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XXIV.
LAODAMIA.
With sacrifice, before the rising morn
Performed, my slaughtered Lord have I required;
And in thick darkness, amid shades forlorn,
Him of the infernal Gods have I desired:
Celestial pity I again implore;—
Restore him to my sight—great Jove, restore!"
So speaking, and by fervent love endowed
With faith, the suppliant heav'n-ward lifts her hands;
While, like the Sun emerging from a Cloud,
Her countenance brightens,—and her eye expands,
Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows,
And she expects the issue in repose.
O terror! what hath she perceived?—O joy!
What doth she look on?—whom doth she behold?
Her hero slain upon the beach of Troy?
His vital presence—his corporeal mold?
It is—if sense deceive her not—'tis He!
And a God leads him—winged Mercury!
