Page:Virgil's Pastorals, Georgics and Aeneis - Dryden (1709) - volume 2.djvu/209

Spare to pollute thy pious Hands with Blood: 60
The Tears distil not from the wounded Wood;
But ev'ry drop this living Tree contains,
Is kindred Blood, and ran in Trojan Veins:
O fly from this unhospitable Shore,
Warn'd by my Fate; for I am Polydore! 65
Here loads of Lances, in my Blood embru'd,
Again shoot upward, by my Blood renew'd.
My faultring Tongue, and shiv'ring Limbs declare
My Horror, and in Bristles rose my Hair.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$When Troy with Grecian Arms was closely pent, 70
Old Priam, fearful of the Wars Event,
This hapless Polydore to Thracia sent.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$Loaded with Gold, he sent his Darling, far
From Noise and Tumults, and destructive War:
Committed to the faithless Tyrant's Care. 75
Who, when he saw the Pow'r of Troy decline,
Forsook the weaker, with the strong to join.
Broke ev'ry Bond of Nature, and of Truth;
And murder'd, for his Wealth, the Royal Youth.
O sacred Hunger of pernicious Gold, 80
What bands of Faith can impious Lucre hold!
Now, when my Soul had shaken off her Fears,
I call my Father, and the Trojan Peers:
Relate the Prodigies of Heav'n; require
What he commands, and their Advice desire. 85
All vote to leave that execrable Shore,
Polluted with the Blood of Polydore.