Enter; for now the double twilight fails;
And o'er the silent Earth the night prevails:
From the moist valleys noxious fogs arise,
To wrap the rocky heights, and shade the skies.'
"The cave we enter'd, and his bounty shar'd;
A rural banquet by himself prepar'd.
But soon the rage of thirst and hunger stay'd,
My mind still doubtful, to the youth I said:
Must hapless Thebes, despairing and undone,
Want the assistance of her bravest son ?
The hero's fate explain, nor grudge mine ear
The sad assurance of our loss to hear.'

I question'd thus. The youth, with horror pale,
Attempted to recite an awful tale;
Above the fabled woes which bards rehearse,
When sad Melpomene inspires the verse.

"The wife of Jove' (Poonides reply'd)
'All arts in vain to crush the hero try'd;
For brighter from her hate his virtue burn'd;
And disappointed still, the goddess mourn'd.
His ruin to effect at last she strove
By jealousy, the rage of injur'd love.
The bane to Deianira's breast convay'd,
Who, as a rival, fear'd th' Oechalian maid.
The goddess knew, that, jealous of her lord,
A robe she kept with latent poisons stor❜d;
The centaur's gift, bequeath'd her, to reclaim
The hero's love, and light his dying flame;
If e'er devoted to a stranger's charms,
He stray'd inconstant, from her widow'd arms;
But giv'n with treacherous intent to prove
The death of nature, not the life of love.
Mad from her jealousy, the charm she try'd;
His love to change, the deadly robe apply'd:
And guiltless of the present which he bore,
Lychas convey'd it to Cencenum's shore:
Where to the pow'rs immortal, for their aid,
A grateful hecatomb the hero paid:
When favor'd from above, his arm o'erthrew
The proud Eurytus, and his warriors slew.
The venom'd robe the hero took, nor fear'd
A gift by conjugal respects endear'd:
And straight resign'd the lion's shaggy spoils,
The mantle which he wore in all his toils.
No sign of harm the fatal present show'd;
Till rous'd by heat its secret venom glow'd:
Straight on the flesh it seiz'd, like stiffest glue,
And scorching deep, to ev'ry member grew.
Then tearing with his hands th' infernal snare,
His skin he rent, and laid the muscles bare;
While streams of blood, descending from the
wound,

Mix'd with the gore of victims on the ground.
The guiltless Lychas, in his furious mood,
He seiz'd, as trembling by his side he stood :
Him, by the slender ancle snatch'd, he swung;
And 'gainst a rocky promontory flung:
Which, from the dire event, his name retains;
Thro' his white locks impurpled rush'd the
brains.

His form divine he roll'd in dust and blood;
His groans the hills re-echo'd and the flood.
Then rising furious, to the ocean's streams
He rush'd, in hope to quench his raging flames;
But burning still the unextinguish'd pain,
The shore he left, and stretch'd into the main.
A galley anchor'd near the beach we found ;
Her curled canvass to the breeze unbound;
And trac'd his desp'rate course, till far before
We saw him land on Oeta's desert shore.
Towards the skies his furious bands he rear'd,
And thus, across the deep, his voice we heard:
"Sov'reign of Heav'n and Earth! whose
boundless sway

Aw'd by the deed, his despʼrate rage to shun,
Our bold companions from his presence run:
Itoo, conceal'd behind a rock, remain'd;
My love and sympathy by fear restrain'd:
For furious 'midst the sacred fires he grew;
The victims scatter'd, and the hearths o'er-
threw.

