Book XVIII

burning the camp, had thrown the Daunians into difordcr; and that they might now be furprized in their turn. He, therefore, . took a circuit with the utmost expedition, followed by the moll experienced commanders, and fell upon them in the rear, when they believed the whole army of the allies to b.e fiuToundcd by the conflagration.

This unexpc6led attack threw them into confusion; and they fell under the hand of Telemachus, as leaves fall from the trees in the declining year, when the northern tempeft, the harbinger of winter, makes the veterans of the forefl: groan, and bends the branches to the trunk. Telemachus ftrewed the earth with the victims of his prowefs, and his fpear pierced the heart of Iphiclcs, the youngeil: son of Adraftus: Jphicles rafhly presented himself before him in battle, to preserve the life of his father, whom Telemachus was about to attack by furprize. Telemachus and Iphicks were equal in beauty, vigour, dexterity, and courage; they were of the fame flature, had the fame sweetness of disposition, and were both tenderly beloved by their parents: but Iphicles fell like a flower of the field, which, in the full pride of its beauty, is cut down by the fcythe of the mower. Telemachus then overthrew Euphorion, the most celebrated of all the Lydians that came from Etruria; and his sword at last pierced the bread of Cleomenes, who had jufl: plighted his faith in marriage, and had promised rich spoils to the wife whom he was destined to see no more.

Adraftus beheld the fall of his son and of his captains, and saw his vi(5tory wrefted from him when he thought it secure, in a tranfport of rage, which fliook him like the hand of death. Phalanthus, almost proftrate at his feet, was like a viiftim, wounded but not llain, that ftarts from the sacred knife, and flies terrified from

S f 2 the tlic altar: in one moment more, his life would have been the prize of Adrailus. But in this crifis of his fate, he heard the fhout of Telemachus, rufliing to his afliftance, and looked upward; his life was now given him back, and the cloud which was fettling x)vei: Hi's eyes vanished. The Daunians, alarmed at this unexpedted attack, abandoned Phalanthus, to repress a more formidable enemy; and Adraflus was ftung with new rage, like a tyger, from whom the fliepherds, with united force, fnatch the prey that he was ready to devour. Telemachus fought him in the throng; and would have finilhcd the war at a ftroke, by delivering the allies from their implacable enemy; but Jupiter would not vouchfafe him fo sudden and cafy a victory: and even Minerva, that he might better learn to govern, was willing that he should longer continue to fufFcr. The impious Adraftus, therefore, was prefervcd by the Father of ihe Gods, that Telemachus might acquire new virtue, and be diftinguilhed by gi'eater glory. A thick cloud was interpofed, by Jupiter, between the Daunians and their enemies; the will of the Gods was declared in thunders, that fliooktlie plain, and threatened to crufli the reptiles of the earth uilder the ruins of Olympus: the lightning divided the firmament from pole to pole; and the light, which, this moment, dazzled the eye, left it, the next, in tot^ll darkness: an impetuous fliower that immediately followed, contributed to separate the two armies.

Adradus availed himself of the fuccour of the Gods, without any secret acknowledgment of their power; an inflance of ingratitude, which mad-e him worthy of more signal vengeance! He poflcITed himfcl-f of a situation, between the ruins of the camp and •a morafs which extended to the river, with such promptnefs and expedition, as made even his retreat an honour; and, at once, fliewed his readinefs at- expedients, and perfed pojTeiiion of himself.

•rdf. Tlic allies, animated by Telemachus, would hxve pcrfacd him; but he efcapcd, by favour of the storm, like a bird from, rlic fnare of the fowler.

The allies had now nothing to do, but to return to the camp, and repair the damage it had suffered: but the scene, as they entered it, exhibited the miseries of war in their utmofl horror. The sick and wounded, not having flrength to quit their tents, became a prey to the flames; and many that appeared to be half burnt, were flill able to express their misery in a plaintive and dying voice, calling upon the Gods, and looking upward. At these fights, and these sounds, Telemachus was pierced to the heart, and burst into tears: he was seized, at once, with horror and compassion; and involuntarily turned away his eyes, from objecSis which he trembled to behold; Wretches, whose death was inevitable, but painful and How; whofc bodies, in part devoured by the fire, had the appearance of the flesh of vi6lims that is burnt upon the altar, and mixes the favour of sacrifices with the air.

" Alas! said Tklem a en us,i.iow various, and how dreadful, are the IXiiferies of war I What horrid infatuation impels mankind! their days upon the earth are few, and those few are evil; why then should they precipitate deatlij which is already near? why lliould they add bitterness to life, that is already bitter? All men are brothers, and..yet they hunt each other as prey. The wild beads of the defart are less cruel: lions wage not war against lions; and, to the tyger, the tyger is peaceable; the only objects of their ferocity, are animals of a different species: .jsian does, in opposition to his jreafon, what, by animals that are without reason, is never done. Aiad for what are these wars undertaken? Is there not land enough in the world, for every man to appropriate more than he can cultivate? Are there not defarts, which the whole race could never people?

people? What then is the motive to war? Some tyrant fighs for a new appellation; he would be called a conqueror; and, for this, he kindles a flame that defolatcs the earth. Thus a wretched individual, who would not have been born but for the anger of the Gods, brutally sacrifices his species to his vanity: ruin mufl: spread, blood mufl flow, fire must consume, and he, who efcapes from the flames and the sword, must pcrifli by famine with yet more anguilli and horror; that one man, to whom the mifcry of a world is fport, may, from this general deftruc^ion, obtain a fanciful polleflion of what he calls glory: hov/ vile the perverfion of lb facrcd a name! how worthy, above all others, of indignation and contempt, thofc who have fo far forgotten humanity! Let those, who fancy they are Demi-Gods, henceforth remember, that they are less than men; and let every succeeding age, by which they hoped to be admired, hold them in execration. With what caution, should princes undertake a war! Wars, indeed, ought always to be just: but that is not fuflicient; they ought, also, to be ncceflfary to the general good. The blood of a nation ought never to be fled, except for its own prefcrvation in the utmost extremity. But the perfidious counsels of flattery, false notions of glory, groundlefs jealoufies, infatiable ambition difguifed under fpecious appearances, and connedlions infenfibly formed, fcldom fail to engage princes in a war, which renders them unhappy; in which, every thing is put in hazard without necefiity; and which produces as much raif- <;hief to their fubjedls, as to their enemies." Such were the reflections of Telemachus.

