A general silence fell; and all gave ear,while, from his lofty station at the feast,Father Aeneas with these words began :—A grief unspeakable thy gracious word,o sovereign lady, bids my heart live o'er:how Asia's glory and afflicted thronethe Greek flung down; which woeful scene I saw,and bore great part in each event I tell.But O! in telling, what Dolopian churl,or Myrmidon, or gory followerof grim Ulysses could the tears restrain?'T is evening; lo! the dews of night beginto fall from heaven, and yonder sinking starsinvite to slumber. But if thy heart yearnto hear in brief of all our evil daysand Troy's last throes, although the memorymakes my soul shudder and recoil in pain,I will essay it. Wearied of the war,and by ill-fortune crushed, year after year,the kings of Greece, by Pallas' skill divine,build a huge horse, a thing of mountain size,with timbered ribs of fir. They falsely sayit has been vowed to Heaven for safe return,and spread this lie abroad. Then they concealchoice bands of warriors in the deep, dark side,and fill the caverns of that monstrous wombwith arms and soldiery. In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an island widely famedand opulent, ere Priam's kingdom fell,but a poor haven now, with anchoragenot half secure; 't was thitherward they sailed,and lurked unseen by that abandoned shore.We deemed them launched away and sailing far,bound homeward for Mycenae. Teucria thenthrew off her grief inveterate; all her gatesswung wide; exultant went we forth, and sawthe Dorian camp untenanted, the siegeabandoned, and the shore without a keel.“Here!” cried we, “the Dolopian pitched; the hostof fierce Achilles here; here lay the fleet;and here the battling lines to conflict ran.”Others, all wonder, scan the gift of doomby virgin Pallas given, and view with awethat horse which loomed so large. Thymoetes thenbade lead it through the gates, and set on highwithin our citadel,—or traitor he,or tool of fate in Troy's predestined fall.But Capys, as did all of wiser heart,bade hurl into the sea the false Greek gift,or underneath it thrust a kindling flameor pierce the hollow ambush of its wombwith probing spear. Yet did the multitudeveer round from voice to voice and doubt of all.

Then from the citadel, conspicuous,Laocoon, with all his following choir,hurried indignant down; and from afarthus hailed the people: “O unhappy men!What madness this? Who deems our foemen fled?Think ye the gifts of Greece can lack for guile?Have ye not known Ulysses? The Achaeanhides, caged in yonder beams; or this is rearedfor engin'ry on our proud battlements,to spy upon our roof-tops, or descendin ruin on the city. 'T is a snare.Trust not this horse, O Troy, whate'er it bode!I fear the Greeks, though gift on gift they bear.”So saying, he whirled with ponderous javelina sturdy stroke straight at the rounded sideof the great, jointed beast. A tremor struckits towering form, and through the cavernous wombrolled loud, reverberate rumbling, deep and long.If heaven's decree, if our own wills, that hour,had not been fixed on woe, his spear had broughta bloody slaughter on our ambushed foe,and Troy were standing on the earth this day!O Priam's towers, ye were unfallen still!

But, lo! with hands fast bound behind, a youthby clamorous Dardan shepherds haled along,was brought before our king,—to this sole enda self-surrendered captive, that he might,although a nameless stranger, cunninglydeliver to the Greek the gates of Troy.His firm-set mind flinched not from either goal,—success in crime, or on swift death to fall.The thronging Trojan youth made haste his wayfrom every side, all eager to see closetheir captive's face, and clout with emulous scorn.Hear now what Greek deception is, and learnfrom one dark wickedness the whole. For he,a mark for every eye, defenceless, dazed,stood staring at our Phrygian hosts, and cried:“Woe worth the day! What ocean or what shorewill have me now? What desperate path remainsfor miserable me? Now have I lostall foothold with the Greeks, and o'er my headTroy's furious sons call bloody vengeance down.”Such groans and anguish turned all rage awayand stayed our lifted hands. We bade him tellhis birth, his errand, and from whence might besuch hope of mercy for a foe in chains.Then fearing us no more, this speech he dared:

