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THE

TWENTY-SECOND BOOK

OF THE

DYS SE E Y.

Ο Σ

ARGUMENT.

"The Death of the Suitors.

ULYSSES begins the flaughter of the fuitors by the death of Antinous. He declares himfelf, and lets fly his arrows at the ruft. Telemachus affifts, and brings arms for his father, himself, Eumæus, and Philatius. Melanthius does the fame for the wooers, Minerva encourages Ulyffes in the fhape of Mentor. The fuitors are ali flain, only Medon and Phemius are fpared. Melanthius and the unfaithful fervants are executed. The reft acknowledge their master with all demonftrations of joy.

THE

ODYSSEY.

BOOK

XXII.

HEN fierce the hero o'er the threshold strode ;
Stripp'd of his rags, he blaz'd out like a God.

TH

Full in their face the lifted bow he bore,.

And quiver'd deaths, a formidable store :
Before his feet the rattling shower he threw,
And thus, terrific, to the fuitor crew:

One venturous game this hand has won to-day,
Another, princes! yet remains to play ;,
Another mark our arrow must attain,
Phoebus, affift! nor be the labour vain..
Swift as the word the parting arrow fings,
And bears thy fate, Antinous, on its wings.
Wretch that he was, of unprophetic foul!
High in his hands he rear'd the golden bowl!
Ev'n then to drain it lengthen'd out his breath;.
Chang'd to the deep, the bitter draught of death:
For Fate who fear'd amidst a feastful band?

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And Fate to numbers, by a fingle hand?
Full through his throat Ulyffes' weapon pass'd,
And pierc'd the neck. He falls, and breathes his last.
The tumbling goblet the wide floor o'erflows,
A ftream of gore burst spouting from his nofe;

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Grim in convulfive agonies he fprawls:
Before him fpurn'd the loaded table falls,
And fpreads the pavement with a mingled flood
Of floating meats, and wine, and human blood.
Amaz'd, confounded, as they saw him fall,
Uprofe the throngs tumultuous round the hall;
O'er all the dome they cast a haggard eye,
Each look'd for arms: in vain; no arms were nigh.:
Aim'ft thou at princes? (all amaz'd they faid)
Thy laft of games unhappy haft thou play'd;
Thy erring fhaft has made our bravest bleed,
And death, unlucky guest, attends thy deed.
Vultures shall tear thee--Thus incens'd they spoke, 35
While each to chance afcrib'd the wondrous ftroke,
Blind as they were; for death ev'n now invades
His deftin'd prey, and wraps them all in fhades.
Then, grimly frowning with a dreadful look,
That wither'd all their hearts, Ulyffes spoke :

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Dogs, ye have had your day; ye fear'd no more Ulyffes vengeful from the Trojan fhore; While, to your luft and fpoil a guardless prey, Our house, our wealth, our helpless handmaids lay: Not fo content, with bolder frenzy fir'd, Ev'n to our bed prefumptuous you aspir'd: Laws or divine or human fail'd to move,

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Or fhame of men, or dread of Gods above:

Heedlefs alike of infamy or praise,

Or Fame's eternal voice in future days:

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The hour of vengeance, wretches, now is come,

Impending fate is yours, and inftant doom.

Thus.

Thus dreadful he. Confus'd the fuitors food, From their pale cheeks recedes the flying blood: Trembling they fought their guilty heads to hide, 55 Alone the bold Eurymachus reply'd :

If, as thy words impart, (he thus began)
Ulyffes lives, and thou the mighty man,

Great are thy wrongs, and much haft thou fuftain'd
In thy fpoil'd palace, and exhausted land;
The cause and author of thofe guilty deeds,
Lo! at thy feet unjuft Antinous bleeds.
Not love, but wild ambition was his guide;
To flay thy fon, thy kingdoms to divide,

These were his aims; but juster Jove deny❜d. 65
Since cold in death th' offender lies: oh, fpare
Thy fuppliant people, and receive their prayer!
Brafs, gold, and treasures, fhall the spoil defray,
Two hundred oxen every prince shall pay :
The wafte of years refunded in a day.
Till then thy wrath is just-Ulyffes burn'd
With high difdain, and fternly thus return'd:
All, all the treasures that enrich'd our throne
Before your rapines, join'd with all your own,
If offer'd, vainly fhould for mercy call;

"Tis you that offer, and I fcorn them all.;
Your blood is my demand, your lives the prize,
Till pale as yonder wretch each fuitor lies.
Hence with those coward terms; or fight or fly;
This choice is left you, to refift or die;
And die I truft ye fhall.-He fternly spoke :
With guilty fears the pale affembly fhook.
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Alone

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