BOOK XXII.

THEN fierce the hero o'er the threshold strode;
Stript of his rags, he blaz'd out like a god.
Full in their face the lifted bow he bore,
And quiver'd deaths, a formidable store;

Before his feet the rattling show'r he threw,
And thus terrific, to the suitor-crew:

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One vent'rous game this hand has won to-day; Another, princes! yet remains to play:

Another mark our arrow must attain.

Phoebus, assist! nor be the labour vain.

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Swift as the word the parting arrow sings, And bears thy fate, Antinous, on its wings. Wretch that he was, of unprophetic soul! High in his hands he rear'd the golden bowl; 14 E'en then to drain it lengthen'd out his breath; Chang'd to the deep, the bitter draught of death! For fate who fear'd amidst a feastful band?

And fate to numbers, by a single hand?

Full through his throat Ulysses' weapon past, And pierc'd the neck. He falls, and breathes his

last.

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The tumbling goblet the wide floor o'erflows, A stream of gore burst spouting from his nose; Grim in convulsive agonies he sprawls:

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Before him spurn'd, the loaded table falls,
And spreads the pavement with a mingled flood
Of floating meats, and wine, and human blood.
Amaz'd, confounded, as they saw him fall,
Uprose the throngs tumultuous round the hall:
O'er all the dome they cast a haggard eye:
Each look'd for arms: in vain; no arms were nigh:
Aim'st thou at princes? (all amaz'd they said)
Thy last of games unhappy hast thou play'd;
Thy erring shaft has made our bravest bleed,
And death, unlucky guest, attends thy deed. 34
Vultures shall tear thee-Thus incens'd they spoke;
While each to chance ascrib'd the wond'rous stroke:
Blind as they were; for death e'en now invades
His destin'd prey, and wraps them all in shades.
Then grimly frowning with a dreadful look,
That wither'd all their hearts, Ulysses spoke. 40

Dogs, ye have had your day:-ye fear'd no more
Ulysses vengeful from the Trojan shore;
While to your lust and spoil a guardless prey,

Our house, our wealth, our helpless handmaids lay:

Not so content, with bolder frenzy fir'd,
E'en to our bed, presumptuous, you aspir❜ḍ:

Laws or divine or human fail'd to move,

Or shame of men, or dread of gods above:
Heedless alike of infamy or praise,

Of fame's eternal voice in future days:
The hour of vengeance, wretches! now is come;
Impending fate is yours, and instant doom.

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Thus dreadful he. Confus'd the suitors stood; From their pale cheeks recedes the flying blood: Trembling they sought their guilty heads to hide; Alone the bold Eury machus replied:

If, as thy words impart (he thus began), Ulysses lives, and thou the mighty man,

Great are thy wrongs, and much hast thou sus

tain'd

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In thy spoil'd palace, and exhausted land.
The cause and author of those guilty deeds,
Lo! at thy feet unjust Antinous bleeds.
Not love, but wild ambition was his guide:
To slay thy son, thy kingdoms to divide,
These were his aims;-but juster Jove denied. 65
Since cold in death th' offender lies, O spare

Thy suppliant people, and receive their pray'r!