All were attentive to the godlike man,\nWhen from his lofty couch he thus began:\n\"Great queen, what you command me to relate\nRenews the sad remembrance of our fate:\nAn empire from its old foundations rent,\nAnd ev'ry woe the Trojans underwent;\nA peopled city made a desart place;\nAll that I saw, and part of which I was:\nNot ev'n the hardest of our foes could hear,\nNor stern Ulysses tell without a tear.\nAnd now the latter watch of wasting night,\nAnd setting stars, to kindly rest invite;\nBut, since you take such int'rest in our woe,\nAnd Troy's disastrous end desire to know,\nI will restrain my tears, and briefly tell\nWhat in our last and fatal night befell.<\/p>\n
\"By destiny compell'd, and in despair,\nThe Greeks grew weary of the tedious war,\nAnd by Minerva's aid a fabric rear'd,\nWhich like a steed of monstrous height appear'd:\nThe sides were plank'd with pine; they feign'd it made\nFor their return, and this the vow they paid.\nThus they pretend, but in the hollow side\nSelected numbers of their soldiers hide:\nWith inward arms the dire machine they load,\nAnd iron bowels stuff the dark abode.\nIn sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle\n(While Fortune did on Priam's empire smile)\nRenown'd for wealth; but, since, a faithless bay,\nWhere ships expos'd to wind and weather lay.\nThere was their fleet conceal'd. We thought, for Greece\nTheir sails were hoisted, and our fears release.\nThe Trojans, coop'd within their walls so long,\nUnbar their gates, and issue in a throng,\nLike swarming bees, and with delight survey\nThe camp deserted, where the Grecians lay:\nThe quarters of the sev'ral chiefs they show'd;\nHere Phoenix, here Achilles, made abode;\nHere join'd the battles; there the navy rode.\nPart on the pile their wond'ring eyes employ:\nThe pile by Pallas rais'd to ruin Troy.\nThymoetes first ('t is doubtful whether hir'd,\nOr so the Trojan destiny requir'd)\nMov'd that the ramparts might be broken down,\nTo lodge the monster fabric in the town.\nBut Capys, and the rest of sounder mind,\nThe fatal present to the flames designed,\nOr to the wat'ry deep; at least to bore\nThe hollow sides, and hidden frauds explore.\nThe giddy vulgar, as their fancies guide,\nWith noise say nothing, and in parts divide.\nLaocoon, follow'd by a num'rous crowd,\nRan from the fort, and cried, from far, aloud:\n'O wretched countrymen! what fury reigns?\nWhat more than madness has possess'd your brains?\nThink you the Grecians from your coasts are gone?\nAnd are Ulysses' arts no better known?\nThis hollow fabric either must inclose,\nWithin its blind recess, our secret foes;\nOr 't is an engine rais'd above the town,\nT' o'erlook the walls, and then to batter down.\nSomewhat is sure design'd, by fraud or force:\nTrust not their presents, nor admit the horse.'\nThus having said, against the steed he threw\nHis forceful spear, which, hissing as flew,\nPierc'd thro' the yielding planks of jointed wood,\nAnd trembling in the hollow belly stood.\nThe sides, transpierc'd, return a rattling sound,\nAnd groans of Greeks inclos'd come issuing thro' the wound\nAnd, had not Heav'n the fall of Troy design'd,\nOr had not men been fated to be blind,\nEnough was said and done t'inspire a better mind.\nThen had our lances pierc'd the treach'rous wood,\nAnd Ilian tow'rs and Priam's empire stood.\nMeantime, with shouts, the Trojan shepherds bring\nA captive Greek, in bands, before the king;\nTaken to take; who made himself their prey,\nT' impose on their belief, and Troy betray;\nFix'd on his aim, and obstinately bent\nTo die undaunted, or to circumvent.\nAbout the captive, tides of Trojans flow;\nAll press to see, and some insult the foe.\nNow hear how well the Greeks their wiles disguis'd;\nBehold a nation in a man compris'd.\nTrembling the miscreant stood, unarm'd and bound;\nHe star'd, and roll'd his haggard eyes around,\nThen said: 'Alas! what earth remains, what sea\nIs open to receive unhappy me?\nWhat fate a wretched fugitive attends,\nScorn'd by my foes, abandon'd by my friends?'\nHe said, and sigh'd, and cast a rueful eye:\nOur pity kindles, and our passions die.\nWe cheer youth to make his own defense,\nAnd freely tell us what he was, and whence:\nWhat news he could impart, we long to know,\nAnd what to credit from a captive foe.<\/p>\n
\"His fear at length dismiss'd, he said: 'Whate'er\nMy fate ordains, my words shall be sincere:\nI neither can nor dare my birth disclaim;\nGreece is my country, Sinon is my name.\nTho' plung'd by Fortune's pow'r in misery,\n'T is not in Fortune's pow'r to make me lie.\nIf any chance has hither brought the name\nOf Palamedes, not unknown to fame,\nWho suffer'd from the malice of the times,\nAccus'd and sentenc'd for pretended crimes,\nBecause these fatal wars he would prevent;\nWhose death the wretched Greeks too late lament-\nMe, then a boy, my father, poor and bare\nOf other means, committed to his care,\nHis kinsman and companion in the war.\nWhile Fortune favor'd, while his arms support\nThe cause, and rul'd the counsels, of the court,\nI made some figure there; nor was my name\nObscure, nor I without my share of fame.\nBut when Ulysses, with fallacious arts,\nHad made impression in the people's hearts,\nAnd forg'd a treason in my patron's name\n(I speak of things too far divulg'd by fame),\nMy kinsman fell. Then I, without support,\nIn private mourn'd his loss, and left the court.\nMad as I was, I could not bear his fate\nWith silent grief, but loudly blam'd the state,\nAnd curs'd the direful author of my woes.\n'T was told again; and hence my ruin rose.\nI threaten'd, if indulgent Heav'n once more\nWould land me safely on my native shore,\nHis death with double vengeance to restore.\nThis mov'd the murderer's hate; and soon ensued\nTh' effects of malice from a man so proud.\nAmbiguous rumors thro' the camp he spread,\nAnd sought, by treason, my devoted head;\nNew crimes invented; left unturn'd no stone,\nTo make my guilt appear, and hide his own;\nTill Calchas was by force and threat'ning wrought-\nBut why- why dwell I on that anxious thought?\nIf on my nation just revenge you seek,\nAnd 't is t' appear a foe, t' appear a Greek;\nAlready you my name and country know;\nAssuage your thirst of blood, and strike the blow:\nMy death will both the kingly brothers please,\nAnd set insatiate Ithacus at ease.'\nThis fair unfinish'd tale, these broken starts,\nRais'd expectations in our longing hearts:\nUnknowing as we were in Grecian arts.\nHis former trembling once again renew'd,\nWith acted fear, the villain thus pursued:<\/p>\n
\"'Long had the Grecians (tir'd with fruitless care,\nAnd wearied with an unsuccessful war)\nResolv'd to raise the siege, and leave the town;\nAnd, had the gods permitted, they had gone;\nBut oft the wintry seas and southern winds\nWithstood their passage home, and chang'd their minds.\nPortents and prodigies their souls amaz'd;\nBut most, when this stupendous pile was rais'd:\nThen flaming meteors, hung in air, were seen,\nAnd thunders rattled thro' a sky serene.\nDismay'd, and fearful of some dire event,\nEurypylus t' enquire their fate was sent.\nHe from the gods this dreadful answer brought:<\/p>\n
\"O Grecians, when the Trojan shores you sought,\nYour passage with a virgin's blood was bought:\nSo must your safe return be bought again,\nAnd Grecian blood once more atone the main.\"\nThe spreading rumor round the people ran;\nAll fear'd, and each believ'd himself the man.\nUlysses took th' advantage of their fright;\nCall'd Calchas, and produc'd in open sight:\nThen bade him name the wretch, ordain'd by fate\nThe public victim, to redeem the state.\nAlready some presag'd the dire event,\nAnd saw what sacrifice Ulysses meant.\nFor twice five days the good old seer withstood\nTh' intended treason, and was dumb to blood,\nTill, tir'd, with endless clamors and pursuit\nOf Ithacus, he stood no longer mute;\nBut, as it was agreed, pronounc'd that I\nWas destin'd by the wrathful gods to die.\nAll prais'd the sentence, pleas'd the storm should fall\nOn one alone, whose fury threaten'd all.\nThe dismal day was come; the priests prepare\nTheir leaven'd cakes, and fillets for my hair.\nI follow'd nature's laws, and must avow\nI broke my bonds and fled the fatal blow.\nHid in a weedy lake all night I lay,\nSecure of safety when they sail'd away.\nBut now what further hopes for me remain,\nTo see my friends, or native soil, again;\nMy tender infants, or my careful sire,\nWhom they returning will to death require;\nWill perpetrate on them their first design,\nAnd take the forfeit of their heads for mine?\nWhich, O! if pity mortal minds can move,\nIf there be faith below, or gods above,\nIf innocence and truth can claim desert,\nYe Trojans, from an injur'd wretch avert.'<\/p>\n
\"False tears true pity move; the king commands\nTo loose his fetters, and unbind his hands:\nThen adds these friendly words: 'Dismiss thy fears;\nForget the Greeks; be mine as thou wert theirs.\nBut truly tell, was it for force or guile,\nOr some religious end, you rais'd the pile?'\nThus said the king. He, full of fraudful arts,\nThis well-invented tale for truth imparts:\n'Ye lamps of heav'n!' he said, and lifted high\nHis hands now free, 'thou venerable sky!\nInviolable pow'rs, ador'd with dread!\nYe fatal fillets, that once bound this head!\nYe sacred altars, from whose flames I fled!\nBe all of you adjur'd; and grant I may,\nWithout a crime, th' ungrateful Greeks betray,\nReveal the secrets of the guilty state,\nAnd justly punish whom I justly hate!\nBut you, O king, preserve the faith you gave,\nIf I, to save myself, your empire save.\nThe Grecian hopes, and all th' attempts they made,\nWere only founded on Minerva's aid.\nBut from the time when impious Diomede,\nAnd false Ulysses, that inventive head,\nHer fatal image from the temple drew,\nThe sleeping guardians of the castle slew,\nHer virgin statue with their bloody hands\nPolluted, and profan'd her holy bands;\nFrom thence the tide of fortune left their shore,\nAnd ebb'd much faster than it flow'd before:\nTheir courage languish'd, as their hopes decay'd;\nAnd Pallas, now averse, refus'd her aid.\nNor did the goddess doubtfully declare\nHer alter'd mind and alienated care.\nWhen first her fatal image touch'd the ground,\nShe sternly cast her glaring eyes around,\nThat sparkled as they roll'd, and seem'd to threat:\nHer heav'nly limbs distill'd a briny sweat.\nThrice from the ground she leap'd, was seen to wield\nHer brandish'd lance, and shake her horrid shield.\nThen Calchas bade our host for flight\nAnd hope no conquest from the tedious war,\nTill first they sail'd for Greece; with pray'rs besought\nHer injur'd pow'r, and better omens brought.\nAnd now their navy plows the wat'ry main,\nYet soon expect it on your shores again,\nWith Pallas pleas'd; as Calchas did ordain.\nBut first, to reconcile the blue-ey'd maid\nFor her stol'n statue and her tow'r betray'd,\nWarn'd by the seer, to her offended name\nWe rais'd and dedicate this wondrous frame,\nSo lofty, lest thro' your forbidden gates\nIt pass, and intercept our better fates:\nFor, once admitted there, our hopes are lost;\nAnd Troy may then a new Palladium boast;\nFor so religion and the gods ordain,\nThat, if you violate with hands profane\nMinerva's gift, your town in flames shall burn,\n(Which omen, O ye gods, on Graecia turn!)\nBut if it climb, with your assisting hands,\nThe Trojan walls, and in the city stands;\nThen Troy shall Argos and Mycenae burn,\nAnd the reverse of fate on us return.'<\/p>\n
\"With such deceits he gain'd their easy hearts,\nToo prone to credit his perfidious arts.\nWhat Diomede, nor Thetis' greater son,\nA thousand ships, nor ten years' siege, had done-\nFalse tears and fawning words the city won.<\/p>\n
