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    Virgil: Collected Works
    Virgil: Collected Works
    Virgil: Collected Works
    Ebook634 pages8 hours

    Virgil: Collected Works

    By Virgil and John Dryden

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    About this ebook

    Virgil: Collected Works encompasses some of the most significant contributions to Latin literature, presenting a rich tapestry of epic poetry and pastoral themes. This collection includes the renowned 'Aeneid,' which provides not only a foundational myth of Roman identity but also explores complex themes of duty, fate, and the human experience against the backdrop of religious and political turmoil. Virgil's masterful use of dactylic hexameter, along with his vivid imagery and thematic depth, reflect the high literary style of the Augustan age, making this oeuvre a cornerstone in Western literary canon. Virgil, born in 70 BCE in a small town near Mantua, crafted his works during a pivotal moment in Roman history, marked by the transition from Republic to Empire. His experiences, including the turbulence of civil wars and the patronage of Augustus, deeply influenced his writing. These historic and personal contexts imbued his narratives with a sense of gravitas and introspective melancholy, offering insights into the Roman psyche and cultural identity during a transformative era. This collection is essential for anyone seeking to understand the roots of Western literature and philosophy. Virgil's nuanced portrayals of heroism, love, and destiny are timeless; thus, readers will find in these works a profound exploration of the human condition, making this compilation a valuable addition to any literary scholar's library.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherSharp Ink
    Release dateSep 13, 2023
    ISBN9788028316976
    Virgil: Collected Works
    Author

    Virgil

    Publius Vergilius Maro – or Virgil – was born near Mantua in 70 BC and was brought up there, although he attended schools in Cremona and Rome. Virgil’s rural upbringing and his affinity with the countryside are evident in his earliest work, the Eclogues, a collection of ten pastoral poems. As an adult Virgil lived mostly in Naples, although he spent time in Rome and belonged to the circle of influential poets that included Horace. He also had connections to leading men within the senatorial class and to the Emperor Augustus himself. Following the Eclogues, Virgil wrote the Georgics, a didactic poem, and thereafter began his longest and most ambitious work, the Aeneid. He died in Brindisi in 19 BC.

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      Book preview

      Virgil - Virgil

      Book II

      Table of Contents

      THE ARGUMENT.

      Aeneas relates how the city of Troy was taken, after a ten years’ siege, by the treachery of Sinon, and the stratagem of a wooden horse. He declares the fixed resolution he had taken not to survive the ruin of his country, and the various adventures he met with in defence of it. At last, having been before advised by Hector’s ghost, and now by the appearance of his mother Venus, he is prevailed upon to leave the town, and settle his household gods in another country. In order to this, he carries off his father on his shoulders, and leads his little son by the hand, his wife following behind. When he comes to the place appointed for the general rendezvous, he finds a great confluence of people, but misses his wife, whose ghost afterwards appears to him, and tells him the land which was designed for him.

      All were attentive to the godlike man,

      When from his lofty couch he thus began:

      "Great queen, what you command me to relate

      Renews the sad remembrance of our fate:

      An empire from its old foundations rent,

      And ev’ry woe the Trojans underwent;

      A peopled city made a desert place;

      All that I saw, and part of which I was:

      Not ev’n the hardest of our foes could hear,

      Nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear.

      And now the latter watch of wasting night,

      And setting stars, to kindly rest invite;

      But, since you take such int’rest in our woe,

      And Troy’s disastrous end desire to know,

      I will restrain my tears, and briefly tell

      What in our last and fatal night befell.

      "By destiny compell’d, and in despair,

      The Greeks grew weary of the tedious war,

      And by Minerva’s aid a fabric rear’d,

      Which like a steed of monstrous height appear’d:

      The sides were plank’d with pine; they feign’d it made

      For their return, and this the vow they paid.

      Thus they pretend, but in the hollow side

      Selected numbers of their soldiers hide:

      With inward arms the dire machine they load,

      And iron bowels stuff the dark abode.

      In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle

      (While Fortune did on Priam’s empire smile)

      Renown’d for wealth; but, since, a faithless bay,

      Where ships expos’d to wind and weather lay.

