II
The Fall of Troy
Illustrious Troy! renown’d in every clime
Through the long records of succeeding time;
Who saw protecting gods from heaven descend
Full oft, thy royal bulwarks to defend.
Though chiefs unnumber’d in her cause were slain,
With fate the gods and heroes fought in vain;
That refuge of perfidious Helen’s shame
At midnight was involved in Grecian flame;
And now, by time’s deep ploughshare harrow’d o’er,
The seat of sacred Troy is found no more.
No trace of her proud fabrics now remains,
But corn and vines enrich her cultured plains.
Falconer, Shipwreck.
THE PERSONS OF THE DRAMA
Æneas, son of Anchises and Venus, son-in-law of Priam, and, since the death of Hector, the leader of the Trojan war-chiefs.
Priam, king of Troy, now enfeebled by age.
Anchises, the aged father of Æneas.
Laocoön, a son of Priam and priest of Apollo.
Panthus, a Trojan noble, priest of Apollo.
Corœbus, a Phrygian noble, ally of Priam, in love with Cassandra.
Ascanius, son of Æneas and Creüsa (silent).
Venus, the goddess of love, mother of Æneas.
Cassandra, daughter of Priam, reputed to be mad.
Pyrrhus, son of Achilles, leader of the Greeks in their final attack upon Troy.
Sinon, a Greek tool, through whose treachery the Trojans were induced to admit the wooden horse within their walls.
Androgeos, a Greek chieftain.
Trojan warriors, nobles, and commons, shepherds, priestly attendants, boys, women, etc.
ACT I
Act I. Scene 1
The plain in front of Troy; the city walls; the sea; and, in the distance,
Tenedos. Morning, without the gates. Joyful crowds of men, women, and
children pour through the open doors. They gather about the strange wooden
horse which stands without, and excitedly inquire what it means, and what
shall be done with it. Thymoetes voices the sentiment of one party that it
should be taken within the walls and set upon the citadel; while Capys and
his adherents urge that they should examine the mystery where it stands, and
destroy it. Great confusion reigns. The sentiment of Thymoetes seems about
to prevail (26-39).
Enter Laocoön, running, followed by a band of priestly attendants, and
shouting while still at some distance.
Laocoön (42-49):
What madness, wretched citizens, is this?
Can you believe your enemies have fled,
Or can you think that any gifts of Greeks
Are innocent of guile? So have you learned
To judge Ulysses? No, within this horse
The crafty Greeks are lying even now,
Or else its towering bulk has been contrived
To give them spying place upon our homes,
Or chance to scale our city’s battlements.
Be sure some dark design is hidden here.
Trust not the horse, my friends; whate’er it is,
I fear the Greeks, though armed with gifts alone.
He hurls his spear, which sticks fast in the wooden horse and stands
quivering there.
Scene 2
Enter Trojan shepherds, dragging in a man bound with thongs. They
approach the king. The bystanders jibe at and mock the captive. The
unknown stands as if bewildered and distraught, and at last cries (69-72):
Where now, alas, can I a refuge find
On land or sea? What chance of life remains
For one who can no longer claim a place
Among the Greeks? and now his bloody death
The vengeful sons of Dardanus demand.
The Trojans in wonder and with growing pity urge him to explain himself.
He at last proceeds, having with an apparent effort regained his self control
(77-104):
All things and truly will I tell to thee,
O king, whatever comes, nor will I seek
To hide that I am Grecian born. This first;
For though in woe my fate has plunged me deep
It shall not make me false and faithless too.
If any chance report has touched your ears
With Palamedes’ name, great Belus’ son,
Whom, though he was all innocent of guile,
Yet still, because his voice was ever raised
Against the war, by accusations false
The Greeks condemned, and sent to gloomy death;
But whom they now with fruitless grief lament:
To him my sire, while yet the war was young,
By poverty impelled, consigned his son
To serve the prince, by double ties endeared
Of blood and comradeship
While he in power
And in the councils of the kings stood high,
I, too, by his reflected light, enjoyed
Both name and fair renown. But when at last,
Through false Ulysses’ murderous hate and guile,
(I speak what you do know), his death was wrought;
In deep distress, in darkness and in woe
I spent my days, and mourned the hapless fate
Of my poor friend. And, maddened by my grief,
I would not hold my peace, but loudly swore,
That if the fates of war should bring me back
As victor to my native land of Greece,
I should full vengeance take; and by my words
Dire hatred ‘gainst my luckless self I roused.
