The public victim, to redeem the state. Already some presaged the dire event, And saw what sacrifice Ulysses meant. For twice five days the good old seer withstood The intended treason, and was dumb to blood, Till, tired with endless clamours and pursuit Of Ithacus, he stood no longer mute, But, as it was agreed, pronounced that I Was destined by the wrathful gods to die. All praised the sentence, pleased the storm should fall On one alone, whose fury threatened all. The dismal day was come; the priests prepare Their leavened cakes, and fillets for my hair. I followed nature's laws, and must avow, I broke my bonds, and fled the fatal blow. Hid in a weedy lake all night I lay, Secure of safety when they sailed away. But now what further hopes for me remain, To see my friends, or native soil, again; My tender infants, or my careful sire, Whom they returning will to death require; Will perpetrate on them their first design, And take the forfeit of their heads for mine? Which, O! if pity mortal minds can move, If there be faith below, or gods above, If innocence and truth can claim desert, Ye Trojans, from an injured wretch avert." False tears true pity move; the king commands To loose his fetters, and unbind his hands, Then adds these friendly words:--"Dismiss thy fears; Forget the Greeks; be mine as thou wert theirs; But truly tell, was it for force or guile, Or some religious end, you raised the pile?" Thus said the king.--He, full of fraudful arts, This well-invented tale for truth imparts:-- "Ye lamps of heaven!" he said, and lifted high His hands now free,--"thou venerable sky! Inviolable powers, adored with dread! } Ye fatal fillets, that once bound this head! } Ye sacred altars, from whose flames I fled! } Be all of you adjured; and grant I may, Without a crime, the ungrateful Greeks betray, Reveal the secrets of the guilty state, And justly punish whom I justly hate! But you, O king, preserve the faith you gave, If I, to save myself, your empire save. The Grecian hopes, and all the attempts they made, Were only founded on Minerva's aid. But from the time when impious Diomede, And false Ulysses, that inventive head, Her fatal image from the temple drew, The sleeping guardians of the castle slew, Her virgin statue with their bloody hands Polluted, and profaned her holy bands; From thence the tide of fortune left their shore, And ebbed much faster than it flowed before: Their courage languished, as their hopes decayed; And Pallas, now averse, refused her aid. Nor did the goddess doubtfully declare Her altered mind, and alienated care. When first her fatal image touched the ground, She sternly cast her glaring eyes around, That sparkled as they rolled, and seemed to threat: Her heavenly limbs distilled a briny sweat.