His deep defign unknown, the hosts approve Atrides' fpeech. The mighty numbers move. So roll the billows to th' Icarian shore,
From Eaft and South when winds begin to roar,
Burst their dark mansions in the clouds, and sweep
The whitening surface of the ruffled deep.
And as on corn when western gufts descend,
Before the blast the lofty harvest bends:
Thus o'er the field the moving host appears,
With nodding plumes, and groves of waving spears.
The gathering murmur fpreads, their trampling feet
Beat the loose fands, and thicken to the fleet.
With long-refounding cries they urge the train
To fit the ships, and launch into the main.
They toil, they sweat, thick clouds of duft arise,
The doubling clamours echo to the skies.
Ev'n then the Greeks had left the hostile plain,
And fate decreed the fall of Troy in vain ;
But Jove's imperial queen their flight furvey'd,
And fighing thus bespoke the blue-ey'd Maid:
Shall then the Grecians fly! O dire disgrace!
And leave unpunish'd this perfidious race?
Shall Troy, fhall Priam, and th' adulterous spouse, 195
In peace enjoy the fruits of broken vows?
And braveft chiefs, in Helen's quarrel flain,
Lie unreveng'd on yon detested plain ?
No: let my Greeks, unmov'd by vain alarms,
Once more refulgent shine in brazen arms.
Hafte, Goddess, haste! the flying host detain,
Nor let one fail be hoisted on the main.
Pallas obeys, and from Olympus' height
Swift to the ships precipitates her flight;
Ulyffes, first in public cares, the found,
For prudent counfel like the Gods renown'd:
Opprefs'd with generous grief the hero ftood,
Nor drew his fable veffels to the flood.
And is it thus, divine Laërtes' fon!
Thus fly the Greeks (the martial maid begun)
Thus to their country bear their own difgrace,
And fame eternal leave to Priam's race?
Shall beauteous Helen ftill remain unfreed,
Still unreveng'd a thousand heroes bleed?
Hafte, generous Ithacus ! prevent the shame,
Recall your armies, and your chiefs reclaim.
Your own refiftlefs eloquence employ,
And to th' Immortals truft the fall of Troy.
The voice divine confefs'd the warlike maid,
Ulyffes heard, nor uninspir'd obey'd:
Then meeting firft Atrides, from his hand
Receiv'd th' imperial fceptre of command.
Thus grac'd, attention and respect to gain,
He runs, he flies through all the Grecian train,
Each prince of name, or chief in arms approv'd, 225
He fir'd with praise, or with perfuafion mov'd.
Warriours like you, with ftrength and wisdom bleft,
By brave examples fhould confirm the reft.
The monarch's will not yet reveal'd appears;
He tries our courage, but refents our fears,
Th' unwary Greeks his fury may provoke ;
Not thus the king in fecret council-spoke,
Jove loves our chief, from Jove his honour springs,
Beware! for dreadful is the wrath of kings.
But if a clamorous vile plebeian rofe,
Him with reproof he check'd, or tam'd with blows.
Be ftill, thou flave, and to thy betters yield;
Unknown alike in council and in field!
Ye Gods, what daftards would our hoft command,
Swept to the war, the lumber of a land!
Be filent, wretch, and think not here allow'd
That worst of tyrants, an ufurping crowd:
To one fole monarch Jove commits the fway;
His are the laws, and him let all obey.
With words like thefe the troops Ulyffes rul'd, 245 The loudeft filenc'd, and the fierceft cool'd.
Back to th' affembly roll the thronging train,
Defert the fhips, and pour upon the plain.
Murmuring they move, as when old Ocean roars,
And heaves huge furges to the trembling fhores: 250
The groaning banks are burst with bellowing found,
The rocks remurmur, and the deeps rebound.
At length the tumult finks, the noifes ceafe,
And a ftill filence lulls the camp to peace,
Therfites only clamour'd in the throng.
Loquacious, loud, and turbulent of tongue :
Aw'd by no fhame, by no refpects control'd,
In fcandal busy, in reproaches bold :
With witty malice ftudious to defame:
Scorn all his joy, and laughter all his aim ;
But chief he glory'd, with licentious stile,
To lash the great, and monarchs to revile.
His figure fuch as might his foul proclaim;
One eye was blinking, and one leg was lame;
His mountain shoulders half his breaft o'erfpread, 265
Thin hairs bestrew'd his long mishapen head.
Spleen to mankind his envious heart poffeft,
And much he hated all, but most the best.
Ulyffes or Achilles still his theme ;
But royal scandal his delight fupreme.
Long had he liv'd the scorn of every Greek,
Vext when he spoke, yet ftill they heard him speak.
Sharp was his voice; which, in the shrillest tone,
Thus with injurious taunts attack'd the throne:
Amidst the glories of fo bright a reign,
What moves the great Atrides to complain ?
'Tis thine whate'er the warriour's breast inflames,
The golden fpoil, and thine the lovely dames.
With all the wealth our wars and blood beftow,
Thy tents are crowded, and thy chefts o'erflow, 280
Thus at full eafe in heaps of riches roll'd,
What grieves the monarch? Is it thirst of gold?
Say, shall we march with our unconquer'd powers,
(The Greeks and I) to Ilion's hoftile towers,
And bring the race of royal bastards here,
For Troy to ransom at a price too dear?
But fafer plunder thy own hoft fupplies ;.
Or, if thy heart to generous love be led,
Say, would'st thou feize fome valiant leader's prize?
Some captive fair, to bless thy kingly bed?
Whate'er our mafter craves, fubmit we must,
Plagued with his pride, or punish'd for his luft.
Oh women of Achaia! men no more!
Hence let us fly, and let him waste his store
In loves and pleasures on the Phrygian shore. 295
We may be wanted on some busy day,
When Hector comes: fo great Achilles may :
From him he forc'd the prize we jointly gave,
From him, the fierce, the fearless, and the brave :
And durst he, as he ought, resent that wrong,
This mighty tyrant were no tyrant long.
Fierce from his feat at this Ulyffes springs,
In generous vengeance of the king of kings;
With indignation sparkling in his eyes,
He views the wretch, and sternly thus replies :
Peace, factious monfter, born to vex the state,
With wrangling talents form'd for foul debate:
Curb that impetuous tongue, nor, rashly vain
And fingly mad, afperfe the fovereign reign.
Have we not known thee, flave! of all our hoft,
The man who acts the least, upbraids the most?
Think not the Greeks to fhameful flight to bring,
Nor let thofe lips profane the name of king.
For our return we truft the heavenly Powers;
Be that their care; to fight like men be ours.
But grant the hoft with wealth the general load,
Except detraction, what hast thou bestow'd?
Suppofe fome hero fhould his spoils refign,
Art thou that hero, could those spoils be thine?
Gods! let me perish on this hateful shore,
And let these eyes behold my fon no more;
If, on thy next offence, this hand forbear
To strip those arms thou ill deserv'st to wear,
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