      There was their fleet conceal’d. We thought, for Greece

      Their sails were hoisted, and our fears release.

      The Trojans, coop’d within their walls so long,

      Unbar their gates, and issue in a throng,

      Like swarming bees, and with delight survey

      The camp deserted, where the Grecians lay:

      The quarters of the sev’ral chiefs they show’d;

      Here Phoenix, here Achilles, made abode;

      Here join’d the battles; there the navy rode.

      Part on the pile their wond’ring eyes employ:

      The pile by Pallas rais’d to ruin Troy.

      Thymoetes first (’tis doubtful whether hir’d,

      Or so the Trojan destiny requir’d)

      Mov’d that the ramparts might be broken down,

      To lodge the monster fabric in the town.

      But Capys, and the rest of sounder mind,

      The fatal present to the flames designed,

      Or to the wat’ry deep; at least to bore

      The hollow sides, and hidden frauds explore.

      The giddy vulgar, as their fancies guide,

      With noise say nothing, and in parts divide.

      Laocoon, follow’d by a num’rous crowd,

      Ran from the fort, and cried, from far, aloud:

      ‘O wretched countrymen! what fury reigns?

      What more than madness has possess’d your brains?

      Think you the Grecians from your coasts are gone?

      And are Ulysses’ arts no better known?

      This hollow fabric either must inclose,

      Within its blind recess, our secret foes;

      Or ’tis an engine rais’d above the town,

      T’ o’erlook the walls, and then to batter down.

      Somewhat is sure design’d, by fraud or force:

      Trust not their presents, nor admit the horse.’

      Thus having said, against the steed he threw

      His forceful spear, which, hissing as it flew,

      Pierc’d thro’ the yielding planks of jointed wood,

      And trembling in the hollow belly stood.

      The sides, transpierc’d, return a rattling sound,

      And groans of Greeks inclos’d come issuing thro’ the wound

      And, had not Heav’n the fall of Troy design’d,

      Or had not men been fated to be blind,

      Enough was said and done t’inspire a better mind.

      Then had our lances pierc’d the treach’rous wood,

      And Ilian tow’rs and Priam’s empire stood.

      Meantime, with shouts, the Trojan shepherds bring

      A captive Greek, in bands, before the king;

      Taken to take; who made himself their prey,

      T’ impose on their belief, and Troy betray;

      Fix’d on his aim, and obstinately bent

      To die undaunted, or to circumvent.

      About the captive, tides of Trojans flow;

      All press to see, and some insult the foe.

      Now hear how well the Greeks their wiles disguis’d;

      Behold a nation in a man compris’d.

      Trembling the miscreant stood, unarm’d and bound;

      He star’d, and roll’d his haggard eyes around,

      Then said: ‘Alas! what earth remains, what sea

      Is open to receive unhappy me?

      What fate a wretched fugitive attends,

      Scorn’d by my foes, abandon’d by my friends?’

      He said, and sigh’d, and cast a rueful eye:

      Our pity kindles, and our passions die.

      We cheer the youth to make his own defence,

      And freely tell us what he was, and whence:

      What news he could impart, we long to know,

      And what to credit from a captive foe.

      "His fear at length dismiss’d, he said: ‘Whate’er

      My fate ordains, my words shall be sincere:

      I neither can nor dare my birth disclaim;

      Greece is my country, Sinon is my name.

      Tho’ plung’d by Fortune’s pow’r in misery,

      ’Tis not in Fortune’s pow’r to make me lie.

      If any chance has hither brought the name

      Of Palamedes, not unknown to fame,

      Who suffer’d from the malice of the times,

      Accus’d and sentenc’d for pretended crimes,

      Because these fatal wars he would prevent;

      Whose death the wretched Greeks too late lament;

      Me, then a boy, my father, poor and bare

      Of other means, committed to his care,

      His kinsman and companion in the war.

      While Fortune favour’d, while his arms support

      The cause, and rul’d the counsels, of the court,

      I made some figure there; nor was my name

      Obscure, nor I without my share of fame.

      But when Ulysses, with fallacious arts,

      Had made impression in the people’s hearts,

      And forg’d a treason in my patron’s name

      (I speak of things too far divulg’d by fame),

      My kinsman fell. Then I, without support,

      In private mourn’d his loss, and left the court.