\"A greater omen, and of worse portent,\nDid our unwary minds with fear torment,\nConcurring to produce the dire event.\nLaocoon, Neptune's priest by lot that year,\nWith solemn pomp then sacrific'd a steer;\nWhen, dreadful to behold, from sea we spied\nTwo serpents, rank'd abreast, the seas divide,\nAnd smoothly sweep along the swelling tide.\nTheir flaming crests above the waves they show;\nTheir bellies seem to burn the seas below;\nTheir speckled tails advance to steer their course,\nAnd on the sounding shore the flying billows force.\nAnd now the strand, and now the plain they held;\nTheir ardent eyes with bloody streaks were fill'd;\nTheir nimble tongues they brandish'd as they came,\nAnd lick'd their hissing jaws, that sputter'd flame.\nWe fled amaz'd; their destin'd way they take,\nAnd to Laocoon and his children make;\nAnd first around the tender boys they wind,\nThen with their sharpen'd fangs their limbs and bodies grind.\nThe wretched father, running to their aid\nWith pious haste, but vain, they next invade;\nTwice round his waist their winding volumes roll'd;\nAnd twice about his gasping throat they fold.\nThe priest thus doubly chok'd, their crests divide,\nAnd tow'ring o'er his head in triumph ride.\nWith both his hands he labors at the knots;\nHis holy fillets the blue venom blots;\nHis roaring fills the flitting air around.\nThus, when an ox receives a glancing wound,\nHe breaks his bands, the fatal altar flies,\nAnd with loud bellowings breaks the yielding skies.\nTheir tasks perform'd, the serpents quit their prey,\nAnd to the tow'r of Pallas make their way:\nCouch'd at her feet, they lie protected there\nBy her large buckler and protended spear.\nAmazement seizes all; the gen'ral cry\nProclaims Laocoon justly doom'd to die,\nWhose hand the will of Pallas had withstood,\nAnd dared to violate the sacred wood.\nAll vote t' admit the steed, that vows be paid\nAnd incense offer'd to th' offended maid.\nA spacious breach is made; the town lies bare;\nSome hoisting-levers, some the wheels prepare\nAnd fasten to the horse's feet; the rest\nWith cables haul along th' unwieldly beast.\nEach on his fellow for assistance calls;\nAt length the fatal fabric mounts the walls,\nBig with destruction. Boys with chaplets crown'd,\nAnd choirs of virgins, sing and dance around.\nThus rais'd aloft, and then descending down,\nIt enters o'er our heads, and threats the town.\nO sacred city, built by hands divine!\nO valiant heroes of the Trojan line!\nFour times he struck: as oft the clashing sound\nOf arms was heard, and inward groans rebound.\nYet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate,\nWe haul along the horse in solemn state;\nThen place the dire portent within the tow'r.\nCassandra cried, and curs'd th' unhappy hour;\nForetold our fate; but, by the god's decree,\nAll heard, and none believ'd the prophecy.\nWith branches we the fanes adorn, and waste,\nIn jollity, the day ordain'd to be the last.\nMeantime the rapid heav'ns roll'd down the light,\nAnd on the shaded ocean rush'd the night;\nOur men, secure, nor guards nor sentries held,\nBut easy sleep their weary limbs compell'd.\nThe Grecians had embark'd their naval pow'rs\nFrom Tenedos, and sought our well-known shores,\nSafe under covert of the silent night,\nAnd guided by th' imperial galley's light;\nWhen Sinon, favor'd by the partial gods,\nUnlock'd the horse, and op'd his dark abodes;\nRestor'd to vital air our hidden foes,\nWho joyful from their long confinement rose.\nTysander bold, and Sthenelus their guide,\nAnd dire Ulysses down the cable slide:\nThen Thoas, Athamas, and Pyrrhus haste;\nNor was the Podalirian hero last,\nNor injur'd Menelaus, nor the fam'd\nEpeus, who the fatal engine fram'd.\nA nameless crowd succeed; their forces join\nT' invade the town, oppress'd with sleep and wine.\nThose few they find awake first meet their fate;\nThen to their fellows they unbar the gate.<\/p>\n
\"'T was in the dead of night, when sleep repairs\nOur bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares,\nWhen Hector's ghost before my sight appears:\nA bloody shroud he seem'd, and bath'd in tears;\nSuch as he was, when, by Pelides slain,\nThessalian coursers dragg'd him o'er the plain.\nSwoln were his feet, as when the thongs were thrust\nThro' the bor'd holes; his body black with dust;\nUnlike that Hector who return'd from toils\nOf war, triumphant, in Aeacian spoils,\nOr him who made the fainting Greeks retire,\nAnd launch'd against their navy Phrygian fire.\nHis hair and beard stood stiffen'd with his gore;\nAnd all the wounds he for his country bore\nNow stream'd afresh, and with new purple ran.\nI wept to see the visionary man,\nAnd, while my trance continued, thus began:\n'O light of Trojans, and support of Troy,\nThy father's champion, and thy country's joy!\nO, long expected by thy friends! from whence\nArt thou so late return'd for our defense?\nDo we behold thee, wearied as we are\nWith length of labors, and with toils of war?\nAfter so many fun'rals of thy own\nArt thou restor'd to thy declining town?\nBut say, what wounds are these? What new disgrace\nDeforms the manly features of thy face?'<\/p>\n
\"To this the specter no reply did frame,\nBut answer'd to the cause for which he came,\nAnd, groaning from the bottom of his breast,\nThis warning in these mournful words express'd:\n'O goddess-born! escape, by timely flight,\nThe flames and horrors of this fatal night.\nThe foes already have possess'd the wall;\nTroy nods from high, and totters to her fall.\nEnough is paid to Priam's royal name,\nMore than enough to duty and to fame.\nIf by a mortal hand my father's throne\nCould be defended, 't was by mine alone.\nNow Troy to thee commends her future state,\nAnd gives her gods companions of thy fate:\nFrom their assistance walls expect,\nWhich, wand'ring long, at last thou shalt erect.'\nHe said, and brought me, from their blest abodes,\nThe venerable statues of the gods,\nWith ancient Vesta from the sacred choir,\nThe wreaths and relics of th' immortal fire.<\/p>\n
\"Now peals of shouts come thund'ring from afar,\nCries, threats, and loud laments, and mingled war:\nThe noise approaches, tho' our palace stood\nAloof from streets, encompass'd with a wood.\nLouder, and yet more loud, I hear th' alarms\nOf human cries distinct, and clashing arms.\nFear broke my slumbers; I no longer stay,\nBut mount the terrace, thence the town survey,\nAnd hearken what the frightful sounds convey.\nThus, when a flood of fire by wind is borne,\nCrackling it rolls, and mows the standing corn;\nOr deluges, descending on the plains,\nSweep o'er the yellow year, destroy the pains\nOf lab'ring oxen and the peasant's gains;\nUnroot the forest oaks, and bear away\nFlocks, folds, and trees, and undistinguish'd prey:\nThe shepherd climbs the cliff, and sees from far\nThe wasteful ravage of the wat'ry war.\nThen Hector's faith was manifestly clear'd,\nAnd Grecian frauds in open light appear'd.\nThe palace of Deiphobus ascends\nIn smoky flames, and catches on his friends.\nUcalegon burns next: the seas are bright\nWith splendor not their own, and shine with Trojan light.\nNew clamors and new clangors now arise,\nThe sound of trumpets mix'd with fighting cries.\nWith frenzy seiz'd, I run to meet th' alarms,\nResolv'd on death, resolv'd to die in arms,\nBut first to gather friends, with them t' oppose\n(If fortune favor'd) and repel the foes;\nSpurr'd by my courage, by my country fir'd,\nWith sense of honor and revenge inspir'd.<\/p>\n
\"Pantheus, Apollo's priest, a sacred name,\nHad scap'd the Grecian swords, and pass'd the flame:\nWith relics loaden. to my doors he fled,\nAnd by the hand his tender grandson led.\n'What hope, O Pantheus? whither can we run?\nWhere make a stand? and what may yet be done?'\nScarce had I said, when Pantheus, with a groan:\n'Troy is no more, and Ilium was a town!\nThe fatal day, th' appointed hour, is come,\nWhen wrathful Jove's irrevocable doom\nTransfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands.\nThe fire consumes the town, the foe commands;\nAnd armed hosts, an unexpected force,\nBreak from the bowels of the fatal horse.\nWithin the gates, proud Sinon throws about\nThe flames; and foes for entrance press without,\nWith thousand others, whom I fear to name,\nMore than from Argos or Mycenae came.\nTo sev'ral posts their parties they divide;\nSome block the narrow streets, some scour the wide:\nThe bold they kill, th' unwary they surprise;\nWho fights finds death, and death finds him who flies.\nThe warders of the gate but scarce maintain\nTh' unequal combat, and resist in vain.'<\/p>\n
\"I heard; and Heav'n, that well-born souls inspires,\nPrompts me thro' lifted swords and rising fires\nTo run where clashing arms and clamor calls,\nAnd rush undaunted to defend the walls.\nRipheus and Iph'itus by my side engage,\nFor valor one renown'd, and one for age.\nDymas and Hypanis by moonlight knew\nMy motions and my mien, and to my party drew;\nWith young Coroebus, who by love was led\nTo win renown and fair Cassandra's bed,\nAnd lately brought his troops to Priam's aid,\nForewarn'd in vain by the prophetic maid.\nWhom when I saw resolv'd in arms to fall,\nAnd that one spirit animated all:\n'Brave souls!' said I,- 'but brave, alas! in vain-\nCome, finish what our cruel fates ordain.\nYou see the desp'rate state of our affairs,\nAnd heav'n's protecting pow'rs are deaf to pray'rs.\nThe passive gods behold the Greeks defile\nTheir temples, and abandon to the spoil\nTheir own abodes: we, feeble few, conspire\nTo save a sinking town, involv'd in fire.\nThen let us fall, but fall amidst our foes:\nDespair of life the means of living shows.'\nSo bold a speech incourag'd their desire\nOf death, and added fuel to their fire.<\/p>\n
\"As hungry wolves, with raging appetite,\nScour thro' the fields, nor fear the stormy night-\nTheir whelps at home expect the promis'd food,\nAnd long to temper their dry chaps in blood-\nSo rush'd we forth at once; resolv'd to die,\nResolv'd, in death, the last extremes to try.\nWe leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare\nTh' unequal combat in the public square:\nNight was our friend; our leader was despair.\nWhat tongue can tell the slaughter of that night?\nWhat eyes can weep the sorrows and affright?\nAn ancient and imperial city falls:\nThe streets are fill'd with frequent funerals;\nHouses and holy temples float in blood,\nAnd hostile nations make a common flood.\nNot only Trojans fall; but, in their turn,\nThe vanquish'd triumph, and the victors mourn.\nOurs take new courage from despair and night:\nConfus'd the fortune is, confus'd the fight.\nAll parts resound with tumults, plaints, and fears;\nAnd grisly Death in sundry shapes appears.\nAndrogeos fell among us, with his band,\nWho thought us Grecians newly come to land.\n'From whence,' said he, 'my friends, this long delay?\nYou loiter, while the spoils are borne away:\nOur ships are laden with the Trojan store;\nAnd you, like truants, come too late ashore.'\nHe said, but soon corrected his mistake,\nFound, by the doubtful answers which we make:\nAmaz'd, he would have shunn'd th' unequal fight;\nBut we, more num'rous, intercept his flight.\nAs when some peasant, in a bushy brake,\nHas with unwary footing press'd a snake;\nHe starts aside, astonish'd, when he spies\nHis rising crest, blue neck, and rolling eyes;\nSo from our arms surpris'd Androgeos flies.\nIn vain; for him and his we compass'd round,\nPossess'd with fear, unknowing of the ground,\nAnd of their lives an easy conquest found.\nThus Fortune on our first endeavor smil'd.\nCoroebus then, with youthful hopes beguil'd,\nSwoln with success, and a daring mind,\nThis new invention fatally design'd.\n'My friends,' said he, 'since Fortune shows the way,\n'T is fit we should th' auspicious guide obey.\nFor what has she these Grecian arms bestow'd,\nBut their destruction, and the Trojans' good?\nThen change we shields, and their devices bear:\nLet fraud supply the want of force in war.\nThey find us arms.' This said, himself he dress'd\nIn dead Androgeos' spoils, his upper vest,\nHis painted buckler, and his plumy crest.\nThus Ripheus, Dymas, all the Trojan train,\nLay down their own attire, and strip the slain.\nMix'd with the Greeks, we go with ill presage,\nFlatter'd with hopes to glut our greedy rage;\nUnknown, assaulting whom we blindly meet,\nAnd strew with Grecian carcasses the street.\nThus while their straggling parties we defeat,\nSome to the shore and safer ships retreat;\nAnd some, oppress'd with more ignoble fear,\nRemount the hollow horse, and pant in secret there.<\/p>\n
\"But, ah! what use of valor can be made,\nWhen heav'n's propitious pow'rs refuse their aid!\nBehold the royal prophetess, the fair\nCassandra, dragg'd by her dishevel'd hair,\nWhom not Minerva's shrine, nor sacred bands,\nIn safety could protect from sacrilegious hands:\nOn heav'n she cast her eyes, she sigh'd, she cried-\n'T was all she could- her tender arms were tied.\nSo sad a sight Coroebus could not bear;\nBut, fir'd with rage, distracted with despair,\nAmid the barb'rous ravishers he flew:\nOur leader's rash example we pursue.\nBut storms of stones, from the proud temple's height,\nPour down, and on our batter'd helms alight:\nWe from our friends receiv'd this fatal blow,\nWho thought us Grecians, as we seem'd in show.\nThey aim at the mistaken crests, from high;\nAnd ours beneath the pond'rous ruin lie.\nThen, mov'd with anger and disdain, to see\nTheir troops dispers'd, the royal virgin free,\nThe Grecians rally, and their pow'rs unite,\nWith fury charge us, and renew the fight.\nThe brother kings with Ajax join their force,\nAnd the whole squadron of Thessalian horse.<\/p>\n
