POETRY.

THE TWENTY-NINTH NIGHT OF ILIAD.

So both the armies slept, the Greeks secure Within their trench, the Trojans on the plain.

Bat Hector slept not; him the manly joy Stirred to the quick, of the great foeman's arms Stripped from Patroclus, and a new-born hope Of Grecian galleys crowding sail to Greece Woke in him, and of nine-year trodden plains Waving with corn crops, and the &wan gates Wide open, and wide open children's eyes Listening the wonders of a bygone war.

So his thoughts burnt within him, and he rose Restless, and stepped aloof, and, spear in hand, Paced with quick steps the narrow sand that lay Betwixt the bale-fires and the sentries' round.

On one side were the fires, and sleeping men, And yellow-flashing armour piled in heaps ; On the other, some twelve fathoms' breadth apart, The silent sentries, silvered by the moon, Stole sidelong-looks, for ever and anon He paused, and poised, and drew hard breath, and drank Imagined joy of battle ; and they knew The man they loved, the hope of all they loved, And whispered each to each, and shrank away.

So for some hour he ranged, and the moon sank, And all the watchmen's helmets sank in gloom Of Ida's shadow, and the sinking fires Flashed fitful, and uneasy men were stirred,

Dreaming the death-fights of the-day to dawn.

And Hector's steps were slackened in their speed, And his heart sank within him, for the thoughts Of young istyanax, and the careworn smile

Of sweet.;Andromache, and his comrades' love,

And the great trust of Priam and of Troy, Melted his mood. A dim foreshadowing Of what should be, and somewhat of a fear (Bethinking him of Peleus' mighty son, And the fierce war-shoot hurled across the trench)

Troubled his manhood ; and there came to him.

What comes to brave men after victory won, As ague-chill to fevered limbs, a deep Distrust of self, and questionings of the past, Whether the glory of Patroclus slain Were rightly his, and if the words he spake That evening in the Assembly were the fruits Of well-considered wisdom, or of pride Prompted by Ate, who infatuates men.

So his soul communed with itself, and spake : " 0 me ! what darkness is about the world, And the hard Gods hide things from sight of men !

Why do they fight on this side and on that?

For surely one is right, and one is wrong, Oars right, the other wrong, I know not which ; But this I know, that I have lived my life A noble one, and clean from every blame, And done the gods due homage, and have fought With might, nor ever with a boastful tongue, Nor ever done despite to fallen foe.

And now must I go forth to meet this man, And either he will slay me, or be slain.

And, if he slay me, sorrow will befall Our women, who lift daily hands to Zeus, And all our innocent babes, who suck the breast.

And if I slay him, how shall I escape Athens's wrath P Which of these things is just ?

Or are we men but playthings of the hour, The puppets of the Gods, who smile to see Our chafes and frets? Best then to end the play.

For surely there is peace beyond the grave, Or, if not peace, a knowledge of the right And power to do. Then let what will be be."

So Hector communed, and the sudden sun

Led np the day that was to see him die. 0. OGLE.