“O King! I will confess, whate'er befall,the whole unvarnished truth. I will not hidemy Grecian birth. Yea, thus will I begin.For Fortune has brought wretched Sinon low;but never shall her cruelty impairhis honor and his truth. Perchance the nameof Palamedes, Belus' glorious son,has come by rumor to your listening ears;whom by false witness and conspiracy,because his counsel was not for this war,the Greeks condemned, though guiltless, to his death,and now make much lament for him they slew.I, his companion, of his kith and kin,sent hither by my humble sire's command,followed his arms and fortunes from my youth.Long as his throne endured, and while he throvein conclave with his kingly peers, we twainsome name and lustre bore; but afterward,because that cheat Ulysses envied him(Ye know the deed), he from this world withdrew,and I in gloom and tribulation sorelived miserably on, lamenting loudmy lost friend's blameless fall. A fool was Ithat kept not these lips closed; but I had vowedthat if a conqueror home to Greece I came,I would avenge. Such words moved wrath, and werethe first shock of my ruin; from that hour,Ulysses whispered slander and alarm;breathed doubt and malice into all men's ears,and darkly plotted how to strike his blow.Nor rest had he, till Calchas, as his tool,-but why unfold this useless, cruel story?Why make delay? Ye count all sons of Greece arrayed as one; and to have heard thus farsuffices you. Take now your ripe revenge!Ulysses smiles and Atreus' royal sonswith liberal price your deed of blood repay.”

We ply him then with passionate appealand question all his cause: of guilt so direor such Greek guile we harbored not the thought.So on he prates, with well-feigned grief and fear,and from his Iying heart thus told his tale:“Full oft the Greeks had fain achieved their flight,and raised the Trojan siege, and sailed awaywar-wearied quite. O, would it had been so!Full oft the wintry tumult of the seasdid wall them round, and many a swollen stormtheir embarcation stayed. But chiefly when,all fitly built of beams of maple fair,this horse stood forth,— what thunders filled the skies!With anxious fears we sent Eurypylusto ask Apollo's word; and from the shrinehe brings the sorrowful commandment home:‘By flowing blood and by a virgin slainthe wild winds were appeased, when first ye came,ye sons of Greece, to Ilium's distant shore.Through blood ye must return. Let some Greek lifeyour expiation be.’ The popular earthe saying caught, all spirits were dimmed o'er;cold doubt and horror through each bosom ran,asking what fate would do, and on what wretchApollo's choice would fall. Ulysses, then,amid the people's tumult and acclaim,thrust Calchas forth, some prophecy to tellto all the throng: he asked him o'er and o'erwhat Heaven desired. Already not a fewforetold the murderous plot, and silentlywatched the dark doom upon my life impend.Twice five long days the seer his lips did seal,and hid himself, refusing to bring forth His word of guile, and name what wretch should die.At last, reluctant, and all loudly urged By false Ulysses, he fulfils their plot,and, lifting up his voice oracular,points out myself the victim to be slain.Nor did one voice oppose. The mortal strokehorribly hanging o'er each coward headwas changed to one man's ruin, and their heartsendured it well. Soon rose th' accursed morn;the bloody ritual was ready; saltwas sprinkled on the sacred loaf; my browswere bound with fillets for the offering.But I escaped that death—yes! I deny not!I cast my fetters off, and darkling layconcealed all night in lake-side sedge and mire,awaiting their departure, if perchancethey should in truth set sail. But nevermoreshall my dear, native country greet these eyes.No more my father or my tender babesshall I behold. Nay, haply their own livesare forfeit, when my foemen take revengefor my escape, and slay those helpless ones,in expiation of my guilty deed.O, by yon powers in heaven which witness truth,by aught in this dark world remaining nowof spotless human faith and innocence,I do implore thee look with pitying eyeon these long sufferings my heart hath borne.O, pity! I deserve not what I bear.”