\"Thus, when the rival winds their quarrel try,\nContending for the kingdom of the sky,\nSouth, east, and west, on airy coursers borne;\nThe whirlwind gathers, and the woods are torn:\nThen Nereus strikes the deep; the billows rise,\nAnd, mix'd with ooze and sand, pollute the skies.\nThe troops we squander'd first again appear\nFrom several quarters, and enclose the rear.\nThey first observe, and to the rest betray,\nOur diff'rent speech; our borrow'd arms survey.\nOppress'd with odds, we fall; Coroebus first,\nAt Pallas' altar, by Peneleus pierc'd.\nThen Ripheus follow'd, in th' unequal fight;\nJust of his word, observant of the right:\nHeav'n thought not so. Dymas their fate attends,\nWith Hypanis, mistaken by their friends.\nNor, Pantheus, thee, thy miter, nor the bands\nOf awful Phoebus, sav'd from impious hands.\nYe Trojan flames, your testimony bear,\nWhat I perform'd, and what I suffer'd there;\nNo sword avoiding in the fatal strife,\nExpos'd to death, and prodigal of life;\nWitness, ye heavens! I live not by my fault:\nI strove to have deserv'd the death I sought.\nBut, when I could not fight, and would have died,\nBorne off to distance by the growing tide,\nOld Iphitus and I were hurried thence,\nWith Pelias wounded, and without defense.\nNew clamors from th' invested palace ring:\nWe run to die, or disengage the king.\nSo hot th' assault, so high the tumult rose,\nWhile ours defend, and while the Greeks oppose\nAs all the Dardan and Argolic race\nHad been contracted in that narrow space;\nOr as all Ilium else were void of fear,\nAnd tumult, war, and slaughter, only there.\nTheir targets in a tortoise cast, the foes,\nSecure advancing, to the turrets rose:\nSome mount the scaling ladders; some, more bold,\nSwerve upwards, and by posts and pillars hold;\nTheir left hand gripes their bucklers in th' ascent,\nWhile with their right they seize the battlement.\nFrom their demolish'd tow'rs the Trojans throw\nHuge heaps of stones, that, falling, crush the foe;\nAnd heavy beams and rafters from the sides\n(Such arms their last necessity provides)\nAnd gilded roofs, come tumbling from on high,\nThe marks of state and ancient royalty.\nThe guards below, fix'd in the pass, attend\nThe charge undaunted, and the gate defend.\nRenew'd in courage with recover'd breath,\nA second time we ran to tempt our death,\nTo clear the palace from the foe, succeed\nThe weary living, and revenge the dead.<\/p>\n
\"A postern door, yet unobserv'd and free,\nJoin'd by the length of a blind gallery,\nTo the king's closet led: a way well known\nTo Hector's wife, while Priam held the throne,\nThro' which she brought Astyanax, unseen,\nTo cheer his grandsire and his grandsire's queen.\nThro' this we pass, and mount the tow'r, from whence\nWith unavailing arms the Trojans make defense.\nFrom this the trembling king had oft descried\nThe Grecian camp, and saw their navy ride.\nBeams from its lofty height with swords we hew,\nThen, wrenching with our hands, th' assault renew;\nAnd, where the rafters on the columns meet,\nWe push them headlong with our arms and feet.\nThe lightning flies not swifter than the fall,\nNor thunder louder than the ruin'd wall:\nDown goes the top at once; the Greeks beneath\nAre piecemeal torn, or pounded into death.\nYet more succeed, and more to death are sent;\nWe cease not from above, nor they below relent.\nBefore the gate stood Pyrrhus, threat'ning loud,\nWith glitt'ring arms conspicuous in the crowd.\nSo shines, renew'd in youth, the crested snake,\nWho slept the winter in a thorny brake,\nAnd, casting off his slough when spring returns,\nNow looks aloft, and with new glory burns;\nRestor'd with poisonous herbs, his ardent sides\nReflect the sun; and rais'd on spires he rides;\nHigh o'er the grass, hissing he rolls along,\nAnd brandishes by fits his forky tongue.\nProud Periphas, and fierce Automedon,\nHis father's charioteer, together run\nTo force the gate; the Scyrian infantry\nRush on in crowds, and the barr'd passage free.\nEnt'ring the court, with shouts the skies they rend;\nAnd flaming firebrands to the roofs ascend.\nHimself, among the foremost, deals his blows,\nAnd with his ax repeated strokes bestows\nOn the strong doors; then all their shoulders ply,\nTill from the posts the brazen hinges fly.\nHe hews apace; the double bars at length\nYield to his ax and unresisted strength.\nA mighty breach is made: the rooms conceal'd\nAppear, and all the palace is reveal'd;\nThe halls of audience, and of public state,\nAnd where the lonely queen in secret sate.\nArm'd soldiers now by trembling maids are seen,\nWith not a door, and scarce a space, between.\nThe house is fill'd with loud laments and cries,\nAnd shrieks of women rend the vaulted skies;\nThe fearful matrons run from place to place,\nAnd kiss the thresholds, and the posts embrace.\nThe fatal work inhuman Pyrrhus plies,\nAnd all his father sparkles in his eyes;\nNor bars, nor fighting guards, his force sustain:\nThe bars are broken, and the guards are slain.\nIn rush the Greeks, and all the apartments fill;\nThose few defendants whom they find, they kill.\nNot with so fierce a rage the foaming flood\nRoars, when he finds his rapid course withstood;\nBears down the dams with unresisted sway,\nAnd sweeps the cattle and the cots away.\nThese eyes beheld him when he march'd between\nThe brother kings: I saw th' unhappy queen,\nThe hundred wives, and where old Priam stood,\nTo stain his hallow'd altar with his brood.\nThe fifty nuptial beds (such hopes had he,\nSo large a promise, of a progeny),\nThe posts, of plated gold, and hung with spoils,\nFell the reward of the proud victor's toils.\nWhere'er the raging fire had left a space,\nThe Grecians enter and possess the place.<\/p>\n
\"Perhaps you may of Priam's fate enquire.\nHe, when he saw his regal town on fire,\nHis ruin'd palace, and his ent'ring foes,\nOn ev'ry side inevitable woes,\nIn arms, disus'd, invests his limbs, decay'd,\nLike them, with age; a late and useless aid.\nHis feeble shoulders scarce the weight sustain;\nLoaded, not arm'd, he creeps along with pain,\nDespairing of success, ambitious to be slain!\nUncover'd but by heav'n, there stood in view\nAn altar; near the hearth a laurel grew,\nDodder'd with age, whose boughs encompass round\nThe household gods, and shade the holy ground.\nHere Hecuba, with all her helpless train\nOf dames, for shelter sought, but sought in vain.\nDriv'n like a flock of doves along the sky,\nTheir images they hug, and to their altars fly.\nThe Queen, when she beheld her trembling lord,\nAnd hanging by his side a heavy sword,\n'What rage,' she cried, 'has seiz'd my husband's mind?\nWhat arms are these, and to what use design'd?\nThese times want other aids! Were Hector here,\nEv'n Hector now in vain, like Priam, would appear.\nWith us, one common shelter thou shalt find,\nOr in one common fate with us be join'd.'\nShe said, and with a last salute embrac'd\nThe poor old man, and by the laurel plac'd.\nBehold! Polites, one of Priam's sons,\nPursued by Pyrrhus, there for safety runs.\nThro' swords and foes, amaz'd and hurt, he flies\nThro' empty courts and open galleries.\nHim Pyrrhus, urging with his lance, pursues,\nAnd often reaches, and his thrusts renews.\nThe youth, transfix'd, with lamentable cries,\nExpires before his wretched parent's eyes:\nWhom gasping at his feet when Priam saw,\nThe fear of death gave place to nature's law;\nAnd, shaking more with anger than with age,\n'The gods,' said he, 'requite thy brutal rage!\nAs sure they will, barbarian, sure they must,\nIf there be gods in heav'n, and gods be just-\nWho tak'st in wrongs an insolent delight;\nWith a son's death t' infect a father's sight.\nNot he, whom thou and lying fame conspire\nTo call thee his- not he, thy vaunted sire,\nThus us'd my wretched age: the gods he fear'd,\nThe laws of nature and of nations heard.\nHe cheer'd my sorrows, and, for sums of gold,\nThe bloodless carcass of my Hector sold;\nPitied the woes a parent underwent,\nAnd sent me back in safety from his tent.'<\/p>\n
\"This said, his feeble hand a javelin threw,\nWhich, flutt'ring, seem'd to loiter as it flew:\nJust, and but barely, to the mark it held,\nAnd faintly tinkled on the brazen shield.<\/p>\n
\"Then Pyrrhus thus: 'Go thou from me to fate,\nAnd to my father my foul deeds relate.\nNow die!' With that he dragg'd the trembling sire,\nSlidd'ring thro' clotter'd blood and holy mire,\n(The mingled paste his murder'd son had made,)\nHaul'd from beneath the violated shade,\nAnd on the sacred pile the royal victim laid.\nHis right hand held his bloody falchion bare,\nHis left he twisted in his hoary hair;\nThen, with a speeding thrust, his heart he found:\nThe lukewarm blood came rushing thro' the wound,\nAnd sanguine streams distain'd the sacred ground.\nThus Priam fell, and shar'd one common fate\nWith Troy in ashes, and his ruin'd state:\nHe, who the scepter of all Asia sway'd,\nWhom monarchs like domestic slaves obey'd.\nOn the bleak shore now lies th' abandon'd king,\nA headless carcass, and a nameless thing.<\/p>\n
\"Then, not before, I felt my cruddled blood\nCongeal with fear, my hair with horror stood:\nMy father's image fill'd my pious mind,\nLest equal years might equal fortune find.\nAgain I thought on my forsaken wife,\nAnd trembled for my son's abandon'd life.\nI look'd about, but found myself alone,\nDeserted at my need! My friends were gone.\nSome spent with toil, some with despair oppress'd,\nLeap'd headlong from the heights; the flames consum'd the rest.\nThus, wand'ring in my way, without a guide,\nThe graceless Helen in the porch I spied\nOf Vesta's temple; there she lurk'd alone;\nMuffled she sate, and, what she could, unknown:\nBut, by the flames that cast their blaze around,\nThat common bane of Greece and Troy I found.\nFor Ilium burnt, she dreads the Trojan sword;\nMore dreads the vengeance of her injur'd lord;\nEv'n by those gods who refug'd her abhorr'd.\nTrembling with rage, the strumpet I regard,\nResolv'd to give her guilt the due reward:\n'Shall she triumphant sail before the wind,\nAnd leave in flames unhappy Troy behind?\nShall she her kingdom and her friends review,\nIn state attended with a captive crew,\nWhile unreveng'd the good old Priam falls,\nAnd Grecian fires consume the Trojan walls?\nFor this the Phrygian fields and Xanthian flood\nWere swell'd with bodies, and were drunk with blood?\n'T is true, a soldier can small honor gain,\nAnd boast no conquest, from a woman slain:\nYet shall the fact not pass without applause,\nOf vengeance taken in so just a cause;\nThe punish'd crime shall set my soul at ease,\nAnd murm'ring manes of my friends appease.'\nThus while I rave, a gleam of pleasing light\nSpread o'er the place; and, shining heav'nly bright,\nMy mother stood reveal'd before my sight\nNever so radiant did her eyes appear;\nNot her own star confess'd a light so clear:\nGreat in her charms, as when on gods above\nShe looks, and breathes herself into their love.\nShe held my hand, the destin'd blow to break;\nThen from her rosy lips began to speak:\n'My son, from whence this madness, this neglect\nOf my commands, and those whom I protect?\nWhy this unmanly rage? Recall to mind\nWhom you forsake, what pledges leave behind.\nLook if your helpless father yet survive,\nOr if Ascanius or Creusa live.\nAround your house the greedy Grecians err;\nAnd these had perish'd in the nightly war,\nBut for my presence and protecting care.\nNot Helen's face, nor Paris, was in fault;\nBut by the gods was this destruction brought.\nNow cast your eyes around, while I dissolve\nThe mists and films that mortal eyes involve,\nPurge from your sight the dross, and make you see\nThe shape of each avenging deity.\nEnlighten'd thus, my just commands fulfil,\nNor fear obedience to your mother's will.\nWhere yon disorder'd heap of ruin lies,\nStones rent from stones; where clouds of dust arise-\nAmid that smother Neptune holds his place,\nBelow the wall's foundation drives his mace,\nAnd heaves the building from the solid base.\nLook where, in arms, imperial Juno stands\nFull in the Scaean gate, with loud commands,\nUrging on shore the tardy Grecian bands.\nSee! Pallas, of her snaky buckler proud,\nBestrides the tow'r, refulgent thro' the cloud:\nSee! Jove new courage to the foe supplies,\nAnd arms against the town the partial deities.\nHaste hence, my son; this fruitless labor end:\nHaste, where your trembling spouse and sire attend:\nHaste; and a mother's care your passage shall befriend.'\nShe said, and swiftly vanish'd from my sight,\nObscure in clouds and gloomy shades of night.\nI look'd, I listen'd; dreadful sounds I hear;\nAnd the dire forms of hostile gods appear.\nTroy sunk in flames I saw (nor could prevent),\nAnd Ilium from its old foundations rent;\nRent like a mountain ash, which dar'd the winds,\nAnd stood the sturdy strokes of lab'ring hinds.\nAbout the roots the cruel ax resounds;\nThe stumps are pierc'd with oft-repeated wounds:\nThe war is felt on high; the nodding crown\nNow threats a fall, and throws the leafy honors down.\nTo their united force it yields, tho' late,\nAnd mourns with mortal groans th' approaching fate:\nThe roots no more their upper load sustain;\nBut down she falls, and spreads a ruin thro' the plain.<\/p>\n
