Who now (so Heaven decrees) is doom’d to mourn,

Bitter constraint, erroneous and forlorn.

Better the chief, on Ilion’s hostile plain,

Had fall’n surrounded with his warlike train;

Or safe return’d, the race of glory pass’d,

New to his friends’ embrace, and breathed his last!

Then grateful Greece with streaming eyes would raise,

Historic marbles to record his praise;

His praise, eternal on the faithful stone,

Had with transmissive honour graced his son.

Now snatch’d by harpies to the dreary coast.

Sunk is the hero, and his glory lost;

Vanish’d at once! unheard of, and unknown!

And I his heir in misery alone.

Nor for a dear lost father only flow

The filial tears, but woe succeeds to woe

To tempt the spouseless queen with amorous wiles

Resort the nobles from the neighbouring isles;

From Samos, circled with the Ionian main,

Dulichium, and Zacynthas’ sylvan reign;

Ev’n with presumptuous hope her bed to ascend,

The lords of Ithaca their right pretend.

She seems attentive to their pleaded vows,

Her heart detesting what her ear allows.

They, vain expectants of the bridal hour,

My stores in riotous expense devour.

In feast and dance the mirthful months employ,

And meditate my doom to crown their joy.”


With tender pity touch’d, the goddess cried:

“Soon may kind Heaven a sure relief provide,

Soon may your sire discharge the vengeance due,

And all your wrongs the proud oppressors rue!

Oh! in that portal should the chief appear,

Each hand tremendous with a brazen spear,

In radiant panoply his limbs incased

(For so of old my father’s court he graced,

When social mirth unbent his serious soul,

O’er the full banquet, and the sprightly bowl);

He then from Ephyre, the fair domain

Of Ilus, sprung from Jason’s royal strain,

Measured a length of seas, a toilsome length, in vain.

For, voyaging to learn the direful art

To taint with deadly drugs the barbed dart;

Observant of the gods, and sternly just,