Pity and pardon to his tears we gave,and spared his life. King Priam bade unbindthe fettered hands and loose those heavy chainsthat pressed him sore; then with benignant mienaddressed him thus: “ Whate'er thy place or name,forget the people thou hast Iost, and behenceforth our countryman. But tell me true!What means the monstrous fabric of this horse?Who made it? Why? What offering to Heaven,or engin'ry of conquest may it be?”He spake; and in reply, with skilful guile,Greek that he was! the other lifted uphis hands, now freed and chainless, to the skies:“O ever-burning and inviolate fires,witness my word! O altars and sharp steel,whose curse I fled, O fillets of the gods,which bound a victim's helpless forehead, hear!'T is lawful now to break the oath that gavemy troth to Greece. To execrate her kingsis now my solemn duty. Their whole plotI publish to the world. No fatherlandand no allegiance binds me any more.O Troy, whom I have saved, I bid thee keepthe pledge of safety by good Priam given,for my true tale shall my rich ransom be.The Greeks' one hope, since first they opened war,was Pallas, grace and power. But from the daywhen Diomed, bold scorner of the gods,and false Ulysses, author of all guile,rose up and violently bore awayPalladium, her holy shrine, hewed downthe sentinels of her acropolis,and with polluted, gory hands dared touchthe goddess, virgin fillets, white and pure,—thenceforth, I say, the courage of the Greeksebbed utterly away; their strength was Iost,and favoring Pallas all her grace withdrew.No dubious sign she gave. Scarce had they sether statue in our camp, when glittering flameflashed from the staring eyes; from all its limbssalt sweat ran forth; three times (O wondrous tale!)it gave a sudden skyward leap, and madeprodigious trembling of her lance and shield.The prophet Calchas bade us straightway takeswift flight across the sea; for fate had willedthe Trojan citadel should never fallby Grecian arm, till once more they obtainnew oracles at Argos, and restorethat god the round ships hurried o'er the sea.Now in Mycenae, whither they are fled,new help of heaven they find, and forge anewthe means of war. Back hither o'er the wavesthey suddenly will come. So Calchas gavethe meaning of the god. Warned thus, they rearedin place of Pallas, desecrated shrineyon image of the horse, to expiatethe woeful sacrilege. Calchas ordainedthat they should build a thing of monstrous sizeof jointed beams, and rear it heavenward,so might it never pass your gates, nor comeinside your walls, nor anywise restoreunto the Trojans their lost help divine.For had your hands Minerva's gift profaned,a ruin horrible—O, may the godsbring it on Calchas rather!—would have comeon Priam's throne and all the Phrygian power.But if your hands should lift the holy thingto your own citadel, then Asia's hostwould hurl aggression upon Pelops' land,and all that curse on our own nation fall.”

Thus Sinon's guile and practiced perjuryour doubt dispelled. His stratagems and tearswrought victory where neither Tydeus' son,nor mountain-bred Achilles could prevail,nor ten years' war, nor fleets a thousand strong.But now a vaster spectacle of fearburst over us, to vex our startled souls.Laocoon, that day by cast of lotpriest unto Neptune, was in act to slaya huge bull at the god's appointed fane.Lo! o'er the tranquil deep from Tenedosappeared a pair (I shudder as I tell)of vastly coiling serpents, side by side,stretching along the waves, and to the shoretaking swift course; their necks were lifted high,their gory dragon-crests o'ertopped the waves;all else, half seen, trailed low along the sea;while with loud cleavage of the foaming brinetheir monstrous backs wound forward fold on fold.Soon they made land; the furious bright eyesglowed with ensanguined fire; their quivering tongueslapped hungrily the hissing, gruesome jaws.All terror-pale we fled. Unswerving thenthe monsters to Laocoon made way.First round the tender limbs of his two sonseach dragon coiled, and on the shrinking fleshfixed fast and fed. Then seized they on the sire,who flew to aid, a javelin in his hand,embracing close in bondage serpentinetwice round the waist; and twice in scaly grasparound his neck, and o'er him grimly peeredwith lifted head and crest; he, all the while,his holy fillet fouled with venomous blood,tore at his fetters with a desperate hand,and lifted up such agonizing voice,as when a bull, death-wounded, seeks to fleethe sacrificial altar, and thrusts backfrom his doomed head the ill-aimed, glancing blade.then swiftly writhed the dragon-pair awayunto the templed height, and in the shrineof cruel Pallas sure asylum foundbeneath the goddess' feet and orbed shield.Such trembling horror as we ne'er had knownseized now on every heart. “ Of his vast guiltLaocoon,” they say, “receives reward;for he with most abominable speardid strike and violate that blessed wood.Yon statue to the temple! Ask the graceof glorious Pallas!” So the people criedin general acclaim.Ourselves did makea breach within our walls and opened widethe ramparts of our city. One and allwere girded for the task. Smooth-gliding wheelswere 'neath its feet; great ropes stretched round its neck,till o'er our walls the fatal engine climbed,pregnant with men-at-arms. On every sidefair youths and maidens made a festal song,and hauled the ropes with merry heart and gay.So on and up it rolled, a tower of doom,and in proud menace through our Forum moved.O Ilium, my country, where abodethe gods of all my sires! O glorious wallsof Dardan's sons! before your gates it passed,four times it stopped and dreadful clash of armsfour times from its vast concave loudly rang.Yet frantic pressed we on, our hearts all blind,and in the consecrated citadelset up the hateful thing. Cassandra thenfrom heaven-instructed heart our doom foretold;but doomed to unbelief were Ilium's sons.Our hapless nation on its dying dayflung free o'er streets and shrines the votive flowers.

