Priams castle-walls had sunk,
Troy in dust and ashes lay,
And each Greek, with triumph drunk,
Richly laden with his prey,
Sat upon his ships high prow,
On the Hellespontic strand,
Starting on his journey now,
Bound for Greece, his own
fair land.
Raise the glad exulting shout!
Toward the land that gave
them birth
Turn they now the ships about,
As they seek their native
earth.
And in rows, all mournfully,
Sat the Trojan women there,-
Beat their breasts in agony,
Pallid, with dishevelled hair.
In the feast of joy so glad
Mingled they the song of woe,
Weeping oer their fortunes
sad,
In their countrys overthrow.
Land beloved, oh, fare thee
well!
By our foreign masters led,
Far from home were doomed
to dwell,-
Ah, how happy are the dead!
Soon the blood by Calchas spilt
On the altar heavenward smokes;
Pallas, by whom towns are built
And destroyed, the priest
invokes;
Neptune, too, who all the earth
With his billowy girdle laves,-
Zeus, who gives to terror birth,
Who the dreaded Aegis waves.
Now the weary fight is done,
Neer again to be renewed;
Times wide circuit now is
run,
And the mighty town subdued!
Atreus son, the armys
head,
Told the peoples numbers
oer,
Whom he, as their captain, led
To Scamanders vale
of yore.
Sorrows black and heavy clouds
Passed across the monarchs
brow:
Of those vast and valiant crowds,
Oh, how few were left him
now!
Joyful songs let each one raise,
Who will see his home again,
In whose veins the life-blood plays,
For, alas! not all remain!
All who homeward wend their
way,
Will not there find peace
of mind;
On their household altars, they
Murder foul perchance may
find.
Many fall by false friends
stroke,
Who in fight immortal proved:-
So Ulysses warning spoke,
By Athenes spirit moved.
Happy he, whose faithful spouse
Guards his home with honor
true!
Woman ofttimes breaks her vows,
Ever loves she what is new.
And Atrides glories there
In the prize he won in fight,
And around her body fair
Twines his arms with fond
delight.
Evil works must punished be.
Vengeance follows after crime,
For Kronions just decree
Rules the heavenly courts
sublime.
Evil must in evil end;
Zeus will on the impious band
Woe for broken guest-rights send,
Weighing with impartial hand.
It may well the glad befit,
Cried Olleus valiant
son,
To extol the Gods who sit
On Olympus lofty throne!
Fortune all her gifts supplies,
Blindly, and no justice knows,
For Patroclus buried lies,
And Thersites homeward goes!
Since she blindly throws away
Each lot in her wheel contained,
Let him shout with joy to-day
Who the prize of life has
gained.
Ay, the wars the best devour!
Brother, we will think of
thee,
In the fight a very tower,
When we join in revelry!
When the Grecian ships were fired,
By thine arm was safety brought;
Yet the man by craft inspired
Won the spoils thy valor sought.
Peace be to thine ashes blest!
Thou wert vanquished not in
fight:
Anger tis destroys the best,-
Ajax fell by Ajax might!
Neoptolemus poured then,
To his sire renowned
the wine-
Mongst the lots of
earthly men,
Mighty father, prize I thine!
Of the goods that life supplies,
Greatest far of all is fame;
Though to dust the body flies,
Yet still lives a noble name.
Valiant one, thy glorys ray
Will immortal be in song;
For, though life may pass away,
To all time the dead belong!
Since the voice of minstrelsy
Speaks not of the vanquished
man,
I will Hectors witness be,-
Tydeus noble son
began:
Fighting bravely in defence
Of his household-gods he fell.
Great the victors glory thence,
He in purpose did excel!
Battling for his altars dear,
Sank that rock, no more to
rise;
Een the foemen will revere
One whose honored name neer
dies.
Nestor, joyous reveller old,
Who three generations saw,
Now the leaf-crowned cup of gold
Gave to weeping Hecuba.
Drain the goblets
draught so cool,
And forget each painful smart!
Bacchus gifts are wonderful,-
Balsam for a broken heart.
Drain the goblets draught
so cool,
And forget each painful smart!
Bacchus gifts are wonderful,-
Balsam for a broken heart.
Een to Niobe, whom
Heaven
Loved in wrath to persecute,
Respite from her pangs was given,
Tasting of the corns
ripe fruit.
Whilst the thirsty lip we lave
In the foaming, living spring,
Buried deep in Lethes wave
Lies all grief, all sorrowing!
Whilst the thirsty lip we lave
In the foaming, living spring,
Swallowed up in Lethes wave
Is all grief, all sorrowing!
And the Prophetess inspired
By her God, upstarted now,-
Toward the smoke of homesteads fired,
Looking from the lofty prow.
Smoke is each thing here
below;
Every worldly greatness dies,
As the vapory columns go,-
None are fixed but Deities!
Cares behind the horseman sit-
Round about the vessel play;
Lest the morrow hinder it,
Let us, therefore, live to-day.
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