Eut he did not content himfclf with deploring the evils of war; he endeavoured to mitigate them. He went himself from tent to tent, affording to the lick, and even to the clying, such afliftance and comfort as they could receive; he distributed, among them, pot only medicine, but money; he foothed and consoled them by exprefllons citprelfions of tcndcrnefs and friendship, and fcnt others on the fame errand to those whom he could not visit himself.

Among the Cretans that had accompanied him from Salentum, were two old men, whose names were Traumatophilus and Nofophugus. Traumatophilus had been at the siege of Troy with Idomeneus, and had learned the art of healing wounds from the sons of iEfculapius, He poured, into the deepeft and moil malignant fores, an odoriferous liquor, which removed the dead and mortified flelh, without the afiiflance of the knife, and facilitated the for- / Tnation of a new substance, of a fairer and better texture than the fall. Nofophugus had never seen the sons of JLfculapius; but, by the assistance of Merion, he had procured a sacred and mysterious book, which was written by iEfculapius for their inftrudion. Nofophugus was also beloved by the Gods: he had composed hymns, in honour of the offspring of Latona; and he offered, every day, a lamb, white and fpotlefs, to Apollo, by whom he was frequently inspired.

As soon as he saw the sick, he knew, by the appearance of the eyes, the colour of the flcin, the temperament of the body, and the {late of refpiration, what was the cause of the disease. Sometimes he adminillered medicines, that operated by perfpiration; and the fucccfs lliewed how much the incrcafe or diminution of that fecretion, can influence the mechanifm of the body, for its hurt or advantage. To those that were languifhing under a gradual decay, he gave infuuonsof certain salutary herbs, that by de- ^r^-ees fortified the noble parts, and, by purifying the blood, brougltt back the vigour and the frcflincfs of }outh. «J^ut he frequciKly declared, that if it were not for:riminal excefTes/ and Sdle fears,-' ,J-hci£- would be but little employment for.tll^^-.-El^yiidaQ.' " The number of difeafcs, says he, is a difgrace to mankind; for virtue produces produces health. Imemperance converts the very food that should fuflain life, into a poison that dcflroys it; and pleasure,. indulgccl to excess, Ihortens our days more than they can be lengthened by medicine. The poor are more rarely sick for want of nouriflimcnt, than the rich by taking too much: high feafoned meats, that flimulate appetite after nature is fufficed, are rather poison than food. Medicines themselves offer violence to nature; and Ihould never be used, but ip the most preffing neceflity. The great remedy, ^ which i§,..a,|ways innocent, and always useful, is temperance, a moderate.,use of pleasure, tiaaq.uillity of mind, andcxercife of the body: these produce_a pureaud well tempered blood, and throw off superfluous humours that would corrupt it." Thus was Nofophugus yet less honoured for the medicine by which he cured diseases, than for the, rules he prefcribcd to prevent them, and render medicine unneceflary.

These excellent persons werefent, by Telemachus, tovifit the sick of the army; many of whom they recovered by their remedies, but yet more by the care which they took to have them properly attended, to keep their persons clean, and the air about them pure.; at the fame time confining the convalefcent to an exad; regimen, as well with refpedt to the quality, as the quantity of their food.

The soldiers, touched with gratitude at this feafonable and imiportant relief, gave thanks to the Gods, for having sent Telemachus among them: " He is not, said they, a mere mortal like ourselves: he is certainly some beneficent Deity, in a human Ihape; or, if he is, indeed, a mortal, he bears less resemblance to the rest of men, than to the Gods. He is an inhabitant of the earth, only to diffufe good: his affability and benevolence recommend Jiim, still more than his valour. O! that we might have him foj for our king! But the Gods reserve him, for some more favoured and happy people j among whom they dcfign to restore'the golden age!"

These encomiums were overheard by Telemachus, while he was going about the camp in the night, to guard againfl the ftratagems of Adrailus; and, therefore, could not be fufped:ed of flattery, like those which defigning fycophants often bestow upon princes to their face; infolently prefuming, that they have neither modesty nor delicacy; and that nothing more is necessary to secure their favour, than to load them with extravagant praise. To Telemachus, that only was pleafmg, which was true: he could bear no praise but that, which, being given when he was supposed to be absent, he might reafonably conclude to be just. To such praise, he was not infenfible; but tafled the pure and ferene delight, which the Gods have decreed alone to virtue, and which vice can neither enjoy nor conceive. He did not, however, give himself up to this pleasure: his faults immediately ruOied into his mind; he remembered his excefllve regard for himself, and indifference to others; he felt a fecrct shame, at having received, from nature, a disposition, which made him appear to want the feelings of humanity; and he referred, to Minerva, all the praise that he had received, as having grafted excellence upon him, which he thought he had no right to appropriate to himself. " It is thy bounty, said he, O Goddefs! whiclx has given mc Mentor, to fill ray mind with knowledge, and correct the infirmities of my nature. Thou hast vouchfafed me wisdom, to profit by my faults, and miftruft myself. It is thy power, that reftrains the impetuofity of my paflions; and the pleasure that I feel in comforting the afHicfted, is thy gift. Men would hate mc, but for thee; and, without thee, I should deserve hatred: I should he guilty of irreparable faults; and referable an infant, who, not.con-

T t fcious

•fcious of its own wcaknefsi quits the fide of its mother, and falls at the next ilep."

Neftor and Philotfletes were afloniflied, <to see Telemachus fa affable, fo attentive to oblige, fo ready to supply the wants of others, and fo diligent to prevent them. They were struck with the difl'erence of his behaviour, but could not conceive the cause: and what furprized them moH was, the care that he took about the funeral of Hippias. He went himself and drew the body, bloody and disfigured, from the spot, where it lay hidden under a heap of the slain; he was touched with a pious sorrow, and wept over it: " O mighty Ihade! said he, thou art not now ignorant of my reverence for thy valour. Thy haughtinefs, indeed, provoked me; but thy fault was from the ardour of youth: alas! I know, but too well, how much youth has need of pardon. We were in the way to be united by friendihip: O why have the Gods fnatched thee from mc, before I had an opportunity to compel thy efleem!"

Telemaghus caused the body to be washed with odoriferous liquors; and, by his orders, a funeral pile was prepared. The lofty pines groaned under the ftrokes of the axe; and, as they fell, rolled down the declivity of the mountain. Oaks, those ancient children of the earth which fecmcd to threaten Heaven, and elms and poplars adorned with thick foliage of vivid green, with the spreading beach, the glory of the forest, ftrewed the borders of the river Galefus; and a pile was there raised, with such order, that it refembled a regular building: the flame began to fparkle among, the wood, and a cloud of fmoke ascended in volumes to the Iky.