The skies rolled on; and o'er the ocean fellthe veil of night, till utmost earth and heavenand all their Myrmidonian stratagemswere mantled darkly o'er. In silent sleepthe Trojan city lay; dull slumber chainedits weary life. But now the Greek arrayof ordered ships moved on from Tenedos,their only light the silent, favoring moon,on to the well-known strand. The King displayedtorch from his own ship, and Sinon then,whom wrathful Heaven defended in that hour,let the imprisoned band of Greeks go freefrom that huge womb of wood; the open horserestored them to the light; and joyfullyemerging from the darkness, one by one,princely Thessander, Sthenelus, and direUlysses glided down the swinging cord.Closely upon them Neoptolemus,the son of Peleus, came, and Acamas,King Menelaus, Thoas and Machaon,and last, Epeus, who the fabric wrought.Upon the town they fell, for deep in sleepand drowsed with wine it lay; the sentinelsthey slaughtered, and through gates now opened widelet in their fellows, and arrayed for warth' auxiliar legions of the dark design.

That hour it was when heaven's first gift of sleepon weary hearts of men most sweetly steals.O, then my slumbering senses seemed to seeHector, with woeful face and streaming eyes;I seemed to see him from the chariot trailing,foul with dark dust and gore, his swollen feetpierced with a cruel thong. Ah me! what changefrom glorious Hector when he homeward borethe spoils of fierce Achilles; or hurled farthat shower of torches on the ships of Greece!Unkempt his beard, his tresses thick with blood,and all those wounds in sight which he did takedefending Troy. Then, weeping as I spoke,I seemed on that heroic shape to callwith mournful utterance: “O star of Troy!O surest hope and stay of all her sons!Why tarriest thou so Iong? What region sendsthe long-expected Hector home once more?These weary eyes that look on thee have seenhosts of thy kindred die, and fateful changeupon thy people and thy city fall.O, say what dire occasion has defiledthy tranquil brows? What mean those bleeding wounds?”Silent he stood, nor anywise would staymy vain lament; but groaned, and answered thus:“Haste, goddess-born, and out of yonder flamesachieve thy flight. Our foes have scaled the wall;exalted Troy is falling. Fatherlandand Priam ask no more. If human armcould profit Troy, my own had kept her free.Her Lares and her people to thy handsTroy here commends. Companions let them beof all thy fortunes. Let them share thy questof that wide realm, which, after wandering far,thou shalt achieve, at last, beyond the sea.”He spoke: and from our holy hearth brought forththe solemn fillet, the ancestral shrines,and Vesta's ever-bright, inviolate fire.

Now shrieks and loud confusion swept the town;and though my father's dwelling stood apartembowered deep in trees, th' increasing dindrew nearer, and the battle-thunder swelled.I woke on sudden, and up-starting scaledthe roof, the tower, then stood with listening ear:'t was like an harvest burning, when wild windsuprouse the flames; 't was like a mountain streamthat bursts in flood and ruinously whelmssweet fields and farms and all the ploughman's toil,whirling whole groves along; while dumb with fear,from some far cliff the shepherd hears the sound.Now their Greek plot was plain, the stratagemat last laid bare. Deiphobus' great housesank vanquished in the fire. Ucalegon'shard by was blazing, while the waters widearound Sigeum gave an answering glow.Shrill trumpets rang; Ioud shouting voices roared;wildly I armed me (when the battle calls,how dimly reason shines!); I burned to jointhe rally of my peers, and to the heightsdefensive gather. Frenzy and vast rageseized on my soul. I only sought what waywith sword in hand some noble death to die.

When Panthus met me, who had scarce escapedthe Grecian spears,—Panthus of Othrys' line,Apollo's priest within our citadel;his holy emblems, his defeated gods,and his small grandson in his arms he bore,while toward the gates with wild, swift steps he flew.“How fares the kingdom, Panthus? What strong placeis still our own?” But scarcely could I askwhen thus, with many a groan, he made reply:—“Dardania's death and doom are come to-day,implacable. There is no Ilium now;our Trojan name is gone, the Teucrian throne Quite fallen. For the wrathful power of Jovehas given to Argos all our boast and pride.The Greek is Iord of all yon blazing towers.yon horse uplifted on our city's heartdisgorges men-at-arms. False Sinon now,with scorn exultant, heaps up flame on flame.Others throw wide the gates. The whole vast hordethat out of proud Mycenae hither sailedis at us. With confronting spears they throngeach narrow passage. Every steel-bright bladeis flashing naked, making haste for blood.Our sentries helpless meet the invading shockand give back blind and unavailing war.”By Panthus' word and by some god impelled,I flew to battle, where the flames leaped high,where grim Bellona called, and all the airresounded high as heaven with shouts of war.Rhipeus and Epytus of doughty armwere at my side, Dymas and Hypanis,seen by a pale moon, join our little band;and young Coroebus, Mygdon's princely son,who was in Troy that hour because he lovedCassandra madly, and had made a leagueas Priam's kinsman with our Phrygian arms:ill-starred, to heed not what the virgin raved!

When these I saw close-gathered for the fight,I thus addressed them: “Warriors, vainly brave,if ye indeed desire to follow onewho dares the uttermost brave men may do,our evil plight ye see: the gods are fledfrom every altar and protecting fire,which were the kingdom's stay. Ye offer aidunto your country's ashes. Let us fightunto the death! To arms, my men, to arms!The single hope and stay of desperate menis their despair.” Thus did I rouse their souls.Then like the ravening wolves, some night of cloud,when cruel hunger in an empty mawdrives them forth furious, and their whelps behindwait famine-throated; so through foemen's steelwe flew to surest death, and kept our waystraight through the midmost town . The wings of nightbrooded above us in vast vault of shade.But who the bloodshed of that night can tell?What tongue its deaths shall number, or what eyesfind meed of tears to equal all its woe?The ancient City fell, whose throne had stoodage after age. Along her streets were strewnthe unresisting dead; at household shrinesand by the temples of the gods they lay.Yet not alone was Teucrian blood required:oft out of vanquished hearts fresh valor flamed,and the Greek victor fell. Anguish and woewere everywhere; pale terrors ranged abroad,and multitudinous death met every eye.

Androgeos, followed by a thronging bandof Greeks, first met us on our desperate way;but heedless, and confounding friend with foe,thus, all unchallenged, hailed us as his own :“Haste, heroes! Are ye laggards at this hour?Others bear off the captives and the spoilof burning Troy. Just from the galleys ye?”He spoke; but straightway, when no safe replyreturned, he knew himself entrapped, and falleninto a foeman's snare; struck dumb was heand stopped both word and motion; as one steps,when blindly treading a thick path of thorns,upon a snake, and sick with fear would fleethat lifted wrath and swollen gorge of green:so trembling did Androgeos backward fall.At them we flew and closed them round with war;and since they could not know the ground, and fear had whelmed them quite, we swiftly laid them low.Thus Fortune on our first achievement smiled;and, flushed with victory, Cormbus cried:“Come, friends, and follow Fortune's finger, whereshe beckons us what path deliverance lies.Change we our shields, and these Greek emblems wear.'Twixt guile and valor who will nicely weigh When foes are met? These dead shall find us arms.”With this, he dons Androgeos' crested helmand beauteous, blazoned shield; and to his sidegirds on a Grecian blade. Young Rhipeus next,with Dymas and the other soldiery,repeat the deed, exulting, and arraytheir valor in fresh trophies from the slain.Now intermingled with our foes we moved,and alien emblems wore; the long, black nightbrought many a grapple, and a host of Greeksdown to the dark we hurled. Some fled away,seeking their safe ships and the friendly shore.Some cowards foul went clambering back againto that vast horse and hid them in its maw.