      Mad as I was, I could not bear his fate

      With silent grief, but loudly blam’d the state,

      And curs’d the direful author of my woes.

      ’Twas told again; and hence my ruin rose.

      I threaten’d, if indulgent Heav’n once more

      Would land me safely on my native shore,

      His death with double vengeance to restore.

      This mov’d the murderer’s hate; and soon ensued

      Th’ effects of malice from a man so proud.

      Ambiguous rumours thro’ the camp he spread,

      And sought, by treason, my devoted head;

      New crimes invented; left unturn’d no stone,

      To make my guilt appear, and hide his own;

      Till Calchas was by force and threat’ning wrought:

      But why—why dwell I on that anxious thought?

      If on my nation just revenge you seek,

      And ’tis t’ appear a foe, t’ appear a Greek;

      Already you my name and country know;

      Assuage your thirst of blood, and strike the blow:

      My death will both the kingly brothers please,

      And set insatiate Ithacus at ease.’

      This fair unfinish’d tale, these broken starts,

      Rais’d expectations in our longing hearts:

      Unknowing as we were in Grecian arts.

      His former trembling once again renew’d,

      With acted fear, the villain thus pursued:

      "‘Long had the Grecians (tir’d with fruitless care,

      And wearied with an unsuccessful war)

      Resolv’d to raise the siege, and leave the town;

      And, had the gods permitted, they had gone;

      But oft the wintry seas and southern winds

      Withstood their passage home, and chang’d their minds.

      Portents and prodigies their souls amaz’d;

      But most, when this stupendous pile was rais’d:

      Then flaming meteors, hung in air, were seen,

      And thunders rattled thro’ a sky serene.

      Dismay’d, and fearful of some dire event,

      Eurypylus t’ enquire their fate was sent.

      He from the gods this dreadful answer brought:

      "O Grecians, when the Trojan shores you sought,

      Your passage with a virgin’s blood was bought:

      So must your safe return be bought again,

      And Grecian blood once more atone the main."

      The spreading rumour round the people ran;

      All fear’d, and each believ’d himself the man.

      Ulysses took th’ advantage of their fright;

      Call’d Calchas, and produc’d in open sight:

      Then bade him name the wretch, ordain’d by fate

      The public victim, to redeem the state.

      Already some presag’d the dire event,

      And saw what sacrifice Ulysses meant.

      For twice five days the good old seer withstood

      Th’ intended treason, and was dumb to blood,

      Till, tir’d, with endless clamours and pursuit

      Of Ithacus, he stood no longer mute;

      But, as it was agreed, pronounc’d that I

      Was destin’d by the wrathful gods to die.

      All prais’d the sentence, pleas’d the storm should fall

      On one alone, whose fury threaten’d all.

      The dismal day was come; the priests prepare

      Their leaven’d cakes, and fillets for my hair.

      I follow’d nature’s laws, and must avow

      I broke my bonds and fled the fatal blow.

      Hid in a weedy lake all night I lay,

      Secure of safety when they sail’d away.

      But now what further hopes for me remain,

      To see my friends, or native soil, again;

      My tender infants, or my careful sire,

      Whom they returning will to death require;

      Will perpetrate on them their first design,

      And take the forfeit of their heads for mine?

      Which, O! if pity mortal minds can move,

      If there be faith below, or gods above,

      If innocence and truth can claim desert,

      Ye Trojans, from an injur’d wretch avert.’

      "False tears true pity move; the king commands

      To loose his fetters, and unbind his hands:

      Then adds these friendly words: ‘Dismiss thy fears;

      Forget the Greeks; be mine as thou wert theirs.

      But truly tell, was it for force or guile,

      Or some religious end, you rais’d the pile?’

      Thus said the king. He, full of fraudful arts,

      This well-invented tale for truth imparts:

      ‘Ye lamps of heav’n!’ he said, and lifted high

      His hands now free, ‘thou venerable sky!

      Inviolable pow’rs, ador’d with dread!

      Ye fatal fillets, that once bound this head!

      Ye sacred altars, from whose flames I fled!

