Classic Poem

Paraphras'd from O VID .

These Lines I send, impatient of your Stay,
To you, my Lord, who kill me with Delay;
Yet crave not any Answer back, beside
Yourself, the best of Answers to your Bride.
Sure Troy , so hateful to the Grecian Dames,
Is ruin'd now, with dire, consuming Flames;
Tho' scarcely Troy , nor all his King could boast,
Was Worth the Trouble which her Ruin cost.
O! had lewd P ARIS sunk beneath the Tide,
When, o'er the Seas, he sought the Spartan Bride;
I had not then accus'd the ling'ring Day,
Nor weav'd, to charm the tedious Night away;
Nor in the Bed, deserted and forlorn,
Lain weeping, cold and comfortless, till Morn.

W HENE'ER of Dangers in your Camp I heard,
Those Dangers threaten'd you , I always fear'd:
For Love, like mine, no cold Indiff'rence bears;
It feeds on tim'rous Thoughts, and anxious Cares.
I fansy'd, furious Trojans round thee came;
And trembling, ever dreaded Hector'S Name:
If any said, A NTILOCHUS was slain,
A NTILOCHUS was he who caus'd my Pain:
Or, if in borrow'd Arms P ATROCLUS bled,
I wept, because his Craft no better sped:
When Rhodian Blood had bath'd the Lycian Spear,
The Rhodian Youth again renew'd my Care:
In fine, whatever Grecian Chief was kill'd,
My fearful Heart, like frigid Ice, was chill'd;
Left flatt'ring Fame my doubtful Ears should cheat,
And, for my Lord's, proclaim another's Fate:
But Heav'n, propitious to my chaste Desire,
Preserv'd you safe, and Troy consum'd with Fire.

B UT now the other Grecian Chiefs return,
And on their smoking Altars Off'rings burn;
Their useless Arms they consecrate to Peace,
And Trojan Spoils the Grecian Temples grace:
Each youthful Bride some pleasing Gift affords,
To welcome home their safe-returned Lords;
Their safe-returned Lords, in Songs of Joy,
Resound the vanquish'd Fates of ruin'd Troy:
The wond'ring Sages croud around to hear;
The trembling Girls admire the Tales of War:
The Wives stand list'ning, while their Husbands tell,
How Greece had conquer'd, and how Ilion fell:
One stains a Table with the purple Draught,
And shews the furious Battles, which you fought;
Paints with the Wine, which from the Glass he pours,
Camps, Rivers, Hills, and all the Trojan Tow'rs:
And, This, says he, is the Sigean Plain;
And here the silver Simois rolls his Train;
There stood old P RIAM'S stately Palace; here
A CHILLES pitch'd his Tent, U LYSSES there:
Here mangled Hector , dreadful in his Fall,
Affrights the Steeds, that drag him round the Wall.
Your Son, who sent by me to N ESTOR'S Court,
To seek his Father, brought me this Report
From N ESTOR'S Mouth, and how the Thracian Lord,
In Sleep, became a Victim to your Sword;
How D OLON fell into your crafty Snare — — —
But, O! U LYSSES , you too boldly dare;
Too fearless, thro' the Camp of Foes you rove,
Mindful of Wiles, forgetful of your Love;
Slaying so many in a gloomy Night,
One Friend alone, to aid you in the Fight.
It was not thus you rashly us'd to go
Among the Midnight Terrors of the Foe;
Fondly of me you formerly have thought,
With Prudence acted, and with Caution fought.
Heav'n knows, with Fear my trembling Bosom beat,
To hear my Son your daring Deeds relate;
Till told how you victoriously return'd,
Safe, to your Camp, with Thracian Spoils adorn'd.

