,
No with can gain them, but the Gods beftow.
Yet, would't thou have the proffer'd combat ftand,
The Greeks and Trojans feat on either hand;
Then let a mid-way space our hofts divide,
And on that stage of war the caufe be try'd:
By Paris there the Spartan king be fought,
For beauteous Helen and the wealth the brought :
And who his rival can in arms fubdue,
His be the fair, and his the treasure too.
Thus with a lafting league your toils may cease,
And Troy poffefs her fertile fields in peace;
Thus may the Greeks review their native fhore,
Much fam'd for generous fteeds, for beauty more.
He faid. The challenge Hector heard with joy, Then with his fpear reftrain'd the youth of Troy, 110 Held by the midft, athwart; and near the foe
Advanc'd with fteps majestically flow:
While round his dauntless head the Grecians pour
Their ftones and arrows in a mingled shower.
Then thus the monarch great Atrides cry'd;
Forbear, ye warriours! lay the darts afide :
A parley Hector asks, a message bears,
We know him by the various plume he wears.
Aw'd by his high command the Greeks attend,
The tumult filence, and the fight suspend.
While from the centre Hector rolls his
On either hoft, and thus to both applies:
Hear, all ye Trojans, all ye Grecian bands!
What Paris, author of the war, demands.
Your fhining fwords within the sheath restrain,
And pitch your lances in the yielding plain.
Here in the midft, in either army's fight,
He dares the Spartan king to fingle fight;
And wills, that Helen and the ravish'd spoil
That caus'd the conteft, fhall reward the toil.
Let these the brave triumphant victor grace,
And differing nations part in leagues of peace.
He spoke in ftill fufpenfe on either side
Each army ftood: the Spartan chief reply'd :
Me too, ye warriours, hear, whose fatal right 135 A world engages in the toils of fight.
To me the labour of the field refign;
Me Paris injur'd; all the war be mine.
Fall he that muft, beneath his rival's arms;
And live the reft, fecure of future harms.
Two lambs, devoted by your country's rite,
To Earth a fable, to the Sun a white,
Prepare, ye Trojans! while a third we bring
Select to Jove, th' inviolable king.
Let reverend Priam in the truce engage,
And add the fanction of confiderate age;
His fons are faithlefs, headlong in debate,
And youth itself an empty wavering state:
Cool age advances venerably wife,
Turns on all hands its deep-discerning eyes;
Sees what befel, and what may yet befall,
Concludes from both, and beft provides for all.
The nations hear, with rifing hopes poffeft,
And peaceful prospects dawn in every breast.
Within the lines they drew their steeds around,
And from their chariots iffued on the ground:
Next all, unbuckling the rich mail they wore,
Lay'd their bright arms along the fable fhore.
On either fide the meeting hosts are seen
With lances fix'd, and close the space between.
Two heralds now, dispatch'd to Troy, invite
The Phrygian monarch to the peaceful rite;
Talthybius haftens to the fleet, to bring
The lamb for Jove, th' inviolable king.
Meantime, to beauteous Helen, from the skies
The various Goddess of the rain-bow flies
(Like fair Laodicè in form and face
The lovelieft nymph of Priam's royal race).
Her in the palace, at her loom fhe found;
The golden web her own fad ftory crown'd.
The Trojan wars fhe weav'd (herself the prize)
And the dire triumphs of her fatal eyes.
To whom the Goddess of the painted bow ;
Approach, and view the wondrous fcenes below!
Each hardy Greek, and valiant Trojan knight,
So dreadful late, and furious for the fight,
Now reft their spears, or lean upon their shields;
Ceas'd is the war, and filent all the fields.
Paris alone and Sparta's king advance,
In fingle fight to tofs the beamy lance;
Each met in arms, the fate of combat tries,
Thy love the motive, and thy charms the prize.
This faid, the many-colour'd maid inspires
Her husband's love, and wakes her former fires;
Her country, parents, all that once were dear,
Rush to her thought, and force a tender tear.
O'er her fair face a fnowy vale she threw,
And, foftly fighing, from the loom withdrew:
Her handmaids Clymenè and Æthra wait
Her filent footsteps to the Scean gate.
There fat the feniors of the Trojan race,
(Old Priam's chiefs, and most in Priam's grace)
The king the first; Thymœtes at his fide;
Lampus and Clytius, long in council try'd;
Panthus, and Hicetäon, once the strong;
And next, the wisest of the reverend throng,
Antenor grave, and fage Ucalegon,
Lean'd on the walls, and bafk'd before the fun.
Chiefs, who no more in bloody fights engage,
But wife through time, and narrative with age,
In fummer-days like grafhoppers rejoice,
A bloodless race, that send a feeble voice.
Thefe, when the Spartan queen approach'd the tower,
In fecret own'd refiftlefs beauty's power:
They cried, No wonder, fuch celeftial charms
For nine long years have fet the world in arms;
What winning graces! what majestic mien!
She moves a Goddess, and she looks a Queen !
Yet hence, oh Heaven! convey that fatal face,
And from deftruction fave the Trojan race.
The good old Priam welcom'd her, and cried :
Approach, my child, and grace thy father's fide.
See on the plain thy Grecian spouse appears,
The friends and kindred of thy former years.
No crime of thine our present fufferings draws,
Not thou, but Heaven's difpofing will, the cause;
The Gods these armies and this force employ,
The hoftile Gods confpire the fate of Troy.
But lift thy eyes, and fay, What Greek is he
(Far as from hence thefe aged orbs can fee)
Around whofe brow fuch martial graces shine,
So tall, fo awful, and almost divine ?
Though fome of larger ftature tread the green,
None match his grandeur and exalted mien :
He feems a monarch, and his country's pride.
Thus ceased the king; and thus the fair replied:
Before thy prefence, father, I appear
With confcious fhame and reverential fear.
Ah! had I died, ere to thefe walls I fled,
Falfe to my country and my nuptial bed;
My brothers, friends, and daughter left behind,
Falfe to them all, to Paris only kind!
|