Then sinking prostrate, where a tide of gore
From oxen slain had blacken'd all the shore,

The fates of men and mortal things obey,
If e'er delighted from the courts above,
In human form you sought Alcinene's love;
If fame's unchanging voice to all the Earth,
With truth, proclaims you author of my birth;
Whence, from a course of spotless glory run,
Successful toils and wreaths of triumph won,
Am I thus wretched? better that before
Some monster fierce had drank my streaming
gore;

Or crush'd by Cacus, foe to gods and men,
My batter'd brains had strew'd his rocky den;
Than, from my glorious toils and triumphs past,
To fall subdu'd by female arts, at last.
O cool my boiling blood, ye winds, that blow
From mountains loaded with eternal snow,
And crack the icy cliffs: in vain! in vain!
Your rigour cannot quench my raging pain!
For round this heart the furies wave their brands,
And wring my entrails with their burning hands.
Now bending from the skies, O wife of Jove!
Enjoy the vengeance of thy injur'd love :
For fate, by me, the thund'rer's guilt atones;
And, punish'd in her son, Alcmene groans:
The object of your hate shall soon expire;
Fix'd on my shoulders preys a net of fire;
Whom nor the toils nor dangers could subdue,
By false Eurystheus dictated from you;
Nor tyrants lawless, nor the monstrous brood
Which haunts the desert or infests the flood,
Nor Greece, nor all the barb'rous climes that lie
Where Phoebus ever points his golden eye;
A woman kath o'erthrown!-ye gods! I yield
To female arts, unconquer'd in the field.
My arms-alas! are these the same that bow'd
Anteus, and his giant force subdu’d?
That dragg'd Nemea's monster from his den?
And slew the dragon in his native fen?
Alas! alas! their mighty muscles fail,
While pains infernal ev'ry nerve assail :
Alas, alas! I feel in strearas of woe
These eyes dissolve, before untaught to flow.
Awake my virtue, oft in dangers try'd,
Patient in toils, in deaths unterrify'd,
Rouse to my aid; nor let my labours past,
With fame achiev'd, be blotted by the last :
Firm and unmov'd, the present shock endure;
Once triumph, and for ever rest secure.'

"The hero thus; and grasp'd a pointed rock With both his arms, which straight in pieces broke,

Crush'd in his agony: then on his breast
Descending prostrate, further plaint supprest.
And now the clouds, in dusky volumes spread,
Had darken'd all the mountains with their shades

The winds withhold their breath; the billows | O let me still attend you, and receive

The sky's dark image on the deep imprest. [rest;

A bay for shelter, op'ning in the strand,
We saw, and steer'd our vessel to the land.
Then mounting on the rocky beach above,
Thro' the thick gloom, descry'd the son of Jove.
His head, declin'd between his hands, he lean'd;
His elbows on his bended knees sustain’d.
Above him still a hov'ring vapour flew,
Which, from his boiling veins, the garment drew.
Thro' the thick woof we saw the fumes aspire;
Like smoke of victims from the sacred fire,
Compassion's keenest touch my bosom thrill'd;
My eyes, a flood of melting sorrow fill'd:
Doubtful I stood; and pond'ring in my mind,
By fear, and pity, variously inclin'd,
Whether to shun the hero, or essay,
With friendly words, his torment to allay:
When bursting from above with Lideous glare,
A flood of lightning kindled all the air.
From Oeta's top it rush'd in sudden streams;
The ocean redden'd at its fiery beams.
Then, bellowing deep, the thunder's awful sound
Shook the firm mountains and the shores around.
Far to the east it roll'd, a length of sky;
We heard Euboea's rattling cliffs reply,
As at his master's voice a swain appears,
When wak'd from sleep his early call he hears,
The hero rose; and to the mountain turn'd,
Whose cloud-involved top with lightning burn'd,
And thus his sire address'd; With patient
Thy call I hear, obedient and resign'd;
Faithful and true the oracle! which spoke,
In high Dodona, from the sacred oak;
That twenty years of painful labours past,
On Oeta's top I should repose at last:
Before, involved, the meaning lay conceal'd;
But now I find it in my fate reveal'd.
Thy sov'reign will I blame not, which denies,
With length of days, to crown my victories:
1 hough still with danger and distress engag'd,
For injur'd right eternal war I wag'd;
A life of pain, in barb'rous climates, led,
The Heav'ns my canopy, a rock my
bed:
More joy I've felt than delicacy knows,
Or all the pride of regal pomp bestows.
Dread sire! thy will I honour and revere,
And own thy love with gratitude sincere,
Which watch'd me in my toils, that none could
To raise a trophy from my glory lost:
And though at last, by female arts, o'ercome,
And unsuspected fraud, I find my door;
There to have fail'd, my honour ne'er can shake,
Where vice is only strong and virtue weak.'

