Ulyffes, Stheneleus, Tifander, flide
Down by a rope, Machaon was their guide;
Atrides, Pyrrhus, Thoas, Athamas,
And Epeus, who the fraud's contriver was :
The gates they feize; the guards, with sleep and wine Opprest, surprize, and then their forces join.
'Twas then, when the first sweets of fleep repair Our bodies spent with toil, our minds with care; (The gods' best gift) when, bath'd in tears and blood, Before my face lamenting Hector ftood,
His afpect fuch when, foil'd with bloody duft, Dragg'd by the cords which through his feet were thrust By his infulting foe; O how transform'd,
How much unlike that Hector, who return'd
Clad in Achilles' spoils; when he, among
A thousand ships, (like Jove) his lightning flung!
His horrid beard and knotted treffes stood
Stiff with his gore, and all his wounds ran blood:
Intranc'd I lay, then (weeping) faid, the joy,
The hope and stay of thy declining Troy;
What region held thee, whence, so much defir'd,
Art thou reftor'd to us confum'd and tir'd
With toils and deaths; but what fad cause confounds
Thy once fair looks, or why appear those wounds?
Regardless of my words, he no reply
Returns, but with a dreadful groan doth cry,
Fly from the flame, O goddess-born, our walls
The Greeks poffefs, and Troy confounded falls
From all her glories; if it might have stood
By any power, by this right hand it should.
What man could do, by me for Troy was done,
Take here her reliques and her gods, to run
With them thy fate, with them new walls expect,
Which, toft on feas, thou fhalt at laft erect:
Then brings old Vesta from her facred quire,
Her holy wreaths, and her eternal fire.
Meanwhile the walls with doubtful cries refound
From far (for fhady coverts did furround
My father's houfe); approaching still more near
The clash of arms, and voice of men we hear :
Rouz'd from my bed, I fpeedily afcend
The houses tops, and liftening there attend.
As flames roll'd by the winds confpiring force,
O'er full-ear'd corn, or torrents raging course-
Bears down th' oppofing oaks, the fields destroys,
And mocks the plough-man's toil, th'unlook'd for noife
From neighbouring hills th' amazed fhepherd hears;
Such my furprize, and fuch their rage appears.
First fell thy house, Ucalegon, then thine
Deïphobus, Sigæan feas did fhine
Bright with Troy's flames; the trumpets dreadful found
The louder groans of dying men confound;
Give me my arms, I cry'd, refolv'd to throw
Myself 'mong any that oppos'd the foe:
Rage, anger, and despair at once suggest,
That of all deaths, to die in arms was best.
The first I met was Pantheus, Phœbus' priest,
Who 'scaping with his gods and reliques fled,
And towards the fhore his little grandchild led;
Pantheus, what hope remains? what force, what place
Made good? but fighing, he replies, Alas!
Trojans we were, and mighty Ilium was;
But the last period, and the fatal hour
Of Troy is come: our glory and our power.
Incensed Jove transfers to Grecian hands ;
The foe within the burning town commands;
And (like a fmother'd fire) an unfeen force
Breaks from the bowels of the fatal horse:
Infulting Sinon flings about the flame,
And thousands more than e'er from Argos came
Poffefs the gates, the paffes, and the streets,
And these the sword o'ertakes, and those it meets.
The guard nor fights nor flies; their fate so near
At once fufpends their courage and their fear.
Thus by the gods, and by Atrides' words
Infpir'd, I make my way through fire, through swords, Where noises, tumults, out-cries and alarms,
I heard; first Iphitus, renown'd for arms,
We meet, who knew us (for the moon did shine);
Then Ripheus, Hypanis, and Dymas join
Their force, and young Choræbus, Mygdon's fon,
Who, by the love of fair Caffandra won,
Arriv'd but lately in her father's aid;
Unhappy, whom the threats could not diffuade
Of his prophetic spouse;
Whom when I saw, yet daring to maintain
The fight, I said, Brave spirits (but in vain)
Are you refolv'd to follow one who dares
Tempt all extremes? the state of our affairs
You fee the gods have left us, by whofe aid
Our empire food; nor can the flame be staid:
Then let us fall amidst our foes
this one
Relief the vanquish'd have, to hope for none.
Then re-inforc❜d, as in a stormy night
Wolves urged by their raging appetite
Forage for prey, which their neglected young
With greedy jaws expect, ev'n fo among
Foes, fire and fwords, t' affured death we pass,
Darkness our guide, despair our leader was.
Who can relate that evening's woes and spoils,
Or can his tears proportion to our toils?
The city, which fo long had flourish'd, falls;
Death triumphs o'er the houses, temples, walls.
Nor only on the Trojans fell this doom,
Their hearts at last the vanquish'd re-assume;
And now the victors fall: on all fides fears,
Groans and pale death in all her shapes appears :
Androgeus firft with his whole troop was caft
Upon us, with civility misplac'd;
Thus greeting us, You lofe, by your delay,
Your fhare, both of the honour and the prey ;
Others the fpoils of burning Troy convey
Back to thofe fhips, which you but now forfake.
We making no return; his fad mistake
Too late he finds: as when an unseen snake
A traveller's unwary foot hath prest,
Who trembling starts, when the snake's azure crest Swoln with his rifing anger, he espies,
So from our view furpriz'd Androgeus flies.
But here an eafy victory we meet :
Fear binds their hands, and ignorance their feet.
Whilft fortune our firft enterprize did aid,
Encourag'd with success, Chorobus said,
O friends, we now by better fates are led,
And the fair path they lead us, let us tread.
First change your arms, and their diftinctions bear;
The fame, in foes, deceit and virtue are.
Then of his arms Androgeus he divests,
His fword, his shield he takes, and plumed crests,
Then Ripheus, Dymas, and the reft, all glad
Of the occafion, in fresh spoils are clad.
Thus mixt with Greeks, as if their fortune still
Follow'd their fwords, we fight, pursue, and kill.
Some re-afcend the horse, and he whose fides
Let forth the valiant, now the coward hides.
Some to their fafer guard, their fhips, retire;
But vain 's that hope, 'gainst which the gods confpire;
Behold the royal virgin, the divine
Caffandra, from Minerva's fatal shrine
Dragg'd by the hair, casting towards heaven, in vain,
Her eyes; for cords her tender hands did strain ;
Chorobus at the spectacle enrag'd,
Flies in amidst the foes; we thus engag'd,
To fecond him, among the thickest ran;
Here firft our ruin from our friends began,
Who from the temple's battlements a shower
Of darts and arrows on our heads did pour :
They us for Greeks, and now the Grecks (who knew
Caffandra's refcue) us for Trojans slew.
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