      Be all of you adjur’d; and grant I may,

      Without a crime, th’ ungrateful Greeks betray,

      Reveal the secrets of the guilty state,

      And justly punish whom I justly hate!

      But you, O king, preserve the faith you gave,

      If I, to save myself, your empire save.

      The Grecian hopes, and all th’ attempts they made,

      Were only founded on Minerva’s aid.

      But from the time when impious Diomede,

      And false Ulysses, that inventive head,

      Her fatal image from the temple drew,

      The sleeping guardians of the castle slew,

      Her virgin statue with their bloody hands

      Polluted, and profan’d her holy bands;

      From thence the tide of fortune left their shore,

      And ebb’d much faster than it flow’d before:

      Their courage languish’d, as their hopes decay’d;

      And Pallas, now averse, refus’d her aid.

      Nor did the goddess doubtfully declare

      Her alter’d mind and alienated care.

      When first her fatal image touch’d the ground,

      She sternly cast her glaring eyes around,

      That sparkled as they roll’d, and seem’d to threat:

      Her heav’nly limbs distill’d a briny sweat.

      Thrice from the ground she leap’d, was seen to wield

      Her brandish’d lance, and shake her horrid shield.

      Then Calchas bade our host for flight

      And hope no conquest from the tedious war,

      Till first they sail’d for Greece; with pray’rs besought

      Her injur’d pow’r, and better omens brought.

      And now their navy plows the wat’ry main,

      Yet soon expect it on your shores again,

      With Pallas pleas’d; as Calchas did ordain.

      But first, to reconcile the blue-ey’d maid

      For her stol’n statue and her tow’r betray’d,

      Warn’d by the seer, to her offended name

      We rais’d and dedicate this wondrous frame,

      So lofty, lest thro’ your forbidden gates

      It pass, and intercept our better fates:

      For, once admitted there, our hopes are lost;

      And Troy may then a new Palladium boast;

      For so religion and the gods ordain,

      That, if you violate with hands profane

      Minerva’s gift, your town in flames shall burn,

      (Which omen, O ye gods, on Grecia turn!)

      But if it climb, with your assisting hands,

      The Trojan walls, and in the city stands;

      Then Troy shall Argos and Mycenae burn,

      And the reverse of fate on us return.’

      "With such deceits he gain’d their easy hearts,

      Too prone to credit his perfidious arts.

      What Diomede, nor Thetis’ greater son,

      A thousand ships, nor ten years’ siege, had done:

      False tears and fawning words the city won.

      "A greater omen, and of worse portent,

      Did our unwary minds with fear torment,

      Concurring to produce the dire event.

      Laocoon, Neptune’s priest by lot that year,

      With solemn pomp then sacrific’d a steer;

      When, dreadful to behold, from sea we spied

      Two serpents, rank’d abreast, the seas divide,

      And smoothly sweep along the swelling tide.

      Their flaming crests above the waves they show;

      Their bellies seem to burn the seas below;

      Their speckled tails advance to steer their course,

      And on the sounding shore the flying billows force.

      And now the strand, and now the plain they held;

      Their ardent eyes with bloody streaks were fill’d;

      Their nimble tongues they brandish’d as they came,

      And lick’d their hissing jaws, that sputter’d flame.

      We fled amaz’d; their destin’d way they take,

      And to Laocoon and his children make;

      And first around the tender boys they wind,

      Then with their sharpen’d fangs their limbs and bodies grind.

      The wretched father, running to their aid

      With pious haste, but vain, they next invade;

      Twice round his waist their winding volumes roll’d;

      And twice about his gasping throat they fold.

      The priest thus doubly chok’d, their crests divide,

      And tow’ring o’er his head in triumph ride.

      With both his hands he labours at the knots;

      His holy fillets the blue venom blots;

      His roaring fills the flitting air around.

      Thus, when an ox receives a glancing wound,

      He breaks his bands, the fatal altar flies,

      And with loud bellowings breaks the yielding skies.

      Their tasks perform’d, the serpents quit their prey,

      And to the tow’r of Pallas make their way:

      Couch’d at her feet, they lie protected there

      By her large buckler and protended spear.