\"Descending thence, I scape thro' foes and fire:\nBefore the goddess, foes and flames retire.\nArriv'd at home, he, for whose only sake,\nOr most for his, such toils I undertake,\nThe good Anchises, whom, by timely flight,\nI purpos'd to secure on Ida's height,\nRefus'd the journey, resolute to die\nAnd add his fun'rals to the fate of Troy,\nRather than exile and old age sustain.\n'Go you, whose blood runs warm in ev'ry vein.\nHad Heav'n decreed that I should life enjoy,\nHeav'n had decreed to save unhappy Troy.\n'T is, sure, enough, if not too much, for one,\nTwice to have seen our Ilium overthrown.\nMake haste to save the poor remaining crew,\nAnd give this useless corpse a long adieu.\nThese weak old hands suffice to stop my breath;\nAt least the pitying foes will aid my death,\nTo take my spoils, and leave my body bare:\nAs for my sepulcher, let Heav'n take care.\n'T is long since I, for my celestial wife\nLoath'd by the gods, have dragg'd a ling'ring life;\nSince ev'ry hour and moment I expire,\nBlasted from heav'n by Jove's avenging fire.'\nThis oft repeated, he stood fix'd to die:\nMyself, my wife, my son, my family,\nIntreat, pray, beg, and raise a doleful cry-\n'What, will he still persist, on death resolve,\nAnd in his ruin all his house involve!'\nHe still persists his reasons to maintain;\nOur pray'rs, our tears, our loud laments, are vain.<\/p>\n
\"Urg'd by despair, again I go to try\nThe fate of arms, resolv'd in fight to die:\n'What hope remains, but what my death must give?\nCan I, without so dear a father, live?\nYou term it prudence, what I baseness call:\nCould such a word from such a parent fall?\nIf Fortune please, and so the gods ordain,\nThat nothing should of ruin'd Troy remain,\nAnd you conspire with Fortune to be slain,\nThe way to death is wide, th' approaches near:\nFor soon relentless Pyrrhus will appear,\nReeking with Priam's blood- the wretch who slew\nThe son (inhuman) in the father's view,\nAnd then the sire himself to the dire altar drew.\nO goddess mother, give me back to Fate;\nYour gift was undesir'd, and came too late!\nDid you, for this, unhappy me convey\nThro' foes and fires, to see my house a prey?\nShall I my father, wife, and son behold,\nWelt'ring in blood, each other's arms infold?\nHaste! gird my sword, tho' spent and overcome:\n'T is the last summons to receive our doom.\nI hear thee, Fate; and I obey thy call!\nNot unreveng'd the foe shall see my fall.\nRestore me to the yet unfinish'd fight:\nMy death is wanting to conclude the night.'\nArm'd once again, my glitt'ring sword I wield,\nWhile th' other hand sustains my weighty shield,\nAnd forth I rush to seek th' abandon'd field.\nI went; but sad Creusa stopp'd my way,\nAnd cross the threshold in my passage lay,\nEmbrac'd my knees, and, when I would have gone,\nShew'd me my feeble sire and tender son:\n'If death be your design, at least,' said she,\n'Take us along to share your destiny.\nIf any farther hopes in arms remain,\nThis place, these pledges of your love, maintain.\nTo whom do you expose your father's life,\nYour son's, and mine, your now forgotten wife!'\nWhile thus she fills the house with clam'rous cries,\nOur hearing is diverted by our eyes:\nFor, while I held my son, in the short space\nBetwixt our kisses and our last embrace;\nStrange to relate, from young Iulus' head\nA lambent flame arose, which gently spread\nAround his brows, and on his temples fed.\nAmaz'd, with running water we prepare\nTo quench the sacred fire, and slake his hair;\nBut old Anchises, vers'd in omens, rear'd\nHis hands to heav'n, and this request preferr'd:\n'If any vows, almighty Jove, can bend\nThy will; if piety can pray'rs commend,\nConfirm the glad presage which thou art pleas'd to send.'\nScarce had he said, when, on our left, we hear\nA peal of rattling thunder roll in air:\nThere shot a streaming lamp along the sky,\nWhich on the winged lightning seem'd to fly;\nFrom o'er the roof the blaze began to move,\nAnd, trailing, vanish'd in th' Idaean grove.\nIt swept a path in heav'n, and shone a guide,\nThen in a steaming stench of sulphur died.<\/p>\n
\"The good old man with suppliant hands implor'd\nThe gods' protection, and their star ador'd.\n'Now, now,' said he, 'my son, no more delay!\nI yield, I follow where Heav'n shews the way.\nKeep, O my country gods, our dwelling place,\nAnd guard this relic of the Trojan race,\nThis tender child! These omens are your own,\nAnd you can yet restore the ruin'd town.\nAt least accomplish what your signs foreshow:\nI stand resign'd, and am prepar'd to go.'<\/p>\n
\"He said. The crackling flames appear on high.\nAnd driving sparkles dance along the sky.\nWith Vulcan's rage the rising winds conspire,\nAnd near our palace roll the flood of fire.\n'Haste, my dear father, ('t is no time to wait,)\nAnd load my shoulders with a willing freight.\nWhate'er befalls, your life shall be my care;\nOne death, or one deliv'rance, we will share.\nMy hand shall lead our little son; and you,\nMy faithful consort, shall our steps pursue.\nNext, you, my servants, heed my strict commands:\nWithout the walls a ruin'd temple stands,\nTo Ceres hallow'd once; a cypress nigh\nShoots up her venerable head on high,\nBy long religion kept; there bend your feet,\nAnd in divided parties let us meet.\nOur country gods, the relics, and the bands,\nHold you, my father, in your guiltless hands:\nIn me 't is impious holy things to bear,\nRed as I am with slaughter, new from war,\nTill in some living stream I cleanse the guilt\nOf dire debate, and blood in battle spilt.'\nThus, ord'ring all that prudence could provide,\nI clothe my shoulders with a lion's hide\nAnd yellow spoils; then, on my bending back,\nThe welcome load of my dear father take;\nWhile on my better hand Ascanius hung,\nAnd with unequal paces tripp'd along.\nCreusa kept behind; by choice we stray\nThro' ev'ry dark and ev'ry devious way.\nI, who so bold and dauntless, just before,\nThe Grecian darts and shock of lances bore,\nAt ev'ry shadow now am seiz'd with fear,\nNot for myself, but for the charge I bear;\nTill, near the ruin'd gate arriv'd at last,\nSecure, and deeming all the danger past,\nA frightful noise of trampling feet we hear.\nMy father, looking thro' the shades, with fear,\nCried out: 'Haste, haste, my son, the foes are nigh;\nTheir swords and shining armor I descry.'\nSome hostile god, for some unknown offense,\nHad sure bereft my mind of better sense;\nFor, while thro' winding ways I took my flight,\nAnd sought the shelter of the gloomy night,\nAlas! I lost Creusa: hard to tell\nIf by her fatal destiny she fell,\nOr weary sate, or wander'd with affright;\nBut she was lost for ever to my sight.\nI knew not, or reflected, till I meet\nMy friends, at Ceres' now deserted seat.\nWe met: not one was wanting; only she\nDeceiv'd her friends, her son, and wretched me.<\/p>\n
\"What mad expressions did my tongue refuse!\nWhom did I not, of gods or men, accuse!\nThis was the fatal blow, that pain'd me more\nThan all I felt from ruin'd Troy before.\nStung with my loss, and raving with despair,\nAbandoning my now forgotten care,\nOf counsel, comfort, and of hope bereft,\nMy sire, my son, my country gods I left.\nIn shining armor once again I sheathe\nMy limbs, not feeling wounds, nor fearing death.\nThen headlong to the burning walls I run,\nAnd seek the danger I was forc'd to shun.\nI tread my former tracks; thro' night explore\nEach passage, ev'ry street I cross'd before.\nAll things were full of horror and affright,\nAnd dreadful ev'n the silence of the night.\nThen to my father's house I make repair,\nWith some small glimpse of hope to find her there.\nInstead of her, the cruel Greeks I met;\nThe house was fill'd with foes, with flames beset.\nDriv'n on the wings of winds, whole sheets of fire,\nThro' air transported, to the roofs aspire.\nFrom thence to Priam's palace I resort,\nAnd search the citadel and desart court.\nThen, unobserv'd, I pass by Juno's church:\nA guard of Grecians had possess'd the porch;\nThere Phoenix and Ulysses watch prey,\nAnd thither all the wealth of Troy convey:\nThe spoils which they from ransack'd houses brought,\nAnd golden bowls from burning altars caught,\nThe tables of the gods, the purple vests,\nThe people's treasure, and the pomp of priests.\nA rank of wretched youths, with pinion'd hands,\nAnd captive matrons, in long order stands.\nThen, with ungovern'd madness, I proclaim,\nThro' all the silent street, Creusa's name:\nCreusa still I call; at length she hears,\nAnd sudden thro' the shades of night appears-\nAppears, no more Creusa, nor my wife,\nBut a pale specter, larger than the life.\nAghast, astonish'd, and struck dumb with fear,\nI stood; like bristles rose my stiffen'd hair.\nThen thus the ghost began to soothe my grief\n'Nor tears, nor cries, can give the dead relief.\nDesist, my much-lov'd lord,'t indulge your pain;\nYou bear no more than what the gods ordain.\nMy fates permit me not from hence to fly;\nNor he, the great controller of the sky.\nLong wand'ring ways for you the pow'rs decree;\nOn land hard labors, and a length of sea.\nThen, after many painful years are past,\nOn Latium's happy shore you shall be cast,\nWhere gentle Tiber from his bed beholds\nThe flow'ry meadows, and the feeding folds.\nThere end your toils; and there your fates provide\nA quiet kingdom, and a royal bride:\nThere fortune shall the Trojan line restore,\nAnd you for lost Creusa weep no more.\nFear not that I shall watch, with servile shame,\nTh' imperious looks of some proud Grecian dame;\nOr, stooping to the victor's lust, disgrace\nMy goddess mother, or my royal race.\nAnd now, farewell! The parent of the gods\nRestrains my fleeting soul in her abodes:\nI trust our common issue to your care.'\nShe said, and gliding pass'd unseen in air.\nI strove to speak: but horror tied my tongue;\nAnd thrice about her neck my arms I flung,\nAnd, thrice deceiv'd, on vain embraces hung.\nLight as an empty dream at break of day,\nOr as a blast of wind, she rush'd away.<\/p>\n
\"Thus having pass'd the night in fruitless pain,\nI to my longing friends return again,\nAmaz'd th' augmented number to behold,\nOf men and matrons mix'd, of young and old;\nA wretched exil'd crew together brought,\nWith arms appointed, and with treasure fraught,\nResolv'd, and willing, under my command,\nTo run all hazards both of sea and land.\nThe Morn began, from Ida, to display\nHer rosy cheeks; and Phosphor led the day:\nBefore the gates the Grecians took their post,\nAnd all pretense of late relief was lost.\nI yield to Fate, unwillingly retire,\nAnd, loaded, up the hill convey my sire.\"<\/p>","rendered":"
All were attentive to the godlike man,
\nWhen from his lofty couch he thus began:
\n“Great queen, what you command me to relate
\nRenews the sad remembrance of our fate:
\nAn empire from its old foundations rent,
\nAnd ev’ry woe the Trojans underwent;
\nA peopled city made a desart place;
\nAll that I saw, and part of which I was:
\nNot ev’n the hardest of our foes could hear,
\nNor stern Ulysses tell without a tear.
\nAnd now the latter watch of wasting night,
\nAnd setting stars, to kindly rest invite;
\nBut, since you take such int’rest in our woe,
\nAnd Troy’s disastrous end desire to know,
\nI will restrain my tears, and briefly tell
\nWhat in our last and fatal night befell.<\/p>\n
“By destiny compell’d, and in despair,
\nThe Greeks grew weary of the tedious war,
\nAnd by Minerva’s aid a fabric rear’d,
\nWhich like a steed of monstrous height appear’d:
\nThe sides were plank’d with pine; they feign’d it made
\nFor their return, and this the vow they paid.
\nThus they pretend, but in the hollow side
\nSelected numbers of their soldiers hide:
\nWith inward arms the dire machine they load,
\nAnd iron bowels stuff the dark abode.
\nIn sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle
\n(While Fortune did on Priam’s empire smile)
\nRenown’d for wealth; but, since, a faithless bay,
\nWhere ships expos’d to wind and weather lay.
\nThere was their fleet conceal’d. We thought, for Greece
\nTheir sails were hoisted, and our fears release.
