To those abhorred deeps. Close by the gate
Impendent rocks with fiery whirlwinds cleft
For ever fell into the deep abyss,
Continuous ruin. ----
---- On the hideous brink
Of this great tomb, where Death nor sleeps, nor dies,
In dreadful silence, with the wretch hell-doom'd,
Stood the Death-angel. ----




BEGINNING OF THE THIRTEENTH ILIAD,

TRANSLATED IN IMITATION OF WALTER SCOTT.


Ζεὺς δ' ἐπεὶ οὔν Τρῶάς τε καὶ Ἑκτορα νηυσὶ πέλασσε, &c.


1.

From Ida's peak high Jove beheld
The tumults of the battle-field,
The fortune of the fight--
He marked, where by the ocean-flood
Stout Hector with his Trojans stood,
And mingled in the strife of blood
Achaia's stalwart might:
He saw--and turn'd his sunbright eyes