Æn. II.
ÆNEIS.
361
They find us Arms. This said, himself he dress'd
In dead Androgeos' Spoils, his upper Vest,
His painted Buckler, and his plumy Crest. 530
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, 535
And strew, with Grecian Carcasses, the Street.
Thus while their stragling Parties we defeat,
Some to the Shoar 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 Valour can be made, 541
When Heav'ns propitious Pow'rs refuse their Aid!
Behold the royal Prophetess, the Fair
Cassandra, drag'd by her dishevel'd Hair;
Whom not Minerva's Shrine, nor sacred Bands, 545
In safety cou'd protect from sacrilegious Hands:
On Heav'n she cast her Eyes, she sigh'd, she cry'd,
(Twas all she cou'd) her tender Arms were ty'd.
So sad a Sight Choræbus cou'd not bear,
But fir'd with Rage, distracted with Despair; 550
Amid the barb'rous Ravishers he slew:
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:
In dead Androgeos' Spoils, his upper Vest,
His painted Buckler, and his plumy Crest. 530
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, 535
And strew, with Grecian Carcasses, the Street.
Thus while their stragling Parties we defeat,
Some to the Shoar 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 Valour can be made, 541
When Heav'ns propitious Pow'rs refuse their Aid!
Behold the royal Prophetess, the Fair
Cassandra, drag'd by her dishevel'd Hair;
Whom not Minerva's Shrine, nor sacred Bands, 545
In safety cou'd protect from sacrilegious Hands:
On Heav'n she cast her Eyes, she sigh'd, she cry'd,
(Twas all she cou'd) her tender Arms were ty'd.
So sad a Sight Choræbus cou'd not bear,
But fir'd with Rage, distracted with Despair; 550
Amid the barb'rous Ravishers he slew:
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:
