“Thus great in glory, from the din of war Safe he return’d, without one hostile scar; Though spears in iron tempests rain’d around, Yet innocent they play’d, and guiltless of a wound.’
“While yet I spoke, the shade with transport glow’d, Rose in his majesty, and nobler trod; With haughty stalk he sought the distant glades Of warrior kings, and join’d the illustrious shades.
“Now without number ghost by ghost arose, All wailing with unutterable woes. Alone, apart, in discontented mood, A gloomy shade the sullen Ajax stood; For ever sad, with proud disdain he pined, And the lost arms for ever stung his mind; Though to the contest Thetis gave the laws, And Pallas, by the Trojans, judged the cause. O why was I victorious in the strife? O dear bought honour with so brave a life! With him the strength of war, the soldier’s pride, Our second hope to great Achilles, died! Touch’d at the sight from tears I scarce refrain, And tender sorrow thrills in every vein; Pensive and sad I stand, at length accost With accents mild the inexorable ghost: ‘Still burns thy rage? and can brave souls resent E’en after death? Relent, great shade, relent! Perish those arms which by the gods’ decree Accursed our army with the loss of thee! With thee we fall; Greece wept thy hapless fates, And shook astonish’d through her hundred states; Not more, when great Achilles press’d the ground, And breathed his manly spirit through the wound. O deem thy fall not owed to man’s decree, Jove hated Greece, and punish’d Greece in thee! Turn then; oh peaceful turn, thy wrath control, And calm the raging tempest of thy soul.’
“While yet I speak, the shade disdains to stay, In silence turns, and sullen stalks away.
“Touch’d at his sour retreat, through deepest night, Through hell’s black bounds I had pursued his flight, And forced the stubborn spectre to reply; But wondrous visions drew my curious eye. High on a throne, tremendous to behold, Stern Minos waves a mace of burnish’d gold; Around ten thousand thousand spectres stand Through the wide dome of Dis, a trembling band Still as they plead, the fatal lots he rolls, Absolves the just, and dooms the guilty souls.
“The huge Orion, of portentous size, Swift through the gloom a giant-hunter flies: A ponderous mace of brass with direful sway Aloft he whirls, to crush the savage prey! Stern beasts in trains that by his truncheon fell, Now grisly forms, shoot o’er the lawns of hell.