Comes Hector to his home once more?
Ah! since we saw you, many a woe
Has brought your friends, your country low;
And weary eyes and aching brow
Are ours that look upon you now!
What cause has marred that clear calm mien,
Or why those wounds, unclosed and green?’
He answers not, nor recks him aught
Of those the idle quests I sought;
But with a melancholy sigh,
‘Ah, goddess-born,’ he warns me, ‘fly!
Escape these flames: Greece holds the walls;
Proud Ilium from her summit falls.
Think not of king’s or country’s claims:
Country and king, alas! are names:
Could Troy be saved by hands of men,
This hand had saved her then, e’en then.
The gods of her domestic shrines
That country to your care consigns:
Receive them now, to share your fate:
Provide them mansions strong and great,
The city’s walls, which Heaven has willed
Beyond the seas you yet shall build.’
He said, and from the temple brings
Dread Vesta, with her holy things,
Her awful fillets, and the fire
Whose sacred embers ne’er expire.
The agonies of wildering woe:
And more and more, though deep in shade
My father’s palace stood embayed,
The tumult rises on the ear,
And clashing armour hurtles fear.
I start from sleep, the roof ascend,
And with quick heed each noise attend.
E’en as, while southern winds conspire,
On standing harvests falls the fire,
Or as a mountain torrent spoils
Field, joyous crop, and oxen’s toils,
And sweeps whole woods: the swain spell-bound
Hears from a rock the unwonted sound.
O, then I saw the tale was true:
The Danaan fraud stood clear to view.
Thy halls already, late so proud,
Deiphobus, to fire have bowed:
Ucalegon has caught the light:
Sigeum’s waves gleam broad and bright.
Then come the clamour and the blare,
And shouts and clarions rend the air:
I clutch my arms with reeling brain,
But reason whispers, arms are vain:
Yet still I burn to raise a power,
And, rallying, muster at the tower:
Fury and wrath within me rave,
And tempt me to a warrior’s grave.
Priest of Apollo on the height,
His gods, his grandchild at his side,
Makes for my door with frantic stride—
‘Ha! Othrys’ son, how goes the fight?
What forces muster at the height?’
I spoke: he heaves a long-drawn breath:
‘’Tis come, our fated day of death.
We have been Trojans: Troy has been:
She sat, but sits no more, a queen:
Stern Jove an Argive rule proclaims:
Greece holds a city wrapt in flames,
There in the bosom of the town
The tall horse rains invasion down,
And Sinon, with a conqueror’s pride
Deals fiery havoc far and wide.
Some keep the gates, as vast a host
As ever left Mycenæ’s coast:
Some block the narrows of the street,
With weapons threatening all they meet:
The stark sword stretches o’er the way,
Quick-glancing, ready drawn to slay,
While scarce our sentinels resist,
And battle in the flickering mist.’
So, stirred by Heaven and Othrys’ son,
Forth into flames and spears I run,
Where yells the war-fiend, and the cries
Of slayer and slain invade the skies.
Bold Rhipeus links him to my side,
And Epytus, in arms long tried:
And Hypanis and Dymas hail
And join us in the moonbeam pale,
With young Corœbus, Mygdon’s child,
Who came to Troy with yearning wild
Cassandra’s love to gain,
And, prompt to yield a kinsman’s aid,
His troop with Priam’s hosts arrayed:
Ah wretch, whom his demented maid
Had warned, but warned in vain!
And knew their blood was pulsing warm,
I thus began: ‘Brave spirits, wrought
To noblest temper, all for nought,
If desperate venture ye desire,
Ye see our lost estate:
Gone from each fane, each secret shrine,
Are those who made this realm divine:
The town ye aid is wrapped in fire:
Come, rush we on our fate.
No safety may the vanquished find
Till hope of safety be resigned.’
So valour grew to madness. Then,
Like gaunt wolves rushing from their den,
Whom lawless hunger’s sullen growl
Drives forth into the night to prowl,
The while, with jaws all parched and black,
Their famished whelps expect them back,
Amid the volley and the foe,
With death before our eyes, we go
On through the town, while darkness spreads
Its hollow covert o’er our heads.
What witness could recount aright
The woes, the carnage of that night,
Or make his tributary sighs
Keep measure with our agonies?
An ancient city topples down
From broad-based heights of old renown:
There in the street confusedly strown
Lie age and helplessness o’erthrown,
Block up the entering of the doors,
And cumber Heaven’s own temple-floors.
Nor only Teucrian lives expire:
Sometimes the spark of generous fire
Revives in vanquished hearts again,
And Danaan victors swell the slain.
Dire agonies, wild terrors swarm,
And Death glares grim in many a form.
Androgeos in our path appears:
He deems us comrades of his own,
And hails us thus with friendly tone:
‘Bestir you, gallants! why so slack?
See here, while others spoil and sack
The burning town, your tardy feet
But now are coming from the fleet!’
He said: the vague replies we make
Reveal
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