The Lacedemonians advanced with a flow and mournful pace,, holding their lances rcverfed, and fixing their eyes upon the ground: the ferocity of their countenances w^as foftened into^

I. griefj.

grief; and the filcnt tear dropt, unbidden, from their eyes. Thefc Lacedemonians were followed by Phericides, an old man, yet less deprcfTcd by the weight of years, than by sorrow to have survived Hippias, whom he had educated from his earliest youth. He raised his hands, and his eyes that were drowned in tears, to heaven: since the death of Hippias, he had refused to eat; and the lenient hand of sleep had not once closed his eyes, or suspended the anguilh of his mind. He walked on with trembling Heps, implicitly following the crowd, and fcarce knowing whither he went: his heart was too full for speech; and his filcnce was that of dejection and despair: but when he saw the pile kindled, a sudden tranfport seized him, and he cried out, " O Hippias, Hippias! I shall see thee no more. Hippias is dead, and I am ilill living. O my dear Hippias! It was I that taught thee, cruel and unrelenting! it was I that taught thee the contempt of death. I hoped, that my dying eyes would have been closed by thy hand; and that I should have breathed the lafl figh into thy bosom. Ye have prolonged my life, ye Gods! in your displeasure, that I might see the life of Hippias at an end. O my child, thou dear objedl of my care and hope, I shall see thee no more! But I shall see thy mother, who, dying of grief, will reproach me with thy death; and I shall see thy wife, fading in the bloom of youth, and agonized with despair and sorrow, of which I am the cause! O call me, from these fccncs, to the borders of the Sryx, which have received thy fliade: the light is hateful to my eyes; and there is none but thee, whom I defu'e to behold! I live, O my dear Hippias! only to pay the lafl; duty to thy ashes."

The body of the hero appeared flrctcTied upon a bier, that was decorated with purple and gold. Plis eyes were cxtinguiflied in death; but his beauty was not totally effaced, nor had the graces

T t 2 faded

4^adcd wholly from his countenance, however pale. Around his neck, that was whiter than snow but reclined upon the shoulder, floated his long black hair, fliil more beautiful than that of Atys or Ganymede, but in a few moments to be reduced to alhes: and on his fide appeared the wound, through which, ifTuing with the torrent of his blood, his spirit had been jiifmilled to the gloomy regions of the dead.

Telemachus followed the body sorrowful and dejected, and feattered flowers upon it: and when it was laid upon the pile, he could not see the flames catch the linen that was wrapped about it, without again burfling into tears: " Farewel, said he, O magnanimous youth! for I must not presume to call thee friend. Let *thy fliade be appeafed, since thy glory is full, and my envy is precluded only by my love. Thou art delivered from the miseries, that we continue to fufler; and hast entered a better region, by the most glorious path! how happy should I be to follow thee by the fame way! May the Styx yield a paflage to thy Ihade, and the fields of Elyfium He open before thee: may thy name be preserved, with honour, tcr the latcft generation; and thy ashes rest, for ever, in peace!"

As soon as Telemachus, who had uttered these words in a broken and interrupted voice, was silent, the whole army sent up a general cry: the fate of Hippias, whose exploits they recounted, melted them into tenderness; and grief at once revived his good qualities, and buried, in oblivion, all the failings, which the impetuofity of youth, and a bad education, had concurred to produce. They were, however, yet more touched, by the tender sentiments of Telemachus: " Is this, said they, the young Greek, that was fo proud, fo contemptuous, and intrac^lable? he is now aflable^ humane^ humane, and tender. Minerva, who has distinguished his father by her favour, is also, certainly, propitious to him. She has, undoubtedly, beflowcd upon him, the most valuable gift which the Gods themselves can bestow upon man; a heart, that is at once replete with wisdom, and sensible to friendship."

The body was now consumed by the flames; and Telemachus himself fprinkled the still fmoking ashes with water, which gums and fpices had perfumed: he then depofited them in a golden urn, which he crowned with flowers; and he carried the urn to Phalanthus. Phalanthus was stretched out upon a couch, his body being pierced with many wounds; and life was fo far exhaviftedj that he saw, not far diflant, the irremeable gates of death.

Traumatophilus and Nofophugus, whom Telemachus sent to^ his afliftance, had exerted all their art; they had brought back his fleeting spirit by degrees, and he was infenfibly animated with new strength: a gentle, but penetrating power, a new principle of life gliding from vein to vein, reached even to the heart; and a genial warmth relaxing the frozen hand of death, the tyrant remitted his grasp. But the infenflbility of a dying languor, was immediately succeeded by an agony of grief; and he felt the loss of his brother,., which, before, he was not in a condition to feel. " Alas! said he, why all this afliduity to preserve my life! it would be better, that I should follow Hippias to the grave; my dear Hippias! whom I saw perish at my fide. O my brother, thou art lost for ever; and, with thee, all the comforts of my life! I shall see thee, I shall hear thee, I shall embrace thee, no more! I shall no more unburden my breast of its troubles, to thee; and my friendship shall participate of thy sorrows, no more? And is Hippias thus lost, for ever! O ye Gods, that delight, in the calamities of m.en! can it be?

dr is it not a dream, from which I shall awake? Ah, no I it is a dreadful reality! I have, indeed, lost thee, O Hippias I I saw thee expire in the dust; and I must, at least, live, till I have avenged thee; till I have offered up, to thy manes, the mercilefs Adraftus, whose hands are ftained with thy blood!"

While Phalanthus was uttering these paffionate exclamations, and the divine difpenfers of health were endeavouring to footh him into peace, left the perturbation of his mind should increase his malady, and render their medicines ineffectual } he suddenly beheld Tele- MACHus, who had approached him unpcrceived. At the first fight of him, he felt the conflidl of two opposite paflions in his bosom; his mind still glowed with refentment, at the remembrance of what had pafted between Tklemachus and Hippias; and the grief that he felt for the loss of his brother, gave this refentment new force: but he was also conscious, that he was, himfclf, indebted for his iife to Trlemachus, who had refcued him, bleeding and exhausted, fi-om the hands of Adraftus. During this struggle, he remarked the golden urn, that contained the dear remains of his brother; and the fight instantly melted him into tears: he embraced Tele- Machus, at first without power to speak; but at length he said, in a feeble and interrupted voice, " Thy virtue, O son of Ulysses! has compelled my love: I am indebted, to thee, for my life; I am indebted, to thee also, for something, yet more precious than life itself! The limbs of my brother would have been a prey to, the Vulture, but for thee -, and, but for thee, the rites of fepulture had been denied him! his fhade would have wandered, forlorne and wretched, upon the borders of the Styx, still repulfed by Cliaron with inexorable severity! Must I lie under such obligations, to a man whom I have fo bitterly hated? May the Gods reward thee, and difmifs me from life and misery together! Render to me, O

Tele-

TEjtEMACHUsi the lafl duties tiiat you have rendered to my brpriier, a ad your glory shall be compleat."

