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Our common fafety must be now the care; But foon as morning paints the fields of air, Sheath'd in bright arms let every troop engage, And the fir'd fleet behold the battle rage. Then, then shall Hedor and Tydides prove, Whose fates are heavieft in the fcales of Jove : To-morrow's light (oh hafte the glorious morn!) Shall fee his bloody fpoils in triumph borne; With this keen javelin fhall his breast be gor'd, And proftrate heroes bleed around their lord. Certain as this, oh! might my days endure, From age inglorious, and black death secure; So might my life and glory know no bound, Like Pallas worship'd, like the fun renown'd! As the next dawn, the last they shall enjoy, Shall crush the Greeks, and end the woes of Troy.. The leader spoke. From all his host around Shouts of applause along the fhores resound. Each from the yoke the finoking steeds unty'd, And fix'd their headstalls to his chariot-fide. Fat fheep and oxen from the town are led, With generous wine, and all-sustaining bread. Full hecatombs lay burning on the fhore; The winds to heaven the curling vapours bore. Ungrateful offering to th' immortal powers! Whose wrath hung heavy o'er the Trojan towers; Nor Priam nor his fons obtain'd their grace; Proud Troy they hated, and her guilty race. The troops exulting fat in order round, And beaming fires illumin'd all the ground;

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As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night

O'er heaven's clear azure fpreads her facred light,
When not a breath disturbs the deep ferene,
And not a cloud o'ercafts the folemn fcene
Around her throne the vivid planets roll,
And ftars unnumber'd gild the glowing pole;
O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed,
And tip with filver every mountain's head ;
Then shine the vales, the rocks in profpect rife,
A flood of glory bursts from all the skies:
The conscious fwains, rejoicing in the fight,
Eye the blue vault, and bless the useful light:
So many flames before proud Ilion blaze,

And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays:
The long reflections of the diftant fires

Gleam on the walls, and tremble on the fpires.
A thousand piles the dusky horrours gild,

And fhoot a fhady luftre o'er the field.

Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend,

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Whose umber'd arms, by fits, thick flashes fend; 705.
Loud neigh the courfers o'er their heaps of corn;
And ardent warriors wait the rifing morn.

THE

ARGUMENT.

The Embaffy to Achilles.

Agamemnon, after the last day's defeat, proposes to the Greeks to quit the fiege, and return to their country. Diomed opposes this; and Neftor seconds him, praifing his wifdom and refolution: he orders the guard to be ftrengthened, and a council fummoned to deliberate what meafures are to be followed in this emergency. Agamemnon pursues this advice and Neftor farther prevails upon him to fend ambaffadors to Achilles, in order to move him to a reconciliation. Ulyffes and Ajax are made choice of, who are accompanied by old Phoenix. They make, each of them, very moving and preffing fpeeches; but are rejected, with roughness, by Achilles, who notwithstanding retains Phoenix in his tent. The ambaffadors return unfuccefsfully to the camp; and the troops betake themselves to fleep.

This book, and the next following, take up the fpace of one night, which is the twenty-feventh from the beginning of the poem. The fcene lies on the fea. thore, the station of the Grecian ships.

THE

ILIA D.

BOOK IX.

THUS joyful Troy maintain'd the watch of night;
While fear, pale comrade of inglorious flight,
And heaven-bred horrour, on the Grecian part,
Sat on each face, and fadden'd every heart.
As, from its cloudy dungeon iffuing forth,
A double tempeft of the weft and north

Swells o'er the fea, from Thracia's frozen fhore,
Heaps waves on waves, and bids th' Ægean roar;
This way and that, the boiling deeps are toft;
Such various paffions urge the troubled host.
Great Agamemnon griev'd above the reft;
Superior forrows fwell'd his royal breast;
Himself his orders to the heralds bears,
To bid to council all the Grecian peers;
But bid in whispers: these furround their chief,
In folemn fadnefs, and majestic grief.
The king amidst the mournful circle rofe;
Down his wan cheek a briny torrent flows :
So filent fountains, from a rock's tall head,
In fable streams foft-trickling waters shed.
With more than vulgar grief he stood oppreft,
Words, mixt with fighs, thus bursting from his breaft;

20

Ye