Here was the fountain source of all my woes;
From now Ulysses, crafty enemy,
Began to spread vague hints among the Greeks,
Prefer strange charges, and to seek some cause
Against me, conscious in his heart of guilt.
Nor did he rest, until by Calchas’ aid—
But why do I rehearse this senseless tale
To heedless ears? Or wherefore should I seek
To stay your hands, if ‘tis enough to hear
That I am Greek, and in your hostile minds
All Greeks are judged alike.
Come, glut your hate
Upon me. For Ulysses would rejoice
To know that I am dead, and Atreus’ sons
Would gladly purchase this with great reward.
Here the stranger pauses in seeming despair and resignation to his fate.
The Trojans urge him to go on with his story. He resumes (108-144):
Full oft the Greeks, in utter weariness
Of that long siege, desired to abandon Troy,
And seek their homes again. Oh, that they had!
But whensoe’er they addressed them to the sea,
Rough wintry blasts and storms affrighted them.
And when this horse, of wooden timbers framed,
Completed stood, a votive offering,
The winds from every quarter of the heavens
Howled threateningly. To seek the will of Heaven,
The anxious Greeks despatch Eurypylus
To Phœbus’ oracle. He straight reports
Apollo’s mandate grim and terrible:
“Before, O Greeks, ye sailed to Troia’s shores,
Ye first had need to appease the angry winds
With bloody sacrifice—a maiden’s death
E’en so, by blood must your return be sought;
Again must Grecian life atonement make.”
When this dire oracle among the crowd,
From ear to ear, from lip to lip was spread,
They stood with horror stunned, and chilling fear
Their inmost hearts with dire forebodings filled.
They trembling ask for whom the fates prepare,
Whom does Apollo seek in punishment?
Then comes the Ithacan with clamor loud,
The prophet Calchas dragging in our midst,
And bids with charge insistent that he tell
The will of heaven. And now from many lips
The grim forebodings of Ulysses’ guile
Assail my ears, while all in silence wait
To see the end. Ten days the seer was mute,
Hid in his tent, refusing steadily
By word of his to doom a man to death.
At length, his feigned reluctance at an end,
And goaded by Ulysses’ clamors loud,
He spoke, and named me as the sacrifice.
All gave assent; and while each feared a doom
Which might befall himself, they calmly bore
When on my wretched head they saw it light.
And now the day of horror was at hand.
All things were ready for the sacrifice;
The salted meal was sprinkled on my head,
And round my brows the fatal fillets twined.
Then, I confess it, did I break my bonds.
I fled from death and in the sedgy reeds
Along the muddy margin of a lake
All night I lay in hiding, hoping there
To lurk until their homeward sails were spread.
And now my country dear I ne’er shall see,
My darling children and my aged sire
Whose face I long to see. But they are doomed
To pay the penalty which I escaped,
And by their death repair this fault of mine.
But by the gods above, divinities
Who with impartial eyes behold the truth,
If anywhere there still abides with men
Unsullied faith, I beg you, pity me
Who have endured so dire a weight of woe,
A soul that has been foully overborne.
The Trojans are moved to tears by this tale of woe; and Priam bids the
chains be stricken from him. He then addresses the prisoner with friendly words.
Priam (148-151):
Whoe’er thou art, away with thoughts of Greeks.
Be man of ours. And, as I question thee,
Give true reply. What means this monster horse?
Who first proposed, and what its purpose here?
Is it some votive gift, or does it stand
Against our walls as enginery of war?
Sinon stretches his freed hands to the heavens. He speaks excitedly and
as one inspired.
Sinon (154-194):
O ye eternal fires, be witness now,
Ye heavenly stars, divine, inviolate,
Ye cursed knives, and altars which I fled,
Ye fillets which as victim doomed I wore:
‘Tis right for me to break all sacred oaths
Which bound me to the Greeks; ‘tis right to hate,
And blab their secrets to the common air.
I’ll not be held by any ties of land
Or law. Do thou but keep thy promises,
O Troy, and, saved by me, keep plighted faith,
If I with truth shall make thee rich returns.
Recovering himself, he goes on more quietly, and with an air of perfect
sincerity.
The Greeks’ whole hope and confidence in war
Had rested from the first on Pallas’ aid.
