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Meet adoration to the household gods,

When I am gone. He works his work, I mine.

There lies the port: the vessel puffs her sail :
There gloom the dark, broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toiled and wrought and fought with

me

That ever with a frolic welcome took

The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed

Free hearts, free foreheads-you and I are old;
Old age hath yet his honor and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note may yet be done
Not unbecoming men that strove with gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks.

The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the happy isles,
And see the great Achilles whom we knew.
Though much is taken, much abides; and though
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are ;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,

Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will,

To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

THE DEFIANCE OF HECTOR AND AJAX.

THE ILIAD. TRANSLATION OF ALEXANDER POPE.

THUS rank on rank the thick battalions throng,
Chief urged on chief, and man drove man along.
Far o'er the plains in dreadful order bright
The brazen arms reflect a beamy light;

Full in the blazing van great Hector shined,
Like Mars, commissioned to confound mankind.
Before him flaming, his enormous shield,
Like the broad sun, illumined all the field;
His nodding helm emits a streamy ray;
His piercing eyes through all the battle stray,
And, while beneath his targe he flashed along,
Shot terrors round that withered even the strong.

Thus stalked he dreadful; death was in his look;
Whole nations feared; but not an Argive shook.
The towering Ajax, with an ample stride,
Advanced the first, and thus the chief defied:

"Hector! come on; thy empty threats forbear;
'Tis not thy arm, 'tis thundering Jove we fear.
The skill of war to us not idly given,

Lo! Greece is humbled not by Troy, but heaven.

Vain are the hopes that haughty mind imparts

To force our fleets: the Greeks have hands and hearts

Long ere in flames our lofty navy fall,

Your boasted city and your god-built wall
Shall sink beneath us smoking on the ground,

And spread a long, unmeasured ruin round.

The time shall come, when, chased along the plain,
Even thou shalt call on Jove, and call in vain;
Even thou shalt wish, to aid thy desperate course,
The wings of falcons for thy flying horse;
Shalt run, forgetful of a warrior's fame,
While clouds of friendly dust conceal thy shame."
As thus he spoke, behold, in open view,
On sounding wings, a dexter eagle flew.
To Jove's glad omen all the Grecians rise,

And hail with shouts his progress through the skies:
Far-echoing clamors bound from side to side.
They ceased; and thus the Chief of Troy replied:
"From whence this menace, this insulting strain?
Enormous boaster, doomed to vaunt in vain.
So may the gods on Hector life bestow

(Not that short life which mortals lead below,
But such as those of Jove's high lineage born,
The blue-eyed maid, or he that gilds the morn)
As this decisive day shall end the fame
Of Greece, and Argos be no more a name.
And thou, imperious! if thy madness wait
The lance of Hector, thou shalt meet thy fate;
That giant-corse extended on' the shore,
Shall largely feast the fowls with fat and gore."
He said and like a lion stalked along:
With shouts incessant earth and ocean rung,
Sent from his following host: the Grecian train
With answering thunders filled the echoing plain;
A shout that tore heaven's concave, and, above,
Shook the fixed splendors of the throne of Jove.

SONG AND LAUGHTER.

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