      Amazement seizes all; the gen’ral cry

      Proclaims Laocoon justly doom’d to die,

      Whose hand the will of Pallas had withstood,

      And dared to violate the sacred wood.

      All vote t’ admit the steed, that vows be paid

      And incense offer’d to th’ offended maid.

      A spacious breach is made; the town lies bare;

      Some hoisting levers, some the wheels prepare

      And fasten to the horse’s feet; the rest

      With cables haul along th’ unwieldly beast.

      Each on his fellow for assistance calls;

      At length the fatal fabric mounts the walls,

      Big with destruction. Boys with chaplets crown’d,

      And choirs of virgins, sing and dance around.

      Thus rais’d aloft, and then descending down,

      It enters o’er our heads, and threats the town.

      O sacred city, built by hands divine!

      O valiant heroes of the Trojan line!

      Four times he struck: as oft the clashing sound

      Of arms was heard, and inward groans rebound.

      Yet, mad with zeal, and blinded with our fate,

      We haul along the horse in solemn state;

      Then place the dire portent within the tow’r.

      Cassandra cried, and curs’d th’ unhappy hour;

      Foretold our fate; but, by the god’s decree,

      All heard, and none believ’d the prophecy.

      With branches we the fanes adorn, and waste,

      In jollity, the day ordain’d to be the last.

      Meantime the rapid heav’ns roll’d down the light,

      And on the shaded ocean rush’d the night;

      Our men, secure, nor guards nor sentries held,

      But easy sleep their weary limbs compell’d.

      The Grecians had embark’d their naval pow’rs

      From Tenedos, and sought our well-known shores,

      Safe under covert of the silent night,

      And guided by th’ imperial galley’s light;

      When Sinon, favour’d by the partial gods,

      Unlock’d the horse, and op’d his dark abodes;

      Restor’d to vital air our hidden foes,

      Who joyful from their long confinement rose.

      Tysander bold, and Sthenelus their guide,

      And dire Ulysses down the cable slide:

      Then Thoas, Athamas, and Pyrrhus haste;

      Nor was the Podalirian hero last,

      Nor injur’d Menelaus, nor the fam’d

      Epeus, who the fatal engine fram’d.

      A nameless crowd succeed; their forces join

      T’ invade the town, oppress’d with sleep and wine.

      Those few they find awake first meet their fate;

      Then to their fellows they unbar the gate.

      "’Twas in the dead of night, when sleep repairs

      Our bodies worn with toils, our minds with cares,

      When Hector’s ghost before my sight appears:

      A bloody shroud he seem’d, and bath’d in tears;

      Such as he was, when, by Pelides slain,

      Thessalian coursers dragg’d him o’er the plain.

      Swoln were his feet, as when the thongs were thrust

      Thro’ the bor’d holes; his body black with dust;

      Unlike that Hector who return’d from toils

      Of war, triumphant, in Aeacian spoils,

      Or him who made the fainting Greeks retire,

      And launch’d against their navy Phrygian fire.

      His hair and beard stood stiffen’d with his gore;

      And all the wounds he for his country bore

      Now stream’d afresh, and with new purple ran.

      I wept to see the visionary man,

      And, while my trance continued, thus began:

      ‘O light of Trojans, and support of Troy,

      Thy father’s champion, and thy country’s joy!

      O, long expected by thy friends! from whence

      Art thou so late return’d for our defence?

      Do we behold thee, wearied as we are

      With length of labours, and with toils of war?

      After so many fun’rals of thy own

      Art thou restor’d to thy declining town?

      But say, what wounds are these? What new disgrace

      Deforms the manly features of thy face?’

      "To this the spectre no reply did frame,

      But answer’d to the cause for which he came,

      And, groaning from the bottom of his breast,

      This warning in these mournful words express’d:

      ‘O goddess-born! escape, by timely flight,

      The flames and horrors of this fatal night.

      The foes already have possess’d the wall;

      Troy nods from high, and totters to her fall.

      Enough is paid to Priam’s royal name,

      More than enough to duty and to fame.

      If by a mortal hand my father’s throne

      Could be defended, ’twas by mine alone.

      Now Troy to thee commends her future state,

      And gives her gods companions of thy fate:

      From their assistance walls expect,

      Which, wand’ring long, at last thou shalt erect.’