Phalanthus then fell back, fainting and overwhelmed with grief; Telemachus continued near him; but, ixot daring to speak, waited, in fiience, till his spirits fljould return. He revived after a short time; and, taking the urn out of the hands of Telemachus, he kiifed it many times, and wept over it: " O precious dull, said he! when shall mine be mingled with you, in the fame urn? O my brother! I will follow thee to the regions of the dead! There is no need that I should avenge thee, for Telemachus will avenge us both!"

By the skill of the two fages, who pradifed the science of ^fculapius, Phalanthus gradually recovered. Telemachus was continually with them, at the couch of the sick, that they might exert themselves with more diligence tohaften the cure; and the whole army was more struck with admiration, at the tenderness with Avhich he fuccoured his moll inveterate enemy, than at the wisdom and valour with which he had preserved the army of the allies. He was, however, at the fame time, indefatigable in the ruder labours of war: he slept but little; and his flecp was often interrupted, sometimes by the intelligence which was brought him at every hour of the night, as well as of the day; and sometimes by examining every quarter of the camp, which he never visited twice together at the fame hour, that he might be more sure to furprize those that were negligent of their duty. Though hia ileep was short, and his labour great, yet his diet was plain: he fared, in every refpedl, like the common soldiers, that he might give them an example of patience and fobriety; and provisions becoming fcarce in the camp, he thought it necellary to prevent mm'murings.

XVII.

murrmirings and difcontcnt, by suffering, voluntarily, the fanrc inconveniencies, which they fufFei*ed by necessity. But this labour and temperance, however severe, were fo far from impairing his vigour, that he became, eveiy day, more hardy and robuft: he began to lose the fofter graces, which may be coniidered as the flower of youth; his complexion became browner and less delicate, and his limbs more mufcular and firm.

The END of the SEVENTEENTH BOOK.

<".tf^.

xn:t/^^^^.

C. Gf^nuns/c

XVIII.

ADRASTUS, whose troops had been considerably diminished by the battle, retired behind mount Aulon; where he expC(5led a reinforcement, and watched for another opportunity of furprizing the aUies. Thus, a hungry Hon, who has been rcpulfed from the fold, retires into the gloomy forest, enters again into his den, and waits for some favourable moment, when he may dellroy the whole flock.

Teleimachus, having established an cxacft discipline among the tixDops, turned his mind, intircly, to the execution of a design* which, though he had formed a considerable time, he had wholly concealed from the commanders of the army. He had been long disturbed in the night by dreams, in which he saw his father Ulysses. The vision never failed to return at the end of the night; just before the approach of Aurora, with her prevailing fires, to

U u chafe, oo chafe, from Heaven, the doubtful radiance of the stars, and, from earth, the pleafmg deUifions of sleep. Sometimes he thought he saw Ulysses naked upon the banks of a river, in a flowery meadow of some blifsful iiland, surrounded by, nymphs, who threw doaths to cover him, within his reach: sometimes he thought he saw him in a palace, that shone with ivory and gold; where a numerous audience, crowned with flowers, liftencd to his eloquence with delight and admiration: he sometimes appeared, suddenly, among the guefts at a magnificent banquet, where joy shone" upon every countenance; and the foft melody of a voice, accompanied by the lyre, gave fweeter music, than the lyre of Apollo, and the voices of the Nine.

From these pleaiing dreams, Telemachus always awaked, dejeiflcd and sorrowful; and while one of them was recent upon his mind, he cried out, " O my father! O my dear father Ulysses! the most frightful dreams would be more welcome to me, than these. These reprefentations of felicity, convince me, that thou art already descended to the abodes of those happy spirits, whom, the Gods reward, for their virtue, with everlasting rest: I think I behold the fields of Elyfium } How dreadful is the loss of Iiope! Mufl I then, O my father, see thee no more for ever! Must I no more embrace him, to whom I was fo dear, and whom I seek with such tender solicitude and persevering labour! Shall I, no mere, drink wisdom from his lips! Shall I kiss those hands, those dear, those victorious hands, which have fubdued fo many enemies, no more! Shall they never punish the prefumptuous fuitors of Penelope! and shall the glory of hhaca be never restored I

" You, ye Gods, who are unpropitious to Ulysses, have sent these <lreams, to expel the last hope from my breast, and leave me to dcfpair and death \ I can no longer endure this dreadful fufpenfc.

Alas!

OJ'

Alas! what have I said? of the death of my father I am but too certain. I will then fcek his fliacic in the world below. To those awful regions, Tlicfcus dcfcendcd in safety; yet Thefeus, with the mofl horrid impiety, fought only to violate the Deities of the placeray motive, the love of my father, is confident with my duty to the Gods. Hercules also descended and returned: I pretend not, indeed, to his prowefs; but, without it, I dare to imitate his example. Orpheus, by the recital of his misfortunes, foftencd into pity that Deity, who was thought to be inexorable; and obtained permifTion for the return of Eurydice to the world of life.- I ani more worthy of compassion, than Orpheus; the loss that I have fuftained, is greater than his; for what is a youthful beauty, to whom a thousand youthful beauties are equal, in comparison of the great Ulysses, unrivalled and alone, the admiration and the pride of Greece! The attempt shall be made; and if I perish, I perish. Why should death be dreadful, when life is wretched! I come, then, O Pluto! O Proferpine! to prove, whether ye are, indeed, without pity. O my father! having traverfed the earth and the feas, in vain, to find thee; I will now feck thee among the gloomy dwellings of the dead. If the Gods will not pej-mit me to polTefs thee upon the earth, and enjoy, with thee, the light of Heaven; they may, perhaps, vouchfafe me the fight of thy fliade, by the dim twilight of the realms of darkuefsr"

He immediately rose from the bed, which he had bedewed with his tears; and hoped, that tlic chearful light of the mornint^would have diflipated the melancholy, that he fullered from the dreams of the night: he found, however, that the fliaft wlvich had pierced him, was still in the wound; and that he carried it with him, whitherfoevcr he went. He determined, therefore, to descend into hell, by a celebrated avenue, not far from the camp. This avenue was near a city called Acherontia, from a dreadful

