Æn. II.
ÆNEIS.
357
The Palace of Deiphobus ascends
In smoaky Flames, and catches on his Friends.
Ucalegon burns next; the Seas are bright
With splendor, not their own; and thine with Trojan light.
New Clamours and new Clangors now arise, 421
The sound of Trumpets mix'd with fighting cries.
With frenzy seiz'd, I run to meet th' Alarms,
Resolv'd on death, resolv'd to die in Arms.
But first to gather Friends, with them t'oppose, 425
If Fortune favour'd, and repell the Foes.
Spurr'd by my Courage, by my Country fir'd;
With sense of Honour, and Revenge inspir'd.
Pantheus, Apollo's Priest, a sacred Name,
Had scap'd the Grecian Swords, and pass'd the Flame;
With Reliques loaden, to my Doors he fled, 431
And by the hand his tender Grand-son led.
What hope, O Pantheus! whither can we run?
Where make a stand? and what may yet be done?
Scarce had I said, when Pantheus, with a groan, 435
Troy is no more, and Ilium was a Town!
The fatal Day, th' appointed Hour is come,
When wrathful Jove's irrevocable Doom
Transfers the Trojan State to Grecian Hands.
The Fire consumes the Town, the Foe commands:
And armed Hosts, an unexpected Force, 441
Break from the Bowels of the Fatal Horse.
Within the Gates, proud Sinon throws about
The Flames, and Foes for entrance press without.
In smoaky Flames, and catches on his Friends.
Ucalegon burns next; the Seas are bright
With splendor, not their own; and thine with Trojan light.
New Clamours and new Clangors now arise, 421
The sound of Trumpets mix'd with fighting cries.
With frenzy seiz'd, I run to meet th' Alarms,
Resolv'd on death, resolv'd to die in Arms.
But first to gather Friends, with them t'oppose, 425
If Fortune favour'd, and repell the Foes.
Spurr'd by my Courage, by my Country fir'd;
With sense of Honour, and Revenge inspir'd.
Pantheus, Apollo's Priest, a sacred Name,
Had scap'd the Grecian Swords, and pass'd the Flame;
With Reliques loaden, to my Doors he fled, 431
And by the hand his tender Grand-son led.
What hope, O Pantheus! whither can we run?
Where make a stand? and what may yet be done?
Scarce had I said, when Pantheus, with a groan, 435
Troy is no more, and Ilium was a Town!
The fatal Day, th' appointed Hour is come,
When wrathful Jove's irrevocable Doom
Transfers the Trojan State to Grecian Hands.
The Fire consumes the Town, the Foe commands:
And armed Hosts, an unexpected Force, 441
Break from the Bowels of the Fatal Horse.
Within the Gates, proud Sinon throws about
The Flames, and Foes for entrance press without.