      He said, and brought me, from their blest abodes,

      The venerable statues of the gods,

      With ancient Vesta from the sacred choir,

      The wreaths and relics of th’ immortal fire.

      "Now peals of shouts come thund’ring from afar,

      Cries, threats, and loud laments, and mingled war:

      The noise approaches, tho’ our palace stood

      Aloof from streets, encompass’d with a wood.

      Louder, and yet more loud, I hear th’ alarms

      Of human cries distinct, and clashing arms.

      Fear broke my slumbers; I no longer stay,

      But mount the terrace, thence the town survey,

      And hearken what the frightful sounds convey.

      Thus, when a flood of fire by wind is borne,

      Crackling it rolls, and mows the standing corn;

      Or deluges, descending on the plains,

      Sweep o’er the yellow year, destroy the pains

      Of lab’ring oxen and the peasant’s gains;

      Unroot the forest oaks, and bear away

      Flocks, folds, and trees, and undistinguish’d prey:

      The shepherd climbs the cliff, and sees from far

      The wasteful ravage of the wat’ry war.

      Then Hector’s faith was manifestly clear’d,

      And Grecian frauds in open light appear’d.

      The palace of Deiphobus ascends

      In smoky flames, and catches on his friends.

      Ucalegon burns next: the seas are bright

      With splendour not their own, and shine with Trojan light.

      New clamours and new clangours now arise,

      The sound of trumpets mix’d with fighting cries.

      With frenzy seiz’d, I run to meet th’ alarms,

      Resolv’d on death, resolv’d to die in arms,

      But first to gather friends, with them t’ oppose

      If fortune favour’d, and repel the foes;

      Spurr’d by my courage, by my country fir’d,

      With sense of honour and revenge inspir’d.

      "Pantheus, Apollo’s priest, a sacred name,

      Had scap’d the Grecian swords, and pass’d the flame:

      With relics loaden, to my doors he fled,

      And by the hand his tender grandson led.

      ‘What hope, O Pantheus? whither can we run?

      Where make a stand? and what may yet be done?’

      Scarce had I said, when Pantheus, with a groan:

      ‘Troy is no more, and Ilium was a town!

      The fatal day, th’ appointed hour, is come,

      When wrathful Jove’s irrevocable doom

      Transfers the Trojan state to Grecian hands.

      The fire consumes the town, the foe commands;

      And armed hosts, an unexpected force,

      Break from the bowels of the fatal horse.

      Within the gates, proud Sinon throws about

      The flames; and foes for entrance press without,

      With thousand others, whom I fear to name,

      More than from Argos or Mycenae came.

      To sev’ral posts their parties they divide;

      Some block the narrow streets, some scour the wide:

      The bold they kill, th’ unwary they surprise;

      Who fights finds death, and death finds him who flies.

      The warders of the gate but scarce maintain

      Th’ unequal combat, and resist in vain.’

      "I heard; and Heav’n, that well-born souls inspires,

      Prompts me thro’ lifted swords and rising fires

      To run where clashing arms and clamour calls,

      And rush undaunted to defend the walls.

      Ripheus and Iph’itas by my side engage,

      For valour one renown’d, and one for age.

      Dymas and Hypanis by moonlight knew

      My motions and my mien, and to my party drew;

      With young Coroebus, who by love was led

      To win renown and fair Cassandra’s bed,

      And lately brought his troops to Priam’s aid,

      Forewarn’d in vain by the prophetic maid.

      Whom when I saw resolv’d in arms to fall,

      And that one spirit animated all:

      ‘Brave souls!’ said I, ‘but brave, alas! in vain:

      Come, finish what our cruel fates ordain.

      You see the desp’rate state of our affairs,

      And heav’n’s protecting pow’rs are deaf to pray’rs.

      The passive gods behold the Greeks defile

      Their temples, and abandon to the spoil

      Their own abodes: we, feeble few, conspire

      To save a sinking town, involv’d in fire.

      Then let us fall, but fall amidst our foes:

      Despair of life the means of living shows.’

      So bold a speech incourag’d their desire

      Of death, and added fuel to their fire.

