LITMIR.BIZ

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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 valor 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 miter, 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 defense.

      New clamors 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

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