But from the time when godless Diomede,
And that curst Ithacan, expert in crime,
Dared desecrate the goddess’ sacred fane,
Dared drag her mystic image forth, and kill
Her faithful guard, and on her virgin locks
Lay bloody, lustful hands unconsecrate:
From then their hopes kept ebbing back and back,
Their powers were shattered and their goddess’ aid
Denied. And she with no uncertain signs
Revealed at once her outraged deity.
Scarce had the sacred image reached the camp,
When glittering flames blazed from the staring eyes,
And salty perspiration down her limbs
Went streaming; and, oh wonderful to say,
Thrice from the ground, accoutered as she was
With shield and quivering spear, the image leaped.
Straitway did Calchas prophecy that all
Must forth again in flight upon the sea;
That Troy could never by Argolic arms
Be overthrown, save as they back again
To sacred Argos fared and there regained
That heavenly favor which they first had brought
To Ilium.
And now have they indeed
Gone back to Greece, to seek fresh auspices,
And win once more the blessing of the gods.
And soon, and suddenly, the sea retraced,
Will they be here again. So Calchas bade.
Meanwhile, by that same prophet warned, did they
This wooden image fashion to appease
Th’ offended goddess, and atonement make
To her outraged divinity. And more—
The prophet bade them form an image huge
Of oaken beams, of such proportions vast
That through no gate of Troy could it be led,
Nor set within the walls, lest thus once more
The people from their ancient deity
Protection find. For if Minerva’s gift
Should by your hands be desecrated, then
Would dreadful doom (Heaven send it on their heads)
Upon old Priam and his Phrygians come;
But if within your walls this sacred horse
Should by your voluntary hands be set,
Then would all Asia rise with one accord,
And sweep in mighty war against the Greeks,
And that dire doom upon our grandsons fall.
Scene 3
The Trojans are entirely satisfied with this explanation and treat Sinon with
respectful consideration. At this juncture, two huge serpents come up out of
the sea, and, while the people flee shrieking away on all sides, they make their
way to Laocoön where he stands sacrificing at the altar, and enfold him and
his two sons in their deadly coils (195-227).
Scene 4
Great excitement follows. People say that Laocoön has perished justly,
since he impiously violated the sacred horse, and loudly demand that the
creature be taken within the walls (228-249):
A voice from the crowd:
Oh, dreadful punishment, but well deserved,
For with his impious spear he smote the oak,
The sacred wood to Pallas consecrate.
Another voice:
Now haste we and within our city lead
This horse portentous, and with humble prayer
Minerva’s aid and pardoning favor seek.
They hastily enlarge the gate, attach ropes to the horse, and put rollers
under its feet, many willing hands lay hold of the ropes and pull the horse
along. Boys and girls dance and sing around the workers. The horse sticks
at the threshold of the gate, and Cassandra, who has been looking on as one
entranced, cries out forebodingly.
Cassandra:
O fatherland! O Ilium, home of gods!
Ye walls of Troy, in war illustrious!
See there, upon the threshold of the gate,
The monster halts—again—and yet again!
And from its rumbling hold I hear the sound
Of clashing arms! O Troy! O fatherland!
But the people, not heeding her, press on and disappear within the city
walls with the wooden horse, on the way to the citadel. Everywhere are heard
sounds of delirious joy.
ACT II
Act II. Scene 1
Night. The chamber of Æneas. He lies sleeping calmly upon his couch.
Enter Ghost of Hector, wan and terrible, bearing in his hands the sacred
images of the Penates.
Æneas, starting up to a sitting posture, as if talking in a dream (281-286):
O light of Troy, O prop of Trojan hopes,
What slow delays have held thee from our sight,
O long awaited one? Whence com’st thou here?
We see thee now, with hardships overborne,
But only after many of thy friends
Have met their doom, and after struggles vast
Of city and of men.—But what, alas,
Has so defiled thy features? Whence these wounds
And horrid scars I see?
Hector, with deep sighs and groans (289-295):
Oh, get thee hence,
Thou son of Venus, flee these deadly flames.
Our foemen hold the walls; our ancient Troy
Is fallen from her lofty pinnacle
Enough for king and country has been done;
If Troy could have been saved by any hand,
This hand of mine would have defended her.
But now to thee she trusts her sacred gods
And all their sacred rites; take these with thee
As comrades of thy fates; seek walls for these,
Which, when the mighty deep thou hast o’ercome,
Thou shalt at length in lasting empire set.
