To you shall rites divine be ever paid,
And grateful offerings on your altars laid.
Then thus Minerva: From that anxious breast
Difmifs thofe cares, and leave to Heaven the reft.
Our task be now thy treasur'd stores to save,
Deep in the close receffes of the cave:
Then future means confult-fhe spoke, and trod
The fhady grot that brighten'd with the God.
The clofeft caverns of the grot she sought;
The gold, the brafs, the robes, Ulyffes brought;
Thefe in the fecret gloom the chief dispos'd;
The entrance with a rock the Goddefs clos'd.
Now, feated in the olive's facred shade,
Confer the hero and the Martial Maid.
The Goddess of the azure eyes began:
Son of Laertes! much-experienc'd man!
The fuitor-train thy earliest care demand,
Of that luxurious race to rid the land:
Three years thy house their lawless rule has seen,
And proud addresses to the matchlefs queen.
But the thy abfence mourns from day to day,
And inly bleeds, and filent wastes away :
Elufive of the bridal hour, fhe gives
Fond hopes to all, and all with hopes deceives.
To this Ulyffes: O, celestial maid!
Prais'd be thy counsel, and thy timely aid :
Elfe had I feen my native walls in vain,
Like great Atrides just restor'd and flain.
Vouchsafe the means of vengeance to debate,
And plan with all thy arts the fcene of fate.
VOL. IV.
Then, then be prefent, and my foul inspire,
As when we wrap'd Troy's heaven-built walls in fire. Though leagued against me hundred heroes stand, 445 Hundreds fhall fall, if Pallas aid my hand.
She answer'd: In the dreadful day of fight
Know, I am with thee, ftrong in all my might.
If thou but equal to thyself be found,
What gasping numbers then shall prefs the ground!
What human victims stain the feastful floor!
How wide the pavements float with guilty gore!
It fits thee now to wear a dark disguise,
And fecret walk unknown to mortal eyes.
For this, my hand shall wither every grace,
And every elegance of form and face,
O'er thy smooth skin a bark of wrinkles fpread,
Turn hoar the auburn honours of thy head,
Disfigure every limb with coarse attire,
And in thy eyes extinguith all the fire
Add all the wants and the decays of life;
Eftrange thee from thy own; thy fon, thy wife
From the loath'd object every fight shall turn,
And the blind fuitors their deftruction scorn.
Go first the master of thy herds to find,
True to his charge, a loyal swain and kind :
For thee he fighs; and to the royal heir
And chafte Penelope extends his care.
At the Coracian rock he now refides,
Where Arethufa's fable water glides;
The fable water and the copious mast
Swell the fat herd; luxuriant, large repaft!
With him, reft peaceful in the rural cell,
And all you ask his faithful tongue shall tell.
Me into other realms my cares convey,
To Sparta, ftill with female beauty gay :
For know, to Sparta thy lov'd offspring came,
To learn thy fortunes from the voice of Fame.
At this the father, with a father's care.
Muft he too fuffer? he, O Goddess! bear
Of wanderings and of woes a wretched share?
Through the wild ocean plough the dangerous way,
And leave his fortunes and his house a prey?
Why would'st not thou, O all-enlighten'd Mind!
Inform him certain, and protect him, kind?
To whom Minerva: Be thy foul at reft;
And know, whatever Heaven ordains, is best.
To fame I fent him, to acquire renown :
To other regions is his virtue known:
Secure he fits, near great Atrides plac'd!
With friendships ftrengthen'd, and with honours grac’d.
But, lo! an ambush waits his paffage o'er ;
Fierce foes infidious intercept the shore :
In vain! far fooner all the murtherous brood
This injur'd land shall fatten with their blood.
She spake, then touch'd him with her powerful wand :
The skin shrunk up, and wither'd at her hand :
A fwift old age o'er all his members spread;
A fudden froft was sprinkled on his head;
Nor longer in the heavy eye-ball fhin'd
The glance divine, forth-beaming from the mind.
His robe, which spots indelible besmear,
In rags difhoneft flutters with the air:
A ftag's torn hide is lapp'd around his reins;
A rugged ftaff his trembling hand sustains ;
And at his fide a wretched fcrip was hung,
Wide-patch'd, and knotted to a twisted thong.
So look'd the chief, fo mov'd, to mortal eyes
Object uncouth! a man of miseries !
While Pallas, cleaving the wide fields of air,
To Sparta flies, Telemachus her care.
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