U u 2 cavern cavern that led down to the banks of Acheron, an infernal river, which the Gods themselves atteft with reverence and dread. The city was built upon the fummit of a rock, like a neft upon the top of a tree. At the foot of the rock was the cavern, which no man ventured to approach: the fhepherds were always careful to turn their flocks another way; and the fulphureous vapour that exhaled, by this aperture, from the Stygian fens, contaminated the air with a peflilential malignity: the neighbouring soil produced neither herb, nor flower: and in this place, the gentle gales of the zephyr, the rifmg beauties of the spring, and the rich gifts of autumn, were alike unknown. The ground was thirfty and fteril; and presented nothing to the eye, but a few naked fhrubs, and the Cyprus eloathed with a funereal green. In the fields that surrounded it, even at a distance, Ceres denied her golden harvefts to the plough:

Bacchus never gave the delicious fruit, which he fcemed to promise; for the grapes withered, instead of ripening, upon the tree.

The Naiads mourned; and the waters of their urn flowed not with a gentle and tranflucent wave, but were bitter to the taste, and impenetrable to the eye. Thorns and brambles here covered the ground; and as there was no grove for shelter, there were no birds to sing; their ftrains of love were warbled beneath a milder sky:

and here, nothing was to be heard, but the hoarfe croaking of the raven, and the boding fcreams of the owl. The very herbage of the field was bitter; and the flocks of these joylefs paftures, felt not the pleasing impulse, that makes them bound upon the green:

the bull turned from the heifer, and the dejefted shepherd forgot the music of his pipe. A thick black fmoak frequently ifllied from, the cavern in a cloud, that covered the earth with untimely darkness in the midfl of the day: at these seasons, the neighbouring people doubled their sacrifices, to propitiate the infernal Gods; yet the infernal Gods were frequently inexorable; and would accept no no sacrifice, but youth in its sweetest bloom, and manhood in its ripeft vigour, which they cut off by a fatal contagion.

In this place, Telemachus resolved to seek the way, that led down to the dark dominions of Pluto. Minerva, who watched over him with inceffant care, and covered him with her segis, had rendered Pluto propitious: and, at her request, Jupiter himself had commissioned Mercury, who descends daily to the infernal regions to deliver a certain number of the dead to Charon, to tell the sovereign of the fliades, it was his pleasure, that Telemachus should be permitted to enter his dominions.

Telemachus withdrew, secretly, from the camp in the night; and going on by the light of the moon, he invoked that powerful Divinity, who in Heaven is the radiant planet of the night, upon earth the chafle Diana, and the tremendous Hecate in hell: the Goddefs heard his prayer, and accepted it; for she knew that his heart was upright, and his intention pious.

As he drew near to the cavern, he heard the fubterraneous empire roar: the earth trembled under his feet j and the Heavens seemed to rain down fire upon his head. A secret horror thrilled, to his heart, and his limbs were covered with a cold sweat: yet his fortitude fuftained him; and, lifting up his hands and his eyes to Heaven, *' Great Gods, said he, I accept these omens, and believe them to be happy; fulfil them, and confirm my hope!" His breast glowed with new ardour as he spoke, and he ruflied forward to the mouth of the pit.

The thick fmoke, which rendered it fatal to all that approached it, immediately disappeared; and the pellilential flench was, for a while,. suspended. He entered the cavern alone y for who would have have dared to follow him? Two Cretans, to whom he had communicated his dcfign, and who accompanied him part of the way, remained, pale and trembhng, in a temple at some distance, putting up prayers for his deliverance, but defpairing of his return.

Telemachus, in the mean time, plunged into the tremendous darkness before him, having his sword drawn in his hand. In a few minutes, he perceived a feeble and duflcy light, like that v/hich is seen at midnight upon the earth: he could also diflinguifli airy fhades that fluttered round him, which he difperfed with his sword: and soon after he discovered the mournful banks of the Styx, whose waters, polluted by the marfli they cover, moved llowly in a fuMen ftrcam, that returns in perpetual eddies upon itself. Here he perceived an innumerable multitude of those, who, having been denied the rites of f^spulture, presented themselves to inexorable Charon in vain. Charon, whose old age, though vigorous and immortal, is always gloomy and severe, kept them back with menaces and reproach; but he admitted the young Greek into his bark, as soon as he came up.

The ear of Telemachus, the moment he entered, was fh-uck with the groans of inconfolable grief. " Who art thou, said he to the complaining ghost, and what is thy misfortune?" " 1 was, replied the phantom, Nabopharzan, the king of Babylon the great. All the nations of the East trembled at the found of my name j and I compelled the Babylonians to worship me in a temple of marble, where I was represented by a llatue of gold, before which the most coftly perfumes of Ethiopia were burnt night and day. No man contradifted me, without instant punishment; and every invention was upon the flretch, to discover some new pleafurc, that might heighten th^ luxury of my life. I was then in the full bloom and vigour of youth; ■ and life, with all its pomp and pleafurcs,

Aires, was ilill before me. But, alas! a woman, whom I loved with a pailion that she did not return, too soon convinced mc, that I was not a God: file gave me poison, and I now am nothing. Yeftcrd*y, they depofited my ashes, with great solemnity, in a goldezx urn; they wept, they tore their hair, and seemed ready to throw themselves on the funeral pile, that they might perish with me: they are no-w surrounding the fuperb maufolseum, in which they placed my remains, with all the external parade of sorrow? but f^cretly, and in fmcerity, I am regretted by none. Even my family hold my memory in abhorrence; and here, I have been already treated with the most mortifying indignity!"

An obje(5l fo deplorable, touched the breast of Telemachus with pity: " And was you then truly happy, said he, during your reign? did you taste that sweet trant^uillity, without which, the heart ihrinks and withers like a blighted flower; nor, even in prosperity, can expand to delight I" " Far from it, replied the monarch; I know it not, even in idea. A peace like this, indeed, has been, extolled by the fages, as the only good; but it never made my felicity: my heart was perpetually agitated by new dcfires, and throbbing with fear and hope; I wilhed that pailion lliould perpetually succeed to pailion, with a tumultuous rapidity which excluded thought; and praxflifed every artifice to cfFet^ it: this was^ my expedient, , to avoid the pangs of refledion; such was the peace I procvued, I thought all other a fable and a. dream j. and such were the pkafures 1 regret!"

