LITMIR.BIZ

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fear of death gave place to nature’s law;

      And, shaking more with anger than with age,

      ‘The gods,’ said he, ‘requite thy brutal rage!

      As sure they will, barbarian, sure they must,

      If there be gods in heav’n, and gods be just—

      Who tak’st in wrongs an insolent delight;

      With a son’s death t’ infect a father’s sight.

      Not he, whom thou and lying fame conspire

      To call thee his—not he, thy vaunted sire,

      Thus us’d my wretched age: the gods he fear’d,

      The laws of nature and of nations heard.

      He cheer’d my sorrows, and, for sums of gold,

      The bloodless carcass of my Hector sold;

      Pitied the woes a parent underwent,

      And sent me back in safety from his tent.’

      “This said, his feeble hand a javelin threw,

      Which, flutt’ring, seem’d to loiter as it flew:

      Just, and but barely, to the mark it held,

      And faintly tinkled on the brazen shield.

      “Then Pyrrhus thus: ‘Go thou from me to fate,

      And to my father my foul deeds relate.

      Now die!’ With that he dragg’d the trembling sire,

      Slidd’ring thro’ clotter’d blood and holy mire,

      (The mingled paste his murder’d son had made,)

      Haul’d from beneath the violated shade,

      And on the sacred pile the royal victim laid.

      His right hand held his bloody falchion bare,

      His left he twisted in his hoary hair;

      Then, with a speeding thrust, his heart he found:

      The lukewarm blood came rushing thro’ the wound,

      And sanguine streams distain’d the sacred ground.

      Thus Priam fell, and shar’d one common fate

      With Troy in ashes, and his ruin’d state:

      He, who the scepter of all Asia sway’d,

      Whom monarchs like domestic slaves obey’d.

      On the bleak shore now lies th’ abandon’d king,

      A headless carcass, and a nameless thing.

      “Then, not before, I felt my cruddled blood

      Congeal with fear, my hair with horror stood:

      My father’s image fill’d my pious mind,

      Lest equal years might equal fortune find.

      Again I thought on my forsaken wife,

      And trembled for my son’s abandon’d life.

      I look’d about, but found myself alone,

      Deserted at my need! My friends were gone.

      Some spent with toil, some with despair oppress’d,

      Leap’d headlong from the heights; the flames consum’d the rest.

      Thus, wand’ring in my way, without a guide,

      The graceless Helen in the porch I spied

      Of Vesta’s temple; there she lurk’d alone;

      Muffled she sate, and, what she could, unknown:

      But, by the flames that cast their blaze around,

      That common bane of Greece and Troy I found.

      For Ilium burnt, she dreads the Trojan sword;

      More dreads the vengeance of her injur’d lord;

      Ev’n by those gods who refug’d her abhorr’d.

      Trembling with rage, the strumpet I regard,

      Resolv’d to give her guilt the due reward:

      ‘Shall she triumphant sail before the wind,

      And leave in flames unhappy Troy behind?

      Shall she her kingdom and her friends review,

      In state attended with a captive crew,

      While unreveng’d the good old Priam falls,

      And Grecian fires consume the Trojan walls?

      For this the Phrygian fields and Xanthian flood

      Were swell’d with bodies, and were drunk with blood?

      ’Tis true, a soldier can small honor gain,

      And boast no conquest, from a woman slain:

      Yet shall the fact not pass without applause,

      Of vengeance taken in so just a cause;

      The punish’d crime shall set my soul at ease,

      And murm’ring manes of my friends appease.’

      Thus while I rave, a gleam of pleasing light

      Spread o’er the place; and, shining heav’nly bright,

      My mother stood reveal’d before my sight

      Never so radiant did her eyes appear;

      Not her own star confess’d a light so clear:

      Great in her charms, as when on gods above

      She looks, and breathes herself into their love.

      She held my hand, the destin’d blow to break;

      Then from her rosy lips began to speak:

      ‘My son, from whence this madness, this neglect

      Of my commands, and those whom I protect?

      Why this unmanly rage? Recall to mind

      Whom you forsake, what pledges leave behind.

      Look if your helpless father yet survive,

      Or if Ascanius or Creusa live.

      Around your house the greedy Grecians err;

      And these had perish’d in the nightly war,

      But for my presence and protecting care.

      Not Helen’s face, nor Paris, was in fault;

      But by the gods was this destruction brought.

      Now cast your eyes around, while I dissolve

      The mists and films that mortal eyes involve,

      Purge from your sight the dross, and make you see

      The shape of each avenging deity.

      Enlighten’d thus, my just commands fulfil,

      Nor fear obedience to your mother’s will.

      Where yon disorder’d heap of ruin lies,

      Stones rent from stones; where clouds of dust arise—

      Amid that smother Neptune holds his place,

      Below the wall’s foundation drives his mace,

      And heaves the building from the solid base.

      Look where, in arms, imperial Juno stands

      Full in the Scaean gate, with loud commands,

      Urging on shore the tardy Grecian bands.

      See! Pallas, of her

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