But woe is me! If gods their help withhold,'t is impious to be brave. That very hourthe fair Cassandra passed us, bound in chains,King Priam's virgin daughter, from the shrineand altars of Minerva; her loose hairhad lost its fillet; her impassioned eyeswere lifted in vain prayer,—her eyes alone!For chains of steel her frail, soft hands confined.Coroebus' eyes this horror not endured,and, sorrow-crazed, he plunged him headlong inthe midmost fray, self-offered to be slain,while in close mass our troop behind him poured.But, at this point, the overwhelming spearsof our own kinsmen rained resistless downfrom a high temple-tower; and carnage wildensued, because of the Greek arms we boreand our false crests. The howling Grecian band,crazed by Cassandra's rescue, charged at usfrom every side; Ajax of savage soul,the sons of Atreus, and that whole wild hordeAchilles from Dolopian deserts drew.'T was like the bursting storm, when gales contend,west wind and South, and jocund wind of mornupon his orient steeds—while forests roar,and foam-flecked Nereus with fierce trident stirsthe dark deep of the sea. All who did hidein shadows of the night, by our assaultsurprised, and driven in tumultuous flight,now start to view. Full well they now can seeour shields and borrowed arms, and clearly noteour speech of alien sound; their multitudeo'erwhelms us utterly. Coroebus firstat mailed Minerva's altar prostrate lay,pierced by Peneleus, blade; then Rhipeus fell;we deemed him of all Trojans the most just, most scrupulously righteous; but the godsgave judgment otherwise. There Dymas died,and Hypanis, by their compatriots slain;nor thee, O Panthus, in that mortal hour,could thy clean hands or Phoebus, priesthood save.O ashes of my country! funeral pyreof all my kin! bear witness that my breastshrank not from any sword the Grecian drew,and that my deeds the night my country died deserved a warrior's death, had Fate ordained.But soon our ranks were broken; at my sidestayed Iphitus and Pelias; one with agewas Iong since wearied, and the other borethe burden of Ulysses' crippling wound.Straightway the roar and tumult summoned usto Priam's palace,where a battle ragedas if save this no conflict else were known,and all Troy's dying brave were mustered there.There we beheld the war-god unconfined;The Greek besiegers to the roof-tops fled;or, with shields tortoise-back, the gates assailed.Ladders were on the walls; and round by round,up the huge bulwark as they fight their way,the shielded left-hand thwarts the falling spears,the right to every vantage closely clings.The Trojans hurl whole towers and roof-tops downupon the mounting foe; for well they seethat the last hour is come, and with what armsthe dying must resist. Rich gilded beams,with many a beauteous blazon of old time,go crashing down. Men armed with naked swordsdefend the inner doors in close array.

Thus were our hearts inflamed to stand and strikefor the king's house, and to his body-guardbring succor, and renew their vanquished powers.A certain gate I knew, a secret way,which gave free passage between Priam's halls,and exit rearward; hither, in the daysbefore our fall, the lone Andromachewas wont with young Astyanax to passin quest of Priam and her husband's kin.This way to climb the palace roof I flew,where, desperate, the Trojans with vain skillhurled forth repellent arms. A tower was there,reared skyward from the roof-top, giving viewof Troy's wide walls and full reconnaissanceof all Achaea's fleets and tented field;this, with strong steel, our gathered strength assailed,and as the loosened courses offered usgreat threatening fissures, we uprooted itfrom its aerial throne and thrust it down.It fell with instantaneous crash of thunderalong the Danaan host in ruin wide.But fresh ranks soon arrive; thick showers of stonerain down, with every missile rage can find.

