THE

TWENTY-SECOND BOOK

OF THE

ILI A D.

ARGUME N T.

The Death of Hector.

THE Trojans being fafe within the walls, Hector only stays to oppofe Achilles. Priam is ftruck at his approach, and tries to perfuade his fon to reenter the town. Hecuba joins her intreaties, but in vain. Hector confults within himfelf what meafures to take; but, at the advance of Achilles, his refolution fails him, and he flies: Achilles purfues him thrice round the walls of Troy. The Gods debate concerning the fate of Hector; at length Minerva defcends to the aid of Achilles. She deludes Hector in the fhape of Deiphobus; he stands the combat, and is flain Achilles drags the dead body at his chariot, in the fight of Priam and Hecuba. Their lamentations, tears, and defpair. Their cries reach the ears of Andromache, who, ignorant of this, was retired into the inner part of the palace; fhe mounts up to the walls, and beholds her dead husband. She fwoons at the spectacle, Her excess of grief and lamentation.

The thirtieth day ftill continues. The fcene lies under the walls and on the battlements of Troy.

THE

I

LIA D.

BOOK XXII.

10

HUS to their bulwarks, fmit with panic fear, The herded Ilions rufh like driven deer; There fafe, they wipe their briny drops away, And drown in bowls the labours of the day. Close to the walls, advancing o'er the fields. Beneath one roof of well-compacted fhields, March, bending on, the Greek's embodied powers, Far-ftretching in the fhade of Trojan towers. Great Hector fingly staid; chain'd down by Fate, There fixt he ftood before the Scæan gate; Still his bold arms determin'd to employ, The guardian still of long-defended Troy. Apollo now to tir'd Achilles turns (The Power confeft in all his glory burns). And what (he cries) has Peleus' fon in view, With mortal speed a Godhead to pursue ? For not to thee to know the Gods is given, Unfkill'd to trace the latent marks of Heaven. What boots thee now, that Troy forfook the plain ? Vain thy paft labour, and thy present vain : Safe in their walls are now her troops bestow'd, While here thy frantic rage attacks a God. S 4

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The

The chief incens'd-Too partial God of Day!
To check my conquefts in the middle way:
How few in Ilion elfe had refuge found!
What gafping numbers now had bit the ground!
Thou robb'ft me of a glory juftly mine,
Powerful of Godhead, and of fraud divine:
Mean fame, alas! for one of heavenly strain,
To cheat a mortal, who repines in vain.
Then to the city terrible and strong,
With high and haughty fteps he tower'd along.
So the proud courfer, victor of the prize,
To the near goal with double ardour flies:
Him, as he blazing fhot across the field,
The careful eyes of Priam firft beheld.
Not half fo dreadful rifes to the fight,

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Through the thick gloom of fome tempeftuous night, Orion's dog (the year when autumn weighs)

And o'er the feebler ftars exerts his rays;

Terrific glory! for his burning breath

age:

Taints the red air with fevers, plagues, and death.
So flam'd his fiery mail. Then wept the fage;
He ftrikes his reverend head, now white with
He lifts his wither'd arms; obtefts the skies;
He calls his much-lov'd fon with feeble cries;
The fon, refolv'd Achilles' force to dare,
Full at the Scean gates expects the war;
While the fad father on the rampart stands,
And thus adjures him with extended hands:

Ah, ftay not, ftay not! guardlefs and alone;
Hector! my lov'd, my deareft, braveft fon!

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Methinks