\nThe Trojans, coop’d within their walls so long,
\nUnbar their gates, and issue in a throng,
\nLike swarming bees, and with delight survey
\nThe camp deserted, where the Grecians lay:
\nThe quarters of the sev’ral chiefs they show’d;
\nHere Phoenix, here Achilles, made abode;
\nHere join’d the battles; there the navy rode.
\nPart on the pile their wond’ring eyes employ:
\nThe pile by Pallas rais’d to ruin Troy.
\nThymoetes first (‘t is doubtful whether hir’d,
\nOr so the Trojan destiny requir’d)
\nMov’d that the ramparts might be broken down,
\nTo lodge the monster fabric in the town.
\nBut Capys, and the rest of sounder mind,
\nThe fatal present to the flames designed,
\nOr to the wat’ry deep; at least to bore
\nThe hollow sides, and hidden frauds explore.
\nThe giddy vulgar, as their fancies guide,
\nWith noise say nothing, and in parts divide.
\nLaocoon, follow’d by a num’rous crowd,
\nRan from the fort, and cried, from far, aloud:
\n‘O wretched countrymen! what fury reigns?
\nWhat more than madness has possess’d your brains?
\nThink you the Grecians from your coasts are gone?
\nAnd are Ulysses’ arts no better known?
\nThis hollow fabric either must inclose,
\nWithin its blind recess, our secret foes;
\nOr ‘t is an engine rais’d above the town,
\nT’ o’erlook the walls, and then to batter down.
\nSomewhat is sure design’d, by fraud or force:
\nTrust not their presents, nor admit the horse.’
\nThus having said, against the steed he threw
\nHis forceful spear, which, hissing as flew,
\nPierc’d thro’ the yielding planks of jointed wood,
\nAnd trembling in the hollow belly stood.
\nThe sides, transpierc’d, return a rattling sound,
\nAnd groans of Greeks inclos’d come issuing thro’ the wound
\nAnd, had not Heav’n the fall of Troy design’d,
\nOr had not men been fated to be blind,
\nEnough was said and done t’inspire a better mind.
\nThen had our lances pierc’d the treach’rous wood,
\nAnd Ilian tow’rs and Priam’s empire stood.
\nMeantime, with shouts, the Trojan shepherds bring
\nA captive Greek, in bands, before the king;
\nTaken to take; who made himself their prey,
\nT’ impose on their belief, and Troy betray;
\nFix’d on his aim, and obstinately bent
\nTo die undaunted, or to circumvent.
\nAbout the captive, tides of Trojans flow;
\nAll press to see, and some insult the foe.
\nNow hear how well the Greeks their wiles disguis’d;
\nBehold a nation in a man compris’d.
\nTrembling the miscreant stood, unarm’d and bound;
\nHe star’d, and roll’d his haggard eyes around,
\nThen said: ‘Alas! what earth remains, what sea
\nIs open to receive unhappy me?
\nWhat fate a wretched fugitive attends,
\nScorn’d by my foes, abandon’d by my friends?’
\nHe said, and sigh’d, and cast a rueful eye:
\nOur pity kindles, and our passions die.
\nWe cheer youth to make his own defense,
\nAnd freely tell us what he was, and whence:
\nWhat news he could impart, we long to know,
\nAnd what to credit from a captive foe.<\/p>\n
“His fear at length dismiss’d, he said: ‘Whate’er
\nMy fate ordains, my words shall be sincere:
\nI neither can nor dare my birth disclaim;
\nGreece is my country, Sinon is my name.
\nTho’ plung’d by Fortune’s pow’r in misery,
\n‘T is not in Fortune’s pow’r to make me lie.
\nIf any chance has hither brought the name
\nOf Palamedes, not unknown to fame,
\nWho suffer’d from the malice of the times,
\nAccus’d and sentenc’d for pretended crimes,
\nBecause these fatal wars he would prevent;
\nWhose death the wretched Greeks too late lament-
\nMe, then a boy, my father, poor and bare
\nOf other means, committed to his care,
\nHis kinsman and companion in the war.
\nWhile Fortune favor’d, while his arms support
\nThe cause, and rul’d the counsels, of the court,
\nI made some figure there; nor was my name
\nObscure, nor I without my share of fame.
\nBut when Ulysses, with fallacious arts,
\nHad made impression in the people’s hearts,
\nAnd forg’d a treason in my patron’s name
\n(I speak of things too far divulg’d by fame),
\nMy kinsman fell. Then I, without support,
\nIn private mourn’d his loss, and left the court.
\nMad as I was, I could not bear his fate
\nWith silent grief, but loudly blam’d the state,
\nAnd curs’d the direful author of my woes.
\n‘T was told again; and hence my ruin rose.
\nI threaten’d, if indulgent Heav’n once more
\nWould land me safely on my native shore,
\nHis death with double vengeance to restore.
\nThis mov’d the murderer’s hate; and soon ensued
\nTh’ effects of malice from a man so proud.
\nAmbiguous rumors thro’ the camp he spread,
\nAnd sought, by treason, my devoted head;
\nNew crimes invented; left unturn’d no stone,
\nTo make my guilt appear, and hide his own;
\nTill Calchas was by force and threat’ning wrought-
\nBut why- why dwell I on that anxious thought?
\nIf on my nation just revenge you seek,
\nAnd ‘t is t’ appear a foe, t’ appear a Greek;
\nAlready you my name and country know;
\nAssuage your thirst of blood, and strike the blow:
\nMy death will both the kingly brothers please,
\nAnd set insatiate Ithacus at ease.’
\nThis fair unfinish’d tale, these broken starts,
\nRais’d expectations in our longing hearts:
\nUnknowing as we were in Grecian arts.
\nHis former trembling once again renew’d,
\nWith acted fear, the villain thus pursued:<\/p>\n
“‘Long had the Grecians (tir’d with fruitless care,
\nAnd wearied with an unsuccessful war)
\nResolv’d to raise the siege, and leave the town;
\nAnd, had the gods permitted, they had gone;
\nBut oft the wintry seas and southern winds
\nWithstood their passage home, and chang’d their minds.
\nPortents and prodigies their souls amaz’d;
\nBut most, when this stupendous pile was rais’d:
\nThen flaming meteors, hung in air, were seen,
\nAnd thunders rattled thro’ a sky serene.
\nDismay’d, and fearful of some dire event,
\nEurypylus t’ enquire their fate was sent.
\nHe from the gods this dreadful answer brought:<\/p>\n
“O Grecians, when the Trojan shores you sought,
\nYour passage with a virgin’s blood was bought:
\nSo must your safe return be bought again,
\nAnd Grecian blood once more atone the main.”
\nThe spreading rumor round the people ran;
\nAll fear’d, and each believ’d himself the man.
\nUlysses took th’ advantage of their fright;
\nCall’d Calchas, and produc’d in open sight:
\nThen bade him name the wretch, ordain’d by fate
\nThe public victim, to redeem the state.
\nAlready some presag’d the dire event,
\nAnd saw what sacrifice Ulysses meant.
\nFor twice five days the good old seer withstood
\nTh’ intended treason, and was dumb to blood,
\nTill, tir’d, with endless clamors and pursuit
\nOf Ithacus, he stood no longer mute;
\nBut, as it was agreed, pronounc’d that I
\nWas destin’d by the wrathful gods to die.
\nAll prais’d the sentence, pleas’d the storm should fall
\nOn one alone, whose fury threaten’d all.
\nThe dismal day was come; the priests prepare
\nTheir leaven’d cakes, and fillets for my hair.
\nI follow’d nature’s laws, and must avow
\nI broke my bonds and fled the fatal blow.
\nHid in a weedy lake all night I lay,
\nSecure of safety when they sail’d away.
\nBut now what further hopes for me remain,
\nTo see my friends, or native soil, again;
\nMy tender infants, or my careful sire,
\nWhom they returning will to death require;
\nWill perpetrate on them their first design,
\nAnd take the forfeit of their heads for mine?
\nWhich, O! if pity mortal minds can move,
\nIf there be faith below, or gods above,
\nIf innocence and truth can claim desert,
\nYe Trojans, from an injur’d wretch avert.’<\/p>\n
“False tears true pity move; the king commands
\nTo loose his fetters, and unbind his hands:
\nThen adds these friendly words: ‘Dismiss thy fears;
\nForget the Greeks; be mine as thou wert theirs.
\nBut truly tell, was it for force or guile,
\nOr some religious end, you rais’d the pile?’
\nThus said the king. He, full of fraudful arts,
\nThis well-invented tale for truth imparts:
\n‘Ye lamps of heav’n!’ he said, and lifted high
\nHis hands now free, ‘thou venerable sky!
\nInviolable pow’rs, ador’d with dread!
\nYe fatal fillets, that once bound this head!
\nYe sacred altars, from whose flames I fled!
\nBe all of you adjur’d; and grant I may,
\nWithout a crime, th’ ungrateful Greeks betray,
\nReveal the secrets of the guilty state,
\nAnd justly punish whom I justly hate!
\nBut you, O king, preserve the faith you gave,
\nIf I, to save myself, your empire save.
\nThe Grecian hopes, and all th’ attempts they made,
\nWere only founded on Minerva’s aid.
\nBut from the time when impious Diomede,
\nAnd false Ulysses, that inventive head,
\nHer fatal image from the temple drew,
\nThe sleeping guardians of the castle slew,
\nHer virgin statue with their bloody hands
\nPolluted, and profan’d her holy bands;
\nFrom thence the tide of fortune left their shore,
\nAnd ebb’d much faster than it flow’d before:
\nTheir courage languish’d, as their hopes decay’d;
\nAnd Pallas, now averse, refus’d her aid.
\nNor did the goddess doubtfully declare
\nHer alter’d mind and alienated care.
\nWhen first her fatal image touch’d the ground,
\nShe sternly cast her glaring eyes around,
\nThat sparkled as they roll’d, and seem’d to threat:
\nHer heav’nly limbs distill’d a briny sweat.
\nThrice from the ground she leap’d, was seen to wield
\nHer brandish’d lance, and shake her horrid shield.
\nThen Calchas bade our host for flight
\nAnd hope no conquest from the tedious war,
\nTill first they sail’d for Greece; with pray’rs besought
\nHer injur’d pow’r, and better omens brought.
\nAnd now their navy plows the wat’ry main,
\nYet soon expect it on your shores again,
\nWith Pallas pleas’d; as Calchas did ordain.
\nBut first, to reconcile the blue-ey’d maid
\nFor her stol’n statue and her tow’r betray’d,
\nWarn’d by the seer, to her offended name
\nWe rais’d and dedicate this wondrous frame,
\nSo lofty, lest thro’ your forbidden gates
\nIt pass, and intercept our better fates:
\nFor, once admitted there, our hopes are lost;
\nAnd Troy may then a new Palladium boast;
\nFor so religion and the gods ordain,
\nThat, if you violate with hands profane
\nMinerva’s gift, your town in flames shall burn,
\n(Which omen, O ye gods, on Graecia turn!)
\nBut if it climb, with your assisting hands,
\nThe Trojan walls, and in the city stands;
\nThen Troy shall Argos and Mycenae burn,
\nAnd the reverse of fate on us return.’<\/p>\n
“With such deceits he gain’d their easy hearts,
\nToo prone to credit his perfidious arts.
\nWhat Diomede, nor Thetis’ greater son,
\nA thousand ships, nor ten years’ siege, had done-
\nFalse tears and fawning words the city won.<\/p>\n
“A greater omen, and of worse portent,
\nDid our unwary minds with fear torment,
\nConcurring to produce the dire event.
\nLaocoon, Neptune’s priest by lot that year,
\nWith solemn pomp then sacrific’d a steer;
\nWhen, dreadful to behold, from sea we spied
\nTwo serpents, rank’d abreast, the seas divide,
\nAnd smoothly sweep along the swelling tide.
\nTheir flaming crests above the waves they show;
\nTheir bellies seem to burn the seas below;
\nTheir speckled tails advance to steer their course,
\nAnd on the sounding shore the flying billows force.
\nAnd now the strand, and now the plain they held;
\nTheir ardent eyes with bloody streaks were fill’d;
\nTheir nimble tongues they brandish’d as they came,
\nAnd lick’d their hissing jaws, that sputter’d flame.
\nWe fled amaz’d; their destin’d way they take,
\nAnd to Laocoon and his children make;
\nAnd first around the tender boys they wind,
\nThen with their sharpen’d fangs their limbs and bodies grind.
\nThe wretched father, running to their aid
\nWith pious haste, but vain, they next invade;
\nTwice round his waist their winding volumes roll’d;
\nAnd twice about his gasping throat they fold.
\nThe priest thus doubly chok’d, their crests divide,
\nAnd tow’ring o’er his head in triumph ride.
\nWith both his hands he labors at the knots;
\nHis holy fillets the blue venom blots;
\nHis roaring fills the flitting air around.
\nThus, when an ox receives a glancing wound,
\nHe breaks his bands, the fatal altar flies,
\nAnd with loud bellowings breaks the yielding skies.
\nTheir tasks perform’d, the serpents quit their prey,
\nAnd to the tow’r of Pallas make their way:
\nCouch’d at her feet, they lie protected there
\nBy her large buckler and protended spear.