Now at the threshold of the outer court Pyrrhus triumphant stood, with glittering armsand helm of burnished brass. He glittered likesome swollen viper, fed on poison-leaves,whom chilling winter shelters underground,till, fresh and strong, he sheds his annual scalesand, crawling forth rejuvenate, uncoilshis slimy length; his lifted gorge insultsthe sunbeam with three-forked and quivering tongue.Huge Periphas was there; Automedon,who drove Achilles' steeds, and bore his arms.Then Scyros' island-warriors assaultthe palaces, and hurl reiterate fireat wall and tower. Pyrrhus led the van;seizing an axe he clove the ponderous doorsand rent the hinges from their posts of bronze;he cut the beams, and through the solid massburrowed his way, till like a window hugethe breach yawned wide, and opened to his gazea vista of long courts and corridors,the hearth and home of many an ancient king,and Priam's own; upon its sacred bournethe sentry, all in arms, kept watch and ward.Confusion, groans, and piteous turmoilwere in that dwelling; women shrieked and wailedfrom many a dark retreat, and their loud cryrang to the golden stars. Through those vast hallsthe panic-stricken mothers wildly roved,and clung with frantic kisses and embraceunto the columns cold. Fierce as his sire,Pyrrhus moves on; nor bar nor sentinelmay stop his way; down tumbles the great doorbeneath the battering beam, and with it fallhinges and framework violently torn.Force bursts all bars; th' assailing Greeks break in,do butchery, and with men-at-arms possesswhat place they will. Scarce with an equal ragea foaming river, when its dykes are down,o'erwhelms its mounded shores, and through the plainrolls mountain-high, while from the ravaged farmsits fierce flood sweeps along both flock and fold.My own eyes looked on Neoptolemusfrenzied with slaughter, and both Atreus' sonsupon the threshold frowning; I beheldher hundred daughters with old Hecuba;and Priam, whose own bleeding wounds defiledthe altars where himself had blessed the fires;there fifty nuptial beds gave promise proudof princely heirs; but all their brightness now,of broidered cunning and barbaric gold,lay strewn and trampled on. The Danaan foestood victor, where the raging flame had failed.

But would ye haply know what stroke of doomon Priam fell? Now when his anguish sawhis kingdom lost and fallen, his abodeshattered, and in his very hearth and hometh' exulting foe, the aged King did bindhis rusted armor to his trembling thews,—all vainly,— and a useless blade of steelhe girded on; then charged, resolved to dieencircled by the foe. Within his wallsthere stood, beneath the wide and open sky,a lofty altar; an old laurel-treeleaned o'er it, and enclasped in holy shadethe statues of the tutelary powers.Here Hecuba and all the princessestook refuge vain within the place of prayer.Like panic-stricken doves in some dark storm,close-gathering they sate, and in despairembraced their graven gods. But when the Queensaw Priam with his youthful harness on, “What frenzy, O my wretched lord,” she cried,“Arrayed thee in such arms? O, whither now?Not such defences, nor such arm as thine,the time requires, though thy companion wereour Hector's self. O, yield thee, I implore!This altar now shall save us one and all,or we must die together.” With these wordsshe drew him to her side, and near the shrinemade for her aged spouse a place to cling.

But, lo! just 'scaped of Pyrrhus' murderous hand,Polites, one of Priam's sons, fled fastalong the corridors, through thronging foesand a thick rain of spears. Wildly he gazedacross the desolate halls, wounded to death.Fierce Pyrrhus followed after, pressing hardwith mortal stroke, and now his hand and spearwere close upon:— when the lost youth leaped forthinto his father's sight, and prostrate therelay dying, while his life-blood ebbed away.Then Priam, though on all sides death was nigh,quit not the strife, nor from loud wrath refrained:“Thy crime and impious outrage, may the gods(if Heaven to mortals render debt and due)justly reward and worthy honors pay!My own son's murder thou hast made me see,blood and pollution impiously throwingupon a father's head. Not such was he,not such, Achilles, thy pretended sire,when Priam was his foe. With flush of shamehe nobly listened to a suppliant's pleain honor made. He rendered to the tombmy Hector's body pale, and me did sendback to my throne a king.” With this proud wordthe aged warrior hurled with nerveless armhis ineffectual spear, which hoarsely rangrebounding on the brazen shield, and hungpiercing the midmost boss,- but all in vain.Then Pyrrhus: “Take these tidings, and conveymessage to my father, Peleus' son!tell him my naughty deeds! Be sure and sayhow Neoptolemus hath shamed his sires.Now die!” With this, he trailed before the shrinesthe trembling King, whose feet slipped in the streamof his son's blood. Then Pyrrhus' left hand clutchedthe tresses old and gray; a glittering swordhis right hand lifted high, and buried itfar as the hilt in that defenceless heart.So Priam's story ceased. Such final doomfell on him, while his dying eyes surveyedTroy burning, and her altars overthrown,though once of many an orient land and tribethe boasted lord. In huge dismembermenthis severed trunk lies tombless on the shore,the head from shoulder torn, the corpse unknown.

