Classic Poem

At this th' Impatient Hero sowrly smil'd:
His Heart, impetuous in his Bosom boil'd,
And justled by two Tides of equal sway,
Stood, for a while, suspended in his way.
Betwixt his Reason, and his Rage untam'd;
One whisper'd soft, and one aloud reclaim'd:
That only counsell'd to the safer side;
This to the Sword, his ready Hand apply'd.
Unpunish'd to support th' Affront was hard:
Nor easy was th' Attempt to force the Guard.
But soon the thirst of Vengeance fir'd his Blood:
Half shone his Faulchion, and half sheath'd it stood.

In that nice moment, Pallas , from above,
Commission'd by th' Imperial Wife of Jove ,
Descended swift: (the white arm'd Queen was loath
The Fight shou'd follow; for she favour'd both:)
Just as in Act he stood, in Clouds inshrin'd,
Her Hand she fasten'd on his Hair behind;
Then backward by his yellow Curls she drew:
To him, and him alone confess'd in view.
Tam'd by superiour Force he turn'd his Eyes
Aghast at first, and stupid with Surprize:
But by her sparkling Eyes, and ardent Look,
The Virgin-Warrior known, he thus bespoke.

Com'st thou, Celestial, to behold my Wrongs?
Then view the Vengeance which to Crimes belongs.

Thus He. The blue-ey'd Goddess thus rejoin'd:
I come to calm thy turbulence of Mind,
If Reason will resume her soveraign Sway,
And sent by Juno , her Commands obey.
Equal she loves you both, and I protect:
Then give thy Guardian Gods their due respect;
And cease Contention; be thy Words severe,
Sharp as he merits: But the Sword forbear.
An Hour unhop'd already wings her way,
When he his dire Affront shall dearly pay:
When the proud King shall sue, with trebble Gain,
To quit thy Loss, and conquer thy Disdain.
But thou secure of my unfailing Word,
Compose thy swelling Soul; and sheath the Sword.

The Youth thus answer'd mild; Auspicious Maid,
Heavn's will be mine; and your Commands obey'd.
The Gods are just, and when subduing Sense,
We serve their Pow'rs, provide the Recompence.
He said; with surly Faith believ'd her Word,
And, in the Sheath, reluctant, plung'd the Sword.
Her Message done, she mounts the bless'd Abodes,
And mix'd among the Senate of the Gods.

At her departure his Disdain return'd:
The Fire she fan'd, with greater Fury burn'd;
Rumbling within till thus it found a vent:
Dastard, and Drunkard, Mean and Insolent:
Tongue-valiant Hero, Vaunter of thy Might,
In Threats the foremost, but the lag in Fight;
When did'st thou thrust amid the mingled Preace,
Content to bid the War aloof in Peace?