\nAmazement seizes all; the gen’ral cry
\nProclaims Laocoon justly doom’d to die,
\nWhose hand the will of Pallas had withstood,
\nAnd dared to violate the sacred wood.
\nAll vote t’ admit the steed, that vows be paid
\nAnd incense offer’d to th’ offended maid.
\nA spacious breach is made; the town lies bare;
\nSome hoisting-levers, some the wheels prepare
\nAnd fasten to the horse’s feet; the rest
\nWith cables haul along th’ unwieldly beast.
\nEach on his fellow for assistance calls;
\nAt length the fatal fabric mounts the walls,
\nBig with destruction. Boys with chaplets crown’d,
\nAnd choirs of virgins, sing and dance around.
\nThus rais’d aloft, and then descending down,
\nIt enters o’er our heads, and threats the town.
\nO sacred city, built by hands divine!
\nO valiant heroes of the Trojan line!
\nFour times he struck: as oft the clashing sound
\nOf arms was heard, and inward groans rebound.
\nYet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate,
\nWe haul along the horse in solemn state;
\nThen place the dire portent within the tow’r.
\nCassandra cried, and curs’d th’ unhappy hour;
\nForetold our fate; but, by the god’s decree,
\nAll heard, and none believ’d the prophecy.
\nWith branches we the fanes adorn, and waste,
\nIn jollity, the day ordain’d to be the last.
\nMeantime the rapid heav’ns roll’d down the light,
\nAnd on the shaded ocean rush’d the night;
\nOur men, secure, nor guards nor sentries held,
\nBut easy sleep their weary limbs compell’d.
\nThe Grecians had embark’d their naval pow’rs
\nFrom Tenedos, and sought our well-known shores,
\nSafe under covert of the silent night,
\nAnd guided by th’ imperial galley’s light;
\nWhen Sinon, favor’d by the partial gods,
\nUnlock’d the horse, and op’d his dark abodes;
\nRestor’d to vital air our hidden foes,
\nWho joyful from their long confinement rose.
\nTysander bold, and Sthenelus their guide,
\nAnd dire Ulysses down the cable slide:
\nThen Thoas, Athamas, and Pyrrhus haste;
\nNor was the Podalirian hero last,
\nNor injur’d Menelaus, nor the fam’d
\nEpeus, who the fatal engine fram’d.
\nA nameless crowd succeed; their forces join
\nT’ invade the town, oppress’d with sleep and wine.
\nThose few they find awake first meet their fate;
\nThen to their fellows they unbar the gate.<\/p>\n
“‘T was in the dead of night, when sleep repairs
\nOur bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares,
\nWhen Hector’s ghost before my sight appears:
\nA bloody shroud he seem’d, and bath’d in tears;
\nSuch as he was, when, by Pelides slain,
\nThessalian coursers dragg’d him o’er the plain.
\nSwoln were his feet, as when the thongs were thrust
\nThro’ the bor’d holes; his body black with dust;
\nUnlike that Hector who return’d from toils
\nOf war, triumphant, in Aeacian spoils,
\nOr him who made the fainting Greeks retire,
\nAnd launch’d against their navy Phrygian fire.
\nHis hair and beard stood stiffen’d with his gore;
\nAnd all the wounds he for his country bore
\nNow stream’d afresh, and with new purple ran.
\nI wept to see the visionary man,
\nAnd, while my trance continued, thus began:
\n‘O light of Trojans, and support of Troy,
\nThy father’s champion, and thy country’s joy!
\nO, long expected by thy friends! from whence
\nArt thou so late return’d for our defense?
\nDo we behold thee, wearied as we are
\nWith length of labors, and with toils of war?
\nAfter so many fun’rals of thy own
\nArt thou restor’d to thy declining town?
\nBut say, what wounds are these? What new disgrace
\nDeforms the manly features of thy face?’<\/p>\n
“To this the specter no reply did frame,
\nBut answer’d to the cause for which he came,
\nAnd, groaning from the bottom of his breast,
\nThis warning in these mournful words express’d:
\n‘O goddess-born! escape, by timely flight,
\nThe flames and horrors of this fatal night.
\nThe foes already have possess’d the wall;
\nTroy nods from high, and totters to her fall.
\nEnough is paid to Priam’s royal name,
\nMore than enough to duty and to fame.
\nIf by a mortal hand my father’s throne
\nCould be defended, ‘t was by mine alone.
\nNow Troy to thee commends her future state,
\nAnd gives her gods companions of thy fate:
\nFrom their assistance walls expect,
\nWhich, wand’ring long, at last thou shalt erect.’
\nHe said, and brought me, from their blest abodes,
\nThe venerable statues of the gods,
\nWith ancient Vesta from the sacred choir,
\nThe wreaths and relics of th’ immortal fire.<\/p>\n
“Now peals of shouts come thund’ring from afar,
\nCries, threats, and loud laments, and mingled war:
\nThe noise approaches, tho’ our palace stood
\nAloof from streets, encompass’d with a wood.
\nLouder, and yet more loud, I hear th’ alarms
\nOf human cries distinct, and clashing arms.
\nFear broke my slumbers; I no longer stay,
\nBut mount the terrace, thence the town survey,
\nAnd hearken what the frightful sounds convey.
\nThus, when a flood of fire by wind is borne,
\nCrackling it rolls, and mows the standing corn;
\nOr deluges, descending on the plains,
\nSweep o’er the yellow year, destroy the pains
\nOf lab’ring oxen and the peasant’s gains;
\nUnroot the forest oaks, and bear away
\nFlocks, folds, and trees, and undistinguish’d prey:
\nThe shepherd climbs the cliff, and sees from far
\nThe wasteful ravage of the wat’ry war.
\nThen Hector’s faith was manifestly clear’d,
\nAnd Grecian frauds in open light appear’d.
\nThe palace of Deiphobus ascends
\nIn smoky flames, and catches on his friends.
\nUcalegon burns next: the seas are bright
\nWith splendor not their own, and shine with Trojan light.
\nNew clamors and new clangors now arise,
\nThe sound of trumpets mix’d with fighting cries.
\nWith frenzy seiz’d, I run to meet th’ alarms,
\nResolv’d on death, resolv’d to die in arms,
\nBut first to gather friends, with them t’ oppose
\n(If fortune favor’d) and repel the foes;
\nSpurr’d by my courage, by my country fir’d,
\nWith sense of honor and revenge inspir’d.<\/p>\n
“Pantheus, Apollo’s priest, a sacred name,
\nHad scap’d the Grecian swords, and pass’d the flame:
\nWith relics loaden. to my doors he fled,
\nAnd by the hand his tender grandson led.
\n‘What hope, O Pantheus? whither can we run?
\nWhere make a stand? and what may yet be done?’
\nScarce had I said, when Pantheus, with a groan:
\n‘Troy is no more, and Ilium was a town!
\nThe fatal day, th’ appointed hour, is come,
\nWhen wrathful Jove’s irrevocable doom
\nTransfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands.
\nThe fire consumes the town, the foe commands;
\nAnd armed hosts, an unexpected force,
\nBreak from the bowels of the fatal horse.
\nWithin the gates, proud Sinon throws about
\nThe flames; and foes for entrance press without,
\nWith thousand others, whom I fear to name,
\nMore than from Argos or Mycenae came.
\nTo sev’ral posts their parties they divide;
\nSome block the narrow streets, some scour the wide:
\nThe bold they kill, th’ unwary they surprise;
\nWho fights finds death, and death finds him who flies.
\nThe warders of the gate but scarce maintain
\nTh’ unequal combat, and resist in vain.’<\/p>\n
“I heard; and Heav’n, that well-born souls inspires,
\nPrompts me thro’ lifted swords and rising fires
\nTo run where clashing arms and clamor calls,
\nAnd rush undaunted to defend the walls.
\nRipheus and Iph’itus by my side engage,
\nFor valor one renown’d, and one for age.
\nDymas and Hypanis by moonlight knew
\nMy motions and my mien, and to my party drew;
\nWith young Coroebus, who by love was led
\nTo win renown and fair Cassandra’s bed,
\nAnd lately brought his troops to Priam’s aid,
\nForewarn’d in vain by the prophetic maid.
\nWhom when I saw resolv’d in arms to fall,
\nAnd that one spirit animated all:
\n‘Brave souls!’ said I,- ‘but brave, alas! in vain-
\nCome, finish what our cruel fates ordain.
\nYou see the desp’rate state of our affairs,
\nAnd heav’n’s protecting pow’rs are deaf to pray’rs.
\nThe passive gods behold the Greeks defile
\nTheir temples, and abandon to the spoil
\nTheir own abodes: we, feeble few, conspire
\nTo save a sinking town, involv’d in fire.
\nThen let us fall, but fall amidst our foes:
\nDespair of life the means of living shows.’
\nSo bold a speech incourag’d their desire
\nOf death, and added fuel to their fire.<\/p>\n
“As hungry wolves, with raging appetite,
\nScour thro’ the fields, nor fear the stormy night-
\nTheir whelps at home expect the promis’d food,
\nAnd long to temper their dry chaps in blood-
\nSo rush’d we forth at once; resolv’d to die,
\nResolv’d, in death, the last extremes to try.
\nWe leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare
\nTh’ unequal combat in the public square:
\nNight was our friend; our leader was despair.
\nWhat tongue can tell the slaughter of that night?
\nWhat eyes can weep the sorrows and affright?
\nAn ancient and imperial city falls:
\nThe streets are fill’d with frequent funerals;
\nHouses and holy temples float in blood,
\nAnd hostile nations make a common flood.
\nNot only Trojans fall; but, in their turn,
\nThe vanquish’d triumph, and the victors mourn.
\nOurs take new courage from despair and night:
\nConfus’d the fortune is, confus’d the fight.
\nAll parts resound with tumults, plaints, and fears;
\nAnd grisly Death in sundry shapes appears.
\nAndrogeos fell among us, with his band,
\nWho thought us Grecians newly come to land.
\n‘From whence,’ said he, ‘my friends, this long delay?
\nYou loiter, while the spoils are borne away:
\nOur ships are laden with the Trojan store;
\nAnd you, like truants, come too late ashore.’
\nHe said, but soon corrected his mistake,
\nFound, by the doubtful answers which we make:
\nAmaz’d, he would have shunn’d th’ unequal fight;
\nBut we, more num’rous, intercept his flight.
\nAs when some peasant, in a bushy brake,
\nHas with unwary footing press’d a snake;
\nHe starts aside, astonish’d, when he spies
\nHis rising crest, blue neck, and rolling eyes;
\nSo from our arms surpris’d Androgeos flies.
\nIn vain; for him and his we compass’d round,
\nPossess’d with fear, unknowing of the ground,
\nAnd of their lives an easy conquest found.
\nThus Fortune on our first endeavor smil’d.
\nCoroebus then, with youthful hopes beguil’d,
\nSwoln with success, and a daring mind,
\nThis new invention fatally design’d.
\n‘My friends,’ said he, ‘since Fortune shows the way,
\n‘T is fit we should th’ auspicious guide obey.
\nFor what has she these Grecian arms bestow’d,
\nBut their destruction, and the Trojans’ good?
\nThen change we shields, and their devices bear:
\nLet fraud supply the want of force in war.
\nThey find us arms.’ This said, himself he dress’d
\nIn dead Androgeos’ spoils, his upper vest,
\nHis painted buckler, and his plumy crest.
\nThus Ripheus, Dymas, all the Trojan train,
\nLay down their own attire, and strip the slain.
\nMix’d with the Greeks, we go with ill presage,
\nFlatter’d with hopes to glut our greedy rage;
\nUnknown, assaulting whom we blindly meet,
\nAnd strew with Grecian carcasses the street.
\nThus while their straggling parties we defeat,
\nSome to the shore and safer ships retreat;
\nAnd some, oppress’d with more ignoble fear,
\nRemount the hollow horse, and pant in secret there.<\/p>\n
“But, ah! what use of valor can be made,
\nWhen heav’n’s propitious pow’rs refuse their aid!
\nBehold the royal prophetess, the fair
\nCassandra, dragg’d by her dishevel’d hair,
\nWhom not Minerva’s shrine, nor sacred bands,
\nIn safety could protect from sacrilegious hands:
\nOn heav’n she cast her eyes, she sigh’d, she cried-
\n‘T was all she could- her tender arms were tied.
\nSo sad a sight Coroebus could not bear;
\nBut, fir’d with rage, distracted with despair,
\nAmid the barb’rous ravishers he flew:
\nOur leader’s rash example we pursue.
\nBut storms of stones, from the proud temple’s height,
\nPour down, and on our batter’d helms alight:
\nWe from our friends receiv’d this fatal blow,
\nWho thought us Grecians, as we seem’d in show.
\nThey aim at the mistaken crests, from high;
\nAnd ours beneath the pond’rous ruin lie.
\nThen, mov’d with anger and disdain, to see
\nTheir troops dispers’d, the royal virgin free,
\nThe Grecians rally, and their pow’rs unite,
\nWith fury charge us, and renew the fight.
\nThe brother kings with Ajax join their force,
\nAnd the whole squadron of Thessalian horse.<\/p>\n
“Thus, when the rival winds their quarrel try,
\nContending for the kingdom of the sky,
\nSouth, east, and west, on airy coursers borne;
\nThe whirlwind gathers, and the woods are torn:
\nThen Nereus strikes the deep; the billows rise,
\nAnd, mix’d with ooze and sand, pollute the skies.
\nThe troops we squander’d first again appear
\nFrom several quarters, and enclose the rear.
\nThey first observe, and to the rest betray,
\nOur diff’rent speech; our borrow’d arms survey.
\nOppress’d with odds, we fall; Coroebus first,
\nAt Pallas’ altar, by Peneleus pierc’d.
\nThen Ripheus follow’d, in th’ unequal fight;
\nJust of his word, observant of the right:
\nHeav’n thought not so. Dymas their fate attends,
\nWith Hypanis, mistaken by their friends.
\nNor, Pantheus, thee, thy miter, nor the bands
\nOf awful Phoebus, sav’d from impious hands.
\nYe Trojan flames, your testimony bear,
\nWhat I perform’d, and what I suffer’d there;
\nNo sword avoiding in the fatal strife,
\nExpos’d to death, and prodigal of life;
\nWitness, ye heavens! I live not by my fault:
\nI strove to have deserv’d the death I sought.
\nBut, when I could not fight, and would have died,
\nBorne off to distance by the growing tide,
\nOld Iphitus and I were hurried thence,
\nWith Pelias wounded, and without defense.
\nNew clamors from th’ invested palace ring:
\nWe run to die, or disengage the king.
\nSo hot th’ assault, so high the tumult rose,
\nWhile ours defend, and while the Greeks oppose
\nAs all the Dardan and Argolic race
\nHad been contracted in that narrow space;
\nOr as all Ilium else were void of fear,
\nAnd tumult, war, and slaughter, only there.
\nTheir targets in a tortoise cast, the foes,
\nSecure advancing, to the turrets rose:
\nSome mount the scaling ladders; some, more bold,
\nSwerve upwards, and by posts and pillars hold;
\nTheir left hand gripes their bucklers in th’ ascent,
\nWhile with their right they seize the battlement.
\nFrom their demolish’d tow’rs the Trojans throw
\nHuge heaps of stones, that, falling, crush the foe;
\nAnd heavy beams and rafters from the sides
\n(Such arms their last necessity provides)
\nAnd gilded roofs, come tumbling from on high,
\nThe marks of state and ancient royalty.
\nThe guards below, fix’d in the pass, attend
\nThe charge undaunted, and the gate defend.
\nRenew’d in courage with recover’d breath,
\nA second time we ran to tempt our death,
\nTo clear the palace from the foe, succeed
\nThe weary living, and revenge the dead.<\/p>\n
“A postern door, yet unobserv’d and free,
\nJoin’d by the length of a blind gallery,
\nTo the king’s closet led: a way well known
\nTo Hector’s wife, while Priam held the throne,
\nThro’ which she brought Astyanax, unseen,
\nTo cheer his grandsire and his grandsire’s queen.
\nThro’ this we pass, and mount the tow’r, from whence
\nWith unavailing arms the Trojans make defense.
\nFrom this the trembling king had oft descried
\nThe Grecian camp, and saw their navy ride.
\nBeams from its lofty height with swords we hew,
\nThen, wrenching with our hands, th’ assault renew;
\nAnd, where the rafters on the columns meet,
\nWe push them headlong with our arms and feet.
\nThe lightning flies not swifter than the fall,
\nNor thunder louder than the ruin’d wall:
\nDown goes the top at once; the Greeks beneath
\nAre piecemeal torn, or pounded into death.
\nYet more succeed, and more to death are sent;
\nWe cease not from above, nor they below relent.
\nBefore the gate stood Pyrrhus, threat’ning loud,
\nWith glitt’ring arms conspicuous in the crowd.
\nSo shines, renew’d in youth, the crested snake,
\nWho slept the winter in a thorny brake,
\nAnd, casting off his slough when spring returns,
\nNow looks aloft, and with new glory burns;
\nRestor’d with poisonous herbs, his ardent sides
\nReflect the sun; and rais’d on spires he rides;
\nHigh o’er the grass, hissing he rolls along,
\nAnd brandishes by fits his forky tongue.
\nProud Periphas, and fierce Automedon,
\nHis father’s charioteer, together run
\nTo force the gate; the Scyrian infantry
\nRush on in crowds, and the barr’d passage free.
\nEnt’ring the court, with shouts the skies they rend;
\nAnd flaming firebrands to the roofs ascend.
\nHimself, among the foremost, deals his blows,
\nAnd with his ax repeated strokes bestows
\nOn the strong doors; then all their shoulders ply,
\nTill from the posts the brazen hinges fly.
\nHe hews apace; the double bars at length
\nYield to his ax and unresisted strength.
\nA mighty breach is made: the rooms conceal’d
\nAppear, and all the palace is reveal’d;
\nThe halls of audience, and of public state,
\nAnd where the lonely queen in secret sate.
\nArm’d soldiers now by trembling maids are seen,
\nWith not a door, and scarce a space, between.
\nThe house is fill’d with loud laments and cries,
\nAnd shrieks of women rend the vaulted skies;
\nThe fearful matrons run from place to place,
\nAnd kiss the thresholds, and the posts embrace.
\nThe fatal work inhuman Pyrrhus plies,
\nAnd all his father sparkles in his eyes;
\nNor bars, nor fighting guards, his force sustain:
\nThe bars are broken, and the guards are slain.
\nIn rush the Greeks, and all the apartments fill;
\nThose few defendants whom they find, they kill.
\nNot with so fierce a rage the foaming flood
\nRoars, when he finds his rapid course withstood;
\nBears down the dams with unresisted sway,
\nAnd sweeps the cattle and the cots away.
\nThese eyes beheld him when he march’d between
\nThe brother kings: I saw th’ unhappy queen,
\nThe hundred wives, and where old Priam stood,
\nTo stain his hallow’d altar with his brood.
\nThe fifty nuptial beds (such hopes had he,
\nSo large a promise, of a progeny),
\nThe posts, of plated gold, and hung with spoils,
\nFell the reward of the proud victor’s toils.
\nWhere’er the raging fire had left a space,
\nThe Grecians enter and possess the place.<\/p>\n
“Perhaps you may of Priam’s fate enquire.
\nHe, when he saw his regal town on fire,
\nHis ruin’d palace, and his ent’ring foes,
\nOn ev’ry side inevitable woes,
\nIn arms, disus’d, invests his limbs, decay’d,
\nLike them, with age; a late and useless aid.
\nHis feeble shoulders scarce the weight sustain;
\nLoaded, not arm’d, he creeps along with pain,
\nDespairing of success, ambitious to be slain!
\nUncover’d but by heav’n, there stood in view
\nAn altar; near the hearth a laurel grew,
\nDodder’d with age, whose boughs encompass round
\nThe household gods, and shade the holy ground.
\nHere Hecuba, with all her helpless train
\nOf dames, for shelter sought, but sought in vain.
\nDriv’n like a flock of doves along the sky,
\nTheir images they hug, and to their altars fly.
\nThe Queen, when she beheld her trembling lord,
\nAnd hanging by his side a heavy sword,
\n‘What rage,’ she cried, ‘has seiz’d my husband’s mind?
\nWhat arms are these, and to what use design’d?
\nThese times want other aids! Were Hector here,
\nEv’n Hector now in vain, like Priam, would appear.
\nWith us, one common shelter thou shalt find,
\nOr in one common fate with us be join’d.’
\nShe said, and with a last salute embrac’d
\nThe poor old man, and by the laurel plac’d.
\nBehold! Polites, one of Priam’s sons,
\nPursued by Pyrrhus, there for safety runs.
\nThro’ swords and foes, amaz’d and hurt, he flies
\nThro’ empty courts and open galleries.
\nHim Pyrrhus, urging with his lance, pursues,
\nAnd often reaches, and his thrusts renews.
\nThe youth, transfix’d, with lamentable cries,
\nExpires before his wretched parent’s eyes:
\nWhom gasping at his feet when Priam saw,
\nThe fear of death gave place to nature’s law;
\nAnd, shaking more with anger than with age,
\n‘The gods,’ said he, ‘requite thy brutal rage!
\nAs sure they will, barbarian, sure they must,
\nIf there be gods in heav’n, and gods be just-
\nWho tak’st in wrongs an insolent delight;
\nWith a son’s death t’ infect a father’s sight.
\nNot he, whom thou and lying fame conspire
\nTo call thee his- not he, thy vaunted sire,
\nThus us’d my wretched age: the gods he fear’d,
\nThe laws of nature and of nations heard.
\nHe cheer’d my sorrows, and, for sums of gold,
\nThe bloodless carcass of my Hector sold;
\nPitied the woes a parent underwent,
\nAnd sent me back in safety from his tent.’<\/p>\n
“This said, his feeble hand a javelin threw,
\nWhich, flutt’ring, seem’d to loiter as it flew:
\nJust, and but barely, to the mark it held,
\nAnd faintly tinkled on the brazen shield.<\/p>\n
“Then Pyrrhus thus: ‘Go thou from me to fate,
\nAnd to my father my foul deeds relate.
\nNow die!’ With that he dragg’d the trembling sire,
\nSlidd’ring thro’ clotter’d blood and holy mire,
\n(The mingled paste his murder’d son had made,)
\nHaul’d from beneath the violated shade,
\nAnd on the sacred pile the royal victim laid.
\nHis right hand held his bloody falchion bare,
\nHis left he twisted in his hoary hair;
\nThen, with a speeding thrust, his heart he found:
\nThe lukewarm blood came rushing thro’ the wound,
\nAnd sanguine streams distain’d the sacred ground.
\nThus Priam fell, and shar’d one common fate
\nWith Troy in ashes, and his ruin’d state:
\nHe, who the scepter of all Asia sway’d,
\nWhom monarchs like domestic slaves obey’d.
\nOn the bleak shore now lies th’ abandon’d king,
\nA headless carcass, and a nameless thing.<\/p>\n
“Then, not before, I felt my cruddled blood
\nCongeal with fear, my hair with horror stood:
\nMy father’s image fill’d my pious mind,
\nLest equal years might equal fortune find.
\nAgain I thought on my forsaken wife,
\nAnd trembled for my son’s abandon’d life.
\nI look’d about, but found myself alone,
\nDeserted at my need! My friends were gone.
\nSome spent with toil, some with despair oppress’d,
\nLeap’d headlong from the heights; the flames consum’d the rest.
\nThus, wand’ring in my way, without a guide,
\nThe graceless Helen in the porch I spied
\nOf Vesta’s temple; there she lurk’d alone;
\nMuffled she sate, and, what she could, unknown:
\nBut, by the flames that cast their blaze around,
\nThat common bane of Greece and Troy I found.
\nFor Ilium burnt, she dreads the Trojan sword;
\nMore dreads the vengeance of her injur’d lord;
\nEv’n by those gods who refug’d her abhorr’d.
\nTrembling with rage, the strumpet I regard,
\nResolv’d to give her guilt the due reward:
\n‘Shall she triumphant sail before the wind,
\nAnd leave in flames unhappy Troy behind?
\nShall she her kingdom and her friends review,
\nIn state attended with a captive crew,
\nWhile unreveng’d the good old Priam falls,
\nAnd Grecian fires consume the Trojan walls?
\nFor this the Phrygian fields and Xanthian flood
\nWere swell’d with bodies, and were drunk with blood?
\n‘T is true, a soldier can small honor gain,
\nAnd boast no conquest, from a woman slain:
\nYet shall the fact not pass without applause,
\nOf vengeance taken in so just a cause;
\nThe punish’d crime shall set my soul at ease,
\nAnd murm’ring manes of my friends appease.’
\nThus while I rave, a gleam of pleasing light
\nSpread o’er the place; and, shining heav’nly bright,
\nMy mother stood reveal’d before my sight
\nNever so radiant did her eyes appear;
\nNot her own star confess’d a light so clear:
\nGreat in her charms, as when on gods above
\nShe looks, and breathes herself into their love.
\nShe held my hand, the destin’d blow to break;
\nThen from her rosy lips began to speak:
\n‘My son, from whence this madness, this neglect
\nOf my commands, and those whom I protect?
\nWhy this unmanly rage? Recall to mind
\nWhom you forsake, what pledges leave behind.
\nLook if your helpless father yet survive,
\nOr if Ascanius or Creusa live.
\nAround your house the greedy Grecians err;
\nAnd these had perish’d in the nightly war,
\nBut for my presence and protecting care.
\nNot Helen’s face, nor Paris, was in fault;
\nBut by the gods was this destruction brought.
\nNow cast your eyes around, while I dissolve
\nThe mists and films that mortal eyes involve,
\nPurge from your sight the dross, and make you see
\nThe shape of each avenging deity.
\nEnlighten’d thus, my just commands fulfil,
\nNor fear obedience to your mother’s will.
\nWhere yon disorder’d heap of ruin lies,
\nStones rent from stones; where clouds of dust arise-
\nAmid that smother Neptune holds his place,
\nBelow the wall’s foundation drives his mace,
\nAnd heaves the building from the solid base.