He makes as if to give the sacred images to Æneas, and vanishes.
A confused sound of distant shouting and clashing of arms fills the room.
Æneas leaps from his couch, now fully awake, and stands with strained and
attentive ears. The truth dawns upon him as the sounds grow clearer, and as
he can see from his window the red flames of burning Troy. He snatches up
his arms and is rushing from the room when Panthus hurries in bearing sacred
images in his hands and leading his little grandson.
Æneas (322):
My friend, where lies the battle’s central point?
What stronghold do we keep against the foe?
Panthus (324-335):
The last, the fated day of Troy is come.
The mighty glory of the Trojan state
Is of the past, and we, alas, no more
May call ourselves of Ilium; for lo,
The cruel gods have given all to Greece,
And foemen lord it in our blazing town;
The great horse stands upon our citadel,
And from his roomy side pours armed men;
While Sinon, gloating o’er his victory,
With blazing torch is busy everywhere.
Down at the double gates still others press
For entrance, all Mycenæ’s clamorous hosts,
And weapons thick beset the narrow streets.
In battle order stand the long drawn lines
Of gleaming steel prepared for deadly strife.
Scarce do the sturdy watchmen of the gates
Attempt to hold their posts against the foe,
But in the smothering press fight blindly on.
At this, Æneas joins Panthus and together they rush out into the city.
Scene 2
A street of Troy, lit by the moonlight and the glare of burning buildings.
Trojans rush in from different sides and rally to Æneas.
Æneas (348-354):
O comrades, O ye hearts most brave in vain,
If you have steadfast minds to follow one
On desperate deeds intent, you see our case:
The gods, who long have buttressed up our state,
Have fled their sacred altars and their shrines,
And left us to our fate. You seek to aid
A city wrapped in flames. Then let us die
And in the midst of death our safety find:
Our safety’s single hope—to hope for none.
The little band hurries off toward the noise of battle in neighboring streets.
Enter from the other direction straggling bands of Greeks, drunk with victory.
They burn and pillage on all sides, temples and homes alike. Re-enter
Trojans led by Æneas. Androgeos, a Greek, thinking them to be Greeks,
goes up to them.
Androgeos (373-375):
Now haste ye, men; what time for sloth is this?
The rest on fire and pillage are intent,
While you but now address you to the task.
Androgeos suddenly perceives that these are foes, and is struck dumb with
amazement. The Trojans rush upon him and slay him together with the
others of his band.
Corœbus, one of Æneas’ band, exultingly (387-391):
O friends, where kindly fortune first doth show
The path of safety, let us follow there.
With these slain Greeks let us our shields exchange,
Their helms and breastplates let us don, and so
In all things seem as Greeks. When foemen strive,
Who questions aught of trickery or might?
Our foes against themselves shall lend us arms.
They exchange arms with the dead Greeks. Thus arrayed, they mingle with
the parties of Greeks who straggle in, and slay them. The Greeks, not understanding
this strange turn of affairs, flee away in terror. This action is
repeated at intervals several times.
Enter a band of Greeks led by Ajax, the Atridæ, and others, dragging Cassandra
roughly along by the hair. Her hands are tied with thongs. Corœbus,
though the odds are overwhelmingly against him, rushes in to save his beloved
Cassandra. The other Trojans, because of their disguise of Greek armor, are
attacked by their own friends stationed at near by points of vantage, and now
the Greeks themselves, recognizing the ruse at last, overwhelm the little Trojan
band by force of numbers. Other Greeks pour in from all sides and add their
testimony that these are Trojans. In the desperate encounter many of the
Trojans fall.
Æneas performs Herculean feats of arms, and slays many Greeks, but is
himself unhurt. At last he and a few followers escape into a street leading to
Priam’s palace, whence loud and continued shouting can be heard.
Scene 3
At Priam’s palace (viewed from without), desperately attacked by Greeks
and defended by Trojans. (a) The assailants attempt by scaling ladders to
mount to the flat, turreted roof of the palace, while the defendants hurl down
upon these darts and stones, and pry off whole towers which fall with a mighty
crash. The air is filled with the thunderous noise of these falling masses and
with the other confused shouts and sounds of a desperate conflict.
(b) Pyrrhus with a strong band of Greeks is endeavoring to batter down the
gates of the palace at its main entrance.
Scene 4
Priam’s palace from within. All is confusion and terror. Women rush
from room to room, with disheveled hair streaming, and with cries of wild
despair. A crowded mass of men are attempting to defend the main entrance.
