Classic Poem

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 quickning, that it did inspire
Old death with life; and renderd life so sweet
And passionate, that all there felt it fleet;
Which made him pitie his owne crueltie,
And put into that ruth, so pure an eie
Of humane frailtie; that to see a man
Could so revive from Death; yet no way can
Defend from death; his owne quicke powres it made
Feele there deaths horrors: and he felt life fade
In teares, his feeling braine swet: for in things
That move past utterance, teares ope all their springs.
Nor are there in the Powres, that all life beares,
More true interpreters of all, then teares.
And as a Ladie mournes her sole-lov'd Lord,
That falne before his Citie, by the sword,
Fighting to rescue from a cruell Fate,
His towne and children; and in dead estate
Yet panting, seeing him; wraps him in her armes,
Weeps, shriekes, and powres her health into his armes;
Lies on him, striving to become his shield
From foes that still assaile him; speares impeld
Through backe and shoulders; by whose points embrude,
They raise and leade him into servitude,
Labor and languor; for all which, the Dame
Eates downe her cheekes with teares, and feeds lifes flame
With miserable sufferance: So this King,
Of teare-swet anguish, op't a boundlesse spring:
Nor yet was seene to any one man there,
But King Alcinous , who sate so neare,
He could not scape him: sighs (so chok't) so brake
From all his tempers, which the King did take
Both note, and grave respect of, and thus spake:
Heare me, Phaeacian Counsellers and Peeres;
And ceasse, Demodocus ; perhaps all eares
Are not delighted with his song; for, ever
Since the divine Muse sung, our Guest hath never
Containd from secret mournings. It may fall,
That something sung, he hath bin griev'd withall,
As touching his particular. Forbeare;
That Feast may joyntly comfort all hearts here;
And we may cheare our Guest up; tis our best,
In all due honor. For our reverend Guest
Is all our celebration, gifts, and all,
His love hath added to our Festivall.
A Guest, and suppliant too, we should esteeme
Deare as our brother; one that doth but dreame
He hath a soule; or touch but at a mind
Deathlesse and manly; should stand so enclin'd.