"Millions for her unheeded die,
"Millions to her their blessings owe;
"Every motion of her eye
"Murders more than Cupid's bow!"
YOUTHFUL Achilles, in Bithynia's court,
Had made a private, and a long resort:
By his fond careful mother warn'd from war,
His sex disguised, he lurked among the fair.
In the same room by chance a royal maid
Was lodg'd, and, by his seeming sex, betray'd,
Close to her side the youthful hero laid.
I know not how his courtship he began ;
But, to her cost, she found it was a man.
'Tis thought she struggled, but withal 'tis thought
Her wish was to be conquer'd, when she fought.
For when disclosed, and hast'ning to the field,
He laid his distaff down, and took the shield;
On his dear neck her snowy arms she hung,
And streaming tears awhile restrain'd her tongue. But at the last, her dismal silence broke,
These mournful words the weeping princess spoke :
Whither, ah! whither would Achilles flee?
From all he's dearest to, from love and me?
Are not my charms the same? the same their pow'r?
Have I lost mine? or has Bellona more?
Oh! let me not so poorly be forsook,
But view me, view me, with your usual look.
Would you, unkind, from these embraces break?
Is glory grown so strong? or I so weak ?
Glory is not your only call, I fear,
You go to meet some other mistress there.
Go then, ungrateful, tho' from me you fly,
You'll never meet with one so fond as I:
Thus will I clasp thee to my panting breast,
And thus detain thee to my bosom prest.
And while I fold thee thus, and thus dispense
These kisses, to restore thy wand'ring sense,
What dismal sound of war shall snatch thee hence?
What tho' the gods have order'd you shall
Or Greece return inglorious from her foe?
Have not the self-same cruel gods decreed,
That if you went, you should as surely bleed?
Then since your fate is destin'd to be such,
Ah! think, can any Troy be worth so much?
Let Greece, whate'er she please, for vengeance give,
Secure at home shall my Achilles live.
Troy, built by heavenly hands, may stand or fall;
You never shall obey the fatal call.
Your Deidamia swears you shall not go,
Life would be dear to you if she were so.
If not your own, at least my safety prize,
For with Achilles Deidamia dies.
All this and more, the lovely mournful maid Told the sad youth, who sigh'd at all she said. Now would he think on arms; but when he gave A side-long glance on her he was to leave, Then his tumultuous thoughts began to jar, And love and glory held a doubtful war. Till with a deep-drawn sigh, and mighty course Of tears, which nothing else but love could force, To the dear maid he turns his wat'ry eyes, And to her sad discourse, as sad replies.
Now would he think on arms; but when he gave
A side-long glance
Then his tumultuous thoughts began to jar
And love and glory held a doubtful
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