Then first wild horror on my spirit felland dazed me utterly. A vision roseof my own cherished father, as I sawthe King, his aged peer, sore wounded Iyingin mortal agony; a vision tooof lost Creusa at my ravaged hearth,and young Iulus' peril. Then my eyeslooked round me seeking aid. But all were fled,war-wearied and undone; some earthward leapedfrom battlement or tower; some in despairyielded their suffering bodies to the flame.

I stood there sole surviving; when, behold,to Vesta's altar clinging in dumb fear,hiding and crouching in the hallowed shade,Tyndarus' daughter!— 't was the burning townlighted full well my roving steps and eyes.In fear was she both of some Trojan's ragefor Troy o'erthrown, and of some Greek revenge,or her wronged husband's Iong indignant ire.So hid she at that shrine her hateful brow,being of Greece and Troy, full well she knew,the common curse. Then in my bosom rosea blaze of wrath; methought I should avengemy dying country, and with horrid deedpay crime for crime. “Shall she return unscathedto Sparta, to Mycenae's golden pride,and have a royal triumph? Shall her eyesher sire and sons, her hearth and husband see,while Phrygian captives follow in her train?is Priam murdered? Have the flames swept o'ermy native Troy? and cloth our Dardan strandsweat o'er and o'er with sanguinary dew?O, not thus unavenged! For though there beno glory if I smite a woman's crime,nor conqueror's fame for such a victory won,yet if I blot this monster out, and wringfull punishment from guilt, the time to comewill praise me, and sweet pleasure it will beto glut my soul with vengeance and appeasethe ashes of my kindred.”So I raved,and to such frenzied purpose gave my soul.Then with clear vision (never had I seenher presence so unclouded) I beheld,in golden beams that pierced the midnight gloom,my gracious mother, visibly divine,and with that mien of majesty she wearswhen seen in heaven; she stayed me with her hand,and from her lips of rose this counsel gave:“O son, what sorrow stirs thy boundless rage?what madness this? Or whither vanisheththy love of me? Wilt thou not seek to knowwhere bides Anchises, thy abandoned sire,now weak with age? or if Creusa livesand young Ascanius, who are ringed aboutwith ranks of Grecian foes, and long ere this—save that my love can shield them and defend—had fallen on flame or fed some hungry sword?Not Helen's hated beauty works thee woe;nor Paris, oft-accused. The crueltyof gods, of gods unaided, overwhelmsthy country's power, and from its Iofty heightcasts Ilium down. Behold, I take awaythe barrier-cloud that dims thy mortal eye,with murk and mist o'er-veiling. Fear not thouto heed thy mother's word, nor let thy heartrefuse obedience to her counsel given.'Mid yonder trembling ruins, where thou see'ststone torn from stone, with dust and smoke uprolling,'t is Neptune strikes the wall; his trident vastmakes her foundation tremble, and unseatsthe city from her throne. Fierce Juno leadsresistless onset at the Scaean gate,and summons from the ships the league of powers,wearing her wrathful sword. On yonder heightbehold Tritonia in the citadelclothed with the lightning and her Gorgon-shield!Unto the Greeks great Jove himself renewstheir courage and their power; 't is he thrusts onthe gods themselves against the Trojan arms.Fly, O my son! The war's wild work give o'er!I will be always nigh and set thee safeupon thy father's threshold.” Having said,she fled upon the viewless night away.