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 Best near the end those dreadful scenes appear; Wake then, and rouzerouse [sic] the furies of the war. But for his ravisht fair at first engage, Peleides' soul in unrelenting rage. Be this the cause that every Phrygian flood Swells with red waves, and rolls a tide of blood; That Xanthus' urns a purple deluge pour, And the deep trenches float with human gore. Nor former deeds in silence must we lose, The league at Aulis, and the mutual vows, The Spartan raging for his ravisht spouse; The thousand ships; the woes which Ilion bore From Greece, for nine revolving years before. This rule with judgment should the bard maintain, Who brings Laertes' wand'ring son again, From burning Ilion to his native reign. Let him not launch from Ida's strand his ships, With his attendant friends into the deeps; Nor stay to vanquish the Ciconian host; But set him down, (his dear companions lost,) With fair Calypso on the Ogygian coast. From