[mind

[boast

"He said, and turning to the cloudy height,
The seat of thunder, wrapt in sable night,
Firm and undaunted trod the steep ascent;
An earthquake rock'd the mountain as he went.
Back from the shaking shores retir'd the flood;
In horror lost, my bold companions stood,
To speech or motion: but the present pow'r
Of love inspir'd me, in that awful hour;
With trembling steps, I trac'd the son of Jove;
And saw him darkly on the steep above, [noise
Through the thick gloom. The thunder's awful
Ceas'd; and I call'd him thus with feeble voice:
O son of mighty Jove! thy friend await;
Who comes to comfort thee, or share thy fate.
In ev'ry danger and distress before,
His part your faithful Philoctetes bore.

The comfort which a present friend can give,
Who come obsequious for your last commands,
And tenders to your need his willing hands,'
"My voice he heard; and from the mountain's
Saw me ascending on the steep below. [brow
To favour my approach his steps he stay'd;
And pleas'd, amidst his anguish, smiling said:
'Approach, my Philoctetes! Oft I've known
Your friendly zeal in former labours shown:
The present, more than all, your love proclaims,
Which braves the thund'rer's bolts and volley'd
flames;

With daring step, the rocking earthquake treads,
While the firm mountains shake their trembling

heads.

As my last gift, these arrows, with the bow,
Accept; the greatest which I can bestow;
My glory all my wealth; of pow'r to raise
Your name to honour and immortal praise;
If for wrong'd innocence your shafts shall fly,
As Jove by signs directs them from the sky.'
"Straight from his mighty shoulders, as he
spoke,

He loos'd and lodg'd them in a cavern'd rock;
To lie untouch'd, till future care had drain'd
Their poison from the venom'd robe retain’d.
And thus again: 'The only aid I need,
For all my favours past, the only meed,
Is, that, with vengeful hand, you fix a dart
In cruel Deianira's faithless heart:
Her treach'rous messenger already dead,
Let her, the author of his crime, succeed.
This awful scene forsake without delay;
In vain to mingle with my fate you stay:
No kind assistance can my state retrieve,
Nor any friend attend me, and survive.'

"The hero thus his tender care exprest,
And spread his arms to clasp me to his breast;
But soon withdrew them, lest his tainted veins
Infection had convey'd and mortal pains:
Silent I stood in streams of sorrow drown'd,
Till from my heart these words a passage found:
O bid me not forsake thee, nor impose
What wretched Philoctetes must refuse.
By him I swear, whose presence now proclaim
The thunder's awful voice and forked flame,
Beneath whose steps the trembling desert quakes,
And Earth affrighted to her centre shakes;
I never will forsake thee, but remain
While struggling life these ruin'd limbs retain:
No form of fate shall drive me from thy side,
Nor death with all its terrours e'er divide;
Though the same stroke our mortal lives should

end,

One flash consume us, and our ashes blend.'

"I spoke; and to the cloudy steep we turn'd;
Along its brow the kindled forest burn'd.
The savage brood, descending to the plains,
The scattered flocks and dread distracted swains,
Rush'd from the shaking cliffs: we saw them
come,

In wild disorder mingled, through the gloom.
And now appear'd the desert's lofty head,
A narrow rock with forest thinly spread.
His mighty hands display'd aloft in air,
To Jove the hero thus address'd a pray'r
'Hear me, dread pow'r! whose nod controls
the skies,

At whose command the winged lightning flies:

