She shone unrivall’d with a blaze of charms;

Thy infant son her fragrant bosom press’d,

Hung at her knee, or wanton’d at her breast;

But now the years a numerous train have ran;

The blooming boy is ripen’d into man;

Thy eyes shall see him burn with noble fire,

The sire shall bless his son, the son his sire;

But my Orestes never met these eyes,

Without one look the murder’d father dies;

Then from a wretched friend this wisdom learn,

E’en to thy queen disguised, unknown, return;

For since of womankind so few are just,

Think all are false, nor e’en the faithful trust.


“‘But, say, resides my son in royal port,

In rich Orchomenos, or Sparta’s court?

Or say in Pyle? for yet he views the light,

Nor glides a phantom through the realms of night.’


“Then I: ‘Thy suit is vain, nor can I say

If yet he breathes in realms of cheerful day;

Or pale or wan beholds these nether skies;

Truth I revere; for wisdom never lies.’


“Thus in a tide of tears our sorrows flow,

And add new horror to the realms of woe;

Till side by side along the dreary coast

Advanced Achilles’ and Patroclus’ ghost,

A friendly pair! near these the Pylian stray’d,

And towering Ajax, an illustrious shade!

War was his joy, and pleased with loud alarms,

None but Pelides brighter shone in arms.


“Through the thick gloom his friend Achilles knew,

And as he speaks the tears descend in dew.


“‘Comest thou alive to view the Stygian bounds,

Where the wan spectres walk eternal rounds;

Nor fear’st the dark and dismal waste to tread,

Throng’d with pale ghosts, familiar with the dead?’


“To whom with sighs: ‘I pass these dreadful gates

To seek the Theban, and consult the Fates;

For still, distress’d, I rove from coast to coast,

Lost to my friends, and to my country lost.

But sure the eye of Time beholds no name

So bless’d as thine in all the rolls of fame;

Alive we hail’d thee with our guardian gods,