B UT what avails it me, your Arms have thrown
Troy 's stately Walls, and lofty Turrets down?
As when they stood; if I am robb'd of thee,
Troy 's fall'n to others , standing still to me ;
To others , who, with captive Oxen, toil
To turn the Glebe, and till the Trojan Soil;
And while, with crooked Ploughs, they discompose
Th'ill-bury'd Ashes of their slaughter'd Foes;
While Phrygian Fields, grown fat with native Blood,
Bear fruitful Crops, where stately Ilion stood;
While verdant Harvests hide their ruin'd Wall,
I mourn my absent Lord, who wrought its Fall;
Nor can I know the Land, where you reside,
Nor who, nor what detains you from your Bride.

W HATEVER Sailors on our Coast appear,
(Hopeful to find some Tidings of my Dear)
I fly to them, and ask 'em o'er and o'er,
If e'er they saw you on some foreign Shore.
Then to their Hands a Letter I impart,
To give it you, the Partner of my Heart;
If Chance, or Destiny should ever prove
So kind to lead them to my absent Love.

W E sought for you at antient N ESTOR'S Court;
But sought in vain, we heard no true Report:
We sent to ask the Spartans too; but they
Knew not the Climate, where you, ling'ring, stay
O! had A POLLO sav'd his sacred Town — — —
Ye Gods! why did I ever wish it down?
If that were standing, and U LYSSES there,
I nothing, but the Chance of War, should fear:
I should not then be singly curs'd to cry;
Others would fear the War, no less then I.
But now a thousand Whimsies feed my Care,
Nor know I what to hope, or what to fear;
Yet fearing all, that Fancy can suggest,
Unnumber'd Troubles rack my anxious Breast:
Upon the Land whatever Dangers reign,
I fear those Dangers make you there remain;
Upon the Seas whatever Storms increase,
I fear those Storms detain you on the Seas.
While thus my foolish Thoughts uncertain rove,
Perhaps you revel with a foreign Love;
Perhaps you ridicule your Bride at home,
Tell how she spins, or drudges in the Loom:
Suspicious Thoughts! that vex my jealous Mind,
Be gone, and vanish into empty Wind!
If cruel Fate did not obstruct the Way,
My Lord would never make so long Delay.
Your long Delay my Father often blames,
And often chides me for my constant Flames:
My constant Flames shall ever true remain;
Let Fathers chide, and Suiters court in vain.
At length my Sire, who finds he can't remove
My Faith from you, or shake my settled Love,
Remits his Anger, soften'd with my Pray'rs;
Yet still a Croud of Suiters teaze my Ears;
From various Realms they come to seek your Crown,
And feast, and reign securely in your Throne:
'Twould tire me ev'n to count their Number o'er,
M EDON , P ISANDER , and a hundred more!
All bent on Love, and Robbers of the State,
And All, by your pernicious Absence, great!
To crown your Shame, the Beggar I RUS preys
Upon your Sheep, and all the fattest slays:
And ev'n your Shepherd, faithless to his Lord,
Slaughters your Lambs, to grace the Suiters Board:
Nor have we Strength, their Rapine to oppose;
For how can Three resist so many Foes?
Your feeble Wife, your Father worn with Age,
Your tender Son, too weak to check their Rage;
For whom they lately crafty Ambush laid,
And menac'd Death on his devoted Head;
When, mocking all their Stratagems, he crost
The Seas, to seek you on the Pylian Coast.
O! may the Gods extend his vital Date,
And guard his Life, till our's submit to Fate:
So may he close our Eyes with decent Care;
Such is your Servant's, such his Nurse's Pray'r.

S INCE then your aged Father, feeble grown,
Amidst your Foes, cannot defend your Crown;
Your Wife, too weak to chase the Foes away,
Your Son, too young to bear the Regal Sway;
Haste, haste, U LYSSES , to your Royal Seat;
For you alone can cure our troubled State:
Think of your Son, who wants you to inspire
His Soul with all the Virtues of his Sire:
Think, on the Brink of Fate your Father lies:
Return, my Lord, return, and close his Eyes:
Think of your faithful Wise, whose youthful Face,
At your Departure, blush'd with blooming Grace:
But now I blush with bloomy Grace no more;
Tears, for your Absence, cloud my Beauty o'er.
O! may you soon return, before I prove
An antient Dame, unworthy of your Love .