Almighty sire! if yet you deign to own
Alcmena's wretched offspring as your son;
Some comfort in my agony impart,
And bid thy forked thunder rend this heart:
Round my devoted head it idly plays;
And aids the fire, which wastes me, with its rays:
By heat inflam'd, this robe exerts its pow'r,
My scorched limbs to shrivel and devour;
Upon my shoulders, like a dragon, clings,
And fixes in my flesh a thousand stings.
Great sire! in pity to my suit attend,
And with a sudden stroke my being end.'
"As thus the hero pray'd, the lightning ceas'd,
And thicker darkness all the hill embrac'd.
He saw his suit deny'd: in fierce despair,
The rooted pines be tore, and cedars fair;
And from the crannies of the rifted rocks,
Twisted with force immense the stubborn oaks.
Of these upon the cliff a heap he laid,
And thus address'd me, as I stood dismay'd:
'Behold, my friend! the ruler of the skies,
In agony invok'd, my suit denies :
But sure the oracle inspir'd from Heaven,
Which in Dodona's sacred grove was given,
The truth declar'd: that now my toils shall
And all my painful labours end in peace: [cease,
Peace, death can only bring: the raging smart,
Wrapt with my vitals, mocks each healing art.
Not all the plants that clothe the verdant field,
Not all the health a thousand mountains yield,
Which on their tops the sage physician finds,
Or digging from the veins of flint unbinds,
This fire can quench. And therefore, to obey
My last commands, prepare without delay.
When on this pile you see my limbs compos'd,
Shrink not, but hear what must not be oppos'd;
Approach, and, with an unrelenting hand,
Fix, in the boughs beneath, a flaming brand.
I must not longer trust this madding pain,
Lest some rash deed should all my glory stain.
Lychas I slew upon the Cœnian shore,
Who knew not, sure, the fatal gift he bore:
His guilt had taught him else to fly, nor wait,
Till from my rage he found a sudden fate.
I will not Deianira's action blame;
Let Heav'n decide, which only knows her aim:
Whether from hate, with treacherous intent,
This fatal garment to her lord she sent ;
Or, by the cunning of a foe betray'd,
His vengeance, thus imprudently convey'd.
If this, or that, I urge not my command,
Nor claim her fate from thy avenging hand:
To lodge my lifeless bones, is all I crave,
Safe and uninjur'd in the peaceful grave.'
"This with a hollow voice and alter'd look,
In agony extreme, the hero spoke.

I pour'd a flood of sorrow, and withdrew,
Amid the kindled groves, to pluck a bough;
With which the structure at the base I fir'd:
On ev'ry side the pointed flames aspir'd.
But ere involving smoke the pile enclos'd,
I saw the hero on the top repos'd;
Serene as one who, near the fountain laid,
At noon enjoys the cool refreshing shade.
The venom'd garment hiss'd; its touch the fires
Avoiding, stop'd oblique their pointed spires:
On ev'ry side the parted flame withdrew,
And level'd, round the burning structure flew.
At last victorious to the top they rose;
Firm and unmov'd the hero saw them close.

His soul unfetter'd, sought the blest abodes,
By virtue rais'd to mingle with the gods.
His bones in earth, with pious hands, I laid;
The place to publish nothing shall persuade;
Lest tyrants now unaw'd, and men unjust,
With insults, should profane his sacred dust.
E'er since, I haunt this solitary den,
Retir'd from all the busy paths of men ;
For these wild mountains only suit my state,
And sooth, with kindred gloom, my deep regret.'
"He ended thus: amazement long suppress'd
My voice; but Cleon answ'ring thus address'd:
Brave youth! you offer, to our wond'ring ears,
Events more awful than tradition bears.
Fix'd in my mind the hero's fate remains,
I see his agonies, and feel his pains.
Yet suffer, that for hapless Thebes I mourn,
Whose fairest hopes the envious fates o'erturn.
If great Alcides liv'd, her tow'rs should stand
Safe and protected by his mighty hand:
On you, brave youth! our second hopes depend;
To you the arms of Hercules descend.
He did not, sure, those glorious gifts bestow,
The shafts invincible, the mighty bow;
From which the innocent protection claim,
To dye the hills with blood of savage game.
Such toils as these your glory ne'er can raise,
Nor crown your merit with immortal praise;
And with the great Alcides place your name,
To stand distinguish'd in the rolls of fame.'

