Page:Homer - Iliad, translation Pope, 1909.djvu/53

And nodding Ilion waits the impending fall."
⁠Swift as the word the vain illusion fled,
Descends, and hovers o'er Atrides' head;
Clothed in the figure of the Pylian sage,
Renowned for wisdom, and revered for age;
Around his temples spreads his golden wing,
And thus the flattering dream deceives the king:
⁠"Canst thou, with all a monarch's cares oppressed,
O Atreus' son! canst thou indulge thy rest?
Ill fits a chief who mighty nations guides,
Directs in council, and in war presides,
To whom its safety a whole people owes,
To waste long nights in indolent repose.
Monarch, awake! 'tis Jove's command I bear;
Thou and thy glory claim his heavenly care.
In just array draw forth the embattled train,
Lead all thy Grecians to the dusty plain;
E'en now, O king! 'tis given thee to destroy
The lofty towers of wide-extended Troy.
For now no more the gods with fate contend,
At Juno's suit the heavenly factions end.
Destruction hangs o'er yon devoted wall,
And nodding Ilion waits the impending fall.
Awake, but, waking, this advice approve,
And trust the vision that descends from Jove."
⁠The phantom said; then vanished from his sight,
Resolves to air, and mixes with the night.
A thousand schemes the monarch's mind employ;
Elate in thought, he sacks untaken Troy:
Vain as he was, and to the future blind;
Nor saw what Jove and secret fate designed;
What mighty toils to either host remain,
What scenes of grief, and numbers of the slain!
Eager he rises, and in fancy hears
The voice celestial murmuring in his ears.
First on his limbs a slender vest he drew,
Around him next the regal mantle threw,
The embroidered sandals on his feet were tied;
The starry falchion glittered at his side:
And last, his arm the massy sceptre loads,
Unstained, immortal, and the gift of gods.
⁠Now rosy morn ascends the court of Jove,
Lifts up her light, and opens day above.
The king dispatched his heralds with commands
To range the camp and summon all the bands:
The gathering hosts the monarch's word obey;
While to the fleet Atrides bends his way.
In his black ship the Pylian prince he found;

There calls a senate of the peers around: