Classic Poem

[ULYSSES SPEAKS.]

Son of Achilles! brave Neoptolemus,
You tread the coast of sea-surrounded Lemnos,
Where never mortal yet his dwelling rear'd.
Here, in obedience to the Grecian chiefs,
I erst expos'd the son of noble Paeon,
Consuming with his wounds, and wasting slow
In painful agonies; wild from despair,
He fill'd the camp with lamentations loud,
And execrations dire. No pure libation,
No holy sacrifice could to the Gods
Be offer'd up: ill-omen'd sounds of woe
Profan'd the sacred rites: But this no more — —
Should he discover my return, 'twere vain
The plan my wakeful industry has wove,
Back to restore yet to the aid of Greece
This most important chief. 'Tis thine, brave youth,
To ripen into deed, what I propose.
Cast round thy eyes, if thou by chance may'st find
The double rock, where from the Winter's cold
He shrouds his limbs, or when the Summer glows
Amid the cool, the zephyr's gentle breath
Lulls him to his repose; fast on the left
Flows a fresh fountain; if the hero sees
This living light, one of the' attendant train
Speed with the hour to glad my listening ears,
If in that savage haunt he harbours yet.
Or in some other corner of this isle;
Then farther I'll disclose, what chief imports
Our present needs, and claims our common care.