own him excellent; all beyond it is Idolatry. Since Pindar was the Prince of Lyrick Poets, let me have leave to fay, that, in imitating him, our Numbers fhould, for the most part, be Lyrical. For Variety, or rather where the Majefty of Thought requires it, they may be stretch'd to the English Heroick of five Feet, and to the French Alexandrine of Six. But the Ear muft prefide, and direct the Judgment to the choice of Numbers. Without the nicety of this, the Harmony of Pindarick Verfe can never be compleat: the Cadency of one Line must be a Rule to that of the next; and the Sound of the former must flide gently into that which follows; without leaping from one Extreme into another. It must be done like the Shadowings of a Picture, which fall by degrees into a darker Colour. I fhall be glad, if I have fo explain'd my felf as to be underftood; but if I have not, quod nequeo dicere & fentio tantùm, muft be my Excufe. There remains much more to be faid on this Subject; but, to avoid Envy, I will be filent. What I have faid is the general Opinion of the best Judges, and in a manner has been forced from me, by feeing a noble fort of Poetry fo happily reftored by one Man, and fo grofly copied by almost all the reft. A mufical Ear, and a great Genius, if another Mr. Cowley cou'd arife, in another Age, may bring it to Perfection. In the mean time,

Fungar vice cotis, acutum

Reddere qua ferrum valet, exfors ipfa fecandi.

To conclude, I am fenfible that I have written this too haftily and too loofly: I fear I have been tedious, and, which is worfe, it comes out from the firft Draught, and uncorrected, This I grant is no

Excufe:

Excufe for it may be reafonably urg'd, why did he not write with more Leifure, or, if he had it not (which was certainly my Cafe) why did he attempt to write on so nice a Subject? The Objection is unanswerable; but, in part of Recompence, let me affure the Reader, that, in hafty Productions, he is fure to meet with an Author's prefent Senfe, which cooler Thoughts wou'd poffibly have difguis'd. There is undoubtedly more of Spirit, though not of Judgment, in thefe uncorrect Effays, and confequently, though my Hazard be the greater, yet the Reader's Pleasure is not the less.

JOHN DRYDEN.

www

The Laft Parting of

HECTOR and AN DRO MACHE.

From the Sixth Book of the Iliad.

ARGUMENT.

Hector, returning from the Field of Battle, to vifit Helen bis Sifter-in law, and his Brother Paris, who bad fought unsuccessfully Hand to Hand with Menelaus, from thence goes to his own Palace to fee bis Wife Andromache, and his Infant Son Afyanax. The Defcription of that Interview is the Subject of this Tranflation.

HUS having faid, brave Hector went to fee
His virtuous Wife, the fair Andromache.
He found her not at home; for she was
gone,

Attended by her Maid and Infant Son,

To climb the steepy Tow'r of Ilion:

From whence, with heavy Heart, fhe might furvey
The bloody Bufinefs of the dreadful Day.

Her mournful Eyes fhe caft around the Plain,
And fought the Lord of her Defires in vain.

But

But he, who thought his peopled Palace bare,
When the, his only Comfort, was not there,
Stood in the Gate, and afk'd of ev'ry one,
Which way fhe took, and whither fhe was gone;
If to the Court, or, with his Mother's train,
In long Proceffion to Minerva's Fane?

The Servants answer'd, Neither to the Court,
Where Priam's Sons and Daughters did refort,
Nor to the Temple was fhe gone, to move
With Prayers the Blue ey'd Progeny of Jove;
But more folicitous for him alone,

Than all their fafety, to the Tow'r was gone,
There to furvey the Labours of the Field,
Where the Greeks conquer, and the Trojans yield :
Swiftly fhe pass'd, with Fear and Fury wild;
The Nurse went lagging after with the Child.
This heard, the noble Hector made no stay ;
Th' admiring Throng divide, to give him way:
He pafs'd through every Street, by which he came,
And at the Gate he met the mournful Dame.

His Wife beheld him, and with eager pace

Flew to his Arms, to meet a dear Embrace :
His Wife, who brought in Dow'r Cilicia's Crown,
And, in her felf, a greater Dow'r alone:
Aetion's Heir, who on the woody Plain
Of Hippoplacus did in Thebe reign.

Breathless the flew, with Joy and Paffion wild;
The Nurse came lagging after with her Child.

The Royal Babe upon her Breast was laid;
Who, like the Morning Star, his Beams difplay'd.
Scamandrius was his Name, which Hector gave,
From that fair Flood which Ilion's Wall did lave:
But him Afyanax the Trojans call,

From his great Father, who defends the Wall.

Hector

Hector beheld him with a filent Smile;
His tender Wife ftood weeping by the while :
Prefs'd in her own, his warlike Hand she took,
Then figh'd, and thus prophetically spoke.

Thy dauntless Heart (which I forefee too late)
Too daring Man, will urge thee to thy Fate:
Nor doft thou pity, with a Parent's Mind,
This helpless Orphan, whom thou leav'ft behind;
Nor me, th' unhappy Partner of thy Bed
Who must in Triumph by the Greek's be led:
They feek thy Life, and, in unequal Fight
With Many, will opprefs thy fingle Might:
Better it were for miferable me

To die, before the Fate which I forefee.
For ah! what Comfort can the World bequeath
To Hector's Widow, after Hector's Death?
Eternal Sorrow and perpetual Tears

Began my Youth, and will conclude my Years:
I have no Parents, Friends, nor Brothers left;
By ftern Achilles all of Life bereft.

Then when the Walls of Thebes he overthrew,
His fatal Hand my Royal Father flew ;
He flew Aetion, but defpoil'd him not;
Nor in his hate the Funeral Rites forgot;
Arm'd as he was he feat him whole below,
And reverenc'd thus the Manes of his Foe:
A Tomb he rais'd; the Mountain Nymphs around
Inclos'd with planted Elms the holy Ground.

My seven brave Brothers in one fatal Day
To Death's dark Manfions took the mournful way;
Slain by the fame Achilles, while they keep

The bellowing Oxen and the bleating Sheep.
My Mother, who the Royal Sceptre fway'd,
Was Captive to the cruel Victor made,