When now the rage of hunger was allay’d, Thus to the lyrist wise Ulysses said: “O more than man! thy soul the muse inspires, Or Phœbus animates with all his fires; For who, by Phœbus uninform’d, could know The woe of Greece, and sing so well the woe? Just to the tale, as present at the fray, Or taught the labours of the dreadful day: The song recalls past horrors to my eyes, And bids proud Ilion from her ashes rise. Once more harmonious strike the sounding string, The Epaean fabric, framed by Pallas, sing: How stern Ulysses, furious to destroy, With latent heroes sack’d imperial Troy. If faithful thou record the tale of Fame, The god himself inspires thy breast with flame And mine shall be the task henceforth to raise In every land thy monument of praise.” Full of the god he raised his lofty strain: How the Greeks rush’d tumultuous to the main; How blazing tents illumined half the skies, While from the shores the winged navy flies; How e’en in Ilion’s walls, in deathful bands, Came the stern Greeks by Troy’s assisting hands: All Troy up-heaved the steed; of differing mind, Various the Trojans counsell’d: part consign’d The monster to the sword, part sentence gave To plunge it headlong in the whelming wave; The unwise award to lodge it in the towers, An offering sacred to the immortal powers: The unwise prevail, they lodge it in the walls, And by the gods’ decree proud Ilion falls: Destruction enters in the treacherous wood, And vengeful slaughter, fierce for human blood. He sung the Greeks stern-issuing from the steed, How Ilion burns, how all her fathers bleed; How to thy dome, Deiphobus! ascends The Spartan king; how Ithacus attends (Horrid as Mars); and how with dire alarms He fights—subdues, for Pallas strings his arms Thus while he sung, Ulysses’ griefs renew, Tears bathe his cheeks, and tears the ground bedew As some fond matron views in mortal fight Her husband falling in his country’s right; Frantic through clashing swords she runs, she flies, As ghastly pale he groans, and faints and dies; Close to his breast she grovels on the ground, And bathes with floods of tears the gaping wound; She cries, she shrieks: the fierce insulting foe Relentless mocks her violence of woe: To chains condemn’d, as wildly she deplores; A widow, and a slave on foreign shores. So from the sluices of Ulysses’ eyes Fast fell the tears, and sighs succeeded sighs: Conceal’d he grieved: the king observed alone The silent tear, and heard the secret groan; Then to the bard aloud: “O cease to sing, Dumb be thy voice, and mute the tuneful string; To every note his tears responsive flow, And his great heart heaves with tumultuous woe; Thy lay too deeply moves: then cease the lay, And o’er the banquet every heart be gay: This social right demands: for him the sails, Floating in air, invite the impelling gales: His are the gifts of love: the wise and good Receive the stranger as a brother’s blood.