Speaking through him:—“Home in ill hour you takeA prize whom Greece shall claim with troops untold,Leagued by an oath your marriage tie to breakAnd Priam's kingdom old.Alas! what deaths you launch on Dardan realm!What tolls are waiting, man and horse to tire!See! Pallas trims her aegis and her helm,Her chariot and her ire.Vainly shall you; in Venus' favour strong,Your tresses comb, and for your dames divideOn peaceful lyre the several parts of song;Vainly in chamber hideFrom spears and Gnossian arrows, barb'd with fate,And battle's din, and Ajax in the chaseUnconquer'd; those adulterous locks, though late,Shall gory dust deface.Hark! 'tis the death-cry of your race! look back!Ulysses comes, and Pylian Nestor grey;See! Salaminian Teucer on your track,And Sthenelus, in the fray