From the Ægean deep, in mazy dance
Where Nereus’ daughters glide with agile feet,
I Neptune hither come. For round the fields
Of Ilion, since Apollo and myself
With symmetry exact reared many a tower
Hewn from the solid rock; the love I bore
The city where my Phrygian votaries dwelt,
Laid waste by Greece, where smoke e’en now ascends
The heavens, hath ne’er been rooted from this breast,
For on Parnassus bred, the Phocian chief
Epeus, by Minerva’s arts inspired,
Framed with a skilful hand, and through the gates
Sent that accursed machine, the horse which teemed
With ambushed javelins. Through forsaken groves,
Through the polluted temples of the gods,
Flow tides of crimson slaughter; at the base
Of altars sacred to Hercæan Jove,
Fell hoary Priam. But huge heaps of gold
And Phrygian plunder, to the fleet of Greece
Are sent: the leaders of the host that sacked
This city, wait but for a prosperous breeze,
That after ten years absence they their wives
And children may with joy behold. Subdued
By Juno, Argive goddess, and Minerva,
Who leagued in Phrygia’s overthrow, I leave
Troy the renowned, and my demolished shrines.
For when pernicious solitude extends
O’er cities her inexorable sway,
Abandoned are the temples of the gods,
None comes to worship there. Scamander’s banks
Re-echo many a shriek of captive dames
Distributed by lot; th’ Arcadians, some,
Some the Thessalians gain, and some the sons
Of Theseus leaders of th’ Athenian troops:
But they whom chance distributes not, remain
Beneath yon roof selected by the chiefs
Of the confederate army. Justly deemed
A captive, among them is Spartan Helen:
And if the stranger wishes to behold
That wretched woman, Hecuba lies stretched
Before the gate, full many are her tears,
And her afflictions many: at the tomb
Of stern Achilles her unhappy daughter
Polyxena died wretchedly, her lord
The royal Priam, and her sons are slain,
That spotless virgin too whom from his shrine
Apollo with prophetic gifts inspired,
Cassandra, spurning every sacred rite,
Did Agamemnon violently drag
To his adulterous bed. But, O farewell,
Thou city prosperous once; ye splendid towers,
Had not Minerva’s self ordained your fall,
Ye still on your firm basis might remain.