      "As hungry wolves, with raging appetite,

      Scour thro’ the fields, nor fear the stormy night;

      Their whelps at home expect the promis’d food,

      And long to temper their dry chaps in blood:

      So rush’d we forth at once; resolv’d to die,

      Resolv’d, in death, the last extremes to try.

      We leave the narrow lanes behind, and dare

      Th’ unequal combat in the public square:

      Night was our friend; our leader was despair.

      What tongue can tell the slaughter of that night?

      What eyes can weep the sorrows and affright?

      An ancient and imperial city falls:

      The streets are fill’d with frequent funerals;

      Houses and holy temples float in blood,

      And hostile nations make a common flood.

      Not only Trojans fall; but, in their turn,

      The vanquish’d triumph, and the victors mourn.

      Ours take new courage from despair and night:

      Confus’d the fortune is, confus’d the fight.

      All parts resound with tumults, plaints, and fears;

      And grisly Death in sundry shapes appears.

      Androgeos fell among us, with his band,

      Who thought us Grecians newly come to land.

      ‘From whence,’ said he, ‘my friends, this long delay?

      You loiter, while the spoils are borne away:

      Our ships are laden with the Trojan store;

      And you, like truants, come too late ashore.’

      He said, but soon corrected his mistake,

      Found, by the doubtful answers which we make:

      Amaz’d, he would have shunn’d th’ unequal fight;

      But we, more num’rous, intercept his flight.

      As when some peasant, in a bushy brake,

      Has with unwary footing press’d a snake;

      He starts aside, astonish’d, when he spies

      His rising crest, blue neck, and rolling eyes;

      So from our arms surpris’d Androgeos flies.

      In vain; for him and his we compass’d round,

      Possess’d with fear, unknowing of the ground,

      And of their lives an easy conquest found.

      Thus Fortune on our first endeavor smil’d.

      Coroebus then, with youthful hopes beguil’d,

      Swoln with success, and a daring mind,

      This new invention fatally design’d.

      ‘My friends,’ said he, ‘since Fortune shows the way,

      ’Tis fit we should th’ auspicious guide obey.

      For what has she these Grecian arms bestow’d,

      But their destruction, and the Trojans’ good?

      Then change we shields, and their devices bear:

      Let fraud supply the want of force in war.

      They find us arms.’ This said, himself he dress’d

      In dead Androgeos’ spoils, his upper vest,

      His painted buckler, and his plumy crest.

      Thus Ripheus, Dymas, all the Trojan train,

      Lay down their own attire, and strip the slain.

      Mix’d with the Greeks, we go with ill presage,

      Flatter’d with hopes to glut our greedy rage;

      Unknown, assaulting whom we blindly meet,

      And strew with Grecian carcasses the street.

      Thus while their straggling parties we defeat,

      Some to the shore and safer ships retreat;

      And some, oppress’d with more ignoble fear,

      Remount the hollow horse, and pant in secret there.

      "But, ah! what use of valour can be made,

      When heav’n’s propitious pow’rs refuse their aid!

      Behold the royal prophetess, the fair

      Cassandra, dragg’d by her dishevel’d hair,

      Whom not Minerva’s shrine, nor sacred bands,

      In safety could protect from sacrilegious hands:

      On heav’n she cast her eyes, she sigh’d, she cried,

      (’Twas all she could) her tender arms were tied.

      So sad a sight Coroebus could not bear;

      But, fir’d with rage, distracted with despair,

      Amid the barb’rous ravishers he flew:

      Our leader’s rash example we pursue.

      But storms of stones, from the proud temple’s height,

      Pour down, and on our batter’d helms alight:

      We from our friends receiv’d this fatal blow,

      Who thought us Grecians, as we seem’d in show.

      They aim at the mistaken crests, from high;

      And ours beneath the pond’rous ruin lie.

      Then, mov’d with anger and disdain, to see

      Their troops dispers’d, the royal virgin free,

      The Grecians rally, and their pow’rs unite,

      With fury charge us, and renew the fight.

      The brother kings with Ajax join their force,

      And the whole squadron of Thessalian horse.