During this relation, Nabopharzan wept with the effeminate pufiilanimity of a man, enervated by good fortune; unecquainted with adverfity, and, therefore, a ftrangcr to fortitude. There were, with hira, some slaves, who had been put to death, to honour his funeral J and whom Mercury had delivered to Cliarori* With their king; 2 king; giving them, at the fame time, an absolute power over him, who had been their tyrant upon earth. The fhades of thefc slaves, no longer feared the Ihade of Nabopharzan; they held him in a chain, and treated him with the most cruel indignity. " As men, said one of them, had we not the fame nature with thee I How couldft thou be fo ftupid, as to imagine thyself a God, and forget that thy parents were mortal?" " His unwillingnefs to be taken for a man, said another, was right; for he was a monfter, without humanity." " Well, said another, what are become of your flatterers now? Poor wretch! there is now nothing, that thou canst either give, or take away; thou art now become the slave even of thy ilaves. The justice of the Gods is flow; but the criminal is, at last, certainly overtaken!"

Nabopharzan, flung with these insults, threw himself upon his face, in an agony of rage and despair; but Charon bad the slaves pull him up by his chain: " He mufl not, said he, be allowed the consolation, even of hiding his shame; of which, all the ghofts that throng the borders of the Styx, mufl be witnefl^es, that the Gods, who fo long fufl'ered this impious tyrant to opprefs the earth, may at last be juflified. Yet this, O fcourge of Babylon! is but the beginning of sorrows: the judgment of Minos, impartial and inexorable, is at hand i"

The bark now touched the dominions of Pluto; and the ghofls ran down, in crowds, to thefliore, gazing, with the utmost curioflty and wonder, at the living mortal, who flood distinguished among the dead in the boat: but, the moment Telemachus set his foot on the shore, they vanished, like the fhades of the night before the first beams of the morning. Then Charon, turning towards him, with a brow less contracHied'into frowns, and a look less severe than usual, " O favoured of Heaven! said he, lince thou art permitted to enter the realms of darkness, which, to all the living besides thyself, are interdi(5led; make hafle to pulli forward, whitherfoever the fates have called thee. Proceed, by this gloomy path, to the palace of Pluto, whom thou wilt find fitting upon his throne; and who will permit thee to enter those reccllcs of his dominion, the secrets of which I am not permitted to reveal."

Telemachus, immediately prefllng forward with an hafty fiep, discovered the (hades gliding about on every fide, more numerous than the fands upon the sea shore; and he was llruck with a religious dread, to perceive that, in the midst of the tumult and hurry of this incredible multitude, all was silent as the grave. He fees, at length, the gloomy residence of unrelenting Pluto: his hair stands erecH:, his legs tremble, and his voice fails him. " Tremendous power! said he, with faltering and interrupted speech, the son of unhappy Ulysses now stands before thee. I come to enquire, whether my father is descended into your dominions, or whether he is still a wanderer upon the earth."

Pluto was seated upon a throne of ebony; his countenance was pale and severe, his eyes hollow and ardent, and his brow contraiSed and menacing. The fight of a mortal ftiU breathing the breath of life, was hateful to his eyes; as the day is hateful to those animals, that have their recefies only by night. At his fide, fate Proferpine, who seemed to be the only obje(5l of his attention, and to foften him into some degree of complacency: flic enjoyed a beauty, that was perpetually renewed; but there was mingled, with her immortal charms, fomcthing of her lord's inflexible severity.

At the foot of the throne, fate the pale father of deftru(5lion, Death, incefi^mtly whetting a fcythe which he held in his hand.

X X Around

Around this horrid fpeftrc, hovered repining cares, and injuriotisf fufpicions; vengeance, diilained with blood, and covered with wounds; caufelefs hatred, avarice gnawing her own flesh, and despair the victim of her own rage; ambition, whose fury overturns all things, hke a whirhvind; and treafon, thirfting for blood, and not able to enjoy the mischief she produces; envy, shedding round her the venom that corrodes her heart, and fickening with rage at the impotence of her malice; and impiety, that opens for herself a gulph without bottom, in which she Ihall plunge at last without hope. Bcfides these, were namelefs fpecflres without number, all hideous to behold! phantoms that reprefcnt the dead, to terrify the living; frightful dreams y and the horrid vigils of disease and pain! By thcfc images of woe, was Pluto surrounded; and such were the attendants, that filled his palace. He replied, to the son of Ulysses, in a hollow tone j and the depths, of Erebus rcmurmured to the found.

" If it is, by fate, O mortal! that thou hast violated this sacred asylum of the dead;. that fate, which has thus diftinguiHied thee,, fulfil! Of thy father, I will tell thee nothing: it is enough, that here thou art permitted to seek him. As upon the earth he was a king, thy search may be confined, on one fide, to that part of Tartarus, where wicked kings are configned to punishment; and, on the other, to that part of Elyfimn, where the good receive their' reward: but, from hence, thou canfi not enter the fields of Elyfium, till thou hast pafled through Tartarus. Make hafte thither j, and linger not in my dominions!"

■ Telemachus instantly obeyed, and pafled through the dreary vacuity that surrounded him, with such fpeed, that he seemed almost to fly •, such was his impatience to behold his father, and tQ quit the presence of a tyrant, equally the terror of the living and,

8. the iliedeadl He soon perceived the gloomy tra<5t of Tartanis, at a small distance before him; from this place, ascended a black cloud of peftilential Imokc, which would have been fatal in the realrris of life. This fmoke hovered over a river of fire; the flames of which, returning upon themselves, roared in a burning vortex, with a noise like that of an impetuous torrent, precipitated from the highefl rock; fo that, in this region of woe, no other found could be dillindly heard.

Telemaghus, secretly animated by Minerva, entered the gulph without fear. The first object that prcfented, was a great number of men, who, born in a mean condition, were now punished, for having fought to acquire riches, by fraud, treachery, and violence. Among them, he remarked many of those impious hypocrites, who, affcdling a zeal for religion, played upon the credulity of others, and gratified their own ambition. These wretches, who had abufed virtue itself, the belt gift of Heaven, to diilioneft purposes, were punillied as the moll criminal of men: the child who had murdered his parents, the wife who had imbrued her hands in a husband's blood, and the traytor who had fold his country in violation of every tie, were punished with less severity than these. Such was the decree pix)no\mccd by the judges of the dead; bccaufe hypocrites are not content to be wicked upon the common terms; they would be vicious, with the reputation of virtue; and, by an appearance of virtue, which at length is found to be falfc, they prevent mankind from putting confidence in the true. The Gods, whose omnifcience they mock, and whose honour they degrade, take pleasure in the exertion of all their power to avenge the infult.

