If yet some desperate action rests behind,
That asks high conduct, and a dauntless mind;
If ought be wanting to the Trojan doom,
Which none but I can manage and o'ercome;
Award thofe arms I afk, by your decree :
Or give to this what you refufe to me.

:

He ceas'd and ceafing with refpe&t he bow'd,
And with his hand at once the fatal ftatue fhew'd.
Heaven, air, and ocean rung, with loud applaufe,
And by the general vote he gain'd his cause.
Thus conduct won the prize, when courage fail'd,
And eloquence o'er brutal force prevail'd.

The DEAT N of AJAX.

He who could often, and alone, withstand
The foe, the fire, and Jove's own partial hand,
Now cannot his unmafter'd grief sustain,
But yields to rage, to madness, and disdain;
Then fnatching out his fauchion, Thou, said he,
Art mine; Ulyffes lays no claim to thee.
O often try'd, and ever trufty fword,
Now do thy last kind office to thy lord :
'Tis Ajax who requests thy aid, to show
None but himself, himself could overthrow.
He said, and with fo good a will to die
Did to his breaft the fatal point apply,
It found his heart, a way till then unknown,
Where never weapon enter'd but his own:

No hands could force it thence, fo fixt it ftood,

Till out it rufh'd, expell'd by streams of spouting blood.

The fruitful blood produc'd a flower, which grew
On a green stem; and of a purple hue :
Like his, whom unaware Apollo flew :
Infcrib'd in both, the letters are the fame,
But thofe exprefs the grief, and thefe the name.

THE

THE

Story of ACIS, POLYPHEMUS, and GALATEA.

From the THIRTEENTH BOOK of

OVID'S METAMORPHOSE S.

ACIS, the lovely youth, whofe lofs I mourn,

From Faunus, and the nymph Symethis born,
Was both his parents pleafure; but to me
Was all that love could make a lover he.
The Gods our minds in mutual bands did join:
I was his only joy, and he was mine.

Now fixteen fummers the fweet youth had feen;
And doubtful down began to shade his chin :
When Polyphemus first disturb'd our joy,
And lov'd me fiercely, as I lov'd the boy.
Afk not which paffion in my foul was higher,
My laft averfion, or my first defire :

Nor this the greater was, nor that the less ;
Both were alike, for both were in excess.
Thee, Venus, thee both heaven and earth obey;
Immense thy power, and boundless is thy sway.
The Cyclops, who defy'd th' ætherial throne,
And thought no thunder louder than his own,
The terror of the woods, and wilder far
Than wolves in plains, or bears in forests are,

Th'inhuman hoft, who made his bloody feasts
On mangled members of his butcher'd guests,
Yet felt the force of love and fierce defire,
And burnt for me, with unrelenting fire:
Forgot his caverns, and his woolly care,
Affum'd the foftness of a lover's air;
And comb'd, with teeth of rakes, his rugged hair.
Now with a crooked scythe his beard he fleeks,
And mows the ftubborn ftubble of his cheeks:
Now in the crystal stream he looks, to try
His fimagres, and rowls his glaring cye.
His cruelty and thirst of blood are loft;
And fhips fecurely fail along the coaft.

The prophet Telemus (arriv'd by chance
Where Etna's fummits to the feas advance,
Who mark'd the tracks of every bird that flew,
And fure prefages from their flying drew)
Foretold the Cyclops, that Ulyffes' hand
In his broad eye should thrust a flaming brand.
The giant, with a fcornful grin, reply'd,
Vain augur, thou hast falfly prophesy'd ;
Already Love his flaming brand has toft;
Looking on two fair eyes, my fight I loft.
Thus, warn'd in vain, with ftalking pace he strode,
And stamp'd the margin of the briny flood
With heavy steps; and, weary, fought again
The cool retirement of his gloomy den.

A promontory, fharpening by degrees,
Ends in a wedge, and overlooks the feas:

On either fide, below, the water flows:
This airy walk the giant-lover chofe;
Here on the midft he fate; his flocks, unled,
Their fhepherd follow'd, and fecurely fed.
A pine fo burly, and of length fo vaft,
That failing fhips requir'd it for a mast,
He wielded for a ftaff, his fteps to guide:
But laid it by, his whistle while he try'd.
A hundred reeds, of a prodigious growth,
Scarce made a pipe proportion'd to his mouth :
Which when he gave it wind, the rocks around,
And watery plains, the dreadful hifs refound.
I heard the ruffian fhepherd rudely blow,
Where, in a hollow cave, I fat below;
On Acis' bofom I my head reclin'd:
And ftill preferve the poem in my mind.
O lovely Galatea, whiter far

Than falling fnows and rifing lilies are;
More flowery than the meads, as crystal bright;
Erect as alders, and of equal height:

More wanton than a kid; more fleek thy skin,
Than orient shells, that on the shores are feen :
Than apples fairer, when the boughs they lade;
Pleafing, as winter funs, or fummer shade:
More grateful to the fight, than goodly plains;
And fofter to the touch, than down of swans,
Or curds new turn'd; and fweeter to the taste,
Than fwelling grapes, that to the vintage hafte:
More clear than ice, or running ftreams, that ftray
Through garden plots, but ah! more swift than they.

Yet,