"The hero thus. The son of Paan said:
'Myself, my arms, I offer for your aid;
If fav'ring from the skies, the signs of Jove
Confirm what thus I purpose and approve.
For when Alcides, with his last commands,
His bow and shafts committed to my hands;
In all attempts he charg'd me to proceed
As Jove by signs and auguries should lead.
But these the rising Sun will best disclose;
The season now invites to soft repose.'

"He said; and, from the hearth a flaming bough,
To light us through the shady cavern, drew.
Far in the deep recess, a rocky bed

We found, with skins of mountain monsters spread.
There we compos'd our weary limbs, and lay,
Till darkness filed before the morning ray.
Then rose, and climb'd a promontory steep,
Whose rocky brow, impending o'er the deep,
Shoots high into the air, and lifts the eye,
In boundless stretch, to take a length of sky.
With hands extended to th' ethereal height,
The pow'r we call'd, who rules the realms of light;
That symbols sure his purpose might explain,
Whether the youth should aid us, or refrain:
We pray'd; and on the left along the vales,
With pinions broad display'd, an eagle sails.
As near the ground his level flight he drew,
He stoop'd, and brush'd the thickets as he flew;
When starting from the centre of a brake,
With horrid hiss appear'd a crested snake:
Her young to guard, her venom'd fangs she rear'd;
Above the shrubs her wavy length appear'd;
Against his swift approaches, as he flew,
On ev'ry side her forked tongue she threw,
And armed jaws; but wheeling from the snare
The swift assailant still escap'd in air;
But, stooping from his pitch, at last be tore
Her purple crest, and drew a stream of gore.
She writh'd; and, in the fierceness of her pain,
Spook the long thickets with her twisted train:

166

Relax'd at last, its spires forgot to roll,
And, in a hiss, she breath'd her fiery soul:
In haste to gorge his prey, the bird of Jove
Down to the bottom of the thicket drove;
The young defenceless from the covert drew;
Devour'd them straight, and to the mountains
This omen seen, another worse we hear; [flew.
The subterraneous thunder greets our ear:
The worst of all the signs which augurs know;
A dire prognostic of impending woe.

"Amaz'd we stood, till Philoctetes broke
Our long dejected silence thus, and spoke:
Warriors of Thebes! the auguries dissuade
My purpose, and withhold me from your aid;
Though pity moves me, and ambition draws,
To share your labours and assert your cause;
In fight the arms of Hercules to show,
And from his native ramparts drive the foe.
But vain it is against the gods to strive;
Whose counsels ruin nations or retrieve;
Without their favour, valour nought avails,
And human prudence self-subverted fails;
For irresistibly their pow'r presides
In all events, and good and ill divides.
Let Thebes assembled at the altars wait,
And long processions crowd each sacred gate:
With sacrifice appeas'd, and humble pray'r,
Their omens frustrated, the gods may spare.
To day, my guests, repose; to morrow sail,
If Heav'n propitious sends a prosp'rous gale:
For, shifting to the south, the western breeze
Forbids you now to trust the faithless seas.'