      "Thus, when the rival winds their quarrel try,

      Contending for the kingdom of the sky,

      South, east, and west, on airy coursers borne;

      The whirlwind gathers, and the woods are torn:

      Then Nereus strikes the deep; the billows rise,

      And, mix’d with ooze and sand, pollute the skies.

      The troops we squander’d first again appear

      From several quarters, and enclose the rear.

      They first observe, and to the rest betray,

      Our diff’rent speech; our borrow’d arms survey.

      Oppress’d with odds, we fall; Coroebus first,

      At Pallas’ altar, by Peneleus pierc’d.

      Then Ripheus follow’d, in th’ unequal fight;

      Just of his word, observant of the right:

      Heav’n thought not so. Dymas their fate attends,

      With Hypanis, mistaken by their friends.

      Nor, Pantheus, thee, thy mitre, nor the bands

      Of awful Phoebus, sav’d from impious hands.

      Ye Trojan flames, your testimony bear,

      What I perform’d, and what I suffer’d there;

      No sword avoiding in the fatal strife,

      Expos’d to death, and prodigal of life;

      Witness, ye heavens! I live not by my fault:

      I strove to have deserv’d the death I sought.

      But, when I could not fight, and would have died,

      Borne off to distance by the growing tide,

      Old Iphitus and I were hurried thence,

      With Pelias wounded, and without defence.

      New clamours from th’ invested palace ring:

      We run to die, or disengage the king.

      So hot th’ assault, so high the tumult rose,

      While ours defend, and while the Greeks oppose

      As all the Dardan and Argolic race

      Had been contracted in that narrow space;

      Or as all Ilium else were void of fear,

      And tumult, war, and slaughter, only there.

      Their targets in a tortoise cast, the foes,

      Secure advancing, to the turrets rose:

      Some mount the scaling ladders; some, more bold,

      Swerve upwards, and by posts and pillars hold;

      Their left hand gripes their bucklers in th’ ascent,

      While with their right they seize the battlement.

      From their demolish’d tow’rs the Trojans throw

      Huge heaps of stones, that, falling, crush the foe;

      And heavy beams and rafters from the sides

      (Such arms their last necessity provides)

      And gilded roofs, come tumbling from on high,

      The marks of state and ancient royalty.

      The guards below, fix’d in the pass, attend

      The charge undaunted, and the gate defend.

      Renew’d in courage with recover’d breath,

      A second time we ran to tempt our death,

      To clear the palace from the foe, succeed

      The weary living, and revenge the dead.

      "A postern door, yet unobserv’d and free,

      Join’d by the length of a blind gallery,

      To the king’s closet led: a way well known

      To Hector’s wife, while Priam held the throne,

      Thro’ which she brought Astyanax, unseen,

      To cheer his grandsire and his grandsire’s queen.

      Thro’ this we pass, and mount the tow’r, from whence

      With unavailing arms the Trojans make defence.

      From this the trembling king had oft descried

      The Grecian camp, and saw their navy ride.

      Beams from its lofty height with swords we hew,

      Then, wrenching with our hands, th’ assault renew;

      And, where the rafters on the columns meet,

      We push them headlong with our arms and feet.

      The lightning flies not swifter than the fall,

      Nor thunder louder than the ruin’d wall:

      Down goes the top at once; the Greeks beneath

      Are piecemeal torn, or pounded into death.

      Yet more succeed, and more to death are sent;

      We cease not from above, nor they below relent.

      Before the gate stood Pyrrhus, threat’ning loud,

      With glitt’ring arms conspicuous in the crowd.

      So shines, renew’d in youth, the crested snake,

      Who slept the winter in a thorny brake,

      And, casting off his slough when spring returns,

      Now looks aloft, and with new glory burns;

      Restor’d with poisonous herbs, his ardent sides

      Reflect the sun; and rais’d on spires he rides;

      High o’er the grass, hissing he rolls along,

      And brandishes by fits his forky tongue.

      Proud Periphas, and fierce Automedon,

      His father’s charioteer, together run

      To force the gate; the Scyrian infantry

      Rush on in crowds, and the barr’d passage free.

      Ent’ring the court, with shouts the skies they rend;

      And flaming firebrands to the roofs ascend.

      Himself, among the foremost, deals his blows,

      And with his ax repeated strokes

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