Her bitter fate—for ten long years to stand.
And fall at last by one vile trickster's hand. 625
In memory still we see the monstrous bulk
Of that pretended and most fatal gift,
The Grecian horse, which we, too credulous,
With our own hands into our city led.
The noisy-footed monster stumbled oft 630
Upon the threshold of the city gate,
While in its roomy hold crouched kings and war.
And we might well have turned their crafty arts
To work their own destruction. But alas,
We neither saw nor heeded. Oftentimes
The sound of clashing shields smote on our ears,
And low and angry mutterings within 635
Where Pyrrhus 'gainst the shrewd Ulysses strove.
Now free from fear our Trojan youth
Crowd round to touch the sacred cords
With joyous hands. Astyanax
Here leads his youthful playmates on,
While 'midst the maidens gaily comes
The maid Polyxena, foredoomed
To bleed upon Achilles' tomb. 640
Mothers in festal garments bring
Their votive offerings to the gods,
And sires press gaily round the shrines. 645
Throughout the town all faces tell
One tale of joy, e'en Hecuba,
Who, since her Hector's fatal pyre,
Had never ceased her tears, was glad.
But now, unhappy grief, what first,
What last, dost thou prepare to weep? 650
Our city walls in ruin laid,
Though built by heavenly hands? our shrines
Upon their very gods consumed?
Nay, nay; long since our weary eyes
Have dried their tears for these. But now
We weep, O father, king, for thee. 655
We saw, with our own eyes we saw,
The old man slain by Pyrrhus' impious hand,
