380
VIRGIL's
Æn. II.
Cry'd out, Haste, haste my Son, the Foes are nigh;
Their Swords, and shining Armour I descry.
Some hostile God, for some unknown Offence,
Had sure bereft my Mind of better Sense:
For while thro' winding Ways I took my Flight; 1000
And fought the shelter of the gloomy Night;
Alas! I lost Creusa: hard to tell
If by her fatal Destiny she fell,
Or weary sate, or wander'd with affright;
But she was lost for ever to my fight. 1005
I knew not, or reflected, till I meet
My Friends, at Ceres now deserted Seat:
We met: not one was wanting, only she
Deceiv'd her Friends, her Son, and wretched me.
What mad expressions did my Tongue refuse! 1010
Whom did I not of Gods or Men accuse!
This was the fatal Blow, that pain'd me more
Than all I felt from ruin'd Troy before.
Stung with my Loss, and raving with Despair,
Abandoning my now forgotten Care, 1015
Of Counsel, Comfort, and of Hope bereft,
My Sire, my Son, my Country Gods, I left.
In shining Armour once again I sheath
My Limbs, not feeling Wounds, nor fearing Death.
Then headlong to the burning Walls I run, 1020
And seek the Danger I was forc'd to shun.
I tread my former Tracks: through Night explore
Each Passage, ev'ry Street I cross'd before.
Their Swords, and shining Armour I descry.
Some hostile God, for some unknown Offence,
Had sure bereft my Mind of better Sense:
For while thro' winding Ways I took my Flight; 1000
And fought the shelter of the gloomy Night;
Alas! I lost Creusa: hard to tell
If by her fatal Destiny she fell,
Or weary sate, or wander'd with affright;
But she was lost for ever to my fight. 1005
I knew not, or reflected, till I meet
My Friends, at Ceres now deserted Seat:
We met: not one was wanting, only she
Deceiv'd her Friends, her Son, and wretched me.
What mad expressions did my Tongue refuse! 1010
Whom did I not of Gods or Men accuse!
This was the fatal Blow, that pain'd me more
Than all I felt from ruin'd Troy before.
Stung with my Loss, and raving with Despair,
Abandoning my now forgotten Care, 1015
Of Counsel, Comfort, and of Hope bereft,
My Sire, my Son, my Country Gods, I left.
In shining Armour once again I sheath
My Limbs, not feeling Wounds, nor fearing Death.
Then headlong to the burning Walls I run, 1020
And seek the Danger I was forc'd to shun.
I tread my former Tracks: through Night explore
Each Passage, ev'ry Street I cross'd before.
