| 807 | 808 | 809 | 810 | 811 |
| 1 | 245 | 490 | 735 | 980 |
|
"All hail, Patroclus! let thy vengeful ghost
Hear, and exult, on Pluto's dreary coast.
Behold Achilles' promise fully paid,
Twelve Trojan heroes offer'd to thy shade;
But heavier fates on Hector's corse attend,
Saved from the flames, for hungry dogs to rend."
So spake he, threatening: but the gods made vain
His threat, and guard inviolate the slain:
Celestial Venus hover'd o'er his head,
And roseate unguents, heavenly fragrance! shed:
She watch'd him all the night and all the day,
And drove the bloodhounds from their destined prey.
Nor sacred Phoebus less employ'd his care;
He pour'd around a veil of gather'd air,
And kept the nerves undried, the flesh entire,
Against the solar beam and Sirian fire.
Nor yet the pile, where dead Patroclus lies,
Smokes, nor as yet the sullen flames arise;
But, fast beside, Achilles stood in prayer,
Invoked the gods whose spirit moves the air,
And victims promised, and libations cast,
To gentle Zephyr and the Boreal blast:
He call'd the aerial powers, along the skies
To breathe, and whisper to the fires to rise.
809
Page
Quick Jump
|