Vow’d to appease each anger’d Godhead’s ire. On which opinion, they, thereafter, saw, They then should have resolv’d; th’ unalter’d law Of fate presaging, that Troy then should end, When th’ hostile horse she should receive to friend, For therein should the Grecian kings lie hid, To bring the fate and death they after did. He sung, besides, the Greeks’ eruptión From those their hollow crafts, and horse foregone; And how they made depopulation tread Beneath her feet so high a city’s head. In which affair, he sung in other place, That of that ambush some man else did race The Ilion tow’rs than Laertiades; But here he sung, that he alone did seize,[10] With Menelaus, the ascended roof Of prince Deiphobus, and Mars-like proof Made of his valour, a most dreadful fight Daring against him; and there vanquish’d quite, In little time, by great Minerva’s aid, All Ilion’s remnant, and Troy level laid. This the divine expressor did so give Both act and passion, that he made it live, And to Ulysses’ facts did breathe a fire So deadly quick’ning, that it did inspire[11] Old death with life, and render’d life so sweet, And passionate, that all there felt it fleet; Which made him pity his own cruelty, And put into that ruth so pure an eye Of human frailty, that to see a man Could so revive from death, yet no way can Defend from death, his own quick pow’rs it made Feel there death’s horrors, and he felt life fade, In tears his feeling brain swet; for, in things[12] That move past utt’rance, tears ope all their springs. Nor are there in the pow’rs that all life bears More true interpreters of all than tears. And as a lady mourns her sole-lov’d lord, That fall’n before his city by the sword, Fighting to rescue from a cruel fate His town and children, and in dead estate Yet panting seeing him, wraps him in her arms, Weeps, shrieks, and pours her health into his arms, Lies on him, striving to become his shield From foes that still assail him, spears impell’d Through back and shoulders, by whose points embrued, They raise and lead him into servitude, Labour, and languor; for all which the dame Eats down her cheeks with tears, and feeds life’s flame With miserable suff’rance; so this king Of tear-swet anguish op’d a boundless spring; Nor yet was seen to any one man there But king Alcinous, who sat so near He could not ‘scape him, sighs, so chok’d, so brake From all his tempers; which the king did take Both note and grave respect of, and thus spake: “Hear me, Phæacian councillors and peers, And cease Demodocus; perhaps all ears Are not delighted with his song, for, ever Since the divine Muse sung, our guest hath never Contain’d from secret mournings. It may fall, That something sung he hath been grieved with all, As touching his particular. Forbear, That feast may jointly comfort all hearts here, And we may cheer our guest up; ’tis our best In all due honour. For our rev’rend guest Is all our celebration, gifts, and all, His love hath added to our festival.