"The hero thus; in silence sad, we mourn'd;
And to the solitary cave return'd,
Despairing of success; our grief he shar'd,
And for relief a cheering bowl prepar'd;
The vintage which the grape spontaneous yields,
By art untutor'd, on the woodland fields,
He sought with care, and mingled in the bowl
A plant, of pow'r to calm the troubled soul;
Its name nepenthe; swains, on desert ground,
Do often glean it, else but rarely found;
This in the bowl he mix'd; and soon we found,
In soft oblivion, all our sorrows drown'd:
We felt no more the agonies of care,
And hope, succeeding, dawn'd upon despair.
From morn we feasted, till the setting ray
Retir'd, and ev'ning shades expell'd the day;
Then in the dark recesses of the cave,
To slumbers soft, our willing limbs we gave:
But ere the morning, from the east, appear'd,
And sooner than the early lark is heard,
Cleon awak'd, my careless slumber broke,
And bending to my ear, in whispers spoke:
• Dienices! while slumbering thus secure,
We think not what our citizens endure. [pears
The worst the signs have threaten'd, nought ap-
With happier aspect to dispel our fears;
Alcides lives not, and his friend in vain
To arms we call, while auguries restrain:
Returning thus, we bring the Theban state
But hopes deceiv'd, and omens of her fate:
Better success our labours shall attend,
Nor all our aims in disappointment end;
If you approve my purpose, nor dissuade
What now I counsel for your country's aid.
Soon as the Sun displays his early beam,
The arms of great Alcides let us claim;
Then for Boeotia's shores direct our sails;
And force must second if persuasion fails:

Against reproach necessity shall plead;
Censure confute, and justify the deed.'

"The hero thus, and ceas'd: with pity mov'd,
And zeal for Thebes, I rashly thus approv'd.
You counsel well; but prudence would advise
To work by cunning rather, and surprise,
Than force declar'd; his venom'd shafts you know,
Which fly resistless from th' Herculean bow;
A safe occasion now the silent hour
Of midnight yields; when, by the gentle pow'r
Of careless slumber bound, the hero lies,
Our necessary fraud will 'scape his eyes;
Without the aid of force shall reach its aim,
With danger less incurr'd, and less of blame.'

"I counsel'd thus; and Cleon straight ap-
In silence from the dark recess we mov'd; [prov'd.
Towards the hearth, with wary steps, we came,
The ashes stirr'd,and rous'd the slumb'ring flame.
On ev'ry side in vain we turn'd our eyes,
Nor, as our hopes had promis'd, found the prize:
Till to the couch, where Philoctetes lay,
The quiver led us by its silver ray;
For in a pauther's fur together ty'd,
His bow and shafts, the pillow's place supply'd:
Thither I went with careful steps and slow;
And by degrees obtain'd th' Herculean bow:
The quiver next to disengage essay'd;
It stuck entangled, but at last obey'd.
The prize obtain'd, we hasten to the strand,
And rouse the mariners, and straight command
The canvass to unfurl: a gentle gale
Favour'd our course, and fill'd the swelling sail:
The shores retir'd; and when the morning ray
Ascended, from the deep, th' ethereal way;
Upon the right Cenæum's beach appear'd,
And Pelion on the left his summit rear'd.
All day we sail'd; but when the setting light
Approach'd the ocean, froin th' Olympian height,
The breeze was hush'd; and, stretch'd across
the main,

Like mountains rising on the wat'ry plain,
The clouds collected on the billows stood,
And, with incumbent shade, obscur'd the flood.
Thither a current bore us; soon we found
A night of vapour closing fast around.
Loose hung the empty sail: we ply'd our oars,
And strove to reach Eubœa's friendly shores;
But strove in vain; for erring from the course,
In mazes wide, the rower spent his force.
Seven days and nights we try'd some port to gain,
Where Greek or barb'rous shores exclude the
main;

But knew not, whether backwards, or before,
Or on the right, or left, to seek the shore :
Till, rising on the eighth, a gentle breeze
Drove the light fog, and brush'd the curling seas,
Our canvass to its gentle pow'r we spread;
And fix'd our oars, and follow'd as it led.
Before us soon, impending from above,
Through parting clouds, we saw a lofty grove.
Alarm'd, the sail we slacken, and explore
The deeps and shallows of the unknown shore.
Near on the right a winding creek appear'd,
Thither directed by the pole, we steer'd;
And landed on the beach, by fate misled,
Nor knew again the port from which we fied.
The gods themselves deceiv'd us: to our eyes
New caverns open, airy cliffs arise;
That Philoctetes might again possess
His arms, and Heav'n our injury redress