After these appeared others, to whom the world fcarce imputes.guilt, but whom the Divine vengeance purfues without pity; the

^ X 2 liar, liar, the ungrateful, the paralite who lavifhes adulation upon vice, and the flanderer who falfly detracts from vh'tue; all, who judge raflily of what they know but in part, and thus injure the reputation of the innocent.

But, among all who suffered foringi'atitude, those were punished with mod severity, who had been ungrateful to the Gods. " What! said Minos, is he considered as a monfler, who is guilty of ingratitude to his father, or his friend, from whom he has received some such benefits as mortals can bestow; and shall the wretch glory in his crime, who is ungrateful to God, the giver of life, and of every blessing it includes? Does he not owe his existence, rather to the author of nature, than to the parents through whom his existence was derived? The less these crimes are cenfured and punished upon earth, the more are they obnoxious, in hell, toimplacable vengeancCj wdiich no force can resist, and no fubtilty elude."

Telemachus, seeing a man condemned by the judges, whom he found fitting, ventured to ask them what was his crime: he was immediately answered by the offender him self. " I have done^ said he, no evil; my pleasure confiiled wholly in doing good. I have been just, munificent, liberal, and compaflionate; of what crime, then, can I be accused?" " With refpetSt to man, replied Minos, thou art accused of none r but didfl thou not owe less to man, than to the Gods? if fo, what are thy pretenfions to juflice? Thou hall punctually fulfilled thy duty to men, 'who are but dufl; thou had been virtuous; but thy virtue terminated wholly in thyself, v;ithout reference to the Gods who gave it: thy virtue was to be thy own felicity; and, to thyself, thou wafl all in all. Thou hafl, indeed, been thy own Deity. But the Gods, by whom all things have been created, and who have created all things fos;.

themthcmfelvcs, cannot give up their rights: thou hafl forgotten them, and they will forget thee. Since thou hast desired to cxiil for thyfclf, and not for them -, to thyself, they will deliver thee up: seek, then, thy consolation in thine own heart. Thou art separated, for ever, from man, whom, for thy own sake, thou hast desired to please; and left to thylclf alone, that idol of thy heart! Learn, now atleaft, that piety is that virtue, of which the Gods are objects; and that, without this, no virtue can deserve the name. The false luftre of that, with which thou hast long dazzled the eyes of men, who are easily deceived, will deceive no more: men distinguish that only, from which they derive pain or pleasure, into virtue and vice; and are, therefore, alike ignorant both of good and evil: but here, the perfpicacity of Divine wisdom difcerns all things as they are: the judgment of men from external appearances, is reverfed; what they have admired, is frequently condemned; and what they have condemned, approved."

These words, to the boafter of philosophic virtue, were like a ilroke of thunder; and he was unable to sustain the fiiock. The self-complacence, with which he had been used to contemplate his moderation, his fortitude, his generosity, was now changed to anguish and regret: the view of his own heart, at enmity with the Gods, became his punilliment: he now saw, and was doomed, for ever, to see himself by the light of truth: he perceived, that the approbation of men, which all his actions had been direcfled to acquire, was erroneous and vain. When he looked inward, he found every thing totally changed; he was no longer the fame being •„ and all comfort was eradicated from his heart. His conscience, which had hitherto witnefTcd in his favour, now rose up against him, and reproached him even with his virtues; which, not having Deity for their principle and end, were erroneous and illufive. He was ovei whelmed with conHcrnation and trouble j with shame, rcmorfe.

remorie, and despair. The furies, indeed, forbore to torment him $ he was delivered over to himself, and they were satisfied: his own heart was the avenger of the Gods, whom he had despised. As he could not escape from himself, he retired to the most gloomy recelfes, that he might be concealed from others: he fought for darkness, but he fovmd it not; light Hill persecuted and perfued him: the light of truth, which he had not followed, now punished him for the negleel; and all that he had beheld with pleasure, became odious in his eyes, as the foiirce of mifcry that could never end. ' Dreadful situation, said he I I have known neither the Gods, mankind, noi myself; I have, indeed, known nothing; fmce I have not distinguished, from fpecious evil, that only which is truely good. All my steps have deviated from the path I lliould have trodden; all my wisdom was folly, and all my virtue was pride, which sacrificed, with a blind impiety, only to that vile idol myself!"

The next objefts thatTELEMACHus perceived as he went on, were kings that had abufed their power. An avenging fury, held up, before them, a mirrour, which refled:ed their vices in all their deformity: in this, they beheld their undiftinguifliing vanity, that was gratified by the grolTeft adulation; their want of feeling for mankind, whose happiness should have been the first obje6t of their attention; their infenfibility to virtue, their dread of truth, their partiality to flatterers, their diffipation, effeminacy, and indolence; their caufelcfs fufpicions; their vain parade, and oftentatious fplen- <lor, an idle blaze, in which the public welfare is consumed; their ambition of false honour, procured at the expence of blood; and their inhuman luxury, which extorted a perpetual supply of fupcrfluous delicacies, from the wretched viiSlims of grief and anguifk. When they looked into this mirrour, they saw thcmfclves faithfully reprefcntcd; and they found the picture more monftrous and horrid.

horrlil, than the cfiimera vanquiflied by Bellerophon, the Lcrnnean hydra slain by Hercules, and even Cerberus hhiifelf, though from three mfcrnal mouths he difgorges a ftrcam of pertilential fire, the fumes of which arc sufficient to dcftroy the whole race of men: that breathe upon the earth. At the lame time, another fury tauntingly repeated all the praises, which fycophants had lavished upon them in their lives; and held up another mirrour, in which they appeared as flattery had represented them. The contrast of these picflurcs, fo widely different, was the puniihmcnt of their vanity: and it was remarkable, that the most wicked, were the objedls of the most extravagant praise; because themoft wicked are most to be feared, and because they exa6l, with Icfs shame, the servile adulation of the poets arid orators of their time.