\nLook where, in arms, imperial Juno stands
\nFull in the Scaean gate, with loud commands,
\nUrging on shore the tardy Grecian bands.
\nSee! Pallas, of her snaky buckler proud,
\nBestrides the tow’r, refulgent thro’ the cloud:
\nSee! Jove new courage to the foe supplies,
\nAnd arms against the town the partial deities.
\nHaste hence, my son; this fruitless labor end:
\nHaste, where your trembling spouse and sire attend:
\nHaste; and a mother’s care your passage shall befriend.’
\nShe said, and swiftly vanish’d from my sight,
\nObscure in clouds and gloomy shades of night.
\nI look’d, I listen’d; dreadful sounds I hear;
\nAnd the dire forms of hostile gods appear.
\nTroy sunk in flames I saw (nor could prevent),
\nAnd Ilium from its old foundations rent;
\nRent like a mountain ash, which dar’d the winds,
\nAnd stood the sturdy strokes of lab’ring hinds.
\nAbout the roots the cruel ax resounds;
\nThe stumps are pierc’d with oft-repeated wounds:
\nThe war is felt on high; the nodding crown
\nNow threats a fall, and throws the leafy honors down.
\nTo their united force it yields, tho’ late,
\nAnd mourns with mortal groans th’ approaching fate:
\nThe roots no more their upper load sustain;
\nBut down she falls, and spreads a ruin thro’ the plain.<\/p>\n
“Descending thence, I scape thro’ foes and fire:
\nBefore the goddess, foes and flames retire.
\nArriv’d at home, he, for whose only sake,
\nOr most for his, such toils I undertake,
\nThe good Anchises, whom, by timely flight,
\nI purpos’d to secure on Ida’s height,
\nRefus’d the journey, resolute to die
\nAnd add his fun’rals to the fate of Troy,
\nRather than exile and old age sustain.
\n‘Go you, whose blood runs warm in ev’ry vein.
\nHad Heav’n decreed that I should life enjoy,
\nHeav’n had decreed to save unhappy Troy.
\n‘T is, sure, enough, if not too much, for one,
\nTwice to have seen our Ilium overthrown.
\nMake haste to save the poor remaining crew,
\nAnd give this useless corpse a long adieu.
\nThese weak old hands suffice to stop my breath;
\nAt least the pitying foes will aid my death,
\nTo take my spoils, and leave my body bare:
\nAs for my sepulcher, let Heav’n take care.
\n‘T is long since I, for my celestial wife
\nLoath’d by the gods, have dragg’d a ling’ring life;
\nSince ev’ry hour and moment I expire,
\nBlasted from heav’n by Jove’s avenging fire.’
\nThis oft repeated, he stood fix’d to die:
\nMyself, my wife, my son, my family,
\nIntreat, pray, beg, and raise a doleful cry-
\n‘What, will he still persist, on death resolve,
\nAnd in his ruin all his house involve!’
\nHe still persists his reasons to maintain;
\nOur pray’rs, our tears, our loud laments, are vain.<\/p>\n
“Urg’d by despair, again I go to try
\nThe fate of arms, resolv’d in fight to die:
\n‘What hope remains, but what my death must give?
\nCan I, without so dear a father, live?
\nYou term it prudence, what I baseness call:
\nCould such a word from such a parent fall?
\nIf Fortune please, and so the gods ordain,
\nThat nothing should of ruin’d Troy remain,
\nAnd you conspire with Fortune to be slain,
\nThe way to death is wide, th’ approaches near:
\nFor soon relentless Pyrrhus will appear,
\nReeking with Priam’s blood- the wretch who slew
\nThe son (inhuman) in the father’s view,
\nAnd then the sire himself to the dire altar drew.
\nO goddess mother, give me back to Fate;
\nYour gift was undesir’d, and came too late!
\nDid you, for this, unhappy me convey
\nThro’ foes and fires, to see my house a prey?
\nShall I my father, wife, and son behold,
\nWelt’ring in blood, each other’s arms infold?
\nHaste! gird my sword, tho’ spent and overcome:
\n‘T is the last summons to receive our doom.
\nI hear thee, Fate; and I obey thy call!
\nNot unreveng’d the foe shall see my fall.
\nRestore me to the yet unfinish’d fight:
\nMy death is wanting to conclude the night.’
\nArm’d once again, my glitt’ring sword I wield,
\nWhile th’ other hand sustains my weighty shield,
\nAnd forth I rush to seek th’ abandon’d field.
\nI went; but sad Creusa stopp’d my way,
\nAnd cross the threshold in my passage lay,
\nEmbrac’d my knees, and, when I would have gone,
\nShew’d me my feeble sire and tender son:
\n‘If death be your design, at least,’ said she,
\n‘Take us along to share your destiny.
\nIf any farther hopes in arms remain,
\nThis place, these pledges of your love, maintain.
\nTo whom do you expose your father’s life,
\nYour son’s, and mine, your now forgotten wife!’
\nWhile thus she fills the house with clam’rous cries,
\nOur hearing is diverted by our eyes:
\nFor, while I held my son, in the short space
\nBetwixt our kisses and our last embrace;
\nStrange to relate, from young Iulus’ head
\nA lambent flame arose, which gently spread
\nAround his brows, and on his temples fed.
\nAmaz’d, with running water we prepare
\nTo quench the sacred fire, and slake his hair;
\nBut old Anchises, vers’d in omens, rear’d
\nHis hands to heav’n, and this request preferr’d:
\n‘If any vows, almighty Jove, can bend
\nThy will; if piety can pray’rs commend,
\nConfirm the glad presage which thou art pleas’d to send.’
\nScarce had he said, when, on our left, we hear
\nA peal of rattling thunder roll in air:
\nThere shot a streaming lamp along the sky,
\nWhich on the winged lightning seem’d to fly;
\nFrom o’er the roof the blaze began to move,
\nAnd, trailing, vanish’d in th’ Idaean grove.
\nIt swept a path in heav’n, and shone a guide,
\nThen in a steaming stench of sulphur died.<\/p>\n
“The good old man with suppliant hands implor’d
\nThe gods’ protection, and their star ador’d.
\n‘Now, now,’ said he, ‘my son, no more delay!
\nI yield, I follow where Heav’n shews the way.
\nKeep, O my country gods, our dwelling place,
\nAnd guard this relic of the Trojan race,
\nThis tender child! These omens are your own,
\nAnd you can yet restore the ruin’d town.
\nAt least accomplish what your signs foreshow:
\nI stand resign’d, and am prepar’d to go.’<\/p>\n
“He said. The crackling flames appear on high.
\nAnd driving sparkles dance along the sky.
\nWith Vulcan’s rage the rising winds conspire,
\nAnd near our palace roll the flood of fire.
\n‘Haste, my dear father, (‘t is no time to wait,)
\nAnd load my shoulders with a willing freight.
\nWhate’er befalls, your life shall be my care;
\nOne death, or one deliv’rance, we will share.
\nMy hand shall lead our little son; and you,
\nMy faithful consort, shall our steps pursue.
\nNext, you, my servants, heed my strict commands:
\nWithout the walls a ruin’d temple stands,
\nTo Ceres hallow’d once; a cypress nigh
\nShoots up her venerable head on high,
\nBy long religion kept; there bend your feet,
\nAnd in divided parties let us meet.
\nOur country gods, the relics, and the bands,
\nHold you, my father, in your guiltless hands:
\nIn me ‘t is impious holy things to bear,
\nRed as I am with slaughter, new from war,
\nTill in some living stream I cleanse the guilt
\nOf dire debate, and blood in battle spilt.’
\nThus, ord’ring all that prudence could provide,
\nI clothe my shoulders with a lion’s hide
\nAnd yellow spoils; then, on my bending back,
\nThe welcome load of my dear father take;
\nWhile on my better hand Ascanius hung,
\nAnd with unequal paces tripp’d along.
\nCreusa kept behind; by choice we stray
\nThro’ ev’ry dark and ev’ry devious way.
\nI, who so bold and dauntless, just before,
\nThe Grecian darts and shock of lances bore,
\nAt ev’ry shadow now am seiz’d with fear,
\nNot for myself, but for the charge I bear;
\nTill, near the ruin’d gate arriv’d at last,
\nSecure, and deeming all the danger past,
\nA frightful noise of trampling feet we hear.
\nMy father, looking thro’ the shades, with fear,
\nCried out: ‘Haste, haste, my son, the foes are nigh;
\nTheir swords and shining armor I descry.’
\nSome hostile god, for some unknown offense,
\nHad sure bereft my mind of better sense;
\nFor, while thro’ winding ways I took my flight,
\nAnd sought the shelter of the gloomy night,
\nAlas! I lost Creusa: hard to tell
\nIf by her fatal destiny she fell,
\nOr weary sate, or wander’d with affright;
\nBut she was lost for ever to my sight.
\nI knew not, or reflected, till I meet
\nMy friends, at Ceres’ now deserted seat.
\nWe met: not one was wanting; only she
\nDeceiv’d her friends, her son, and wretched me.<\/p>\n
“What mad expressions did my tongue refuse!
\nWhom did I not, of gods or men, accuse!
\nThis was the fatal blow, that pain’d me more
\nThan all I felt from ruin’d Troy before.
\nStung with my loss, and raving with despair,
\nAbandoning my now forgotten care,
\nOf counsel, comfort, and of hope bereft,
\nMy sire, my son, my country gods I left.
\nIn shining armor once again I sheathe
\nMy limbs, not feeling wounds, nor fearing death.
\nThen headlong to the burning walls I run,
\nAnd seek the danger I was forc’d to shun.
\nI tread my former tracks; thro’ night explore
\nEach passage, ev’ry street I cross’d before.
\nAll things were full of horror and affright,
\nAnd dreadful ev’n the silence of the night.
\nThen to my father’s house I make repair,
\nWith some small glimpse of hope to find her there.
\nInstead of her, the cruel Greeks I met;
\nThe house was fill’d with foes, with flames beset.
\nDriv’n on the wings of winds, whole sheets of fire,
\nThro’ air transported, to the roofs aspire.
\nFrom thence to Priam’s palace I resort,
\nAnd search the citadel and desart court.
\nThen, unobserv’d, I pass by Juno’s church:
\nA guard of Grecians had possess’d the porch;
\nThere Phoenix and Ulysses watch prey,
\nAnd thither all the wealth of Troy convey:
\nThe spoils which they from ransack’d houses brought,
\nAnd golden bowls from burning altars caught,
\nThe tables of the gods, the purple vests,
\nThe people’s treasure, and the pomp of priests.
\nA rank of wretched youths, with pinion’d hands,
\nAnd captive matrons, in long order stands.
\nThen, with ungovern’d madness, I proclaim,
\nThro’ all the silent street, Creusa’s name:
\nCreusa still I call; at length she hears,
\nAnd sudden thro’ the shades of night appears-
\nAppears, no more Creusa, nor my wife,
\nBut a pale specter, larger than the life.
\nAghast, astonish’d, and struck dumb with fear,
\nI stood; like bristles rose my stiffen’d hair.
\nThen thus the ghost began to soothe my grief
\n‘Nor tears, nor cries, can give the dead relief.
\nDesist, my much-lov’d lord,’t indulge your pain;
\nYou bear no more than what the gods ordain.
\nMy fates permit me not from hence to fly;
\nNor he, the great controller of the sky.
\nLong wand’ring ways for you the pow’rs decree;
\nOn land hard labors, and a length of sea.
\nThen, after many painful years are past,
\nOn Latium’s happy shore you shall be cast,
\nWhere gentle Tiber from his bed beholds
\nThe flow’ry meadows, and the feeding folds.
\nThere end your toils; and there your fates provide
\nA quiet kingdom, and a royal bride:
\nThere fortune shall the Trojan line restore,
\nAnd you for lost Creusa weep no more.
\nFear not that I shall watch, with servile shame,
\nTh’ imperious looks of some proud Grecian dame;
\nOr, stooping to the victor’s lust, disgrace
\nMy goddess mother, or my royal race.
\nAnd now, farewell! The parent of the gods
\nRestrains my fleeting soul in her abodes:
\nI trust our common issue to your care.’
\nShe said, and gliding pass’d unseen in air.
\nI strove to speak: but horror tied my tongue;
\nAnd thrice about her neck my arms I flung,
\nAnd, thrice deceiv’d, on vain embraces hung.
\nLight as an empty dream at break of day,
\nOr as a blast of wind, she rush’d away.<\/p>\n
“Thus having pass’d the night in fruitless pain,
\nI to my longing friends return again,
\nAmaz’d th’ augmented number to behold,
\nOf men and matrons mix’d, of young and old;
\nA wretched exil’d crew together brought,
\nWith arms appointed, and with treasure fraught,
\nResolv’d, and willing, under my command,
\nTo run all hazards both of sea and land.
\nThe Morn began, from Ida, to display
\nHer rosy cheeks; and Phosphor led the day:
\nBefore the gates the Grecians took their post,
\nAnd all pretense of late relief was lost.
\nI yield to Fate, unwillingly retire,
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