Overhead can be seen and heard the defenders on the roof opposing the
attack from without.
In the central open court of the palace, upon the steps of a great altar overshadowed
by a laurel tree, Hecuba and a group of women have seated themselves,
huddling there in the hope of protection from the sanctity of the altar.
Suddenly old Priam comes out into the court, hurriedly adjusting his armor.
Hecuba, calling to him (519-524):
What dost thou there, of reason all bereft,
O wretched husband? What avail those arms?
Or whither speedest thou with tottering steps?
Such aid and such defense as thou canst give
Cannot avail us now, nor Hector’s self,
Could he come back to us. Come hither then;
These sacred altar stairs shall shield us all,
Or in their sight will we together die.
Priam joins the women at the altar.
But see, Polites comes, by Pyrrhus pressed;
Through hostile arms, through halls and colonnades,
He flees alone in sore distress of wounds,
While Pyrrhus follows hard with deadly aim.
And now, Oh, now he grasps and thrusts him through.
Polites falls dead at the feet of Priam and Hecuba.
Priam, springing up and facing Pyrrhus (535-543):
For that base crime of thine, that impious deed,
I pray the gods, if there are gods in heaven
Who care for men, to grant thee dire return,
And give thee what thou hast so richly earned.
For thou hast slain my son before my face,
And with his blood defiled his father’s eyes.
But that Achilles, whom thou falsely claim’st
As sire, did not so treat his royal foe,
But held in reverence the sacred laws.
My Hector’s corpse he gave for burial
And sent me back in safety to my home.
He hurls his spear with feeble strength at Pyrrhus. The spear sticks
ineffectually in the opposing shield.
Pyrrhus, scornfully (547-550):
Then bear this message to my noble sire:
Fail not to tell him all my impious deeds,
And how unworthy has his Pyrrhus proved.
Now die.
He drags the old man to the altar and slays him there. Exit Pyrrhus,
leaving the bloody corpse of the old man upon the ground. The women are
carried off as prisoners by the Greeks who now come thronging in.
Scene 5
In the now deserted palace near the shrine of Vesta. Helen is lurking for
protection within the shrine.
Æneas, passing by and seeing Helen (577-587):
Shall this, the common scourge of friend and foe,
Unscathed, behold her native land again?
Her husband, home, her sire and children see?
Shall she as conquering queen go proudly back,
Attended by a throng of Trojan slaves?
Shall Troy have burned for this, old Priam die,
And all the Trojan plain have reeked with blood?
It shall not be. No fame, I know, is earned
By woman’s punishment; such victory
Has little praise; but yet I shall be praised
For having utterly destroyed this wretch,
And on her head inflicted vengeance dire.
It will be sweet to feed my passion’s flame,
And satisfy the ashes of my friends.
He is rushing into the shrine with drawn sword when suddenly Venus
appears before him.
Venus (594-620):
What grief inflames thee to this boundless wrath?
What madness this, my son? And whither, pray,
Has fled thy care for us? Bethink thee, first,
Where thou hast left thy father, spent with age;
Whether thy wife, Creüsa, still survives;
Bethink thee of Ascanius thy son.
For they are hemmed about on every side
By hostile Greeks; but for my shielding care,
Already would the flames have swept them off,
And swords of enemies have drunk their blood.
‘Tis not the beauty of the Spartan queen
That should arouse thy hate, nor shouldst thou blame
Thy kinsman, Paris; for the cruel gods,
The gods, I say, have laid thy city low,
And overthrown the lofty walls of Troy.
Behold—for I will straight remove the mist
Which, dense and clinging, clouds thy mortal sight;
Do thou but be obedient to my words;—
Here, where thou seest huge masses overthrown,
Rocks torn from rocks, commingled smoke and dust,
Great Neptune with his trident’s fearful stroke
Causes the walls to rock upon their base.
Here Juno, first of all, with savage mien,
Besets the Scæan gates, and, girt with steel,
In fury calls her allies from the ships.
Now turn thine eyes unto the citadel,
And there behold Tritonian Pallas stand,
All blazing with the war-cloud’s lurid glare,
And that fell Gorgon’s head. Nay Jove himself
Inspires the Greeks with courage, gives them strength,
And whets the gods against the Trojans’ arms.
Betake thee then to flight and end thy toils.