Their groans perpetually ascended from this dreadful abyss^ where they saw nothing but the derifion and infult, of which they were themselves the objeifls; where every thing repulfed, opposed,. and confounded them. As they fported with the lives of mankind upon the earth, and pretended that the whole fpecics was created for their use; they were, in Tartarus, delivered over to the capricious tyranny of fl^es^ who made them taftc all the bitternefa of servitude in their turn: they obeyed, with unutterable anguish j and without hope, that the iron hand of oppression would lie lighter upon them. Under the ftrokcs of these slaves, now theit mercilefs tyrants, they lay passive and impotent, like an anvil under the hammers of the Cyclops, when Vulcan urges their labour at the flaming furnaces of mount JEtna,

Telemachus observed the countenances of these criminals to be pale and ghaftly, strongly expreflive of the torment they suffered at the heart. They looked inward with a fclf-abhorrence, rtow infepaj-able from their exillence: their crimes themselves were becomebecome their punlfliment, and it was not neceflury that greater lliould be inflicfted; they haunted them Hke hideous fpedlres, and continually ftartcd up betore them in all their deformity. They wished for a second death, that might fcparatc them from these ministers of vengeance, as the firfl: had separated their spirits from the body; a death, that might at once extinguifh all consciousness and fenfibility: they called upon the depths of hell, to hide them, from the perfecuting beams of truth, in impeiletrable darkness: but they are reserved for the cup of vengeance, which, though they drink of it for ever, shall be for ever full! The truth, from which they fled, has overtaken them, an invincible and unrelenting enemy! The ray, which once might have illuminated them, like the mild radiance of the day, now pierces them like lightning; a fierce and fatal fire, that, without injury to the external parts, infixes a burning torment at the heart! By truth, now an avenging flame, the very foul is melted, like metal in a furnace: it diflblves all, but deflroys nothing; it difunites the first elements of life, yet the fufl^erer can never die: he is, as it were, divided againll himself, without rest, and without comfort; animated by no vital principle, but the rage that kindles at his own mifconduft, and the dreadful madnefs that results from despair!

Among these objetHis, at the fight of which the hair of TelejiacHus flood eredl, he beheld many of the ancient kings of Lydia; who were punished for having preferred the felfilli gratifications of an idle and voluptuous life, to that labour for the good of others, which, to royalty, is a duty of indifpenfible obligation.

These kings mutually reproached each other with their folly. *' Did I not often recommend to you, said one of them to his fonj during the last years of my life, when old age had given weight to my counfcl, the reparation of the mifchiefs that my negligence had had produced f" " Unhappy wretch, rophed the son! thou art the cause of my perdition: it was thy example that made me vainglorious, proud, voluptuous, and cruel. While I saw thee fui> rounded with flattery, and relaxed in luxury and sloth; I, alfa, infenfibly acquired the love of pleasure and adulation. I thought the rest of men were, to kings, what horfcs and other beafls of burden are to men; animals, wholly unworthy of regard, except for the drudgery they perform, and the conveniencies they procure: this was my opinion, and I learnt it of thee, I followed thy example, and I Ihare thy misery!" These reproaches were mingled with the most horrid execrations; and mutual rage and indignation aggravated the torments of hell.

Around these wretched princes, there still hovered, like owls in the twilight, caufekfs jealoulles, and vain alarms; miflrufl and dread, which revenge, upon kings, their -difregard of mankind; avarice, infatiable of wealth; false honour, ever tyrannical and oppreffive; and effeminate luxury, a deceitful daemon, that aggravates every evil, and beflows only imaginary good.

Many kings were also severely punished, not for the mischief they had done, but for the good they had neglected to do. Every crime which is comniitted by the subject:, in consequence of laws not enforced, is the crime of the 'king i for kings reign only as ministers of the law. To kings also, are imputed all the disorders, that arise from pomp, luxury, and every other excess, which excites irregular and impetuous passions, that cannot be gratified, bUt by the violation of the common rights of mankind. But the princes who, instead of watching over their people, Is a shepherd watches over his flock, worried and devoured them like the wolf j w^re punished with the moll exemplaiy severity.

y y In

XVIII.

In this abyss of darkness andmifery, Telemachus beheld, with yet greater aflonifhment, many kings, who had been honoured for their personal virtues upon earth, but were, notwithstanding, condemned to the pains of Tartarus, for implicitly leaving the administration of government to wicked and crafty men; they were ptmilhed for mifchiefs, which they had fujEFered to be perpetrated under the san(5lion of their authority. The greater part of them, indeed, had been, by principle, neither virtuous nor vicious; fupinely taking the colour imprefled upon them from without: they did not shun the truth when it presented itself j but they had no relifli for virtue, no dehght in doing good.

The E N D of the EIGHTEENTH BOOK.

C.W.ti^.

C.O.ff

Ctirgfmm/c

XIX.

WHEN Telemachus quitted this place, he felt himself relieved, as if a mountain had been removed from his breast. This relief, fo sudden and fo great, imprefled him with a strong sense of the misery of those, who are confined in it without hope of deliverance. He was terrified at having seen fo manykings, punished with much greater severity than any other offenders: " Have kings then, said he, fo many duties to fulfil, fo many difficulties to furmount, and fo many dangers to avoid? Is the knowledge, that is ncceflary to put them upon their guard, as well against themselves as others, fo difficult to be acquired? and, after all the envy, tumult, and opposition of a tranfitory life, are they configned to the intolerable and eternal pains of hell? What folly, then, to wifti for royalty! How happy the peaceful private station in which the practice of virtue is comparatively easy!"

Yy 2

Thefc

Thcfe reflections filled him with confusion and trouble; his knees^ trembled, his heart throbbed with perturbation, and he felt something like that hopelefs misery, of which he had just been a fpectator: but, in proportion as he advanced, and the realms of darkness, despair, and horror, became more remote, he felt new courage gradually spring up in his breast; he breathed with greater freedom; and perceived, at a diflance, the pure and blifsful light, which briglitens the residence of heroic virtue.

In this place, rcfidcd all the good kings, who Ixad governed mankind from the beginning of time. They were separated from the rest of the just; for, as wicked princes suffer more dreadful punishment than other offenders in Tartarus, fo good kings enjoy infinitely greater felicity than other lovers of virtue, in the fields of Elyfium.

Telemachus advanced towards these happy and iUuftrious beings, whom he found in groves of delightful fragrance, reclining upon the downy turf, where the flowers and herbage were perpetually renewed: a thousand rills wandered through these fcenes of delight, and refreflied the soil with a gentle and unpolluted wave: the song of innumerable birds echoed in the grove; and while spring ftrewed the ground with her flowers, autumn loaded the trees with her fruit. In this place, the burning heat of the dog-star was never felt; and the ftormy north was forbidden to fcatter over it the frofts of winter. Neither;yi^3Xs that is athirft for blood; nor^^, that w^ounds with an invenomed tooth, like the vipers that are wreathed round her arms and fostered in her bosom; nor jealousy, nordiftruft, nor fears, nor vain desires, invade these sacred domains of peace: the day is here without end, and the fhades of night arc unknown. Here the bodies of the blefl!ed are