For I will never leave thee, till at last
I bring thee safely to thy father’s house.
Æneas, overcome by these revelations, and resigned to fate, retires.
ACT III
Act III. Scene 1
The atrium in the palace of Æneas. The aged Anchises lies prone upon
the couch. Creüsa, Ascanius, and other members of the household are huddled
together in the same room, listening in awestruck silence to the confused
sounds of battle without. The room is lit by the red glare of burning
buildings. Enter Æneas, breathless with his haste.
Æneas, going up to his father and attempting to lift him in his arms (635, 636):
O father, all is lost; come, flee with me,
While still the fates and angry gods allow;
Come, let me bear thee on my shoulders broad
Unto the shelter of Mount Ida’s slopes.
Anchises, resisting (637-649):
If all is o’er, and Troy is in the dust,
Why should I wish to prolong this worthless life
In exiled wanderings? Turn ye to flight,
Who feel the blood of youth within your veins,
Whose sturdy powers still flourish in their prime.
If heavenly gods had wished me still to live,
They would have saved this home wherein to dwell.
Enough and more, that I have seen one fall
Of Troy, and once outlived my captured town.
Then, even as I lie in seeming death,
Address my lifeless body and be gone.
I’ll quickly gain the boon of death I seek:
The enemy will pity me and slay,
Or else will slay me for my noble spoils.
As for the loss of burial due the dead,
‘Twill not be hard to bear. Too long on earth
I spend my useless years, abhorred of heaven,
Since when the sire of gods and king of men
Blasted my body with his lightning’s breath,
And marked me with his scorching bolt of flame.
Æneas and all the household join in entreating Anchises to go with them
(651-653):
The heavy hand of fate is on us all,
But do not thou, O father, seek to add
To this our weight of sorrow, and o’erthrow
Our fortunes utterly.
But the old man stubbornly persists in his refusal.
Æneas, seeing his father immovable (656-670):
And didst thou think that I could leave thee here,
O father, and betake myself to flight?
And has such monstrous utterance as this
Fall’n from a father’s lips? If heaven has willed
That nothing from this city vast survive,
And if thy mind is firmly set to die,
And ‘tis thy pleasure to our ruined Troy
To add thyself and all thy family—
The door to that destruction opens wide
Soon Pyrrhus will be here, his murderous hands
Reeking with Priam’s blood, who slays the son
Before his father’s eyes, and eke the sire
Upon the sacred altar’s very steps
Was it for this that thou, through sword and flame,
O fostering mother, didst deliver me,
That midst the very sanctities of home
I should behold the foe, that I should see
Ascanius, my father, and my wife
All weltering in one another’s blood?
Nay rather, arms! My men, in haste bring arms!
Attendants bring him his sword and shield which he hurriedly fits in place.
The last day calls the vanquished to their death.
Let me go forth to meet the Greeks again,
Once more sustain the desperate battle shock.
We shall not all in helpless slaughter die.
Æneas is rushing toward the door, when Creüsa intercepts him, pushing
toward him their little son, Ascanius.
Creüsa, kneeling (675-678):
If thou art going forth to seek thy death,
Oh, take us, too, with thee to share thy fate;
But if thy wisdom bids thee still to hope
In sword and shield, here make thy final stand,
And guard thy home. To whose protection, pray,
Is young Iulus left, to whose thy sire?
To whom can I, once called thy wife, appeal?
Suddenly a tongue of flame is seen to leap and play among the locks of the
boy. His parents, in consternation, attempt to extinguish this, but to no effect.
Anchises, seeing the portent, starts up with wondering joy, stretching his
hands upward in prayer (689-691):
O Jove, if thou art moved by any prayer,
Look on us now; this only do I ask;
And, if our piety deserves the boon,
Help us, O father, and confirm these signs.
A sudden crash of thunder resounds without, and through the open impluvium
a bright star is seen shooting across the sky.
Anchises, rising from his couch in trembling haste (701-704):
Now, now is no delay; I’ll follow thee,
O son, wherever thou wouldst have me go.
O gods, on whom our fatherland depends,
Preserve my house, preserve my grandson too.
From you has come this heavenly augury,
And on your will divine does Ilium rest.
I yield me then, O son, into thy hands.
And would no more refuse to go with thee.
Meanwhile from without the glare of the conflagration increases, and the
shouting of the victorious Greeks is heard approaching nearer and nearer.
Æneas (707-720):
